#Haha pig blood

[thetenamongstthesethrees]

GOT TO SEE CARRIE THE MUSICAL ON THE 18TH QND HOLY SHIT IM IN LOVE

[frnknstin]

"What are you looking for now?" — From Sherlock Holmes. ( @reverdies )

Victor rose slowly from the open cabinet, turning to face Holmes with an expression that comically screamed "child caught in the act." Clearing his throat and avoiding Holmes' gaze, he stumbled over an excuse for the mess he had made. "Why, I was just... you know..."

Holmes' tone made Victor feel even more like a guilty child. Determined to regain his composure, Victor straightened up, placing his hands on his hips and lifting his chin. "I was looking for more of that blood test which you created, when I looked in what I thought was the chemicals cabinet it—why, it was full of different types of bullets." He decided to omit the detail about the blood-stained ones. "So, I thought, maybe it could be here, in the kitchen, yet—" He paused, glancing back at the open cabinet and the stench emanating from it. "That—now that would be a collection of pig hearts. Marinating. Decomposing. On a kitchen shelf."

He had found tobacco in a Persian slipper, cigarettes in the coal scuttle, and suspected he might find a new will to live somewhere among the unanswered correspondence pinned to the mantelpiece with a knife. Victor was fairly sure he had lost his old will to live in the opium stored in the Russian nesting dolls.

Why was he even apologizing? Holmes was the one living in a pigsty. Victor kept his chemistry materials impeccably organized, bullets in the kitchen icebox, pig hearts on the bathroom counter, and tobacco in his wallet, as any sensible person would.

Exasperated, he gestured vaguely at the chaotic cabinets. "This is—this—" Victor turned back to Holmes, seemingly at a loss for words. "What is this, Mr. Holmes?"

[trinkettes]

the contrarian part of me wanted to not like the character everyone loves, but unfortunately i must admit that the sexy vampire everyone likes in baldur's gate. is very likable.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Clownfall: the Election Cometh

It's a long one, lads. Buckle up, get comfy, but the circus is in town for its final run. Ambient music as you read can be found here or here, take your pick. Get popcorn. Get snacks and water and a blanket.

Are you sitting comfortably?

Wednesday 22nd May

7.12am

Household favourite and queen of our hearts Pippa Crerar of the Guardian (her who did the investigative journalism that revealed PartyGate to the world) reports that UK inflation fell to a mere, paltry 2.3% in April.  The lowest level in three years!  Huzzah! But … still smaller than the decline that was expected. 

Nonetheless, Rishi Sunak and Jeremy Cunt whoops I'm so sorry I meant Cunt haha whoops said it again make a big fuss about how brilliant this news is, and how it shows that they are Good At Maffs after all that trouble with Liz Truss and Kwasi Kwarteng, who defined themselves as being Good At Maffs and then obliterated the economy in a single day.  Remember that! Good times. But hey, look, THIS PM/Grand Vizier combo are great at this! Inflation has fallen! Stop looking at the predicted rate! A fall is still a fall!

Crerar wonders whether people will actually feel better off, though – prices and mortgage rates are still high, after all. Food for thought.

10.04am

Jeremy Hunt is asked on the Today programme whether Sunak will call a general election.

Now, the logic here is that the government is likely to do better in an election if the economy’s improving; which, SunakCunt are now shrieking from the rooftops. So, is now the time? It's a win, and they've had so few of those, but historically people really do like to fall for the right wing = better economy myth... 

BUT – the Tories are doing so very badly in the polls.  Journalists favour the idea of an autumn election.  Tories do better when the weather’s bad, because fewer people go out and vote.

 “Well that’s a matter for the prime minister, it’s not a matter for me,” says Cunt. 

... Well.  Not ruling it out, then? Diddorol.

10.30am

It's Wednesday, aka the date that Tory cabinet ministers have their weekly meeting. They are duly sent the agenda.

There is no mention at all of an election announcement, nor any plan for an election.

Fair enough! 'Twas an idle thought. Plus, it would actually be bad timing from a logistical perspective - David Cameron, Foreign Secretary and Bae of Pigs, is currently flying out to Albania for an important international meeting, and Jeremy Cunt is on TV all day today - ITV next.

12.18pm

Sunak is asked at Prime Minister’s Questions whether he’ll call a general election.  He doesn’t rule it out.

12.56pm

Fun tweet alert!

2.31pm

Pippa Crerar asked Sunak’s press secretary whether he was calling an election.  She refused to comment.

Surely it’s a terrible time to call an election! Everyone hates them!  But suddenly …

A Cabinet meeting is scheduled for 4.15pm.  David Hameron suddenly u-turns in Albania and comes straight back home, his meeting un-met.  Jeremy Cunt cancels his ITV appearance.  The afternoon meeting is cancelled. Number 10 stops responding to journalists.  Manifesto work has stepped up.  Sunak’s chief-of-staff is spotted wearing a suit and tie WHICH IS UNUSUAL.  Senior ministers have spent the last few days doubling down on dividing lines.  And Tory bosses had a meeting this week to discuss how much money they could spend before a summer election.

The UK press sense blood in the water.

3pm

Okay.

There’s something you need to understand:

People suspect Rishi Sunak doesn’t actually want to live in the UK.  He’d prefer to be in California.  He’s here because he’s an MP.

You need to know this to understand this truly historic incident.

Nadine Dorries has produced a good tweet.

...

...

...

No, we all need to sit with this one for a minute

(For the record... to us, that is an excellent joke. But I strongly suspect she wasn't joking and was trying to make a catty accusation instead, which coincidentally appeared like a roast.

Scientists are referring to this as Stopped Clock Syndrome.)

5.17pm

With great dignity, Rishi Sunak stands outside Number 10 and announces a general election on 4 July.

And by “great dignity”, I mean he’s soaked by rain, while “Things Can Only Get Better” plays in the background courtesy of an anti-Tory protestor with a big speaker and a dream; the song adopted by he Labour Party for the 1997 election, where Tony Blair famously won a landslide victory after 18 years of Tory rule. Eventually, the volume of it is raised so high Sunak is, on more than one level, drowned out.

5.37pm

According to Gabriel Pogrund of the Times, Labour can’t believe Number 10 allowed this to happen.

One Labour insider texts: “Umbrellas are woke”

6.06pm

Good tweet alert!

8pm

A later Guardian article reports that Sunak greeted around a hundred Tory activists – still wearing the same rain-soaked trousers from the announcement.

No word at all on why he doesn't have aides capable of fetching him dry trousers. Perhaps those, too, are woke.

8.14pm

A Sky News reporter is at Sunak’s campaign launch.  But, bafflingly, he’s forcibly removed.  Extraordinary scenes

Elanor's Pro Tip: Removing a journalist may not be the best PR move for the start of an election trail.

8.27pm

9.36pm

A GBNews reporter claims that some Tory MPs are trying desperately to replace Sunak as leader in order to call off the general election.  For this to work, they’d need a vote of no confidence before the dissolution of parliament on Thursday 30 May.  Except actually, that would have to happen before the proroguing of parliament on Friday 24 May.

So … this won’t work.  But how very incredible - and hilarious - that they’re trying.

10.39pm

Let's take a look at the evening headlines!

A great start to Sunak’s campaign, with newspapers - including the Tory giant The Telegraph - celebrating the triumphant launch of his campaign:

Well! WHAT a day! Let's see how Thursday goes.

Thursday 23 May

8.00am

The BBC takes a moment to gleefully throw off the shackles of political oppression of the last 12 years to reveal that Rishi Sunak's announcement of a July election, the single most important announcement for a sitting government, the most sensitive and vitally-timed event in their calendar...

Was a total surprise to the rest of the party.

Tory party MPs found out when we did that they were about to have to campaign again. For a snap GE. Three weeks after having just done it for the council elections, in which they experienced the greatest single loss of their councillors in history. Even the damn meeting agenda was fake.

Still. Perhaps this explains the lack of umbrella or trousers.

9.09am

Nigel Farage confirms he will NOT stand at the general election. 

*pause for applause*

That’s because he’s helping Trump get re-elected in the US right now.

*pause for screams*

This is good news for the Tories!  And the rest of Britain, actually (commiserations to America. Please shoot him). Farage’s right-wing populist party - Reform UK - is the spiritual successor to UKIP and the Brexit Party, who’ve been splitting the right-wing vote for years.  Farage is popular; it’s bad news for Reform if he’s not part of their campaign, but simply fantastic news for those of us who think queer folks, women and people of colour deserve human rights.

9.19am

According to BBC News and others, Sunak has hired Isaac Levido, the election strategist behind the Tories’ landslide win in 2019.  Levido knows his stuff, and advised Sunak to stick with an autumn election.

Sunak ignored this advice.  Lol.

9.20am

In the Guardian, Sunak says there WON’T be planes of immigrants flying to Rwanda before the general election.  Good news for those of us who think it’s monstrous to deport immigrants to countries with unsafe governments.  Bad news for Tory voters who were hoping to get racists to vote for them.

Now, this is particularly funny, because promising to deport refugees to Rwanda in spite of overwhelming legal opposition on human rights grounds is probably the single hill that the Tories have chosen to commit genocide on. This bill has been in and out of every court in the land since they promised it in 2019. It's been on again off again more than a tawdry tabloid romance. But, they finally managed to push it through, and the first planes were set to fly in July.

This means! That Sunak's strongest cards going into the election were the drop in inflation, and the Rwanda bill. He could sell it as "In spite of those bleeding heart liberals, we persevered and managed to tenaciously get rid of these browns and thus fulfilled our promise", and the fact that it won't actually affect the immigration numbers wouldn't be clear until after the election. And make no mistake, it is VITAL that those planes fly before any election - quoth one influential Conservative MP on the right of the party to the BBC:

“I know what question you’re going to ask us again and again. "You’ll say we’ve been banging on about Rwanda for years and we’ve only managed to fly one migrant out there - and we paid him to go”.

It took a single day for that gamble to dramatically fail.

Lol. Lmao, even. One might almost say rofl.

9.21am

Sunak is emphasising his own role in managing the economy.

The Guardian’s Rowena Mason points out that it might be better to sell this as a Tory victory rather than a Sunak victory, considering how badly Sunak’s doing as an individual in the polls.

10.45am

I'm obviously giving a lot of attention here to the funniest and most ridiculous stuff, but let’s take a moment to celebrate some genuinely brilliant journalism:

0_o

The whole article’s worth reading. It confirms that at least one more hi-vis wearer was a Tory councillor in disguise (in this case Ben Hall-Evans). Perhaps this is why they started by removing all the real journalists.

12.42pm

Sunak’s campaign takes him to a brewery in Wales!  He attempts some Bonding With The Working Man and asks the workers if they’re excited for the football.

Top tip: if you don’t realise the country you’re in hasn’t qualified for the Euros, maybe don’t even mention the subject.

6.55pm

... here is a new problem. Ish.

As mentioned, three weeks ago, England held local council elections. In that time, the Tories lost over half their councillors; an unprecedented and staggering loss in one event. We are all still bathing in the schadenfreude.

But, many of those then left the party (probably fairly, actually - monsters though Tories are, that cannot have been fun.) But, the way politics in the UK works is that when you vote, you don't vote for the party - you vote for your local representative, and then it's a numbers game as to which party gets to rule. This means, with this sudden last-minute possibly-impulsively-declared-by-one-soggy-madman election now six weeks away, those candidates all need replacing so that the Tories will have a shot at getting the numbers they need to form a majority government.

Channel 4’s Paul McNamara reports that Conservative HQ have emailed asking for candidates in almost 100 seats.  The deadline’s tight for this – and apparently, joining the lengthening list of people who weren't informed of this stupid election plan, Tory associations are livid at being left so unprepared.

Now, a lot of these seats are Labour strongholds, so you don’t necessarily need more than a token Tory candidate for them. Phew! A great relief.

But some of them are actually good Tory seats. Uh oh!  Basildon, Bury St Edmunds, Wellingborough and Rushden …  It’s a bad hit to the Tories to have so little time to find good candidates for these seats.

8.59pm

Labour launch a campaign video.  It’s long, but the message is, “Remember life before the Tories got into power?  Wasn’t it BRILLIANT?”

And to prove how great 2009 was, they’ve included a clip of David Tennant’s Dr Who saying “I don’t want to go.”

Lol.

9.57pm

Filmmaker Richard Cubitt jokily suggests he could stand as a Tory candidate, and immediately defect to Labour as soon as possible once elected.

