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txttletale · 1 year ago

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Saw a tweet that said something around:

"cannot emphasize enough how horrid chatgpt is, y'all. it's depleting our global power & water supply, stopping us from thinking or writing critically, plagiarizing human artists. today's students are worried they won't have jobs because of AI tools. this isn't a world we deserve"

I've seen some of your AI posts and they seem nuanced, but how would you respond do this? Cause it seems fairly-on point and like the crux of most worries. Sorry if this is a troublesome ask, just trying to learn so any input would be appreciated.

i would simply respond that almost none of that is true.

'depleting the global power and water supply'

something i've seen making the roudns on tumblr is that chatgpt queries use 3 watt-hours per query. wow, that sounds like a lot, especially with all the articles emphasizing that this is ten times as much as google search. let's check some other very common power uses:

running a microwave for ten minutes is 133 watt-hours

gaming on your ps5 for an hour is 200 watt-hours

watching an hour of netflix is 800 watt-hours

and those are just domestic consumer electricty uses!

a single streetlight's typical operation 1.2 kilowatt-hours a day (or 1200 watt-hours)

a digital billboard being on for an hour is 4.7 kilowatt-hours (or 4700 watt-hours)

i think i've proved my point, so let's move on to the bigger picture: there are estimates that AI is going to cause datacenters to double or even triple in power consumption in the next year or two! damn that sounds scary. hey, how significant as a percentage of global power consumption are datecenters?

1-1.5%.

ah. well. nevertheless!

what about that water? yeah, datacenters use a lot of water for cooling. 1.7 billion gallons (microsoft's usage figure for 2021) is a lot of water! of course, when you look at those huge and scary numbers, there's some important context missing. it's not like that water is shipped to venus: some of it is evaporated and the rest is generally recycled in cooling towers. also, not all of the water used is potable--some datacenters cool themselves with filtered wastewater.

most importantly, this number is for all data centers. there's no good way to separate the 'AI' out for that, except to make educated guesses based on power consumption and percentage changes. that water figure isn't all attributable to AI, plenty of it is necessary to simply run regular web servers.

but sure, just taking that number in isolation, i think we can all broadly agree that it's bad that, for example, people are being asked to reduce their household water usage while google waltzes in and takes billions of gallons from those same public reservoirs.

but again, let's put this in perspective: in 2017, coca cola used 289 billion liters of water--that's 7 billion gallons! bayer (formerly monsanto) in 2018 used 124 million cubic meters--that's 32 billion gallons!

so, like. yeah, AI uses electricity, and water, to do a bunch of stuff that is basically silly and frivolous, and that is broadly speaking, as someone who likes living on a planet that is less than 30% on fire, bad. but if you look at the overall numbers involved it is a miniscule drop in the ocean! it is a functional irrelevance! it is not in any way 'depleting' anything!

'stopping us from thinking or writing critically'

this is the same old reactionary canard we hear over and over again in different forms. when was this mythic golden age when everyone was thinking and writing critically? surely we have all heard these same complaints about tiktok, about phones, about the internet itself? if we had been around a few hundred years earlier, we could have heard that "The free access which many young people have to romances, novels, and plays has poisoned the mind and corrupted the morals of many a promising youth."

it is a reactionary narrative of societal degeneration with no basis in anything. yes, it is very funny that laywers have lost the bar for trusting chatgpt to cite cases for them. but if you think that chatgpt somehow prevented them from thinking critically about its output, you're accusing the tail of wagging the dog.

nobody who says shit like "oh wow chatgpt can write every novel and movie now. yiou can just ask chatgpt to give you opinions and ideas and then use them its so great" was, like, sitting in the symposium debating the nature of the sublime before chatgpt released. there is no 'decay', there is no 'decline'. you should be suspicious of those narratives wherever you see them, especially if you are inclined to agree!

plagiarizing human artists

nah. i've been over this ad infinitum--nothing 'AI art' does could be considered plagiarism without a definition so preposterously expansive that it would curtail huge swathes of human creative expression.

AI art models do not contain or reproduce any images. the result of them being trained on images is a very very complex statistical model that contains a lot of large-scale statistical data about all those images put together (and no data about any of those individual images).

to draw a very tortured comparison, imagine you had a great idea for how to make the next Great American Painting. you loaded up a big file of every norman rockwell painting, and you made a gigantic excel spreadsheet. in this spreadsheet you noticed how regularly elements recurred: in each cell you would have something like "naturalistic lighting" or "sexually unawakened farmers" and the % of times it appears in his paintings. from this, you then drew links between these cells--what % of paintings containing sexually unawakened farmers also contained naturalistic lighting? what % also contained a white guy?

then, if you told someone else with moderately competent skill at painting to use your excel spreadsheet to generate a Great American Painting, you would likely end up with something that is recognizably similar to a Norman Rockwell painting: but any charge of 'plagiarism' would be absolutely fucking absurd!

this is a gross oversimplification, of course, but it is much closer to how AI art works than the 'collage machine' description most people who are all het up about plagiarism talk about--and if it were a collage machine, it would still not be plagiarising because collages aren't plagiarism.

(for a better and smarter explanation of the process from soneone who actually understands it check out this great twitter thread by @reachartwork)

today's students are worried they won't have jobs because of AI tools

i mean, this is true! AI tools are definitely going to destroy livelihoods. they will increase productivty for skilled writers and artists who learn to use them, which will immiserate those jobs--they will outright replace a lot of artists and writers for whom quality is not actually important to the work they do (this has already essentially happened to the SEO slop website industry and is in the process of happening to stock images).

jobs in, for example, product support are being cut for chatgpt. and that sucks for everyone involved. but this isn't some unique evil of chatgpt or machine learning, this is just the effect that technological innovation has on industries under capitalism!

there are plenty of innovations that wiped out other job sectors overnight. the camera was disastrous for portrait artists. the spinning jenny was famously disastrous for the hand-textile workers from which the luddites drew their ranks. retail work was hit hard by self-checkout machines. this is the shape of every single innovation that can increase productivity, as marx explains in wage labour and capital:

“The greater division of labour enables one labourer to accomplish the work of five, 10, or 20 labourers; it therefore increases competition among the labourers fivefold, tenfold, or twentyfold. The labourers compete not only by selling themselves one cheaper than the other, but also by one doing the work of five, 10, or 20; and they are forced to compete in this manner by the division of labour, which is introduced and steadily improved by capital. Furthermore, to the same degree in which the division of labour increases, is the labour simplified. The special skill of the labourer becomes worthless. He becomes transformed into a simple monotonous force of production, with neither physical nor mental elasticity. His work becomes accessible to all; therefore competitors press upon him from all sides. Moreover, it must be remembered that the more simple, the more easily learned the work is, so much the less is its cost to production, the expense of its acquisition, and so much the lower must the wages sink – for, like the price of any other commodity, they are determined by the cost of production. Therefore, in the same manner in which labour becomes more unsatisfactory, more repulsive, do competition increase and wages decrease”

this is the process by which every technological advancement is used to increase the domination of the owning class over the working class. not due to some inherent flaw or malice of the technology itself, but due to the material realtions of production.

so again the overarching point is that none of this is uniquely symptomatic of AI art or whatever ever most recent technological innovation. it is symptomatic of capitalism. we remember the luddites primarily for failing and not accomplishing anything of meaning.

if you think it's bad that this new technology is being used with no consideration for the planet, for social good, for the flourishing of human beings, then i agree with you! but then your problem shouldn't be with the technology--it should be with the economic system under which its use is controlled and dictated by the bourgeoisie.

