#escaped audios misery

[escapedaudios]

How much would it take you to kill off a listener?

I did it for free already in 2022.

And again in 2023 (though this is a softer death because Slashers can resurect as ghouls)

I will be killing a Listener again very soon.

[ryrywrites]

Death Star - Ben Plunkett

all dividers cred: @cafekitsune

Pair: Ben Plunkett x fem!reader

Description: When Y/N and Ben entered senior year, they were optimistic. For Y/N, it was one last year to survive and then she was free. But for Ben, this was his last opportunity to make a name for himself. His goals were clear; get accepted into any college, ask his dream girl to prom, and become prom king. Y/N's goals weren't so simple, considering the only person she could see herself going to prom with is head over heels for LaToya Reynolds. Y/N is seemingly forgotten once Ben prom-poses to LaToya and can't seem to get a moment of his time anymore. When prom rolls around, Ben and Y/N are forced to confront the new space between them.

Warnings: fairly angsty, mostly fluffy, swearing, arguing and making up, overbearing mom <3

WC: 1.9k

A/N: Don't you love it when it takes you months to get the motivation to start writing again and then it doesn't live up to your standards? 😃😮‍💨

ben plunkett masterlist × main masterlist

"Breathe in...breathe out..." Y/N held her breath in sync with the audio. She was currently going for the record for the longest headache held in 24 hours. She had tried everything. Hydrating, taking a nap, taking a shower, and now, meditation. It was her mother who had sparked the throbbing pain pounding against her cranium. Of course, Y/N had brought this upon herself in a way. Telling her mother, who was prom queen back in her day, that she no longer wanted to attend the prom was her first mistake. Her second mistake was not sprinting out of the house the minute those words fell from her lips. Even if she had somehow escaped the conversation, she had no where to go. Her best friend, whom she had been avoiding most desperately, wasn't someone she could talk to anymore. Not since the prom-posal. Since Ben Plunkett, the man she had been pining after since they were 13, had asked LaToya Reynolds, the woman he'd been pining after since they were 14, to prom, she had become a ghost to him. Not a single text was returned until at least 3 days after it was sent, no more midnight phone calls, no more snack runs, no more bookstore, movies, waffles, and no more death star.

Something shifted the last time they spoke. It was a quick phone call, curt and nothing special. It was a Friday night, he was apologizing for ditching their plans. It was a tradition they had, the bookstore-movies-waffles thing they did every Friday night. Even before either of them could drive or knew anything about quality cinema. It was theirs and only theirs until it wasn't. His apology was absentminded and rushed, she could hear LaToya in the background telling him to hurry up. The call ended after about 2 minutes, cutting her protests short and gripping her in the stomach with a sharp pain she didn't recognize. After that night, Ben made no effort to return her calls or even talk to her in school. He sat with the Everests and waited on LaToya hand and foot. She wasn't sure what hurt more, the fact that she lost her best friend or that he didn't even seem upset about it. She was torn apart, throat becoming bone-dry every time she saw them together, her heart racing in her ears from both frustration and embarrassment.

Her mother had insisted that she reconsider her decision but Y/N stood firm. Even Mandy begged her to go with her and Graham but there was no swaying her. She was sick at the idea of attending prom or being anywhere near Ben or anyone else for that matter. So here she was, the night before prom, with no dress, no date, and no appetite. She chewed her lips and willed the headache away (or prayed to be put out of her misery). When she and Ben were younger, they would talk about how they were on the same wavelength. That somehow their thoughts were linked, telepathically or spiritually. They knew when one needed the other. Now, Y/N was sure that idea was nothing but a childish notion. She turned her head to the side to examine her bedroom, littered with memories and moments she wanted so badly to go back to. She stood up and felt lightheaded from a combination of crying and basically not moving all day. It was the last Friday she had before graduation next week and she was spending it reminiscing.

She walked over to her nightstand where there stood a gigantic Lego Death Star, unfinished. She and Ben had planned on finishing it before the school year ended. She picked it up carefully and took in every detail, it had taken them the last year to get as close as they were now. They had decided not to glue the pieces down in case they ever wanted to start over, she smiled down at their efforts and, just for a second, allowed herself to miss Ben. That's when she heard her doorbell ring, her mother was always very quick to invite her friends over and allow them to grace her daughter with their sage advice which often consisted of them telling Y/N how much she was breaking her mother's heart over a seemingly meaningless argument or difference in opinion. She heard the creak of the stairs, placing the death star back on her nightstand and moving to open the door. Ben beat her to it and slowly popped his head into the room. The silence was deafening.