I don’t know if the deadline’s closed, but I am now speaking to the chat. Lads: the time will never be better. Do it. Tell the Tories you'll stand for them. Immediately defect. You have the opportunity to do the funniest thing. Be the rot in the barrel. The time is now.

ANYWAY. Oh boy. Day one of campaigning was quite bad. Ah well! Onwards and upwards for Wali Heb Broli. Let's see what Friday brings.

And of course: the losses are staggering (100 candidates!), but it could be worse.

At least it's not senior MPs.

Friday 24 May

7.00am

Over 70 MPs confirm they will not be standing for re-election.

7.35am

It’ll be lovely to see this election get rid of some truly awful Tories.  But no need to wait that long!  John Redwood stands down.  I haven't mentioned him before, but let's look at his clownface eggshell.

He opposed reducing the age of consent for homosexuality in 1994 and 1999, he voted to keep Section 28 in 2003, he opposed same sex marriage, he voted to reintroduce the death penalty in 1988, 1990 and 1994, he’s argued against Greta Thunberg over the UK’s climate emissions.

Although English, he became Secretary of State for Wales in 1993, and at a Tory conference, had to mime badly to the Welsh national anthem which he hadn’t bothered learning.  In 1995, he cheated Wales out of a £100 million grant by returning it unspent to the treasury, so it could go back to England.

So, John – if by some fantastically rare chance you’re somehow reading this – it’s wonderful to see you step down.  I wish you a very warm fuck you.  And I hope the rest of your life is absolutely horrible and filled with immeasurable pain. Kisses.

7.58am

Vicky Spratt of the i newspaper announces that, with an election announced, the Renters’ Reform won’t pass.

This is a big deal, actually - this was a rare good promise in the Tories’ 2019 manifesto to protect renters by ending no-fault evictions.  A good promise!  With cross-parliamentary support, only slowed as much as it was because most Tory backbenchers are landlords and so tried to block it. But the fighting raged on, and it was finally agreed.

And now it’s broken.  Wasting months of work by stakeholders, and thus forming another election promise that would have sailed through if only the election hadn't been called for July.

8.09am

Jeremy Corbyn – remember him? Former Labour leader, who was expelled from the Labour party in 2020 – confirms he’ll be standing as an independent.  He’s continued to be a member of Labour despite being an independent MP – but standing against Labour in an election means he’ll have his membership revoked too.

9.26am

So where are we at? How do you reckon the normal Tories in the party are faring? Do you think they're positive of a win? Do you think they expect to lose?

Great Guardian article here:

Highlights - one government minister happened to bump into his equivalent opposition member, and immediately thrust his official folder towards them, saying, “You might as well have this now.”

Another Tory MP hugged a Labour colleague and cast their arm around the room.  “Good luck.  This is all yours.”

One Tory backbencher was asked if it was a good idea to call an election.  “It’s a disaster. I can’t understand it.”

Even when they’re being optimistic, the Tories seem a little glum.  One long-standing MP said: “Of course I’m going to fight it, I don’t believe in just giving up like the prime minister has obviously decided to.”

A former minister raises an interesting point.  It’s not long, after all, since the Tories suffered those major defeats at the local council elections.  That's impacted the number of candidates, of course - but, local canvassing is largely done, on all parts of the political spectrum, but activist volunteers.

That loss was three weeks ago. If you were a volunteer who just spent weeks knocking on the doors of your neighbours and community, trying to convince them to vote for the dead horse, and then lost – maybe you won’t feel like hitting the streets again so soon. Maybe you'd prefer to be able to meet your neighbours' eyes when you bump into them in the bread slicing queue at Morrisons.

Some MPs have even admitted they won’t be cancelling holiday plans to fight the election.  On top of that, there's over 70 MPs that have already confirmed they’re quitting and won’t be seeking re-election!!! Absolute scenes.

Interestingly, some anti-Sunak Tories report frustration.  They reckon they were close to calling a vote of no-confidence, in the hopes of replacing Sunak with a different leader.  No idea if this is true – and if true, whether Sunak knew it. But given the panicked speed at which it seems to have been called...

11.08am

The campaign takes Rishi Sunak to the Titanic Quarter, to be interviewed by Belfast Live.

Elanor's Pro Tip: if you’re the leader of a failing political party, maybe don’t let journalists interview you on a site named after history’s most famous sinking ship.

11.57am

How’s the campaign going, Rishi?

Oh, Rishi. Looks like someone else is not meeting anyone's eyes in the bread-slicing queue.

1.12pm

Politics UK reports that 75 Tory MPs are now standing down at the election – the same number of Tories who stood down ahead of the 1997 election.

2.49pm

Sunak’s campaign takes him on board an aeroplane.

Elanor's Pro Tip: if you’re the leader of a failing political party, maybe don’t be photographed in front of an exit sign.

7.07pm

MICHAEL GOVE ANNOUNCES HE’S STANDING DOWN AS AN MP!

I could honestly use that gif like seventeen times in this write up. You can all thank me for my restraint in choosing just one.

The 79th Tory to do so at this election – an all-time record exodus.  Hey gang, would you like to see some familiar names joining him in this?

Theresa May

Sajid Javid

Dominic Raab

Matt Hancock

Ben Wallace

Nadhim Zahawi.

It’s just … not a great sign for the party, is it? That so many prominent MPs don’t reckon it’s worth sticking around.

7.50pm

Hey, remember those parody videos of Hitler getting angry with funny subtitles?  Someone made a good Sunak one:

10.48pm

The Guardian’s Kiran Stacey reports that Sunak will retreat from the campaign trail, spending the next day at home.

Honestly... that's probably best. Let him recover from the bread excitement.

10.50pm

We round off the day with Andrea Leadsom announcing she too is standing down as an MP. Bye, bitch.

WHAT A DAY! Still, Saturday will probably be better.

Saturday 25 May

12am

New episode of Doctor Who drops! It contains Welsh faeries. I later write a post explaining this. You're all welcome. Back to the circus.

10.06am

Good tweet alert!

11.14am

Keir Starmer promises to lower the voting age from 18 to 16 if he wins the election.

2.43pm

Hey remember how David Hameron was supposed to be in Albania? And actually went there? And then had to come back because of Rishi's totally-planned-for election announcement?

The Mirror reports that David Cameron spent £60,000 of taxpayers’ money getting to Albania for that trip.  He was there for 89 minutes, before he had to come back in light of the general election announcement.

This means it cost the country £674 a minute for Cameron to be in Albania for about as long as it takes to watch The Lion King.

6.14pm

Labour and the Tories put candidates forward for 650 seats in a general election.

Of course, that's not quite all of them. The Times’ Patrick Maguire understands that Labour have only 13 candidates left to select, which is pretty good.  The Tories are missing slightly more than that. 

They need to find around 190.

(The number is rising. Chat, you know what to do.)

9.29pm

According to the Telegraph, Theresa May has said if she was still PM she would have used an umbrella to declare the election.

She probably would have, too.

10.11pm

Now then!!! Gather round boys and girls and all the rest!

Remember: the election was called based upon the following main cards in Sunak's hand:

The Rwanda bill

Inflation falling

The Renter's Reform Bill

Inflation fell, but not by as much as it should have. The Rwanda plan fell through a day later. The election itself has blocked the Renter's Reform bill.

Rishi needs a new set of promises stat, in order to shore up votes from his most important bastions of support. What can he offer?

The evening brings the answer!

At 10.11pm - note the time - in spite of having taken the day off, Sunak promises mandatory national service for every 18 year old if he wins the election.  Either a year-long army placement, or a weekend a month volunteering for a year.

Sounds like a good pledge, if you’re hoping to motivate 18-year-olds to vote against you.

10.16pm

The Financial Times’ Jim Pickard reveals that the National Citizen Service (David Cameron’s legacy project) had its funding slashed by two-thirds in a 2022 review of government youth funding - when the chancellor was Rishi Sunak.

Five minutes.  That’s how long it took a journalist to melt Sunak’s new pledge.

Still; Tories never let facts get in the way.

10.27pm

Politics UK reports that leaked documents suggest teenagers would be jailed for refusing this national service.

11.47pm

Sunak's bad ideas generator works hard, but the meme makers of the internet work harder:

Still. Sunday is a day of rest! Hopefully Sunday will be better.

Sunday 26 May

9.50am

Let’s check the Sunday tweets.

Starting to think whoever is in charge of optics for Rishi Sunak may be a Labour plant.

10.21am

Fantastic tweet alert:

I Agree With Gabby

3pm

And then... PLOT TWIST!!!

FT’s Lucy Fisher reports that Sunak’s national service pledge - including assigning up to 30,000 18-year-olds to the military - was rejected this week by one of his own defence ministers.

Defence personnel minister Andrew Murrison warned of a hit to morale, headcount and resources if “potentially unwilling national service recruits” were introduced alongside Britain’s professional armed forces.

EVEN THE ARMY DON'T WANT THIS.

6.47pm

And then:

Incredible story from Gabriel Pogrund of the Times.

St Paul’s School, if you haven't heard of it, is an expensive and famous private school in England somewhere (I forget where and don't care).  As with other private schools, they’d be subject post-election to a Labour plan to remove their VAT exemption.

Tory MP Greg Hands took matters into his own Greg hands, and messaged the school’s parents’ WhatsApp group to try and drum up anti-Labour sentiment.

I can see the logic. These are parents with money, who have chosen to send their children to a private school that often means an easy track into politics generally and the Tory party specifically. I see why he thought he was safe.

Tumblrs, he was not safe.

Parents intervened, complaining about Hands spamming the chat, and claiming his use of the chat was “inappropriate”.

One parent messaged: “Can we stop assuming everyone is a Tory in this group.  A return to more morality, less corruption and more social conscience in British politics is not something to oppose necessarily.”

Another expressed that some parents will “feel it is hard to defend private schools being vat exempt.”

Ouch. Swing and a miss, Greg Hands.

Anyway. New week, new campaigning. I am writing this on Tuesday, and so our tale is nearly at an end for now; so let's see what happened on Monday.

Monday 27 May (Yesterday)

7.40am

Britain's teenagers respond to the national service plan. I love this tweet and the video it reposts:

And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the video:

8.17am

Tory MP Steve Baker (more on him later) actually tweets a public criticism of Sunak’s national service plan.  You might be thinking "Well yes, obviously"! But no! For you see, when approaching elections, parties need to be united. Divided parties generally find it harder to win elections.

Naughty Steve.

8.41am

Foreign Office Minister Anne-Marie Trevelyan, having seen the absolute shambles of Sunak’s campaigning, wakes up this fine Monday morn and invites him to hold her beer.

Appearing on Times Radio, she’s asked whether the parents of teenagers could be prosecuted if the teens refuse to take up national service.

And she doesn’t rule it out.

NO BUT WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT ARE YOU DOING ANNE-MARIE. IS THIS YOUR FIRST DAY OUT OF THE HOUSE.

Parents are NOT prosecuted for any wrongdoing of their ADULT CHILDREN.  How do you not understand this basic legal concept. The answer to that question was “no”!  You say “no” because it makes your party more likely to be elected, and you say “no” because the answer is no.

Oh dear. What a gaffe, as the papers say. Gosh, I really hope Anne-Marie Trevelyan’s gaffe stays contained.

8.56am

The Telegraph duly reports that parents of 18-year-olds might be fined if their children refuse national service.

Anne-Marie Trevelyan’s gaffe did not stay contained.

10.55am

Looks like the Tories are unhappy that the press revealed that Sunak took a day off from campaigning.

But that’s okay, they have a new strategy!  Reported by Politico, they’ve decided to suggest that Keir Starmer is too old to be a good Prime Minister.

They called him “weary” yesterday afternoon;

Tory Party Chair Richard Holden says it’s “bizarre” for Starmer to rest at home the day before a speech (but not for Rishi to - ? You know what, never mind);

A Tory aide tells the Sun that Starmer should be dubbed “Sir Sleepy” (what a Zinger, as those conscripted into national service say);

Another Tory aide calls Starmer “Sleepy Keir” according to the FT.

Keir Starmer is 61 years old.

11.17am

Let's check Tory candidate numbers!!!

Now last we looked it was 190, but obviously, as this is possibly their most urgent priority, they've been working flat out and recruiting across the land and so they have, fair play, managed to reduce that number.

The Spectator therefore reports that the Tories have 12 days to select 160 candidates.  Would you like to see the maths?

This means, on average, they need to select one candidate every 100 minutes.  Which is slightly less time than it takes to watch Toy Story 3.