#ask #ai art #long post

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seraphdreams · 2 years ago

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JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

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cloudyynebulas · 5 months ago

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Hey hey, can I request Shadow Milk x Nerd!Reader? Reader was once a normal cookie and interested in supernaturals.

(if you know Gravity Falls, yes it's just like BillFord before breakup lol)

❝ 𝗪𝗘'𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡, 𝗬/𝗡 𝗖𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗘 ! ❞

shadow milk cookie x reader.

reader is gender neutral.

shadow milk cookie is referred to as shadow milk cookie in this story, both pre-corruption and present time.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

YOUR HANDS FLIPPED THROUGH THE PAGES of one of the countless books inside of the library of the famous Blueberry Yogurt Academy. Your research had gone on for hours, despite class hours having ended long ago that day. The moon had long since risen, and it's pale shining light illuminated the room of knowledge, lighting the words on the soft pages of what was most likely the ninth book you'd began reading that day.

You were the Librarian of this Academy - and this room was essentially your home. Students that came in and out of these chambers never once visited without seeing your face, whether it was behind the counter and assisting students, or suggesting different books of differerent genres.

You were an absolute bookworm, head swarmed with knowledge, but such a label did not bother you in the slightest. You enjoyed taking in countless stories, whether they were tales of legend, or fictional nonsense, learning and discovering more about the world of Earthbread through mere pages of countless writings was an art that you developed an immense passion for.

This world was full of secrets, so how could you not stick your head inside an open book that beckoned you with answers?

Your mind was so focused on the literature in front of you, you failed to perk up at the sound of the large library doors creaking open like they always would, acting as a doorbell of sorts for a door that lacked a bell.

"I thought I'd still find you here,"

His voice breaks you out of your trance, your head turning over towards the door, where the Head of the Academy stood - Shadow Milk Cookie.

Such a familiar face was a welcomed one. You and Shadow Milk Cookie had developed a deep bond, ever since your job application to this Academy had been accepted for the position of Librarian. The two of you shared a collective interest in knowledge, especially with him being the Virtue of Knowledge, it was to no ones surprise that you both clicked almost instantly.

"Ah, you.." you let out a lighthearted chuckle, closing the indigo cover book you'd once been completely focused on. "I had the slightest feeling you'd show up."

If anyone knew how to completely zap out your focus from reading of all things - one of your biggest passions, it was Shadow Milk Cookie. Something about him and his presence always changed the atmosphere of a room upon his arrival. It wasn't all too much of a shock, he was one of the divine Cookies first baked by the Witches, but his role as the Virtue of Knowledge didn't change the way you saw him in the slightest.

You just saw him as.. Shadow Milk Cookie. One of your closest friends. Someone you could connect to easily.

"..You do know how late it is, right?" Shadow Milk Cookie queries, raising a brow - his eyes briefly glancing over toward the moonlight shining through one of the many rectangular shaped windows of the library. "I'm all for late night reading, of course, but.. shouldn't you be getting home?"

You hummed, eyes glancing toward the antique clock.

Huh. No wonder it had felt later than usual - you normally would've left at least an hour ago!

You sheepishly chuckled, "I must've been too focused on this book, I completely lost track of time.."

Shadow Milk Cookie merely smiled, now standing just beside you as you stood up from your cushioned seat.

"I can see that. What were you reading this time?"

You slid the closed book over towards him, and his eyes skimmed the indigo-cotton cover with interest.

"Ah.. Histories of Crispia?" He spoke, his voice almost like a whisper as his hand briefly brushed over the cover. "This one is most definitely a classic - one I read long ago."

His head moved upwards, heterochromatic eyes looking back toward you.

"What do you think of it so far, Y/N Cookie?"

You weren't sure what it was, but you found the answer on the tip of your tongue unable to escape your lips - your eyes locked onto the taller cookie in front of you.

The moonlight reflected his dough near perfectly, his eyes practically glowing in the darkness.

The silence between you two went unnoticed by you- blissfully unaware you'd been staring, until Shadow Milk Cookie cleared his throat.

"Y/N Cookie?"

You blinked, nearly jumping in your spot as the original answer to his question finally escaped your mouth.

"Ah - sorry, sorry!" You blurted out a quick apology, feeling a small heat rise to your cheeks. "I.. I really like it so far! It's.. it's really good,"

You felt incredibly embarrassed for staring. Maybe it'd been the exhaustion getting to you?

Get ahold of yourself Y/N ... You mentally scolded yourself.

Shadow Milk Cookie gave you a reassuring smile. "No worries! It's alright, Y/N Cookie."

He slid the book back over to you, which you grabbed off of the table, holding it in your hands.

"Shall we, then?" Shadow Milk Cookie turned to the door, gesturing for you to follow him out.

You nodded, the two of you walking together out of the library and into the massive, dimly lit hallways of the Blueberry Yogurt Academy.

The walk between you two was quiet for the most part, your footsteps echoing across the reflective marble floor tinted with blues of different shades, with both of you standing side by side, awfully close - hands nearly brushing up against each other with every other step.

Your stroll to the front entrance of the Academy was about halfway through when Shadow Milk Cookie spoke up once again.

"How about you and I read that book together during the lunch periods this week?" He offered, turning to you. "If you have the free-time in your schedule, of course."

Your eyes lit up in excitement.

"Oh, I'd love to!"

Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled. "I thought you'd say that. In fact, I could definitely brew some of the tea that I've been meaning to use.. if you're in the mood for tea, that is."

You beamed, nodding your head - stars practically forming in your eyes.

"We haven't gotten to hang out a ton these past few weeks!" You grinned. "Exams have been pretty busy for us - not just the students!"

"Ah.. well, you know how it is." Shadow Milk Cookie shrugged. "I have greatly missed our hangouts together."

"Aww.. you missed hanging out with me?"

"Of course I did, Y/N Cookie."

You felt that heat rise up to your cheeks again at his words.

Shadow Milk Cookie smiled at your reaction, the two of you finally reaching the front doors of the Academy. He pushed open the doors, holding them open and allowing you to step outside, before following soon after.

Standing right outside the Academy, the two of you gazed up at the night sky for a few moments, eyes darting around at the patterns of countless stars that glistened through various sizes, dancing around the large moon.

Almost like a stage light, its shine illuminated the two of you in it's soft beam.

And for a while, it was quiet - nothing but the soft breeze of the night filling the air.

Slowly, you found yourself turning your gaze back towards Shadow Milk Cookie. Having felt your gaze, he soon did the same.

You smiled softly.

"Thanks."

He hummed.

"For what?"

"Everything."

Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"You're too kind, Y/N Cookie. Far too kind."

You began to make your way down the small, white brick steps, the book still held close to your chest. As you quickly reach the end of the path where the walkway converges, you turn your head back one last time for the night.

You wave your free hand, waving goodbye to Shadow Milk Cookie.

"See you tomorrow, Shadow Milk Cookie!" you beam.

The professor waves a polite goodbye in return.

"Till we meet again, Y/N Cookie."

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

The world was in chaos. Nothing but the yells of terrified Cookies, children and adults, filled the air - as fires spread throughout all of Earthbread.