Ben walked fully into the room and shut the door behind him. The lump in her throat was impossible to swallow, anything she had to say to him was gone now. So he cleared his throat and decided he would start. "I'm sorry." He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "I probably should've called. I just..." Y/N maintained eye contact, begging him to make this right. "This is weird right?" She nodded and patted the bed, urging him to sit next to her. He trudged over and sat down, sighing. "I know...I fucked up." There's a pause, a comfortable silence. "I don't why but...I broke it off with LaToya." She finally met his eyes. "You did what? Why? What happened?" He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. "Is she okay?" He nodded, avoiding eye contact. "She took it surprisingly well. In her words she 'saw it coming' and that I 'needed to see you.' She's actually pretty great." Her face became red, she didn't know what to say or how to react. "But the whole time I was with her, something was so off." I held a bubble in my mouth. "She had hot breath? Bad kisser? Glass eye?" He finally laughed. "Not exactly. Everything about her was great." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"So what was it?" He finally turned to her, fully facing her and smiling like a dork. "Guess." He said softly. It was then that Y/N realized just how close they were. "Did she...have bad taste in music?" The air was buzzing, something was pulling them towards each other. "No." His hands were clammy. He had known immediately what LaToya meant when she said that he needed to Y/N. Every date, every kiss, he was somewhere else. His heart wasn't in it, not because of LaToya, but because of Y/N. But how could he be so stupid? He finally had exactly what he wanted, the girl he'd been infatuated with for years, and he couldn't have been more unhappy. "Did she...chew with her mouth open?" Ben shook his head and smiled knowingly. "Not really." He replied, coming to the conclusion that she wasn't gonna get it. Little did he know, she had butterflies from the anticipation. She wanted desperately for him to tell her why he was here with her rather than with LaToya. LaToya knew why, she had known about a week into dating Ben. The reason they weren't together was because of her. LaToya wasn't mad, she wasn't upset, she was understanding, which only made Ben feel like a bigger dick for not giving her what she deserved.

"I give up. Tell me. What was it?" He wiped his hands on his pants and looked nervous. "She wasn't you." He said, voice shaky. Y/N stayed quiet, but a smile played on her lips. "What?" Her face was on fire, she wasn't sure how to speak anymore. Ben wasn't sure what to say next. They sat there in silence, a weight in the room, a pressure for someone to do something, say something. Ben wanted so badly for her to respond or react in some way, even if it was negative. Y/N felt nervousness fill her chest. "She didn't make me laugh, or make me nervous. There was no... spark. Do you ever-" He cut himself off by rubbing his eyes in frustration. He was struggling to express what he had felt, what words could he use? "I thought I knew what I wanted." Y/N was seeing stars. Ben was wringing his hands in concern. Never, in any conversation they'd ever had, had she been so quiet. "Do you?" She finally spoke, "Know what you want?" All they could do was look at each other. All it took was one look to his lips from Y/N and Ben crumbled.

His hand held her cheek, leaning in to place a sweet, short kiss on her lips. When their lips connected, Y/N remembered the first time she had held his hand. They had decided to go see a horror movie with a murderous clown and cheap jump scares. One jump scare in specific got her and, out of fear (and maybe something else), she had grabbed Ben's wrist to ground herself. She recalled how he laughed at her and grabbed her hand, locking fingers with hers. For him, it was probably nothing. But for her, it was the start of something so much more. Although the the interaction was short, Ben had always wondered about that night in the theater. Did she mean to grab him? His thoughts always raced when he thought about their little touches like that. When she laughed, she'd lean against him and grab his arm (he made sure to make her laugh every chance he got). When she was bored, she'd lean her head against his shoulder or wrap her arms around his neck. Until this moment, he always figured her touches were strictly platonic. He never thought about the possibility that there was more behind each look. Her lips tasted like cotton candy against his. When he felt her return the kiss, his lips curled into a smile.