#ChatYouKnowWhatToDo

12.41pm

The FT’s Lucy Fisher reports that Tory HQ has accidentally sent out an email criticising Tory MPs for failing to campaign, and warning of financial concerns in some seats.

Cannot stress this enough: even if the Tory campaign was going really well and they were predicting a landslide their way, this would be a terrible blow.

5.02pm

The Mirror reports that Tory MP Steve Baker is on holiday in Greece.  That’s pretty irresponsible, isn’t it?  What does Baker have to say for himself?

"The Prime Minister told everyone we could go on holiday and then called a snap election. So I've chosen to do my campaign work in Greece."

… this is the greatest Tory campaign in history.

(And once again... when exactly did you decide to do this, Rishi?)

5.15pm

In an absolutely baffling move whose motives I still cannot entirely fathom, Tory MP Lucy Allan - a repugnant, malignant liar of a woman who once altered an email from a constituent so she could claim it contained a death threat against her - is suspended by the party, for telling voters in her ward to vote for Reform UK instead of the Tories.

...

...

...

...wwwhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

6.18pm

Good tweet alert! Here's political journalist Jonn Elledge:

6.30pm

Meanwhile, a Tory chooses to contact journalist Theo Usherwood over WhatsApp, criticising the election strategist Isaac Levido:

Now this is particularly interesting, because Levido is the guy who managed to swing the last GE to BlowJo, even though Labour were riding high on Corbyn. And I don't know, maybe he is actually shit at this and all that was luck.

I just... wouldn't have said he was the reason for this one going the way it is. Necessarily.

Finally, let's finish off Monday with a last good tweet:

10.06pm

***

That's all for now, folks! Thank you for reading, enjoy the circus playing out this week!

[selineram3421]

👁️

You're Off-key

Part 1

Prologue

Reader X Gravity Falls

Warnings ⚠

⚠ italics=thoughts, swear words, some or many book of bill spoils, blood, mentions of a concussion, minor panic attack, we pacing now lol, ugh Disney mention ⚠

Ow..

You woke up in pain and the sunlight hitting your eyes.

Everything hurt.

Like a lot.

Geez.. You thought with a groan. Why is everything so bright? What is this vividness? Disney?

Sitting up, you notice that you're still in the woods and it's around noon or at least in the afternoon. Rubbing the back of your head, you try to remember what happened.

I was in the woods..with spaghetti and..my best friend was going to take my picture. Ow-!

You hiss and you pull your hand away from your head, finding blood once getting a look at it.

"Oof ok, time to go get help.", you said to yourself and stood up.

Like any gamer out there, you checked your surroundings before checking your inventory. So far you were deep in the woods that looked oddly..cartoonish? And you had a backpack nearby with a water bottle, phone, and wallet inside.

Where's my flashlight? Wait, I had a flashlight? Also, where's by bestie?

Every time you thought about it your head would start hurting.

"Never mind that, I have to get moving before it gets dark out.", you sighed and began walking.

In all honesty, you did not know where you were going. Just picked a direction and decided that was good enough. Maybe you'll find civilization or maybe you're walking deeper into the woods. Who knows!

My brain is a little optimistic right now. You thought. Or maybe it's due to lack of sleep.. I was driving the whole time.

Then you started getting a little clumsy.

Tripping, swaying, falling flat on your face a few times, and overall just feeling drained. Also, you kept hearing maracas? Was that some kind of bird or something?

Ah, wait. Wasn't that the Hide Behind? You remembered about reading it in Journal 3 and that scene when Mabel says maraca owl. Maybe it is a maraca owl or maybe it's the tall thing that follows people.

Currently, you were laying on the ground because you fell..haha. AGAIN.

Thank Glob you landed on grass this time.

Ok. Do I or do I not take a nap? Probably not the best choice because I might have a concussion. Hm..the choices.

Deciding on one last try, you push yourself off the ground, take a quick sip of water, and continue on your journey! Nothing was gonna stop you now-!

Oh, a bird!

Then you ran into something, fell back and hit your head on the ground.

It was silly because it was kinda like a light switch.

You were awake and then you passed out,

Ha!

⯅

OW! How many times am I going to wake up in pain!?

"Great job Dipper! You killed someone!", a feminine voice said.

"They aren't dead! They just hit their head and passed oUt after they fell!", another voice says with a slight voice crack.

"Haha ha!", the girl laughs. "Your voice cracked."

Slowly waking up, you feel a type of rocking motion, like you're in a car or something.

A car!?

You sit up quickly. Too quickly and almost fall out of the golf cart but someone manages to pull you back to the seat.

"Whoa! Careful, you do not want to fall out of this thing when going almost full speed.", the female voice says next to you.

Looking over, you find a brown haired girl wearing a keyboard sweater.

"Hi! I'm Mabel! I have a pet pig named Waddles!!", she introduces herself loudly.

You feel your head hurt at her polite screeching.

"Ow. Hold on, give me a sec.", you say and rub your forehead.

"Uh.. Mabel? It's not a good idea to be loud around someone who just woke up after hitting their head.", the guy says, who you are assuming is driving the golf cart.

"Oops.", the girl, Mabel, smiles at you sheepishly. "My bad."

You wave her off.

"It's fine, I've dealt with worse.", you reassure.

"Let me start again.", she says and extends a hand for you to shake. "I'm Mabel and the one driving the golf cart is my twin brother, Dipper."

"STOP THE CART!"

The golf cart screeches to a stop and you hobbled your way out, beginning to pace back and forth.

Holyshitthisexplainsalot!That'swhyeverythingwassobrightandcartoonybecasuethisisfuckingDisneyshit!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH-!

"Uh..you ok there?", Mabel asks.

"Um? Maybe? I-", you begin but then panic about what to say next.

Shitshitshitshit! Think of something! Anything!

"I don't remember how I got into the woods..", you say and cringe.

Yeah! Nice job! Now you're suspicious! YA DOINKUS!

"O..k, so you hit your head harder than we thought.", Dipper speaks up. "Let's get you patched up and see what we can do from there, ok?"

Pros: Going with two of your favorite characters will lead to adventures. Cons: They might try to read your mind to see if you're a threat and might threaten you with some random weapons..

.....

"I guess I can go with you guys until I can go to the hospital or something.", you say and finally stop imprinting foot prints into the dirt.

"Cool!", Mabel cheers. "Let's go! I've got Mabel juice in the fridge and I wanna see if the new dinosaurs inside taste different!"

"That's not how that works.", her brother mumbles and puts the golf cart in drive.

Hopping back on, you notice your backpack was opened.

"Uh? Who raccooned into my pack?", you asked.

"Racooned?", the Pines driving asks.

"Dug through your stuff? That was Dip.", Mabel says, completely understanding what you meant.

"Oh, sorry.", Dipper pipes up. "That was to see your ID, nothing else. I mean, wouldn't you try to identify someone after they passed out randomly?"

He is kinda right.

"Understandable racooning.", you say and start to brain storm ideas for a plan on how to stay under the radar.

Ok, so I might have/most likely freed Bill and now I have to do something about it before he's running wild around Gravity Falls again...fun.

You sigh and just decide to sit back and enjoy the ride for now.

Jerk didn't let me keep the pictures.

The sun was starting to set, within a few minutes you saw the Mystery Shack in the distance.

23 1 12 11 9 14 20 15 20 8 5 16 9 14 5 19

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@diffidentphantom @sleep-7372 @boredwithlifeatthispoint @mspurpl3 @+?

GF List🏞️ | YO-🎹

[burningcheese-merchant]

Is it just me or does Burning Spice give me a lot of possessive yandere vibes?

Wait, hear me out: Yan! Burning Spice x Golden Cheese.

You're right on the money, brother 🙌🙌🙌 You understand completely.

One-sided BurningCheese can't NOT have Spice be a yandere. That level of pure evil, plus all that suspicious behavior I outlined in my ship masterpost? Foregone conclusion, practically. She didn't just steal his Soul Jam, she stole his fucking sanity. She's the air that he breathes. The blood pumping through his veins. She's the only reason he's got left to live. The ultimate truth of the universe is that they were destined from the moment she took his Soul Jam. He belongs to her, and she belongs to him. It's as simple as that.

That hooded subordinate that tagged along with her to Beast-Yeast? The only reason he's still alive is because Spice was too busy focusing on his beloved. He HATES that little worm. He wants his head on a pike YESTERDAY. How dare he look at her? How dare he speak to her? How dare he smile and laugh and reminisce with her? This won't do. No, no, no.

Her friends, the other heroes? Absolutely not. Where were they when she lost everything? While she succumbed to grief and delusion for all those years? When she awoke in empty ruins? HE was there, in a way. By her side, through their connection via the Soul Jam. He's already done so much for her. She's always been in his thoughts, in his heart. The only thing keeping him going inside that prison was her. The thought of her. Her image, her voice, the unspoken promise between them... That promise to finally meet, to battle, to become one. Did THEY do anything like that for her? Did THEY hunger for her day and night like he did? Like he still does? She doesn't need them, they're all failures. They're WEAK. He isn't.

Her kingdom? Her people? All dead, you say? Slaughtered like pigs, stitched back together and stuffed into golden caskets in a feverish, feeble attempt at self-soothing? GOOD. She doesn't need them, either. WEAKLINGS. FOOLS. Had it not been that vile witch, it would've been him instead, because he can't stand the thought of her caring for anything and anyone else but him. She was enough for him, she was his entire world, why can't he be the same to her? How could anyone else understand her? Love her? Please her? HE can do those things. HE knows her, HE loves her, HE wants her, HE needs her, more than any of them ever did or ever will.

He broke out of prison for her. He sent his soldiers on a back-breaking hunt for her. He waited, and waited, and waited - in that tree, in that container, in his tomb, on his throne, for hours and hours and hours, for her. Just for her. He'd NEVER waste a single second of his time like this for anyone else. No one's ever captivated him like this before. Inspired him, hypnotized him. Not even when he was still a hero. She's different. She truly is a goddess. HIS goddess. They're two halves of one whole. So different, but so much alike in so many ways. It is destiny. THEY are destiny.

And if he has to resume his reign of terror, if he has to crush every spice under his command, if he has to comb every inch of Beast-Yeast- no, the WORLD - in search of her, if he has to raze what little remains of her civilization to the ground, if he has to rip all of her friends to pieces, if he has to beat that absolute truth into her himself, then SO FUCKING BE IT!

Haha delusional mass murdering stalker go brrr

Hope this unwarranted writing ramble satisfies you lol

[squeakadeeks]

Can I be nosy and ask how you got scurvy. In exchange you can take anything you want from my fridge vegetable drawer

oh totally. the fact that i had scurvy remains one of the weirdest twists in this ol life o' mine.

part of this story is funny, the other part not so funny. (TW EDs)

the not so funny part is I got to the point of developing scurvy in an insanely predictable way. I've had a clinical ED all my adult life and a lot of the PSAs warn you about the surface level stuff like "your hair will fall out!" "you'll be tired all the time!" which....yeah. but if you restrict hard enough and long enough youre basically doing a "stranded on a desert island DIY POV" simulation. not to sugar coat it but I was deeply unwell and doing some absolutely Insane things. i was living hot Sir Ernest Shackleton boy summer. except it wasnt hot it was horrible and Shackleton probably wouldve been deeply disappointed and confused by the whole situation.

but as one would naturally imagine if you are tit for tat nutritionally larping as a castaway, you will. Develop Diseases. I remember suddenly noticing that my teeth looked like straight ass and I was getting mouth sores but I wasnt sure why. I developed a fever for weeks that i couldnt shake, the skin on my hands kept chafing off and my fingers would lock up, in general my skin was really bizzare looking with weird scabs and dark spots, and overall i felt utterly awful. Ive been struggling with this for awhile so some of that was my ""normal"" at the time so I didnt really connect the dots until I was reading something about scurvy and went "haha funny sailor disease" only to pause and realise that with my dietary habits, i hadnt eaten fruit or anything containing vitamin C in well over a full calendar year. this caused me to look up the symptoms of scurvy with dawning horror that this mystery onset of symptoms was disturbingly close to scurvy, prompting me to go to the dr and low and behold I basically had la croix flowing through my veins with how terrible my blood levels were.