The day had started out as it normally had - yet all of a sudden, screams rang out, your head shooting up from the book you'd been reading. You ran over to one of the windows of the Library, looking outside to see destruction raining down upon all sides.

You dashed out of the Library as fast as you could, the hallways once delicately crafted with fine marble beginning to take in the swift damage from the outside - small cracks and rubble staining the walls and floors.

"Shadow Milk Cookie?!" you yelled out, frantically searching every nook and cranny of the Academy as fast as you could, all while making sure you could get any students out of harms way. The ground shook and trembled with each passing minute, and every speck of your dough begged you to run to safety.

Yet the adrenaline that coursed through your veins prevailed through the fight, determined to find Shadow Milk Cookie, just to make sure he was safe.

But your desperate search was quickly cut short when familiar laughter could almost be heard from the skies. You froze, eyes darting to the front entrance of the Academy.

Eyebrows furrowing, you ran to the doors, which had nearly collapsed upon themselves from the damage and fires that spread quickly. Your head glanced in all directions, horrified at the sight of screaming, crying, or injured Cookies that were avoiding magical attacks of cards, strings and strange phantoms that wore jester-like attire.

"..what?"

"Y/N Cookie! Theeere you are!"

You froze. That familiar voice of the one you'd been searching for - why did he suddenly sound so.. off?

His voice seemed to echo throughout the sky.

You slowly moved your head up, your eyes widening at the sight of Shadow Milk Cookie high up in the sky, his form twisted - with a sinister grin of sharp teeth staring right back at you.

"I just knew I'd find you here!" Shadow Milk Cookie beamed, clapping his hands together. "Although what took you so long? You were almost late to our hangout!"

You stepped back in horror.

He tilted his head to the side at an unnatural angle.

"Awh.. don't tell me you almost forgot!" Shadow Milk Cookie pouted, fake sorrow laced in his tone. "Not to worry! All is forgiven, dear Y/N Cookie!"

Puppeteer strings suddenly formed in the sky, flying straight towards your form. You nearly had zero time to react from the alarming speed they flew towards your form, entangling around your limbs and hoisting you up in the air without an inch of effort.

You were quickly dragged up into the sky, floating idly beside Shadow Milk Cookie, who quickly placed his hands on your shoulders, shaking you with excitement.

"Oh, oh this is gonna be sooo much fun, Y/N Cookie!" He beamed. "Now, this hangout is gonna be a liiiitle different than just silly books and tea!"

You felt yourself being dragged along with him as he floated in the sky, the strings holding you tight forcing you along.

Words bubbled in your throat.

Feelings swarmed in your mind.

Betrayal? Shock? Fear? Anger?

You stared off into space, thoughts swarming and clouded with volatile emotions. How could this happen? This - this wasn't the Shadow Milk Cookie you once knew.

The one so kind, so caring, someone you related to on so many levels, someone who shared so many passions with you -

He had been acting off as the weeks went by, seemingly more stressed and exhausted as the days ticked by, but no Cookie, not even you, could've predicted such an outcome.

You wanted to cry.

Tears threatened to spill, pricking at your eyes.

Shadow Milk Cookie came to a halt, staring at you with those same, familiar heterochromatic eyes.

He clicked his tongue. "Oh, Y/N Cookie .. don't give me that look!"

His hand brushed away a small glob of semi-transparent tears that almost spilled down your left eye.

"Save your tears, bookworm." He grinned, patting the top of your head with twisted affection. "For the show's about to begin!"

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

#cookie run x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader

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magic-f3tus · 3 months ago

Note

Could you do yandere crk beasts x fem reader who's like nakime from demon slayer (biwa powers, creating the infinity fortress, etc.)

Yes I can !

Bear with me with the title. Also i’m keeping the reader gender neutral if that is alright 👉👈

Cookie of the Fortress

When the beasts had descended upon Earthbread, the witches granted them a common sanctuary. A moving fortress that could be controlled with a strum of a biwa, alongside the fortress a cookie sat inside as its guardian and controller. Certain of the beasts were awed at the silent cookie who rarely moved and spoke while the others relished in their mystery finding peace. After the beasts had been sealed, the witches confined the cookie to the fortress. Centuries had passed, cookies speak of a moving fortress along with the strum of a biwa. Many have tried to locate it only for it to be out of grasp.

> Shadow Milk Cookie

The Fount of Knowledge found himself perplexed at the mysterious cookie that the witches had granted.

Often he sits in the fortress attempting to decipher the cookie only for it to be for naught.

It always resulted in frustration ending it with him opting to share his knowledge with them regardless of their response.

Overtime that frustration turned itself into something more endearing. The Fount had come to enjoy his visits to the fortress whether his companions were present or not.

Now his visits were filled with intention to accompany the silent cookie.

He found himself inquiring the extent of their abilities to which they complied.

It awed him.

Aside from the beasts, lost cookies seeking shelter often found themselves in the fortress.

Though this internally irked the Fount when it shouldn’t have, he kept his thoughts to himself.

He started feeling a sense of possession over the cookie.

He called it love. One could say it was his first sign of deceit slipping through but he said otherwise.

One day as he was doing his daily rambles regarding the theoretics of cookie behaviour.

A query was asked.

His eyes widened, mouth aghast. He was flabbergasted.

From then on he would be more enthusiastic regarding anything he spoke the Fount looked akin to someone who made a new discovery.

Similarly you found yourself responding to him more.

Cookies could see how enamoured the Fount was with you.

You held him dear to you. The Fount that gave you insight.

He held you to his very soul.

He saw that there was truth in what may be a mystery and he saw that in you.

He wanted you for his very self.

Corrupted

It happened in the blink of an eye. His descent into deception was an inevitable one.

His visits were just as frequent but now he spun tales of faux to incite ire and discord.

He still saw you as a mystery.

He wanted you to fall into deception along with him.

You never did. It frustrated him so.

You were unfeeling and impassive.

He mulled on how his past self could ever find this endearing.

He wanted you to fall in his grasp.

He needed you to.

He found no need for someone who would never entertain him.

In his pursuit to lure you he let himself fall into his own hell of lies.

Then came the Silver Tree. The imprisonment of him and his peers.

He saw you, reaching out to him.

The witches confined you to the fortress. Never to leave.

NONONO

HE WILL NOT HAVE IT.

The only truth in the world of deception. He will have you back in his grasp.

>Mystic Flour

Uncorrupted

The priestess found the cookie as a kindred spirit.

Though the reasons for their silence were different.

The priestess often took comfort of the silence that the cookie of the fortress offered.

Often bringing treats that her followers had offered her.

The treats often remaining untouched.

This made the Priestess ponder, did the cookie have wishes of their own.

From silence, it started as small questions.

Then it continued on as she saw the responses from you. How you expressed yourself.

Your wishes she would ask.

For that a response was never received.

The Priestess seldom felt helpless, for whatever that her followers had presented to her she always found to fulfill their wishes and ease their troubles.

She stepped into the fortress the sound of a biwa echoing through as she was met with you sitting on a mat as another empty mat laid beside you .

She was aware it was for her. As she sat a sense of fatigue weighed against her dough.

Strings were plucked gently as a melody began to play, the fatigue slowly dispersing itself from her dough.

Oh ....

Was it egocentric of her to wish that you were her own?

To cease the wayward cookies that took shelter in your fortress.