Though the kiss was short, their palms were sweaty and heads were spinning. As Ben parted from the kiss, he was stuck in place and grinning like an idiot. Y/N couldn't look at him, he looked so goofy. She burst into laughter and laid her head on his chest, trying her best to suppress her fits of snorts. Ben fell back on the bed in bliss, there was no overthinking this part. He quickly got up and grabbed his backpack. Y/N looked at him, red from the laughs and head pounding from a mix of blush and shock. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a piece of paper and a red marker. He placed the paper on her desk and began to write. "What are you doing?" Ben always had random moments of genius, but he considered this to be his best idea yet. When he was done scribbling away on his paper, he held up on display for Y/N to read. There, in red ink, read the word 'Prom?' in bold letters with little red hearts all around it. She examined the paper and beamed, "Yes..." Ben fisted pumped the air and tackled her in a hug, slamming them both onto her bed. "Wait!" Y/N quickly sat up in the bed. "What?" The boy shot up next to her. "What am I gonna wear?" Just then, her mother barged in with a puffy pink and purple dress, perfect for the 80's theme, and a cheesy smile on her face. "Already covered!!"

[novi-nonsense]

I'm off work for the rest of the year, and my main goal of this holiday is to beat my brain into actually enjoying some escapism instead of constantly dwelling on the miseries of real life! (I feel like I always do plenty of that and let it ruin my day...)

It's so easy for me to fall into cynicism, so actually getting lost in fiction has become a really difficult task for me in the past few years, but I think it might help me to stay motivated and keep going, and you know, actually LIVE instead of just existing!

I've already watched the new Scott Pilgrim anime (it was cute and fun!), I'm re-watching Log Horizon right now (in hopes I can actually finish it this time), and I have Vinland Saga, Dune and a couple of horror movies lined up to go.

I've been playing Guild Wars 2 again, this time mostly without second monitor content so I can focus on the game fully (especially the audio design; it's so much more immersive than I remember!)

Hopefully I can break out of this mindset that I'm not allowed to enjoy fiction, I feel like it's also affecting my ability to create stuff! After all, it's hard to be inspired to create new characters and worlds if you never experience anything new, right? :3

[i3utterflyeffect]

The Pearl Problem

AVA & Rain World Fic

AtB: apparently pearls are not infinite! DJ: really? AtB: i mean, i'm running out. so surely not. DJ: beckons, you are probably the first iterator to discover this. congratulations on this accomplishment AtB: not my fault the problem is boring and art is fun lol AtB: it's alright though. i'm working on a solution. it probably won't be too hard DJ: you're totally gonna regret saying that AtB: shut up All That Beckons will regret this later on. - AO3 link (a second time)

"...I've never done an audio log before."

"...okay, uh. Log one."

"I am running out of pearls. I didn't know these were a limited resource! I wish the Ancients would have bothered to tell us that, but apparently they have to keep all the important things away from us. Thank you, Ancients. Very helpful. Included in that list is what pearls are made of, I guess. I've heard that there's tinted pearls with forbidden info on the whole taboo thing, not that I'm even interested in that... Um, so making artificial pearls isn't really an option! That is why I'm compressing this with audio; pearls can store a lot more audio than text."

"HOWEVER. I have heard from one of the groups that scavengers have been making artificial pearls from bones, and I think I have an idea. I have a genetic engineering station that's been collecting dust, and since a lot of groups have been distributing these 'messenger' blueprints, I can PROBABLY modify that to create a creature that'll just... give me bones. I'll have to modify it, probably, but I think I can do it. Can't be that hard to pick up, right? I probably have the knowledge on how to do that. They'd give us that, right?"

---

"Log two."

"They don't give us that knowledge. Ancients strike again."

"Anyway, I had to do several iterations-- hah. Iterations-- but, uh... I think I'm getting there. I have one that actually seems functional. Alive, at least? I had to stick super close to the blueprint, but I tried to add something to the genetic blueprint that will hopefully generate a spherical bone that will be easy to remove. Seems simple enough!"

"And Discordant Joy said I couldn't work one of these. Hah. Take that, DJ."

---

"Log three."

"Remember what I said last time?"

All That Beckons laughs.

"Yeah, no, I was completely wrong. I suck at this."

"Turns out, the creature I made was not structurally sound at all. Apparently all the calcium went into the pearl instead of the bones. Not what I intended at all! I tried to put the poor thing out of it's misery, but it was apparently not keen on the idea. It couldn't really put up much of a fight against me, of course-- I mean, what's a tiny organism like that going to do to an iterator? But I kind of admired it for going up against me like that. I played nice for a little bit, but it ended up escaping... I feel bad. That thing is not going to be able to survive out there, it's practically lizard bait... Maybe the void'll take pity on it. Who knows."

"Anyway, I need to start over. I think I need help figuring this out, anyway... I'll contact one of the larger groups; see if anyone with knowledge in genetics is willing to help me out."