I was moving out for grad school within the season and i really didnt want to start that with a goddamn captain hook ass disease so for months I had to macrodose on vitamin C like I was a prized guinea pig. seeing those huge tablets still gives me flashbacks.

what gets funny is literally within the week of learning I had scurvy....I also had a major ocular melanoma scare. of which one of the treatments is to surgically remove the eye and/or have eyepatches involved. so for a few months in the summer of 2021 i was hobbling around with scurvy and an eyepatch on this beautiful green world of ours.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Player + Ghoul Reader

A player who showers their new classmate in gifts and praise in hopes of scoring a new lay. A slightly off-putting, but cute wallflower who true to their nature shies away from player's advances. "You don't want me. It'll just cause trouble for the both of us." Playing hard to get - how adorable. Truth be told, that aloof oddball is one of the cutest things they've seen in recent years. Aw, well - more fish in the sea. Player tucks a photo of that classmate in their wallet and tries to move on, but every partner they take on has some trait that reminds them of that person. They do anything to impress them while having the pretty thing they've been going "steady" with on their arm to no reaction everytime. They express genuine concern for their classmate with their fluctuation in weight and physical strength. It's so annoying - just like that knife pointing at their neck.

"You fucking asshole! I've seen how you look at them. You think you can just invite me over to your house and cover up the murals dedicated to them without me finding out? I know I'm not the only one either.... I'm going kill you, and hang you out to bleed - like the fucking pig that you are!"

They always knew this would come back to bite them in the ass, but not like this. Accepting their fate, they shut their eyes as their attacker advances. The wet squelch of tearing flesh rings sickly in their ears - but it's neither their blood spilled or their attacker's blade who dealt the killing blow. They open their eyes to see skin caught between another set of teeth - their partner reaching out to them to grab onto the faux strings of their love to save them from the fangs puncturing their jugular.

"H..elp...."

Snap.

With the last of their strength, they stab upwards. Like an unwanted doll, their body crumbles gracelessly to the floor. Tears rain upon their already soaked cheeks as to the silhouette loaming over falls to their knees; talons clawing at those jagged protrusions sticking out of their gums - a familiar bracelet around their wrist dyed in blood. They yank the knife sticking out of the side of their face like a thorn, the damage inflicted and the wear of starvation sealed under the grace of fresh, human blood.

"No.....nononono. I'm sorry.... I'm sorry... They were going to hurt you, and I'm.....I'm... so hungry. I didn't mean to do it. I had to do it. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. You're my only friend. I'm sorry!"

Their heart hammers in their chest, threatening to break free and crawl into their throat. You really were....the cutest thing they'd ever seen.

Player follows you everywhere after that. They can't let you slip out of their sights, or you may attempt to transfer schools like you'd done in the past. Nobody understands why such an outgoing and attractive person hovers over someone like you, but expressing their feelings on the matters vocally just results in them gaining some needed target practice and you with another hot meal. Long sleeves have never been their style, but it's better than people spreading the wild accusations that you of all people are hurting them - when they offer their flesh to you willingly and cook it into dishes they force you to eat in public or use the power of their influence on the student body and cry until the glaring eyes, and your hunger, break you. Their friends record you eating raw meat outside of the convenience store you bought it from and they couldn't be more disgusted. That beef was almost purely fat and they had a nice, healthy lean cut for you in their fridge.

-

Ghoul Reader, covered in blood and missing half their cheek from the force at which they rip out the knife: Sob - hick I'm a monster....

Yan Player: Haha, no baby - you're so sexy

[tadpolesonalgae]

His (Mine.) - Azriel x reader

A/N: anyone remember Filthy Mongrel? Well, this is the beginning of it all! Haha, I totally haven’t been fantasising about this dynamic for the past seven months (for the love of god, don’t embarrass me by figuring out how long this has been in my drafts)

Warnings: reader being bit of a dick to Azzie, swearing, Lord Devlon, only child writing siblings

“What?”

Your father’s brow dipped, lip curling at your tone, but chose to ignore it in favour of being rid of you as quickly as possible, “you know what the rules are.”

“You’re the one set against females learning to fight in the first place. Why am I being punished for not turning up to those lessons?” You seethed, hands clenched at your sides. “Be ready for tomorrow morning.” His tone made it clear that in his mind, the conversation was finished.

“No way,” you felt your temperature drop, surely as the blood drained from your face, “you’re actually expecting me to go along with this?” His brow remained dipped in distain at your unwelcome outburst. You huffed an empty laugh, “you want me to train with that dog?”

“That’s the end of the conversation.”

“Father—”

“Enough.”

You swallowed at the tone. He was serious.

“Out.”

You moved to open your mouth, but he stood from behind his desk. How pretentious was that? Calling your own daughter all the way into your office, that was in a whole other structure to your home. Still, you gritted your teeth, “have you no concern for your daughter? None?” His face was hard, but he wasn’t flaring his wings as a sign of warning so that was something. “You’d throw me to that beast over some small missteps?”

“Edvard will escort you to and from training, outside his own lessons,” was all your father replied with.

“But he trains for so much longer than I do. There will be hours of unmonitored time between the end of my session and his,” you pushed, heart beat raising slightly at the thought. “You should have thought about that before you failed to show up for the past three months.”

Your lips pursed.

“Now,” he spoke, returning to his chair, “do not cause me any more grief.” Frustration bubbled beneath your skin alongside an unhealthy dose of fear. Your lip curled as you left with a hardly concealed snarl in your father’s direction, storming out of his room only to run into a male body.

You reeled back in surprise, eyes narrowing as they met their mirror. “Evesdropping, twat bag?” Edvard gave you a guilty half-grin, “maybe.” Your lip curled at your brother, just a few inches above you now. “Did you know about it?” The smile dropped as he shook his head, his dark brown hair shifting tones in the limited light of your house, “dad told me that I should be up early and ready for tomorrow morning, but didn’t say what for.”

Both your eyes flickered to his office door, voices dropping below whispers, “so why are you here then? Surely not come all this way to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” He held up his hands innocently, “why do you think so little of me, dear sister,” he mocked. “I think so little of you, because you’re my twin, beloved brother,” you snapped back. A grin tipped the corners of his mouth, spark in his eyes, “you mean because you would do the exact same thing I’ve just done?”

There was a pause.

“Cunt,” you muttered under your breath, looking away.

Ed lowered his hands from where he’d be holding them in surrender, “come on, let’s go back. Have some food,” he suggested, turning and flaring a wing to wrap behind you and pull you along, “I’m starving.”

“Pig.”

“Growing male, actually.” He snapped back, shoving you forward before tucking his wing behind him. You rolled your eyes, descending the staircase with him padding quietly at your feet. “What we thinking tonight?” You jumped the last three steps, Ed hesitating two behind you before leaping to the floor.

“Soup?” He suggested, brows raised in question. You scrunched your nose. “Takes a while. Not sure if we have any onions in.” Ed scrunched his own nose, “I hate onions.” Both of you continued down the hallway, “probably good for you, then.” Ed raised a brow. “Because you hate them. Must mean they’re healthy.” His lip curled, “curse you, nature.” You stifled a laugh that came out as a snort. “Pig,” he muttered. “Dick,” you spat in return.

You reached for the front door handle, about to leave when it twisted on its own. You frowned before leaping backwards, dodging a smack to the forehead, stumbling backward into Ed who released a surprised yelp. The door swung open, a tall, well-built male striding through, casting a single glance over the two of you, affording a short nod of acknowledgement to your twin who straightened behind you.

“Dickhead,” you mumbled under your breath, the male continuing on his path down the hallway, catching the door and stomping out. You turned when Ed didn’t follow you out, turning in the entrance. He was staring after the male, watching as he disappeared down the corridor. “Ed,” you hissed, swatting him on the arm. He blinked, turning his head to you, a brow risen in confusion. You bulged your eyes in reply, hitching up your eyes brows. His own brow furrowed. “Stop eye-fucking the General,” you hissed. Edvard narrowed his eyes at you, scowling, “I wasn’t eye-fucking anyone,” he snapped, storming out of the doorway, you scowling right behind him.

He was striding intentionally faster, forcing you to speed up. “Slow down,” you snapped, managing to keep in pace with him, “what’s got your panties in a twist?” He refused to deign you with an answer, moving faster than before. You stopped, fists curling by your sides as your breath came out in fogged puffs, “Edvard!” He didn’t stop or slow down. Smoke practically poured from between your gritted teeth as you broke into a run, sprinting at him as your arms encased his lower waist, slamming into him at full speed, both of you collapsing to the ground.

Edvard snarled as he went down, both of you scrambling from the ground. You pulled yourself up over him as he turned onto his back with difficultly, his hands shoving at your shoulders as you were flung backwards, his legs tucking up beneath you then slamming into your hip bones, making sure to avoid your stomach. You were launched backward in the snow, stumbling and tripping over yourself until you smacked against the ground, landing on your wings with a pained hiss.

White spots tipped your vision as you pushed up onto your elbows too quickly, attempting to relive the pressure on your wings. When everything came back into focus, Edvard was stood over you, arms crossed, scowling. You snarled at him, hurrying to your feet, wobbling a little as dizziness momentarily swayed you, “what’s your problem?”

“No, what’s your problem?” He snapped, wings flaring behind him. Your brow narrowed at him. He huffed a curt sigh, “I’m not arguing with you here.” He turned on his foot, aiming for your house. “Fine,” you snapped, storming after him, making sure to shove into him as you passed, a snarl following shortly after.

————————

Weak sunlight filtered through your window, making you squeeze your eyes closed. Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the large bed, “Ed,” you mumbled drowsily, “wake up.” A low groan came from behind you and you felt it as he turned onto his side, pulling a pillow over his face. You leaned back, snatching the pillow away, “come on.”

Reluctantly, you made your way down stairs, having grabbed a warm robe to wrap yourself in as you turned to the fireplace. The fire was promptly lit, pouring the last of the water into the kettle before placing in on the flat surface above the roaring fire. From above came the heavy steps of your brother fetching the wooden pole he would string over his shoulders to carry the morning’s water inside.

Around two and a half hours later - according to the sundial in the centre of the settlement - you and your twin were both washed, dressed and fed. Anxious taps reverberated from beneath the table where your heel was repeatedly patting the floorboards. “This is the worst,” you groaned, slumping forward, forehead pressing into the table too. Ed yawned loudly, propping his cheek on his hand as he tried to keep his eyes open. “How much longer?”

“That’s the seventh time you’ve asked me since we finished the washing up,” he grumbled, dutifully raising from his sitting position to peer out the window, checking the sundial, “‘nother ten minutes?” You sighed heavily, groaning into the wood.

Edvard returned to the table, slumping back into the hard chair, “did dad tell you where this was going to happen?” You nodded into the table warily, pushing upright, “said it’d be in the forest. Think even he knew’t’d look bad. ‘Specially in a camp our size,” you sighed, yawning. Ed frowned, “that just makes it look worse,” he observed. You nodded, “go tell him yourself, we both know he won’t listen to me.”

Your twin blinked slowly, “you supposed to meet him in the forest? Like, am I s’pposed to walk you?” Your brow narrowed, nose wrinkling. “He’d’ve said that, right?” Ed furrowed his own brow, “probably?” He sounded unsure.

You sighed again, slamming your hands against the table top, making him jump. “I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.” Ed raised a single dark brow, “cards?” You shook your head, “pick-up-sticks?” He shook his head. “Stone-parchment-blade?” You suggested.

“As a game to decide, or, like, a game by itself?” Your brow furrowed, “was going to say a game by itself, but to decide, instead.” He nodded.

The two of you held out your palms, counting to three and chanting before settling on a move. Ed had his palm curled into a fist: stone. You had your three middle-most fingers stuck out, thumb holding down your pinky: blade. Your twin slumped onto the table, groaning, “why are you grumbling, you won?”

“Are you going to get the cards?”

“No,” you grinned.

“Yeah.” He nodded, “thought not.”

Halfway through the third round, a series of knocks were landed on the door. You made eye contact over your cards, Ed raising a brow, “you gonna get that?”

“You get it,” you hissed.

“What? Why should I get it?” He snapped.

“You’re the male!”

“That’s an unhealthy stereotype.”

“Big words,” you returned.

“I know what they mean, too,” he gloated.

“Very impressive,” you shot back, in a condescending tone, “but I don’t want to go in case you cheat.”

“Cheat? Me?” He looked offended, “I would never!”

You scoffed, “I would, so you would.”

“Why don’t both of us go?”

“Then it looks like we’re scared.”

“It’s almost as if we are,” Edvard snapped back.

“Why are you scared? I thought you loved bastards.”

His brow narrowed, “are you serious right now?”

You folded your arms across your chest indignantly.