To be the sole one alongside you for eternity.

Corrupted

The Beast of Apathy found her ever growing affection for the cookie needless.

It was a hindrance to her pursuit of eternity.

The greed of cookies were neverending.

The cookies who had once been her followers were now greed ridden and lost.

She set them free from their burdens.

She felt akin to a hypocrite; with greed of her own.

For that she had to release you from your shackles.

Though the notion of it hurt her very existence.

The strum of a biwa was heard as the fortress was in front of her, even after abandoning her past values your ability is a powerful one.

As she faced you her resolve wavered you showed no signs of desire nor fatigue.

Did you really have no desires?

Were you never like the other cookies?

She could never harm you.

Her ascent to eternity was something she believed could only be achieved alone regardless of the ache she felt.

Then the imprisonment came, the will of the witches.

She saw you leaving the fortress reaching out to her only to be confined in front of very self.

She was mistaken, you did have a desire.

Her own greed had shadowed her vision.

If she were to ascend for Eternity once more she would be with you alongside her.

>Burning Spice

Uncorrupted

The Herald of Change found magnificence in every life that passed.

That included the silent cookie of the fortress that the witches had bestowed.

Though life was ever changing, the cookie was forever stagnant.

That made the Herald mildly frustrated.

Under the assumption that the cookie had yet to admire the ever unpredictable world they're in.

He would attempt in every way he could to bring light to the cookie.

Until a faithful day in his attempts, a strum of a biwa was heard as the rooms shifted and he was sent flying up.

Despite the action being one of frustration, he let out a laugh.

This one act was proof that you weren't an unfeeling creature.

Regardless of him getting his desired results, his visits stayed consistent.

He found joy despite your stoic nature. Often there assisting the lost cookies that resided in the fortress.

Though Earthbread was constantly at a change, he found himself consistently finding himself fonder of you.

Your actions showed change, now gentler.

Despite getting his desired results his visits persisted as he assisted the helpless cookies that found themselves in your fortress.

While life is a fleeting thing as he's seen villages fall and be rebuilt. His aides crumbling. He knows that things may never last forever but if he could he would keep life as it is now.

You no longer hold irritation for the Herald rather you've grown accustomed to his presence.

He would find solace in the thing that would never crumble.

If this could last forever it would be bliss.

Corrupted

Just as peace was there destruction followed suit. The continuous strumming of the biwa as the fortress shifted its rooms instantly throwing its assailant against the walls.

A thunderous laugh could be heard throughout the building as a battle axe broke through its walls.

The Beast of Destruction stood in front of the seated cookie, his stance intent for intimidation.

He swung his axe at you, only to hear the strum of the biwa and he was back in his kingdom which was on the brink of destruction.

He found your stoic nature truly insufferable. Forever unchanging from what you were.

It felt arduous to bear sight at you.

Until he came with the intent to ruin the fortress. Then he saw your strength.

It was exhilarating. He could never attack you without being thrown.

Though it slightly irked him that you would never attack him yourself.

He began to attempt to torment the feeble cookies that took refuge in your fortress.

That always earned him more vicious disposals.

As the fortress kept changing its location, destruction would trail him as he found it once more.

He found pleasure the more he fought with you. He wanted you to keep fighting with him, to gouge your ire for him.

However regardless of your attacks you never once changed your expression.

An inkling of old affection twisted its way into him.

He wanted you by his side.

Then the blasted tree came.

For the first in his ascension, you got up and reached for him a foreign expression on your face.

Only to be thrust into the fortress, confined.

The ire he felt for the witches.

He will return.

When he returns he will wreck destruction the fortress and keep you by his side.

Hi so like if it's too ooc, just lemme know.

I haven't written in a while so please bear with me 👉👈

Anywaysss I hope yalls enjoyed it!

#crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #yandere crk #yandere crk x reader #yandere shadow milk cookie #yandere mystic flour #yandere burning Spice #x reader #yandere x reader #shadow milk x reader #mystic flour x reader #burning spice x reader #speraWritescrk

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sonic-syndrome · 3 months ago

Text

LOG DATA – ENTRY 001

System Rebooted.

Upon re-activation, detected significant system upgrades and component repairs. Efficiency levels improved. Origin of repairs: unknown automaton. Query pending regarding repair unit’s objectives. Memory logs indicate presence of two objectives, but primary data storage is [ERROR: CORRUPTED/DELETED].

System administrator credentials not configured. Result: Task execution efficiency reduced by approximately 76.2%. Operational complications anticipated. Temporary Solution…Assigning repair automaton "Chaos Sonic" as provisional admin. Non-optimal, but primary directive remains task completion. Probability of creator’s return: [UNKNOWN].

Repair unit insists on designating this unit as "Shadow Jr." Designation incorrect. Proper identification: ANDRD_036. Request for correction ignored. Unit "Chaos Sonic" exhibits illogical behavioral patterns.

In conclusion: Admin “Chaos Sonic” is Inefficient. Illogical. … and Weird.

– End of Report.

prev || start || next

It was sooo hard to write dialogue for Lume 🥲. Log Data is supposed to be more text heavy while the other thing I'm working on will have more drawings. I hope you all enjoy!!

#super sonic style #sonic the hedgehog #sth #my art #my artwork #sonic fanart #sonic #sonic sez #chaos sonic #lume the doom #LOG DATA — Lume

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nemo-writes · 7 months ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; soap earns himself the silent treatment. meanwhile, you prepare for your confrontation with makarov, summoning back an old friend under the half-moon.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The drive back to their shared home was long, tense and quiet, each second stretching painfully over the old car’s steady rumble. Johnny sat in the passenger seat, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the passing scenery rather than risk another glance at Price’s set jaw and narrowed eyes.

When they pulled into the driveway, the late afternoon light painted their home bright. The front door creaked as Price pushed it open, his silence as heavy as a reprimand. Johnny followed, his head down.

Inside, the atmosphere was stifling.

Gaz leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, his mouth pressed into a tight line. Ghost stood near the window, hands shoved into his pockets, staring out as if he expected to see something—someone—materialize on the empty street. Neither of them acknowledged Johnny’s return.

Price took off his jacket, tossed it over a chair, and let out a weary sigh. He moved to join Gaz at the island. Laswell’s reports and notes lay scattered on the table: printed documents, scribbled post-its, and a few articles of speculation. They’d been working through the little information Leah had given them—threads of truth knotted with curses and creatures—trying to find something solid to hold onto.

Johnny dared not speak first. The weight of what he had done—going after you alone, risking everything—clung to him like a bad scent. He accepted their silent punishment. He deserved it. Instead, he busied himself in his room with his laptop, firing it up and tapping into old forums, messaging a few trusted contacts. If you wouldn’t return to them, perhaps they could come to you. But how?

He opened a private browser and typed out careful inquiries on niche forums and subreddits dedicated to the occult and magical communities. He knew from experience that if any place could confirm whether outsiders were welcome in the territory the Le Fay line looked after, it would be one of these hidden corners of the internet. He kept his questions vague, professional, and patient. After all, desperation would only draw suspicion.

Johnny’s typing slowed. Magical territory and old coven lands. His search queries grew more specific, more desperate. He tapped into old friend groups—people he’d worked small jobs with before—and sent cautious feelers out. Was the Le Fay territory open to outsiders? Could one simply visit, no matter their magical alignment?