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Valentine's Core Exchange Gift: Hybrid Affinity

I can finally talk about this! I am excited to have been able to take part in the first Valentine's Core Exchange. My giftee for this event is the amazing @nursal1060writes! I hope you enjoy your gift! Only the first chapter will be posted on AO3, this week, but they get the Full Monty in DMs. Thanks @valentines-core-exchange for connecting us!

Link: Hybrid Affinity Rating: Mature Characters: Danny Fenton, Vlad Masters Relationship: Danny & Vlad(Badger Cereal) Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use Chapter Word Count: 2,577 Story Word Total: 20k

Summary:

A momentary lapse of attention, a weapon's blast grounding him, an agent's boot heading towards his jaw…

Danny has been the 'primary research subject' of the Area 23 facility for the past three weeks. Since he was captured, he's had no contact with the outside world, and no chance of escape. After complaining about a lack of conversational partners, his heated cage finds a second occupant: Vlad Plasmius.

With his last chance at escape captured with him, Danny's hope dwindled until he heard the other halfa promise he had a plan. The only problem: He doesn't trust Vlad.

Have a sneak peek at the story below the cut!

The gun at the back of his head pressed deeper into the base of his skull. “I’m moving.”

“Not fast enough, ghost.” The agent tapped the spot right over his brain stem, “Keep dragging your feet, and I’ll save the government the expense of containing you.” The hiss of the pneumatic doors ahead of them sent tingles over his skin. The air on the other side smelled like the ecto-suppressant they pumped inside, burnt acrid chemicals, and days old sweat. 

“I’m floating; you see me floating forward, right?” He stopped just on the other side of the barrier, long enough for the scan, and moved again when the light flashed green above the entrance. The hum of the ghost shield grated his ear drums as it scrapped over his skin. “No need to be so hostile.” The door clicked shut behind him, the agent no longer bothering to threaten him once he reached the inside of The Oven. “Whatever.” Danny floated the rest of the way into the heated metal box and tried to decide which wall he’d sizzle on for the next few hours. He’d favored the one facing the door when he’d first arrived, but the heating element sat closer to the surface. The sadists running this circle of hell designed it that way. Their scientists were probably measuring how long he’d put up with more pain to feel ‘secure’ or something. 

He hovered in the middle of the room, eyeing the coolest wall, with an ache building up in his core. He decided to split the difference and sat against one of the walls perpendicular to the door. A low hiss filled the room as he sank down to the floor and leaned back. “You know, you don’t have to BBQ me. I’d be happy to answer questions without being spit-roasted.” The agents on the other side of the monitoring equipment couldn’t hear him. He’d made a show of cursing and insulting them the first… however long, until he was hoarse. They’d only told him they didn’t receive audio after he couldn’t speak. They said, ‘we’re not interested in any lies you ghost vermin want to tell’ and sneered down at him like he’d become a bug that learned to speak. They did monitor his energy levels, though. When he’d attempted an ecto-ray, a whole host of guns popped out of some panels in the ceiling and hosed him down with molten misery. The liquid didn’t start hot, not like the walls, but as soon as it touched him…

He rubbed at the spots along his forearms that got the worst of the spray. The jumpsuit still laid odd over those spots, like the ectoplasm underneath refused to come back all the way. He poked around the area, feeling the way the latex enmeshed with the healed flesh under it. Other areas stuck because he was slicked down with sweat, but here it felt glued down into the muscles. He leaned forward and frowned down at the half-melted state of his boots. The soles of his feet and the back of him always took the worst of it whenever he was back in the cage. Still, it was better than being in the labs. The blazing temperatures and grating silence granted a peace that left him when they wanted to stick tubes down his throat or needles into his skin. “I could even convince myself this is pleasant if I couldn’t smell that burning ectoplasm.”

[cringecompanionapologist]

Top 5 Worst Days for Turlough

Okay maybe I'm as bored as I implied in the last post but this isn't a top five you're gonna find anywhere else.

Basically, here are five stories where very bad things happen to Turlough from least bad to most bad. Obviously, these are my perceptions and other people might not be put this in the same order. Also, I haven't seen everything, so I might miss something big and just not know.

Also, this turned out really fucking long because I just had to rant about number 1.

Number 5: Loups-Garoux (Big Finish Audio from 2001, written by Marc Platt)

I'm only putting this one at the bottom because Loups-Garoux is mostly a comedic story and Turlough seems to recover fine. He sees a vision of his dark side so terrifying he jumps out of a moving train and gets eaten by a werewolf, who spits him out because he has silver on him. Unlike in many of these examples, the Doctor seems a bit upset about this. But, this almost feels like business as usual.