Another series of knocks resounded through your home, a little louder than before. You both made eye contact, before quietly rushing out the kitchen door, stumbling over one another as you peered round the corner down the hallway leading to the front door. “I think it’s darker than normal,” you murmured, noting the dim light coming through the small, oval window placed in the upper centre of the wooden entryway. The two of you stood there a moment longer in silence, waiting.

“This is ridiculous,” you hissed. Your twin nodded in agreement.

Both of you remained where you were.

“Go on,” Edvard hissed, shoving you out into the hallway. As usual, he didn’t know his own strength, sending you careening into the wall, your arms coming up instinctively to block yourself. “Prick,” you hissed over your shoulder as you tried to find a confident stride. Then you were the other side of the door. A single slab of wood between you and the male on the outside. You refused to hesitate, hand wrapping around the handle and turning.

A cold gust of wind blew in, definitely a sign, making you grip the handle tighter. An outline of darkness silhouetted him against the bright outside; you clenched your jaw. Instinctively, your lip curled, brow narrowing as you took in his lean but powerful frame. As far as you could tell, he wasn’t carrying any weapons. As far as you could tell. So, that didn’t mean much. He was a weapon of himself.

“Y/N?” He asked, checking you were the right person despite obviously being certain. You raised your chin, looking down your nose at him. In a way. His eyes flicked upward over your shoulder. You refused to turn your eyes from the male for even a second. “Edvard, I take it?” Relief rinsed down your spine at your twin’s presence. “Yes sir,” Ed replied, not a stutter or tremble to be found; you could practically hear the uplifting grin in his words. “Cass tells me you’re making fine progress,” the male spoke. Cass? You didn’t fail to notice his attention skating over you in favour of your male sibling. Typical.

Beside you, Ed stood a little straighter. You could practically see his chest puffing out as pride shone in his eyes, “glad he thinks so.” Your eyes narrowed as you glared at him through your peripherals. Why was he acting so at ease now? This male was dangerous. Just because he, for some reason, believed the General to be trustworthy, did not exempt this one from your wariness.

Returning attention to the male, your gaze snagged on the darkness of his wings. Moving darkness. Your jaw tightened as you zoned back into the conversation. “Would you like some tea?” You nearly choked on your own saliva, forcing you to cough abruptly into your hand. “We’re out of tea,” you managed, silently cursing the unaware dick-face that was your twin. He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a pointed glare. His mouth pressed into a thin line, brows narrowing slightly, but he didn’t say anything else about coming inside.

“How long is this going to take?” You spoke, narrowing your eyes on the male before you, folding your arms over your chest. At the side of your head, you could feel Ed’s piercing gaze attempting to put a hole in your skull. “That’s up to you,” he replied, matching your tone perfectly. Your lip twitched but Ed decided to step in, “where exactly are we going?” The male’s eyes flicked back to your twin’s, once again skating over you. He nodded his head in the direction of the forest, before turning and setting off.

The two of you followed him out of your house before Edvard paused abruptly. You stopped, turning to look at him. “Cards!”

“You brought them with you?” You asked incredulously, noting he still held his hand of seven. “Just making sure you didn’t switch any,” he shot back disbelievingly. His eyes flickered over your shoulder to the large brute, “tiebreaker,” he grinned as he offered an explanation, “mind if I pop back in?”

“You aren’t going to take your sister’s?”

Your back stiffened.

Edvard’s brow lifted in confusion, gaze switching to you curiously. The hairs on your neck rose, tension gathering at the tip of your spine. Your twin looked at you expectantly, head cocked.

“Up her right sleeve.”

Your lip curled. Ed watched as you removed the card, sticking it out for him to take, pointedly avoiding his eyes. A bark of laughter came from his mouth as he took the card, “caught red-handed,” he grinned. Your cheeks warmed. “Not so sly after all, huh, quicksilver?”

“Well of course a bastard is going to be more underhanded,” you snapped, not taking any care to monitor your volume. Ed’s eyes narrowed down at you in a scathing glare, “will you shut up about that? It’s embarrassing,” he hissed, keeping his voice low.

“I thought being a low-born was nothing to ashamed of?” You snapped back. “You’re the problem,” he seethed, turning on his heel and storming back into your house, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

You had half a mind to turn and berate the adulterated brute for stepping into business that wasn’t his. You gritted your teeth, digging the nails of your left hand into your upper right arm, folding yourself tighter.

A few minutes passed and Ed was still inside the house. A fogged huff of annoyance slipped past your lips, your skin beginning to pebble beneath your clothes. You shifted on your feet, refolding your arms tighter than before, ducking your fingers between your sides and arms. What was taking him so long? Shifting your weight onto your other foot, leaning excessively to one side.

“Edvard’s taking a while,” came a deep drawl from behind you, making your ears twitch, lip curling at hearing his name from the brute’s mouth. You cast a glance over your shoulder - he was still in the same place - to check the sundial. “Why don’t you go check on him, then?” You gritted through your teeth. His eyes flicked down to yours, cold; observing. “Go on,” you kept your scowl up as you jerked your head in the houses direction before turning away from him again. You waited silently to see what he’d do. A few moments later, he passed you on silent feet, your muscles tensing as he moved toward the door, knocking before entering.

A puff of smog blew from your mouth as you exhaled, eyes flitting to the skies, keeping a keen eye out. Your lips tipped as you spotted a familiar figure coming in to land. The Lord landed smoothly, eyes instantly marking your presence as you approached, brow furrowed in displeasure, “why are you still here?”

“Waiting for the dog to come out. He went in to fetch Ed,” you supplied, tucking your wings in tighter and slightly hunching your shoulders. His gaze flicked to your house, lips tilting downward, just as the two emerged from the door.

Anticipation curled in your stomach as your father strode toward the two figures, following behind him quietly. “What’s the meaning of this?” He spoke, directing the question at your twin. Ed’s spine straightened, hands tightening behind his back, “kettle boiled over,” he answered, “he was helping clear the fire top.”

Your father’s resentful gaze fell on you. “You left the kettle on the fire?” He spoke, accusation underlying his words. You blinked, arms unfolding slightly before spinning an excuse, “it wouldn’t have boiled over if the fire had been put out. That’s more of a problem than forgetting a tiny scrap of metal.”

“You left the fire burning?” The question was directed at Ed but your father kept you beneath his irritated glare. “Yes, dad,” your twin admitted, knowing it was better for him to take the fall.

The menace in his gaze didn’t weaken, “neither of you eat tonight.” Your brow dipped at you straightened your spine, about to speak. “You’re sleeping downstairs,” he growled, piercing eyes flaring with barely dampened anger. “We wouldn’t have missed those things if his shadows hadn’t been playing at the windows,” you snapped the lie fluidly, jabbing a finger in the brute’s direction, hoping your father’s hatred for bastards would outweigh that he had for you. Ed glared at you from the other side of the war camp’s Lord.

“Another word from your mouth, girl, and you’ll be sleeping outside,” he snarled, lip curling in hardly restrained rage. This time Ed moved to speak, though you knew nothing good would come of it.

“It won’t happen again.” That was not Ed.

Three pairs of eyes settled on the tall male: curious, hateful, and reproachful. His shadows thinned to an almost imperceivable outline, a shallow veil of darkness to hide behind.

There was a tense pause, wondering if your father would settle for that or if he would insist of punishing one of you.

“See to it that it does not, Shadowsinger.” The word was practically spat.

Both you and your twin hardly breathed, too well acquainted with the repercussions of showing relief or anything but neutrality on your faces.

Edvard hastily shifted to the side as your father moved to return to the house. Neither of you showed any sign of reprieve until you’d both counted silently to fifty, long gone from your home, following quietly behind the male.

“Think we still won’t get food?” Ed broke the silence. You scowled at the Shadowsinger’s back, between his shoulder blades, “no matter how pissy he gets, I’ll be the one cooking. I think between us we can sneak some food out,” you threw a mischievous glance at your twin whose eyes were already sparking with matching devilry. “What do you have in mind?”

You thought for a moment, “I doubt he’ll know any better if a couple of potatoes worth of chips go missing…” you posed, the corners of your mouths hitching up. “Just make sure he doesn’t see how many were put in initially and we’ll be safe.” Ed nodded eagerly, then paused, “maybe some meat too, just to be sure?”

“For us, or father?”

“Dad, as distraction?”

Your lips twisted downward at the edges, “I’m not sure if my pride can take sucking up to that piece of sh—”

“Do you have to swear so much?” Ed cut you off, a single brow risen, his lip curled slightly. You shrugged, “he is what he is.”

“I get that, but…I don’t know…it’s just…a little much?” He winced as he spoke. “So what…just call him ‘father’ when he’s being a dic—” Ed glared. “—ta…tor? A dictator.” Your twin nodded, returning his gaze ahead of him, “dictator will do.”

“Anything else you want to scold me about?” You scowled playfully, folding your arms over your chest, skin beginning to pebble again. His eyes flitted to you before dashing away again. You sighed, “just tell me.” His eyes flicked forward, toward the male, then back again. Pointed. You rose a brow in challenge.

“At the very least, do you have to be so obvious about it?” Edvard sighed, continuing forward. “I’m not going to be one of those people who only talks shit behind someone’s back,” you snapped, “that’s cowardly.”

“But the things you’re saying? Unnecessary. And hurtful,” he argued. “I mean, how would you feel if people were saying those things at me?”

“First of all, if they were saying it about you, they’d be saying it about me, too. Secondly, one, if not both, of us would be dead. And third, that,” you hissed, gesturing to the shadowed male, “is a fully fledged warrior, I really doubt some name-calling is going to get under his skin.”

“If you can acknowledge he’s a warrior, can’t you see the sense in not pissing him off?” Ed hissed back.

You rolled your eyes, “what’s he going to do?” As soon as the words had left your mouth, both your eyes flicked to the Shadowsinger’s back. You reconsidered. “It wouldn’t work in his favour.” Ed gave you a look, a single eyebrow raised. Your jaw drops, “I’m not that bad,” you snapped. He continued giving you the look.

“Fuck you!”

[cookinguptales]

Nadja is out here like "haha, they think my husband is this mythical perverted oaf who gets reincarnated constantly and brings good luck" but I posit that Laszlo is the King of Pigs.

We know that the two of them have been back to Antipaxos together (most likely more than once) and we know that Laszlo has been around for centuries and constantly changes his look. We know that he is a perverted oaf, but one that means very well and usually manages to turn things around in his favor. He's practically a fokloric trickster figure, if we're all being real with each other.

So why can't he actually be one? My theory is that Laszlo's periodic appearances in Greece/Antipaxos led to these stories being told in the first place. He is a trickster figure with magical powers. He is a trickster figure that exists outside of social norms. He is a trickster figure whose horniness, selfishness, and stupidity get him into trouble but whose wiles get him back out of it.

And all the stories are true! He really does bring good luck to those around him because he usually does help try to help humans in the end. (Go Bucks!)

Gosh. They're out here telling Jack tales about Laszlo and I love that for him. Stories never die and neither does he. He's here to suck blood and fuck forever, and humans will always tell stories of the luck he brings. :')

[buriedpentacles]

Alternatives to Blood for Magic

Tw: discussion of blood (obvs)

Part of my devotion to Mother Nature does involve blood offerings and as I did give some blood in a ritual today I thought I'd share some alternatives to blood for those that want them!

First, why use blood at all?

Blood is used in a number of rituals and offerings for a number of reasons. It is commonly used as a binding ingredient that connects the caster (or whoever's blood it is) to the spell whether that be as a target or as a reviecer.

Blood can represent many things from life and power, to femininity and intuition (mostly menstrual blood for that). It is a very powerful symbol.

As an offering, it can be a sign of deep devotion as it is your life force (though that does not make it a "better" offering than anything else).

Note: I believe(?) that in many forms of Hellenism, blood is not considered an appropriate (and by some, even an offensive) offering to the gods. It is up to you to research and decide whether it is appropriate for you and your practice.

Alternatives to Blood

I often use these alternatives and only use my own blood for "special" rituals. I do not encourage people to harm themselves for their practice. If you are someone who is not comfortable drawing your own blood for magical reasons (and that is perfectly okay) then here are some ways to substitute it:

Fake blood - the obvious one here, not much to say about it haha!

Pomegranate juice - Pomegranate juice looks pretty similiar to blood, it's safe to consume and pour into the environment and pomegranates have similiar associations to blood!

Blackberries - These fruits are currently ripening in my area and when crushed they make an excellent blood alternative. In fact, I recently used them in a small devotional act to Mother Nature (picture below).

Water, dyed red - simple and budget friendly! Safe to consume and usually perfectly fine for the environment (check the dye first though!)