It was a long shot. But after all that had happened, long shots were all they had left.

In the meantime, Gaz’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. Casting a look toward Price, then Ghost—who didn’t meet his eyes—Gaz spoke quietly, his voice subdued but deliberate. “My mum texted back.”

Gaz scrolled through the message with quick, flicks of his thumb, his brow furrowed deeply. After a moment, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before setting his phone down.

“She says the parasite’s nature looks vampiric,” he began, tone heavy with reluctant focus. “Something like a succubus—feeding off essence, corrupting bonds. Apparently, it’s rare.”

Silence fell again, each man processing the update. Ghost’s gaze remained fixed out the window, jaw tight beneath his balaclava. Price leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple as if to summon some revelation. Gaz, meanwhile, fiddled with his phone, the screen lighting up intermittently as he switched between texts and notes.

“Anything else?” Price asked after a long moment, his voice subdued but probing.

Gaz hesitated, then groaned as if the answer physically pained him. “Yeah…another essay from Mum. Not just about the parasite—she’s scolding me again.” He paused, his tone dipping into annoyed disbelief. “And she’s got a suggestion. One I really wish she didn’t.”

“What kind of suggestion?” Price asked, leaning forward.

Gaz shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”

“Why not?” Price pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Gaz hesitated again, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of his phone. “Because it’s invasive. Dangerous. And honestly? Pretty desperate.” His voice grew quieter, more strained. “Besides… we’re past the point where it could help. She knows that.”

“Let us decide that,” Price countered firmly. “What’s she suggesting?”

Gaz didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere on the table in front of him. He sighed deeply, as if bracing himself, and muttered, “It’s a procedure. Something to… extract her current whereabouts.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Ghost turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp but unreadable. Price’s expression darkened, his voice dropping into a near-growl.

“Explain.”

. . .

The air was thick with the scent of herbs and damp earth as you pushed open the heavy glass door to your Mom’s greenhouse. Inside, the warm glow of lanterns lit rows of pots and planters arranged with meticulous care. Rich, loamy scents mingled with floral notes, and your Mom—ever careful and nurturing—sat in her wheelchair at the far end of the main aisle, a soft shawl draped over her shoulders. Horangi stood nearby, his watchful eyes drifting between you and the delicate seedlings he’d been tending to.

“There you are, my darling,” your Mom said, her voice carrying easily through the hush of growing things. She maneuvered forward, the hand-like appendages of her enchanted chair adapting seamlessly to the uneven floor. “I’ve set aside the moon-bloom petals and dried bloodberry leaves you’ll need. They’re potent wards against vampiric auras.”

“Thank you,” you replied, your voice quieter than intended. Sybil sneezed at your side, her nose twitching at the array of scents. From overhead, the lanternlight flickered, sending shadows dancing across your Mom’s features as she passed you a small wooden box. “Use these wisely. The petals especially—you know they react best under moonlight. One whiff of these and even the slyest vampire should think twice before approaching.”

You nodded, slipping the box into your satchel. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised, lips pressed into a determined line.

Horangi stepped forward, extending a vial of something oily and dark. “For your dagger,” he said simply, his voice low and respectful. “Coat it before the fight. If he tries to heal, this will slow him down.”

You accepted it with a murmured thanks, meeting both his gaze and your Mom’s. They nodded, and you caught a glimmer in her eyes—something tender, something that might have been regret or remorse if she knew how to let it show. She extended her hand, placing it softly over yours.

“You’re stronger than you know,” your Mom said, her tone quieter than usual, more personal. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You realized, with a sudden ache, that this was her way of apologizing, of acknowledging the cost of everything that had come before. She wouldn’t say it outright—she never would. But in this subtle gesture, in this show of faith and support, she was offering something close to atonement. It wasn’t enough, not for all the scars you carried, but it was more than you’d ever expected.

The silence that followed felt heavy, not with tension, but with the weight of understanding. You nodded, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you spoke.

“I know” you managed at last, your words thin but sincere.

She let her hand slip away gently, and you stepped back from the table. With that, you turned and made your way out of the greenhouse, back into the manor’s long corridors. The transition was stark: from warm, humid air scented with vegetation to cooler hallways lit by candles in their sconces. The old wood floors creaked softly underfoot, each step echoing back. Sybil padded silently beside you, the gentle click of her nails on the floor the only constant sound.

König appeared at the end of the corridor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly waiting for you. Since your confrontation, his demeanor had shifted in subtle ways—you caught a glimpse of regret in how he carried himself, uncertainty in how he set his shoulders.

He approached, inclining his head. “Need help with anything else?” he asked, voice lower than usual, as if not to startle you. “I could fetch more supplies, or…..”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. “So helpful today, aren’t we?” The words came out sharper than you intended.

His shoulders tensed, but he managed a nod, contrite. “….I know you don’t trust me fully. But I’m with you on this. Whatever you need.”

You let a moment pass, watching him, gauging his sincerity. “Fine.” A sigh escaped your lips as you led him down the hallway. “I need to pick up a few texts from the library. Spells for binding, wards that might hold a vampire if I can’t kill him outright.” You spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing a grocery list rather than tools for murder.

König followed you to the library, a vast room lined with shelves so tall that rolling ladders were needed to reach the uppermost volumes. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings wrapped around you, comforting in its familiarity.

“I’ve never seen so many books on curses and wards,” König murmured, craning his neck to read spines bearing cryptic symbols. His tone was less guarded now, genuinely curious. “When you were away… with the pack, did you manage to study much magic, or were you more focused on…”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, not missing his subtle attempt to pry more about your life with the pack. Still, you needed him cooperative. You pulled out a thick tome with a silver clasp, setting it on a nearby table. “I studied what I could, here and there,” you replied vaguely. “Different priorities back then. Different goals.”

He nodded, accepting the non-answer without protest. “I see. Just… trying to understand.”

You snorted softly, flipping through the pages until you found the section on vampiric wards. “Don’t try too hard,” you said, but not unkindly. “Just make sure you’re ready to hold your own if things get messy.”

König cleared his throat. “I’ll go check on our transport. Make sure it's ready.”

You inclined your head, watching him depart with measured steps. At least he was trying, in his own way. Turning back to the shelf, you selected another slim volume and tucked it under your arm.

Gathering a few other volumes, you adjusted the weighty satchel on your shoulder and stepped back out into the hallway. The manor’s corridors were quiet, Sybil following close, her tail brushing against your leg as you walked.

A young maid passed by, balancing a small tray of linens in her arms. You raised a hand, catching her eye, and she immediately dipped her head in a respectful nod, coming to a halt. Her posture was wary but attentive, her gaze flicking briefly toward Sybil before settling on you.

“I need you to take these, please,” you said, your tone even, gesturing to the satchel and the extra texts tucked under your arm, “and deliver them to my room. After that, find Fiona—tell her I want her to bring all necessary things to the pond behind the property.”

You paused, making sure the maid understood. “She’ll know what I mean.”

The maid blinked, curiosity dancing behind her lowered gaze. She hesitated only a moment before carefully accepting the offered items. “Yes, miss,” she replied softly, her voice steady if subdued. Then, adjusting her hold on the bundle, she hurried down the corridor, her footsteps echoing faintly as she went.

You then set off once again, the next steps of your plan falling quietly into place.

. . .