Red ribbon - this is great if you want something to symbolise blood that is more lasting and permenant!

Animal blood - some butchers will sell animal blood (usually pig because of black pudding) and you can even get it dried! Make sure to do your research on legality, ethics and please don't go out and collect your own.

Other bodily fluids - If the purpose of the blood in a spell is to bind the spell to someone then you can use any other piece of DNA; spit, sweat, etc. Even hair can be used, and it is much less invasive!

Menstrual blood - if you have a menstrual cycle, you may choose to use this blood in a ritual if the timing is right! Please, please, please be sensible. When using blood you MUST remember that it is a biohazard, even if its your own. Be sensible. Be clean.

[adrianasunderworld]

The Chronicles of Isabelle attempting to do Witchcraft and Demon magic on memory and guess work alone

*frantic running up the stairs and slamming it shut*

Crowley: What has gotten into you?

Isabelle: Nothing. Nothing at all.

Crowley: Why did you run out of the basement then?

*unholy screeches of something down there*

Isabelle: Um...I got a new pet?

Vil: You know, in all the weeks we've been here for training camp, I haven't seen you do much for skincare, and not a single zit. What's your routine?

Isabelle: Nothing special. Just some generic makeup wipes, moisturizer, black magic.

Vil: Haha, very funny.

Isabelle: I wasn't joking. I know a potion for breakouts.

Vil: ....so what's the recipe?

Ace: Hey, you're back from town.

Isabelle: Yep. Had to pick up some stuff.

Deuce: *picks up a jar* What's this?

Isabelle: Pigs blood.

Ace and Deuce: 😱😱

Isabelle: What? I needed it for a potion.

Ace: Where do you even get that!?

Isabelle: Butcher in town. I tutor his daughter in English, I get discounts. It's worked out great for me so far. I also got bacon, hungry?

Isabelle: Hypothetically speaking. Say someone was conjuring in the woods on a full moon and a shadow creature followed them home. How would one exercise it?

Sam: Are you sure this is hypothetical?

Isabelle with a gangly shadow moving on its own behind her: Yes.

Epel: So what did Sam say?

Isabelle: Hes looking into it. But until then, I figured out the shadow creature likes French fries and watching Strawberry Shortcake.

Jack: How did you even figure that out?

Isabelle: It stole my fries in the cafeteria and was watching TV and it seemed interested in cartoons and I kind figured it out from there.

*unholy screeches*

Jack: That thing is still in the basement?!

Isabelle: Her name is Lemon, and she's hungry ok?

Epel: I'm afraid to ask what Lemon eats.

Isabelle: Cat food mostly. But she does also like candy.

Crowley over the loud speaker: - and this Friday will be Casual Dress Day. So uniforms are not required. And lastly, whoever keeps leaving strange ritual circles and infernal symbols out in the woods, stop it.

Everyone in class: *looks at one person*

Isabelle: *slowly sinking into her chair*

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

[yandere-sins]

Madness

a/n: I saw a dialogue prompt somewhere and this idea came to mind. Please head the warnings.

Characters: Yandere!Dottore x GN!Reader Fandom: Genshin Impact Warnings: Yandere, Extreme Violence (Reader violently killing someone, Reader cutting open someone’s stomach, Majorly implied amputation of reader’s limbs), Desperation, Mentally broken reader, Mention of drugs/medication/syringes/scalpels/blood/vomit(ting)/disfiguration/experimentation, Reader is a human guinea pig

"Ha... haha..."

Finally, you thought. It's quiet. So fucking quiet.

Nothing, not even your laugh or the clattering of the scalpel as it slipped from your hand, falling on the floor, could break the silence around you. It was over. You had no sense of time, no calendar to keep track of the days, weeks, months you must have been locked up for. But it was finally over, the blood on your hand a small price for ending all this madness.

You should have never trusted the Fatui. Their compassionate speeches and warm invitations. They swore to help you out of the poverty you lived in. They promised they'd give you a roof over your head and a warm meal a day if you joined them, but it never turned out like the glorious future they described to your vulnerable self. It had been too damn long, but you'd never forget your first meeting with The Doctor. You'd never forget that shark-toothed smile as he introduced himself with a handshake. Never forget the first time he tied you to a chair and told you it would 'only be a small sting'.

Days after days, he tortured you. One incision cutting out some of your skin here, a syringe with weird substances injected there. Him telling you to toughen up, and subtle threats made behind medical jargon. "You could lose your eye if you moved," and, "Be careful, or I might accidentally cut into the vein. You don't want to bleed out here, right?"

But what felt almost worse were his hands on your body. Gloved, not gloved, always searching and never resting. He treated you like a sculpture he was forming, placing you into positions he liked. Below him. At his feet. Forcing you to look up at him through dazes and nausea. Only then would he be careful with you, brushing sweaty hair from your face, offering to take you to a bath if you behaved in the next experiment. Telling you he never saw something as lovely as your cut-up and delirious self. That you were the best he ever had under his scalpel.

The sentences haunted you even in your dreams. If you could sleep, that is. Most nights, you laid awake, trembling from the drugs, throwing up from your memories, or tearing your hair out in agony after getting your medicine. You never signed up to be a guinea pig for this madman, but you were told someone had to do it. At first, you relented, seeing the much younger candidates they brought into the room instead of you, but eventually, you didn't care anymore. And Dottore ceased asking. He broke you; every day a little more. Never caring for your feelings, no matter how pitifully you begged and pleaded with him to let you go.

But now it was all over.

It took you long enough. Too long. You barely remained human at this point. Perhaps this outburst and attack on the person that did this to you was the most human about you now. The constant, nagging voice in your head was gone. It no longer blamed you for your naivety. Didn't scold you for crying or hurting yourself. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.

Ironic, you thought, looking down at the corpse at your feet. You stabbed him so many times, if not for the clothes—now died red—no one would have recognized him anymore. It only took one death for everything to be set on the right path again. You thought that killing would be harder than it ended up being, feeling like you now understood why it was so easy for Dottore to experiment on you. It got easier after the first time, the first stab. Then, only rage guided what followed, and soon, it was almost second nature.

Stepping back, you avoided glancing at the reflective surfaces. Not wanting to see the kind of monster you had become after all that happened. You'd never be welcome in your community again, though, if you were honest, you hadn't been before, either. Still, with looks this frightful, you'd have to hide somewhere far away for the rest of your life.

If you made it that far.

Surely the Fatui would not be pleased after what you did to their Harbinger. Life on the run wouldn't be very rewarding, but it would be better than what you went through here. Anything would be better—even death.

You didn't bother cleaning up the blood from your hands, clothes, or face. What good would it do? All you wanted was to leave. Leave this place and memories behind, and disappear forever from anyone's sight. You'd figure things out once you were outside. Once you were finally safe again. It couldn't get worse than what happened behind closed doors in this room. It just couldn't.

Except... it could.

Twisting the doorknob, you pulled. Again and again, you twisted, pulled, then tried to push, then banged against it. Even with all your weight thrown into it and used to remove the door from its frame, you made no progress. There were no windows. You only had this door from which the doctor used to enter and exit. In the beginning, you had been somewhere else, and then, someday, you woke up in this room, not remembering how you got here. You knew this must be your way out, so why wasn't it budging?

Staggering back, you looked at the corpse on the ground. The man you murdered. The very same man you hated with every fiber of your being. Turning over the corpse wasn't as hard as one might assume. Sticking your hands into places you never wanted to feel made you shake with disgust, but you pushed through it, goal in mind. There must have been something. A key, a code, anything. He must have locked the door somehow, and you needed it open before you began to choke on the dread of being locked in.

Nothing.

You turned every pocket inside out, ripped the clothes from his body, and put your hands where they didn't belong. Nothing. With your breathing heavy, you looked at the scalpel on the floor, a last, desperate thought crossing your mind. The idea that popped into your head seemed crazy. Why would he swallow a key he needed to get out? Who'd do something mad like this?

A mad doctor would. Dottore would.

It cost you less effort than you thought to cut open his stomach, find the organ you were looking for, and cut that open as well. Tears and blood went everywhere around you, with no way to discern the fluids leaking everywhere, but no metal dropped out of the mess you made. Frustrated, you threw the scalpel away. This time you couldn't help but wash, letting the icy-cold water run over your skin as you scrubbed off the remains of him until you barely felt your hands anymore.

When you were done with that, you moved on to your face.

It was hard to keep a clear head in situations like this, but as anyone would do, you tried to open the door again. Tears dropped from your eyes incessantly, and you pleaded with the exit to open, begging unknown powers behind its lock to let you out. Euphoria made way for cold, hard reality. You must have cried for hours, wailed, and screamed and shouted until no sound came out. Fear turned to anger, the height of hope into bottomless desperation. Realizing that you were locked in with the corpse of the seemingly only person who knew how to get out was terrifying. No amount of hugging or trying to soothe yourself with positive thoughts could banish the fear.

The loneliness.

You fell asleep a couple of times, only waking up to hunger pangs and thirst, but all you did was cry yourself back to sleep, knowing it was hopeless. After waking up for the third time, you forced yourself to the sink, drinking some water before throwing it up again, unable to keep the sickening cold down. It was cold on the floor, so you moved to the small bed you had been provided with, wrapping yourself in blankets. It was warm, but it did nothing to comfort you. The sleep cycle continued.

Without anyone there to tell you a new day had begun and it was time for a new experiment, you lost your sense of time completely. It could have been days. Or hours. All of this could have happened in the mere timespan of half a day. Who knew? Not you. The only things you knew now for sure were: the Fatui were bad people, you survived far longer than you probably should have, and you'd ultimately die here. Locked away and alone with the corpse of your abuser, having brought on your own demise.

Knowing that, you closed your eyes, hoping it would be over soon.

Only to awake to the soft humming of a person next to you, your body wrapped in tender warmth and feeling less sick and weak than you ever had before. You lived in the harsh coldness of Snezhnaya for years, and you never experienced such ease and peace on your worn-down body and mind. This must have been the afterlife. It was finally over.

"Hm? Look who decided to grace us with their presence again," a familiar voice teased. Someone picked up your hand, squeezing it between two warm palms, and you turned your head to the side to see who had woken you. Maybe it were the Archons. Perhaps you were in a better place now. A happier one.

But at the sight of the blueish strands of hair falling into a familiar face, red eyes drilling into you while a shark-toothed grin completed the look of your greatest nightmare, all you could do was roll over on your side, bile rising into your mouth before you toppled over, throwing up onto the bed and floor.

What a cruel fate, uniting you with your worst enemy, even in death. Dead he was. You made sure of it. There was no way that corpse with the cut-open stomach could come back to life. Absolutely no way. And yet, there he was, standing up and tsking at you before supporting your back as you kept throwing up the remnants of your own stomach.

"How silly you are. I'm hardly that ugly," Dottore sighed, a bitter jest in his voice.

"How...?" you gurgled, feeling like there was nothing left to throw up despite your body trying to desperately.

"Don't think I have forgotten what you did," he replied, rubbing your back attentively. "That wasn't very nice, you know?"

Still holding your hand with one of his, Dottore slowly helped you sink back on top of the pillow, your bed ruined with spew but seemingly not a concern for the doctor. He reached over to the nightstand to lift a cup of water to your lips, wetting them before pressing the container harder against them so you'd open up. It wasn't cold water, and it tasted bittersweet in your mouth, but you had no choice but to gulp it down, as the doctor insisted.

"However, for now, you should rest. I was so relieved I managed to get to you in time. I don't even want to imagine the trouble we would have to go through had I been too late."

"I wish you wouldn't have," you mumbled weakly. Slowly tears crept into your eyes as you stared defiantly at Dottore. His gaze was intense, but now that clarity forced its way back into your mind, all the hate and frustration you felt before stabbing him returned as well. It was almost as if nothing had changed. Almost as if you only fantasized about killing him and trying to escape. "I can imagine what it would be like losing you."

For a moment, Dottore was quiet. Then, a laugh broke from his lips. Hearty, amused, appalling. Reaching out, he touched your cheeks, wiping the tears from your eyes. No gloves separated you, the touch as intimate as it disgusted you. He never was like this. He never cared about your tears before. Dottore only ever focused on his selfish wants and not on yours. You must have shocked him real good for him to act so kindly. The thought crossed your mind.

"I'm glad neither of us needs to have these terrible thoughts then," he chuckled, turning around briefly. You heard the sound of metal as he arranged something on a table behind him, the sight covered by his body from your eyes. However, when he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the tools there, scalpels and saws.