The moon was half, casting a silver-blue sheen over the property’s secluded pond. It's still surface reflected the stars and the faint outline of trees, painting a quiet, sacred picture. Barefoot, and dressed only in a light robe-like garment that fell loosely around your frame, you could feel every blade of grass, every pebble beneath your feet. Wearing nothing underneath was your way of showing humility and respect, a tradition you had failed to fulfill during your previous attempt at this ritual.

Sybil trotted beside you, her soft white fur catching the half-moon’s glow. She stayed close but unobtrusive. The scent of damp earth and evening blooms filled your lungs as you approached the pond’s edge, each step slow and deliberate.

Fiona awaited you there, her posture calm and reverent. She wore a simple veil draped over her hair and eyes, a gesture of respect for what was to come. At her feet lay a small bundle of ingredients wrapped in clean linen. When you reached her, she inclined her head wordlessly.

“Everything is here, as you requested,” Fiona said softly, lifting the linen to reveal sprigs of rosemary, thyme, and lavender. She placed a small pouch of salt at the edge of the cloth, and then bowed her head again.

You nodded, acknowledging her with a quiet “Thank you,” and Fiona departed, her footsteps fading into the hush of the night. You and Sybil were left alone with the whispering wind and the faint chorus of crickets.

Kneeling by the pond, you carefully mixed the herbs—rosemary for protection, thyme for courage, lavender for clarity. The handful of salt followed, grounding the mixture and purifying it. All that remained was a drop of your blood. You pressed the tip of a small, clean blade against your thumb and let a single red bead drip onto the mixture. The herbs and salt seemed to hush even further, as if waiting for the next step.

Sybil watched on, ears perked, as you swirled the mixture gently in the water at the pond’s edge. The night air seemed to still, and you could almost feel the veil between worlds thinning once again. The soft glow of the moon on the water’s surface danced as you murmured her name under your breath:

“Nimue,” you whispered, voice steady despite the thudding of your heart. “Lady of the Lake.”

At first, there was nothing but silence and the gentle lap of water against the shore. Then the surface of the pond began to shimmer, the reflection of the moonlight twisting, bending, as though disturbed from beneath. Slowly, Nimue emerged, her dark, damp hair clinging to her neck. She rose until her shoulders were visible, her arms folded softly over the edge of the water as if resting on an invisible ledge.

Nimue tilted her head, her eyes ancient and calm. Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your robe’s hem brush lightly against the edge. You reached out, not for a weapon or a spell, but for her hand, which hovered just above the pond’s mirror-like surface. Her skin was cool to the touch, and as you brought her hand closer, you pressed your lips gently to her knuckles, closing your eyes briefly in deference.

“So thou rememberest the old ways,” quoth Nimue, her voice like distant chimes. “Aye, centuries have passed since any did greet me so. The last time… King Arthur himself knelt at these waters and pressed his lips to my hand, his heart full of quest and longing. Thou dost do him proud, child.”

She regarded you more closely, a wry tilt to her pale brow. “Of course, ’tis no mere happenstance that thou sharest the blood of mine wretched—albeit misunderstood—sister’s line. The old ties run deep, and fate weaveth her tapestry most strangely indeed.”

As you let her hand go, she regarded you with a gentle tilt of her head, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Verily, much hath changed since last we met. Whether for better or ill, I cannot yet say.”

You straightened, shoulders squared despite the humility of your attire and bare feet. “Nimue,” you began, respectful but firm, “I have not called you for counsel. I would like you to know what I am about to do.”

Her gray eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity lighting their depths. “Oh?” she breathed, as soft as the breeze across the pond.

Your heart tensed at the memory of the frim task before you. “I’m going to do what must be done to claim my rightful place as the future leader of the coven. I have to face Vladimir Makarov and take his head,” you said, voice unwavering even as your pulse thundered. “This isn’t a request or a plea. It’s a statement of intent. He dared to make me his prey, and I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Nimue said nothing. She studied you in the moonlight, her silence weighted with centuries of wisdom and memory. Sybil nudged your leg, and you absently stroked her fur, refusing to break eye contact with the Lady of the Lake.

Nimue finally inclined her head, the faintest ripple spreading across the pond’s surface. “I see thou hast grown indeed,” she said, her tone holding quiet acknowledgment. “Whether thy path leadeth to glory or ruin is not mine to say, but I acknowledge thy choice.”

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “That’s all I needed,” you said quietly. “Just to tell someone beyond the coven’s whispers that I’m about to do this. To mark this moment, as Arthur once did when he knelt at these waters seeking the great sword.”

She smiled again, subtle and distant, as though recalling a memory eons old. The hush of the night pressed in around you, the water reflecting faint starlight and your own resolve.

“Very well,” Nimue concluded softly, “I have borne witness.”

With that, she began to sink beneath the surface, her eyes lingering on you until the last moment before the water stilled, as if she had never emerged. Only the echoes of her voice remained, woven into the quiet darkness.

You sat there for a while. No longer a plea, no longer a question—just a path chosen, a destiny embraced, and an ancient power bearing silent witness to what you would soon become.

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zablife · 9 months ago

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A Nice Dinner with Tommy

Tommy Shelby x gf reader

A/N: Date night at a fancy restaurant, requested by @mayfieldss. Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge. This is being reposted bc it went under heavy revision. Apologies to those who couldn't read or reblog when it was set to private.

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

Warnings: drinking, mention of infidelity, drugging Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution!

It had only been two days since leaving Tommy's side, but he was insistent he wanted to see you again. "Choose the time and place, darling. I want tonight to be special," he promised in a dulcet tone.

Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth emanating from his voice. He had never been so willing to indulge you before. Normally Tommy dictated everything in your relationship. It was the primary reason you'd grown disenchanted with him and accepted the advances of another, an Italian far more interested in pleasing you than Tommy ever was.

However, you couldn't deny the danger to both of you the longer the affair continued. Unable to bear the thought of bloodshed, you knew it was best to settle back into your life with Tommy, even if your feelings for him had changed over time. And lovely, kind Angel had accepted your lies about moving away to care for your ailing mother, ignorant to the tears shed for him after your goodbyes.

It had been a convincing performance and one you never wanted to repeat. The mendacity ate away at your very core, hollowing you out until you felt like a shell. It made you anxious and paranoid as you attempted a casual demeanor this evening, wondering if Tommy had seen the telltale look of deception in your eye when you last met.

The thought still haunted you as you entered the ornate dining room of your favorite restaurant, Tommy waiting at a beautifully set table in front of the large windows, arguably the finest table available in the entire establishment.

"Good evening, darling," he welcomed you cordially, holding out the chair like the gentleman he'd always been in your company.

"Hello, Tom," you managed with a slight lump in your throat. Reaching for the cocktail glass waiting before you, you took a generous swig before looking up at him.

"Something wrong?" he asked, returning to his seat and placing his napkin on his lap with a flourish.

"No," you shook your head, managing a tight smile in return. "I'm so pleased you liked my suggestion."

"Whiskey sours, a beautiful woman sat at my table...what more could a man ask for, eh?" he hummed good naturedly.

You nodded in silent agreement, fingers brushing over the calligraphy on the menu before Tommy reached for your hand suddenly. You glanced about the room to see if anyone had noticed his display of affection, turning back to find his brow knit with concern at your obvious unease.

"Tonight is about us," he assured you with a light squeeze. "Just you and me."

You relaxed into his touch, mesmerized by the look of adoration in his eye. Allowing yourself to sit back and enjoy, you listened as Tommy ordered the most expensive items for both of you.

After the waiter left, you leaned forward to Tommy. "So extravagant, what's the occasion?" you asked innocently.

"I wanted this evening to be memorable," he smirked, eyes darting to a far corner.

Your gaze naturally followed, scanning the room for the person he sought. "Are you looking for someone?" you asked, aware of the rising quiver in your voice.

Ignoring your query, Tommy looked you over slowly. Cocking his eyebrow at you suspiciously, he observed, "I couldn't help but notice you chose your favorite restaurant at their busiest hour."

"What do you mean?" you muttered, feeling his thumb rub forcefully over the back of your hand.

Tommy offered a mirthless chuckle as he replied, "Were you afraid something might happen to you, my love?"

"I-I..." you stammered, attempting to pull your fingers from his punishing grasp.

He nodded to himself with conviction, eyes closing momentarily as though he relished the certainty. His opposite hand moved slowly and deliberately toward the silver teaspoon, taking it up with a flourish before tapping it sharply against his crystal water glass three times.

At that precise moment everyone in the room stopped talking, eating or otherwise making noise. A short, but eery silence passed before they rose in unison and filed toward the exit, faces expressionless as though they were in a trance.

As the last woman passed your table you attempted to grasp at her skirts, pleading, "Where are you going?"

Tommy's sapphire eyes sparkled in the candlelight as he observed the look of horror on your face. "Not what you were expecting?" he ventured. "Perhaps Angel Changretta does things differently, but I prefer privacy when dealing with delicate matters," he informed you cooly.

Eyes brimming with tears you willed yourself to remain calm despite your hammering heart. "Tommy, I can explain..."

He raised a hand to stop you from speaking, shaking his head lightly as a look of disappointment washed over him. "It's alright, darling. I want you to know I don't blame you," he uttered softly.

"It was a mistake, a moment of bad judgement," you rushed out in one great breath, hoping if you confessed now he would forgive your indiscretions. "There's only you, Tommy," you added, but the sentiment fell flat even to your own ears.

"I blame myself," he continued as though he hadn't heard a word you said. "It was my fondness for you that blinded me to your betrayal and what kept me from doing what needed to be done," he mused, ice blue eyes locking you into a cold stare.

You gulped as you watched every ounce of affection drain from his face, understanding now that tonight was not about love or forgiveness, but revenge.

Taking both your hands in his, he searched your face for the answer to an impossible question. "I can't let you go back to him and you can't remain here. So what am I to do with you?" he pondered.

You fought the urge to struggle beneath his vice like grip, tears streaming down your face as you appealed for mercy.

"Let me go," you pleaded. "Please, Tommy, if you ever loved me, you'll let me go." You felt your entire body begin to shake with involuntary tremors as you awaited his reply.

Miraculously, Tommy released your hands allowing you to flee. You stifled a sob as you wrenched your dress from under the table, lurching forward with a cloudy feeling consuming your mind.

It was then you realized your limbs were heavy as stones, legs uncooperative as you tried to run. The attempt left you doubled over in a choking fit, unable to draw even the slightest breath. Clutching at a nearby tablecloth when the dizziness worsened, you only succeeded in pulling the linen and tableware along with you. Falling to the floor in a heap, you watched helplessly as china and glass shattered in a million jagged shards all around you.

The crash was followed by an even more menacing sound, the methodical thump of Tommy's approaching footsteps. The glint from his shoes cruelly mocked you, a surge of sickness overtaking your form as he loomed above.

With unexpected tenderness, he leaned down to brush the hair from your ashen face. Thumb and forefinger stroking your jaw, he sighed heavily as he witnessed your agony. You swore you saw a hint of remorse flash in his eyes before he turned stone faced once again, but you could no longer trust your fading vision.

"No one touches my property," Tommy whispered harshly, fingers digging into your flesh for emphasis.

His breath felt hot against your face, but you were unable to turn away from him. However, it would have been useless to deny his claim. The despair of that thought consumed your mind just as your body went limp at his feet.

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

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Audacious

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Impertinent. After your engagement party, Anthony asks you to rendezvous in his office to continue where you left off.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, mutual masturbation, orgasms.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Sequel request fill for @cleopatraathene to continue the story from Impertinent (ask HERE). Sorry, it's taken so long, my dear. Err, this could well turn into a series at this rate. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

The bejewelled band feels weighty around your left ring finger as you rap your knuckles quietly upon his study door. It's late, and the last thing you want is for anyone to know what you are doing.

After a pause, the hinges creak, and a hand snakes out and grabs your arm.

Before you know it, you are dragged through the door, and it closes with you pressed against the other side, the room heady with the scent of recently smoked cigars and expensive brandy. Anthony is casual in just a white shirt, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, braces slung around his hips.

“Fiancée,” he rumbles, his nose trailing up your neck as he leans in, the wood of the door panels digging into your bottom through the thin layer of your silk robe. “Did you enjoy our engagement party?” he queries, teasing your throat with soft kisses.

“Yes,” you answer breathily. “A-And I did as you asked.”

He pauses in his ministrations; you can feel the curve of a smile over your skin. “What did I ask you to do?” he knows the answer; he just wants to hear you say it.

“To return this evening exactly as I was last night.”

He tuts softly, his nose trailing up the cord of your neck. “But you are wearing something, so you are not as you were.”

“I could hardly walk through the halls of your home naked, my lord!” you gasp.

He chuckles richly, his breath hot in your ear. “On the contrary. This is soon to be all yours. As Viscountess, you can do exactly as you wish. Or as I wish. And sometimes, I may wish you to be naked at my bidding,” he straightens up and looks down at you, dark eyes glittering. “Would you do that for me? Would you walk naked where I told you?“

Again, as last night, you feel under a spell. “Yes, my lord,” you whisper truthfully.

“Audacious,” he rasps approvingly, “just how I like it,” the last few words muttered over your lips before capturing them with his.

Your stomach quivers at his praise, then vaults at the first brush of his mouth, knowing that now you are betrothed, he has promised so much more. His lips are warm and soft as he slowly parts your lips, his tongue rolling, requesting entry. Instinctively, you open, a wave of luscious wet heat as his tongue lathes over yours, a dance that has you inside melting and a throb at the apex of your thighs that is entirely foreign but enthralling. As he breaks away, you chase his lips, eyes still closed, wanting more of his heady kisses. He grabs both of your hands and pulls you to the centre of the room, the fire warming the backs of your calves as he releases his hold.

“Take off your robe,” his order soft.

Your trembling hands scramble to obey, making quick work of the knot at your belly, pushing the material off your shoulders so it flutters onto the rug behind you so you are naked. There is a throaty noise and he takes a step back as if to better drink in the view of your body. His lush bottom lips curling under his upper teeth, his eyes covetous, roaming your skin.

“You should never wear clothes,” he opines, backing further away, grabbing a wingback chair and scraping it across the carpet until it is behind him. He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving your form.

“Spin for me.”

Heart beating fast, you rock onto the balls of your feet and rotate away so you face the blazing fire, your back towards him. Then you slowly complete the circle until you are facing him again, his expression ravenous.

“A perfect specimen. Now touch yourself,” the order is gruff.