"But I promise you," he spoke solemnly. "I won't let the same mistake happen again."

Gripping your arm, he pinned it down, your body not strong enough to move quickly as he pulled a firm leather strap across your body. When he tried to do the same with your legs, you tried kicking him to no avail, Dottore simply forcing your leg down after you missed.

"I underestimated your affinity for using your hands and legs, but they aren't necessary for what I have planned for you. And I don't make the same mistake twice."

Dottore turned around to the table, and you began to wiggle and squirm, trying to free yourself from the restraints before he came back. He knew what he was doing. One glance at the saw in his hand, and you wanted to throw up again, your mouth filling with bile.

"Feel free to scream. I will have no problem explaining the sounds to whoever can hear you. No one is going to come to rescue you. I won't let them. This is all for your sake. I don't even care you killed one of my clones. "

A mad grin played on his lips. Your eyes met, and you knew you'd never escape this. Never escape his madness. Not even when it ruined you entirely too.

It wouldn't need much to reach that point.

"You are my favorite little experiment, after all," he confessed, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly, almost reassuringly. The pressure rose as he pressed your hand to the bed, adjusting the saw just below your thumb, dangerously close to his own fingers.

And all you could do was scream as the pain united you.

[simplepotatofarmer]

the real pig hunt

another mini fic for my 'hey loyal write this' challenge, this time based on this post by @curosart! an alternate take on 'hog hunt' and the butcher army execution.

“What if it doesn’t, uh, work?” Ranboo swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in their throat and then swallowed again. “Like, what if it goes wrong or something?”

“It’s going to work, Ranboo,” said Quackity in a tone that made it clear there would be no further debate past this point. “Besides, if it goes wrong, that’s just less work for us, yeah?”

Tubbo nodded.

“Exactly, exactly.”

“But it’s going to work.” Quackity grinned. “And Techno is going to learn a lesson he’ll never forget.”

Techno should have known this would happen. Part of him had been waiting for it, ready, and there was no surprise when he received Phil’s message, just a pit in his stomach that the peace he had wanted to build here was about to be shattered.

And now there was blood on the snow (and he had tried, he had begged, but it was no use) and Quackity had an axe to his horse’s throat.

“Get away from them, Techno, or I’ll kill your horse right now.”

Techno stopped, holding his hands up.

“Quackity, you leave that horse alone…”

“Cooperate or I’ll kill Carl,” said Quackity. “Do you understand? I’ll slay this horse. Now drop everything.”

With a deep sigh, Techno’s shoulders sagged. He knew this would happen, he knew it, and began dropping his items on the ground.

“Okay, okay…”

“Your armor too.”

A moment of doubt made Techno hesitate. If he was going to get out of this, he would need his armor. Sunlight glinted off of Quackity’s axe.

“Do it or I’ll kill the horse right fucking now.”

Techno pulled the netherite gauntlets off and dropped them into the snow. The helmet was next and then the chest plate and he was about to ask what they were planning to do when he heard the unmistakable sound of a potion bottle breaking and the feeling of something wet hitting him.

“What the heck—”

And then the world around him was getting much bigger and Techno hit the ground.

_________________________________________________________

“Is this a fucking joke?” asked Punz.

Dream shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer the question. He needed it to be a joke, it had to be a joke, and yet—

“What do we do now? I mean, this really messes with the whole rescue plan, right?”

It did and if it was anyone other than Technoblade, Dream might have cut his losses right then and there. He groaned, rocking back on his heels.

“Okay, new plan.”

A beat.

Punz looked at him.

“Which is…?”

“Well, same plan for you, I guess,” Dream said. “You get up there and distract them. I’ll get Techno out.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Do you have an extra invis potion?”

Raising an eyebrow, Punz dug through their inventory and pulled out a glass bottle, the liquid inside an almost matte grey in color. They handed it to Dream.

“Good luck, buddy.”

Dream nodded; he was going to need it.

_________________________________________________________

Techno had a brief flash of optimism when they tossed him into the small cage that maybe, just maybe, he could squeeze through the iron bars. That maybe whatever Quackity and his goons had done to him could work in his favor. But the bars were too close for him to fit through and his ear caught on the metal, making him let out a squeal.

This was embarrassing.

He got the point – turn the pigman into an actual pig, haha, very funny – but it was really cramping his style. How was he going to get out of this? How was he going to make sure Phil was alright? Techno could barely turn and he didn’t have hands to hold a weapon or that totem Dream had so kindly pointed him to.

There was a flash of white and then shouting and an explosion. Beneath him, something thumped against the wood plank he was standing on, hard. He didn’t have time to think about that. Tubbo’s voice cut across the commotion.

“Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Bruh, Techno thought, not like this. 

The wooden plank beneath his hooves – all four of them – broke and he fell. He expected to hit the ground and then for the anvil to hit him but someone grabbed him awkwardly, hands almost slipping on his haunches as they yanked him back. The anvil slammed into the ground with a rush of air, barely an inch away from Techno’s snout.

__________________________________________________________

If there wasn’t a saying about how hard it was to catch a pig already, Dream thought there should be.

With one hand still on his axe, he scrambled to grab Techno as he pulled him back and out of the way of the anvil at the same time. It had come too close for comfort and Techno was practically upside down. He adjusted his grip but Techno seemed to be panicking.

“Techno—Techno, stop, it’s me.”  There was an indignant sounding squeal and Dream groaned. He was invisible; even if Techno was in a position to look at him, he would’ve seen nothing but a floating axe. “It’s Dream.”

The squealing turned into a series of oinks that could only be described as laughter.

“Yeah, whatever, laugh all you want,” said Dream.

He tucked Techno under his arm. Above the commotion still raged and it was surprisingly easy for Dream to slip away. That ease made paranoia stick in Dream’s chest and it took all his self-control not to look over his shoulder every few seconds and instead made his way to where Quackity and the others had left Carl.

Grabbing the lead, he pulled the horse towards the tunnel, the sound of shouting and explosions fading into the background.

__________________________________________________________

Techno had thought being turned into an actual pig was about as low as he could get and then he had realized they hadn’t even planned on giving him a clean death. There was no honor in being crushed while trapped in a cage and Techno knew that was the whole point.

And now Dream was manhandling him as if he had never once held an animal before and also was afraid Techno would bite him. Techno had certainly considered it, especially when he had mounted Carl and turned the horse away from his home in the arctic.

He had considered wiggling out of Dream’s grip and taking his chances but he knew Dream wanted him alive, even if he didn’t know why. That was enough for him.

“Whoa.”

Carl took a moment to listen to Dream and Techno snorted in amusement.

The invisibility potion had worn off and Dream tilted his head down slightly to look at him. When he spoke, Techno could hear the frown in his voice.

“Your horse sucks, Techno,” he said as he pulled out his communicator with one hand.

And I’m gonna feed him so many golden carrots, thought Techno, oinking.

“Shut up.”

As Dream typed, resting the communicator on his thigh, Techno tried to peer at the screen, see what it was he was saying, who he was talking to you.

Techno oinked, rising in intonation.

“I’m trying to figure out where’s safe,” said Dream in reply.

Flicking his ear, Techno thought, I take back fifty percent of the times I’ve called you stupid, alright, Dream?

“Damn it.”

That didn’t sound good. Squealing, Techno nudged Dream’s arm, dignity forgotten. Dream tightened his grip on him as Carl side-stepped with a whiny. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “It’s fine—We just need to find somewhere to lay low for a bit.”

We also need to figure out a way to turn me back into a dang person, thought Techno. If something went south, he’d be useless. A pig couldn’t hold a sword and Dream was good but not that good. He oinked.

“What? I don’t speak pig.”

Techno oinked again.

C’mon, Dream, that’s whole problem, man.

He couldn’t see the expression on Dream’s face but the way he looked down at him and then leaned back slightly spoke of a sudden realization.

“Okay, but I don’t know what to do about that so,” Dream said and then nudged Carl lightly with his heels. “We’ll figure it out.”

We better, thought Techno with a soft huff.

_______________________________________________________

Things had spiraled out of control. It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission, just make sure that Techno got out of there alive with his stupid horse, and now Dream’s mind was racing as he tried to plan where to go, what to do next.

How the fuck was he going to turn Techno back to normal?

“Fuck! Milk!” 

In his lap, Techno squealed and the horse shied and Dream had to work to keep him under control without dropping Techno. He pulled the horse to a stop.

“Can pigs drink milk?” he asked, looking down at Techno.

The noise Techno made was somewhere between an oink and a snort and very clearly held the tone of someone who thought they had just been asked a very stupid question. Dream felt his cheeks go hot and he was glad he was wearing the mask.

“Well—Well, to be fair, I don’t know pig biology or whatever.”

Techno snorted again. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Look, we’ll just—We’ll find a cow and fix this.”

__________________________________________________________

It was a good idea.

Techno was actually a little bit disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself but it wasn’t as if he could have told Dream anything. Their means of communication was pretty limited though he had to admit that Dream was quick to figure out what he was trying to say.

So when he felt that odd tingle, starting at the tip of his tail, he had a good idea of what was about to happen. He tried to wriggle out of Dream’s grasp, giving a squeal, but Dream held on.

“Techno! What the hell?”

Oh, this is gonna be awkward, thought Techno.

There was a stretching sensation in all his limbs and then a pop, like a bubble bursting, and he was falling and taking Dream with him. Techno landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of them both. Startled, Carl whinnied and danced away before stopping to munch on some grass just a few feet away.

Techno looked down at Dream.

“Hey, good news, Dream, I don’t think we’re gonna need to find that cow,” he said.

Dream lifted his head and then gave up almost immediately with a deep sigh.

“—we’re never fucking talking about this again.”

With a laugh, Techno got to his feet – the two of them, not four – and reached down to offer Dream a hand. He hesitated for just a moment before taking it and letting Techno pull him up.

“Oh yeah, this is stayin’ between us,” he said and then, “For now, I mean, it is kinda funny…”

“Techno!”

[mooncrestedwaters]

Immortalized Muses

Authors Word: Woo, ok, this took me easily two months to write.

This came to life after having a dream about Rafayel and I attending an art exhibition and him begging me to be in a picture with him after I refused. (Basically this is a glorified retelling of the dream tbh haha)

This is my first time displaying my writings on this account so I hope you all enjoy

- Mikaela 🤍🪽

Warnings/Themes: Mutual Pining, swearing/profanity, non-established relationship (they're friends/employer & employee), Rafayel throwing hints like confetti, mild smut(??), mentions of sexual tones of voice, mentions of alcohol/being tipsy and/or drunk, banter banter, Rafayel is a princess (big surprise)

Please let me know if I missed any themes

Tags: Rafayel x MC (MC is they/them so it can apply to any gender)

"Why do you keep disappearing?"

With a jump, y/n turned towards the intrusion of their solace.

"Rafayel..." With sheepish welcome, they bowed their head looking at their reflection in their drink, knowing that they'd wandered off again and left Rafayel alone at the after party for the exhibition, "Sorry, I just needed some air..."

He made a grunt of recognition and came to stand beside them, leaning his elbows on the intricate steel woven fence around the balcony, overlooking a calm rippling lake, decorated with trees and local habitations to be spotlighted by the gentle moon hung in the night sky, speckled with stars like diamonds on velvet to bounce off his sun kissed skin and lavender locks, "I thought you'd gone home."

Looking down into their drink they swished it around the glass, ice knocking against the crystal and straw poised between their index and middle finger, eager for another sip, "No, I wouldn't do that."

"Overwhelmed?"

They nodded in reply, "I just needed to take a break."

Rafayel's eyebrows creased, a pout working its way onto his charming features, "The reporters were taking pictures downstairs, I couldn't see you anywhere and had to make this perilous journey to find you."

They deadpanned, pursing their lips as Rafayel started his theatrics.

"For all I know you could've been swooped up by some criminal who'd gate crashed the party!"

"Aren't I supposed to be your bodyguard?" - they sipped their drink with a snide snort - "What do you pay me for if not to look after your safety and my own?"

He genuinely pouted now, shooting y/n a half hearted glare, "Oh, you know what I mean."

They smiled, genuinely knowing exactly what he meant.

"That lonely, hmm?"

Rafayel looked away, leaning back from the railing to stand tall, ears burning red, arms crossed as he kicked his heel out and spun away from y/n to saunter off with a huff, "Just come back downstairs already."

°°°°

Smoothing the silk of their outfit, y/n took a deep breath, their shoes clacking against the grandiose marble floors.