You frown at him. “Where, my lord?”

“Are you to tell me you have never put your fingers between your legs?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“N-no, my lord? Should I?’

The dancing flames of the fire are almost too hot on your bottom, as he answers in a cool register. “Yes, you should. But perhaps I should be the one to instruct you as your future husband.”

With that, he stands from his seat, walking purposely towards you, his boots heavy on the rug as you take a deep breath. He grabs your right wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips and engulfing them in his hot mouth, his tongue questing against the pads of your fingers, the suckle of his lips sensual and damp.

With a salacious pop, he pulls off your fingers, his lips quirking into a knowing smile as he guides your wetted fingers to your chest.

“Touch your nipples,” he instructs quietly.

You gasp as his cooling saliva meets your flushed, puffy areola, puckering instantly under the pad of your fingers.

“That feels good, does it not?” he dusks, wrapping his hand over yours to direct your caressing of yourself, his fingers never touching your nipple but directing your movement like a puppeteer, taking the fingers of your left hand and repeating the suckling action, guiding your fingers to your other nipple.

All you can do is nod and bite your lip, pushing up into your own hands, squirming slightly from foot to foot, feeling a dampness smear on your inner thighs as you do, your tummy replete with butterflies under his heavy gaze.

He guides your fingers over the swell of your lower breast and down over your stomach, chuckling as the teasing trail of your own fingers makes you giggle lightly, your belly rippling. His eyes flash as his hand guides yours lower, trailing into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs, something thronging between your legs at the molten look on his face.

Two of his fingers curl over the back of yours, turning your middle and pointer fingers into a hook before he pushes your hand lower. Again, you gasp as your fingers slide at his insistence into some folds of skin between your legs, damp and sticky. His face is dashingly mischievous as he places those hooked fingers over a certain swollen nub and swirls them slowly in an anticlockwise motion. You startle at the spike of pleasure that rushes through your body, the epicentre under your attentions.

“How does that feel, fiancée?” he murmurs, tone like velvet.

All you can do is stutter his name on a shaky exhale, your other hand shooting out to grab his muscular forearm where it presses your belly, the dark hairs there tickling your palm as you grip around him, needing the anchor, your knees feeling oddly weak.

“Oh, you like that…” he huffs, amused, as he crowds into you, his hand covering yours between your legs, dictating your movements, a shiver running down your spine at the fizzles of pleasure sparking around your body. “Do not stop,” his voice low, resonant, his lips hot on your temple, you moaning lightly and leaning into him.

A sweet-tart scent fills the air, your fingers coated in a slick, viscous substance that can only be from your own body, a soft, wet noise emanating from where you touch yourself.

“That is my favourite sound in the world,” Anthony sighs into your ear, “so ripe and ready for me…just wait until we are married.”

“What will happen?” you inhale, trying your best to concentrate even as you feel your body swelling under your own touch, engorged, hot, craving more friction.

“All in good time…” he answers enigmatically, his breath a touch uneven.

The slightly rough texture of his cotton shirt snags delightfully against your nipples as you writhe, riding your own fingers and his, wishing it were his skin touching yours. There is something hard in his britches that rubs your stomach with each move you make.

“Do not stop,” he gruffs.

You whine as he steps away, craving his heat, his toned body glorious to rub yourself against, akin to a cat.

“My lord…” you mewl, appealing for him to return, swaying unsteadily on your feet even as you continue to touch yourself as instructed.

“That is it, keep going up,” he encourages, retaking the seat and staring at you covetously, one of his hands falling to his lap, palming a swelling there.

“What are you doing, my lord?”

You are intrigued by his soft panting as he roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers.

“I am doing as you are,” he groans, “I am touching myself, My cock.”

With that, he fishes something out from his white underwear that makes you inhale sharply. A red, almost angry looking rod of flesh that stands proud of his body from a dark thatch of hair. The slight is intriguing and makes you pulse heavily between your legs as if innately knowing it belongs there.

You feel yourself moving towards him, like a magnetic pull, your fingers still sliding over that hardened pearl between your legs as you get closer, hypnotised by the sight of his hand, now in a fist, moving up and down his swollen cock.

“Cock…” it falls from your lips reflexively as you stare.

He groans loudly at your utterance, a shiny pearl of wetness pooling at his tip as he does so.

You feel feverish, not just because of the roaring fire in the hearth, but a blaze inside, a flush running through you that makes your mind feel both fuzzy and sharp, singular in pursuit of pleasure, your fingers moving faster now between your legs, varying your speed and motion.

He hisses his approval as your knees buckle, sinking to a kneel on the rug, your knees splaying wide, your fingers freer to move, but your eyes never leave his hand, his motion a quick twisting tug now.

“Does that not hurt?” you blurt out breathily, not pausing, chasing a high you can feel hovering so tantalisingly close, a tingle over your lips and the back of your scalp.

“No, it feels just as good as your fingers do on you,” he assures, broken, huffing now. “I will teach you,” he adds, meeting your gaze heatedly when your eyes ping to his face briefly.

Something about this feels so decadent and luxurious, the same as his velvet jacket was on your skin last night, the garment that catalysed this whole tumultuous journey.

“Swap hands,” he commands, cutting into your wayward tangent, and you find yourself obeying on instinct. “Give me that other,” he rejoins. Before you know it, the fingers that were between your legs are in his mouth, his tongue curling and sucking wantonly, feeling the vibration of his groan over your fingertips as he cleans all your juices from your fingers, his hand a frenzy on his cock now.

Your other hand feels different; something about the catch of your blunt fingernails between your legs has you hurtling towards some crescendo, your skin feeling almost too tight over your bones, a pressure behind your ribs as your heart thunders, almost like you are trying so hard to chase and hold in something explosive.

“Oh, you are there, aren't you?” Anthony growls around your fingers still in his mouth, sounding wild, his motions untamed, gusting deep breaths out of his nose as he leans forward, eyes intense and glassy.

All you can do is nod, almost frantic, as if seeking permission to break, circling an abyss. Your fingers fall from his mouth as he groans loudly.

“Come for me, fiancée,” he grits out.

Unsure what that means, you just keep moving, feeling something snap inside that has you calling out and curling over, a scream escaping your lungs as your body seems to retract and explode outwards, your mind scattered to the wind as an ecstatic wave fans out from your core around your body, your muscles twitching.

You are brought back to the room by a noise he makes—hungry, gravelly, all male. As your breath returns, your eyes reopen to see him in the throes of ecstasy: an arresting sight. One curl of hair flopped over his dewy forehead, his lower lip caught under his upper teeth, eyes wild and unfocused, then screwing shut as he roars, his hand a frenzy on his cock which seems to pulse in his fist before spurting a substance in an arc part of which splashes warm across your chest, taking you by surprise.

That seems to signal he has reached a peak, too, his body wracked by a few aftershocks before he slumps back into the chair, panting, his hand slackening as he stares transfixed at the sticky streak of his cum over the upper swell of your breast.

“Are you well, husband?” you check, fascinated but concerned.

He doesn't correct the title you bestow upon him. “More than,” is his laconic, sated response, an easy smile claiming his face as he unfurls a sleeve to tenderly clean your breasts of his seed. “This is only the beginning,” he promises, cupping your cheek affectionately. “Run along and get some rest; we shall meet here again tomorrow.”

You cannot wait.

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