They felt a little out of place in such an outfit but Rafayel always insisted. Y/n had no choice when the ornate crisp white outfit made of silk and chiffon was laid on their bed, pearl accessories and details lined with tints of pastel blues.

Then Rafayel would insist on doing make-up for y/n, his skills on a paintbrush transferring to an array of beauty brushes.

Y/n always came out looking like the multiple zeros on a check he'd get for one of his paintings and they always felt their heart beat a little fast when they noted how much time and care Rafayel put into dressing them up to be the prized Belle of the Ball.

"Ah, there you are!" Rafayel greeted them, wrapping an arm around their shoulder and whispering a quick 'Help me!' in their ear.

Y/n chuckled but it soon died in their throat as they heard the business man drone on about monetary prospects of Rafayel's studio.

His arm was retrieved to his side and he showed utmost interest in the poor fool as he droned on, gums flapping like a pig at a troph, greed seeping into their every word and not a care for the art that Rafayel poured his blood, sweat and pearlescent tears into that was displayed around the exhibition like an ornate frame to the arrogant masses.

Y/n even swore they saw Rafayel's eyes twitch once or twice and couldn't tell if it was from the other mans ignorance, Rafayel's affinity with boredom or if their little rest bite from the party before was still grating on him.

They deemed it well to stay put and endure the rest of the night and took a sip of their drink, eyeing the bar like an old lover already.

"Hey, get me a red wine?" Rafayel whispered in their ear, goosebumps flooding their skin, "I fucking need it."

They looked at him from the corner of their eyes and nodded, seeing the ever present smirk and surety displayed in his eyes, behind it was waves of exhaustion and desperation.

He wanted nothing more than for this night to end, just as much as y/n did. They pitied the poor artist.

With a curt nod, they excused themselves to the drink bar, "Old fashioned and a wine."

"Top or bottom shelf?"

They looked over their shoulder as another business man slung his arm over Rafayel's shoulders, laughing boisterously as Rafayel visibly stiffened, his white knuckled fists slipping into his pockets to disguise his annoyance and crafting a smile on his face.

"The one that'll have the highest alcohol percentage." - They snuck a glance at him again, his jaw now visibly tensed, his smile becoming a grimace - "Stat."

°°°°

As the money hungry ladder climbers of the night slowly dispersed to their ubers and chauffeurs alike home, Thomas, Rafayel and themself got to winding down the night. Close friends, family and beneficiaries hung back for group pictures and y/n stuck to the side, nibbling on some fancy hors d'oeuvres.

Rafayel's aunt pulled him in for a selfie, pinching his cheeks as he weakly protested with a groan and y/n couldn't help but giggle when Thomas threw himself into the mix enveloping them both from behind in a hug to join the picture.

There wasn't a sober soul in the venue, that was for damn sure.

Y/n couldn't help the smile creeping onto their face at the pleasant scene of Rafayel - despite his eagerness to leave - visibly loosening up and finally enjoying himself with his people, not the riff raff with obese wallets and closed minds.

Looking up from the empty glass, y/n saw Rafayel's gaze over his shoulder at them.

They raised a brow, wondering why Rafayel was staring at them.

Maybe he was tired and wanted to be escorted home?

They'd get their answer, as Rafayel slipped from Thomas' and his Aunts embrace to stride over and stand against the wall beside Y/n.

"Having fun?" They asked.

"I guess," Rafayel sighed, "Just really fucked."

Y/n could tell, since Rafayel's pleasantries and ability to save face had flown out the window with his language and demeanor.

They dusted their curled finger against his cheek, his dark under eyes starting to show through the concealer he'd applied before the event.

He sighed, his bunched shoulders dropping slightly as he closed his eyes, basking in the gentle and tender touch they gave him, his fists loosened, going slack in his pockets as he revealed in the touch.

"We'll get you back to your home soon," Y/n spoke, retrieving their hand away, pressing their watch as a holographic monitor buzzed to life, "It's nearly one in the morning, Gods...."

They called for a ride to take him back to his place and the other guests were doing the same to head to their own respective abodes.

"Rafayel!" His Aunt called and waved him over and he stiffened, "Come over here, we're taking one last picture."

They leant against the wall as Rafayel began to stride over to meet the group of people. He stopped, turning to them and placed out his hand in offering to join.

"Pass." Y/n held their open palm up in front of him, "I'm not someone who should be in such a picture, I'm just your bodyguard."

He turned fully to speak to them, eyebrows creased and lips pursed, "Nonsense, come."

They shook their head, an apologetic smile on their face, "No, no...you go, I'll keep an eye out for-"

"Quit being stubborn," Rafayel quipped, his tone more rough than usual with his fatigue and waning patience, "I want you in the picture, so you'll be in the picture."

Deciding to skip their words of protest they turned on their heel to go stand outside and wait for the ride. Their plan fell short as Rafayel grabbed their arm, his hold strong enough that they couldn't break free but gentle enough as to not hurt them, "Stay..."

Y/n tilted their head, irritation spiking as they looked over their shoulder with pursed lips and a raised brow. They decided to play on his ego, hoping their bargaining chip would shake the painter off, "Beg then."

A look of shock splashed across his features like paint across a canvas. His lips parted, looking for a comeback but instead he let go of their arm.

Y/n thought they were free, going to turn on their heel until his arm snaked around their shoulders, fingers dusting their slightly exposed collarbone with strands of hair interwoven through his fingertips. He lent down, his face to the side of theirs as his other hand tucked their hair behind their ear, his lips dusting against the shell of their ear as he whispered in a low hum, "Please..."

They felt a jolt through their body, their breath hitched to flee their mouth in a squeak.

Rafayel continued his assault of words against their ear, sending electric currents through their veins to rise as a bright crimson blush on their cheeks. His tone was reminiscent of a whine closing in on whimpering.

"Please, Y/n....Please stay, please don't walk away, stay for me? Please darling, I really want you, I really really need you, please I need you beside me-"

With what energy they could muster between their hitched breathing and trembling limbs they pushed the artist off them and stormed towards the group of people readying themselves for the picture.

"Fine! Gods, Rafayel..." Y/n groaned and stood fixing their hair to the side of the group.

They could feel Rafayel's smug, triumphant smirk burning into the back of their skull and they tried not to bristle with frustration that Rafayel got his way.

As Thomas set the timer everyone huddled in and around the artist. Rafayel pulled Y/n flush by his side, his arm around their waist, fingers gripping into the plush flesh of their clothed hip. He leant down as the timer counted down to whisper once more in their ear.

"Art is meant to be witnessed...Do you really think I wouldn't pose with my favorite art piece?"

Y/n blush and Rafayels smug smile of victory were immortalized within that photograph forever.

Y/n blamed it on the alcohol.

Rafayel always held a knowing smirk as to the real reason.

[bredforloyalty]

Hii would you like to share your favourite fics?? In any fandoms tbh i just trust your taste a lot 🫣

oh i am an animal i don't think i have good taste i have the taste of someone who's always horny and a teeeeny tiny bit fucked in the head jcsgbhy but i'm honored you asked and i'll share<33 you said you don't care if it's more smut or more plot so i didn't worry too much about that 👍

first off, a warning: most of these are explicit, involve incest, rape, child sexual abuse, and more!!! also most of them are on the shorter side + all are male slash! you'll be able to tell based on the pairing and the concept (i'll describe them a little) so just go by common sense and, idk. beware ahaha i'll go from some pairings to assorted and then the rick and morty ones will be under the read more (i feel like i can't leave them out because some of them genuinely made me insane and changed me as a person or allowed me catharsis like very very few fics before and even though it's repulsive to most others i can't deny that. there are big favorites in there. favorites of all time if i'm being fully honest). let's go..

gcest:

ghost dancer - by the lovely and talented rye @ supersonic1994!!!! noel overdoses on coke. i looove the image of kissing your brother when you think you're about to lose him forever,, does that make sense? love is love is love when one is desperate and if it's deep then it can transcend taboos and boundaries of self and all that shit. you know

things we never see - told through jill furmanovsky, their photographer, noel comes back (after they had almost broken up and he went to san fran without telling anyone). when it comes to them i do love an outsider pov. speaking of outsider pov,

you never notice you are blind - five times alan mcgee thinks he catches something between them and one time he definitely does. it is what it is

i don't really want to know - Nawt consensual, made me a bit sad hehe liam is not sick like him

some that are like, unhealthy jealousy possessiveness dubcon angst and so on: sins like scarlet, fishhook, what am i gonna dream now

samdean:

hungry til well fed - by the wonderful bug @ deanjohn (and mandymovie)!!! iconic cannibalism fic, just so them

brighter wound - wound blood pain codependency babeyyy

take the things you love - hathfrozen is iconic also.. i loved the heaven fic (you'll find it. if you want) but i want to share this because i like how conflicted sam is about their relationship and about the way dean treats him. smutty though

manhattan for beads - what i wrote down is this is the one where they try and it doesn't work and it's heartbreaking. so yeah candle_beck can be trusted w spn, iconic too

serpent round your heart - one of the first ones i read haha ^^

deanjohn:

where the evening splits in half - bug fic also!! all of bug's fics are great do check them out if you're interested in this pairing or dadson at all, seriously.. "Sam says, "I know how you felt about the man." No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know that Dad was a pig. He has no idea how far down Dean was in the mud with him. How dirty they both were, how much Dad ruined him."

midnight midnight - first time, dean hooks up with men so john can take blackmail pics and he gets jealous and yeah, hooray

and you learn how to settle for what you get - sex again but they're fucked up so it's always fucked up. dean never asked for it

waltjesse:

like i'm underwater - by the amazing @ kuleaxoxo!! yayyy power imbalance!! "Mister White's showing him off, isn't he?"

monaco - jesse gifts walt the watch. dubcon

i'm asking you to - rape roleplay, ignored safeword

others:

countercontrol - terence fletcher/andrew neiman, "Andrew leaves; but he always comes back. He likes to think that it’s of his own accord. But then he thinks of those paintings of staircases with the optical illusion of the stairs going nowhere except winding into each other, going the same place again and again, and ultimately going nowhere."

beach fag - roman roy/jeryd mencken, "Roman wishes he was a kid with an adult boyfriend."

the serpent under it - aaron stampler/martin vail, look i fucking love primal fear this is post-canon they get together etc. important to me

simple pleasures - edward nygma/bruce wayne, this is a big favorite i can't leave it out because when this was um coming out i was fucking obsessed. it's long i don't even read long fics

there's a head in the refrigerator - michael afton/william afton, this one's sort of self-explanatory..... i felt we needed necrophilia representation here

rick and morty:

bitter and begging - FAVE.. after the jealousy and possessiveness in vindicators 3 (the episode with the avengers copies that morty is enamoured with. who rick slaughters when he's off his shit and then covertly confesses how much he loves morty basically). this one really got me i think i cried because it's all so sad but um. full of love

that's my boy - this is the first of a series, i like that it's the start of.. the sexual abuse and they're still uncertain like i enjoy the in-betweens and when lines are crossed

love is a solitary thing - this one i love so much, it's about morty's fantasies and unrequited feelings for rick

safe - gen, morty starts talking with another morty whose rick rescues mortys from abusive ricks. i always really liked how the multiverse is like a prism? you can explore the different facets of their relationship and the possibilities and the extremes through it, you can have your characters meet their worst and their best versions, i just think selves from different dimensions are a great tool. in storytelling. and eliciting emotions. anyway rovingotter is fucking solid here

hands - a favorite.. the atmosphere... "He wonders if he'll still be sitting here in ten years, handing Rick his screwdrivers, feeling that hot instinctive rush of pleasure at knowing what Rick is going to ask from him before he even asks: bred for it."

the shape you made me - morty's stream of consciousness. i usually don't give stuff like this a chance but when i tell you that this affected me. because fuck it did affect me

the damage has been done - um..... internal cardiac massage fic 🥴

repurposed - "Is it ethical to leave the horrors of the universe at a boy's fingertips?"

and last but NOT least there's this series that i haven't read in full, just a little bit broken, that fucking killed me. tbh! i sobbed at some parts legitimately. maybe that's just on me i don't know maybe it isn't. the first 5 are crazy. admittedly alcoholism runs in my family too (lol!) and their relationship is so tragic.... this fic is about when rick quite literally stole the kid's dreams, concocted an entire plan to erode morty's love of heists and make him stop writing his heist movie script (and having any aspirations or plans outside of rick). when i watched that episode these are exactly the emotions i wanted more of.. it's madness......