Number 4: Trap for Fools (Big Finish Short Trip from 2018, written by Stephen Fewell)

Okay, this one might be a bit of a me thing. I can get a bit overly sensitive about the subject of mean teachers. In order to find and defeat the Monster of the Week, the Doctor has Turlough go undercover as a student at Space Brendon, basically. The Doctor seems completely oblivious to Turlough's misery and doesn't do much to help him through reliving experiences he was willing to kill to escape. This is another one that's mostly played for laughs, with most of the Horrors Turlough faces being mild bullying and a teacher pronouncing his name wrong on purpose to be a dick, but Turlough is actually intimidated by the mean teacher and mentally categorizes the other students by how much of a threat they might be and is just generally miserable the entire time.

Really, there's one bit that made me decide that this belonged on the list because it's really sad:

Someone please hug him.

Number 3: The Velvet Dark (Short Trip: Farewells from 2006, written by Stewart Sheargold)

The Master shoots Turlough with the TCE, making the Doctor think he'd just casually murdered him, only to reveal that he shrunk Turlough without killing him to make him a more manageable hostage. The Master places him in a box and shakes the box around when the Doctor hesitates in cooperating with him.

This story starts with the Master faking his death and the Doctor, Tegan, and Turlough attending his funeral. Tegan doesn't get why the Doctor is sad that the guy who killed her aunt is dead now. Turlough also doesn't get it, but he doesn't have as much of a personal reason to hate the Master, so he tries to be patient and Tegan seems kind of jealous that the Doctor listens to him more than her.

After being returned to his proper size, Turlough hates the Master just as much as Tegan does. The Doctor, apparently unable to truly hate the Master, kind of treats them both like the bad guys in this.

Number 2: Frontios (TV Serial from 1984, written by Christopher H. Bidmead)

An actual TV story! Tractators. Trion, at some point in the planet's history, was attacked by this story's Monster of the Week and now all Trions, regardless of when they were born, remember the Tractators on some level. It's never explained how this actually works, but Turlough personally had probably never heard of the Tractators until he saw a tunnel and a massacre just showed up in his brain. The Doctor awkwardly hands him off to the one-shots to go explore the tunnels, not knowing what to do about all this emotional stuff.

You'll notice that the Doctor's response to whatever happens to Turlough is a major factor in how I rank these.

Anyway...

Number 1: The King of Terror (Past Doctor Adventure novel from 2000, written by Keith Topping)

It isn't even close. The novels of the Wilderness Years (1990-2004) were aimed at an adult audience and there were very few limits on what sort of situations the Doctor and his companions could end up in. So, sometimes, shit got dark. I usually tend to find these morbidly funny, because saying things like "The Doctor and Dodo meet the Marquis de Sade" and "Doctor Who's Cannibal Holocaust" is fun. It just is. Shut up.

These books vary in quality. Some actually do interesting things with their darker subject matter while others are just sort of edgy for the sake of it. The King of Terror is in the latter category and is annoying as hell about it. I could go into way more detail about every stupid thing that happens in this book, but the Turlough stuff is the most interesting stupid thing, because of how fucked up it is.

So, Turlough, feeling a bit OOC on a trip to Los Angeles in 1999, goes to a bar, gets completely wasted, and chats up local girls trying to get laid. Then one woman stands out as hypnotically sexy, introduces herself as Eva, and invites Turlough back to her place to have sex. Turlough is too drunk to notice that this is moving a bit fast.

Anyway, Eva is actually a member of an alien species called the Jex who are trying to take over the world. They want to terraform Earth to be more like their homeworld, which has a hotter, thicker atmosphere, but their human slaves wouldn't be able to do hard labor in those conditions, so they want to genetically modify the humans to have higher heat resistance, among other things. There's something wrong with Jex DNA, so they need the DNA of some other alien with higher heat resistance.

The CIA, wanting to see where this is all going, tipped the Jex off that some aliens had just showed up in LA and Eva went out to kidnap one. Turlough then spends like half the book being experimented on to both confirm that he's an alien and that he's the right type of alien.

It's a lot of torture. I'm not even going to say any of what happens. Here's one screenshot of Turlough reflecting on all the torture happening to him that is vague but sums up why I'm not going to elaborate:

(Note: There actually is a reference to something specific in here and I apologize in advance)

Meanwhile, the Doctor and Tegan find out that Turlough's missing. Tegan seems to think that they should do something about this, while the Doctor comments jokingly on how often Turlough gets captured. He eventually gives Tegan the day off to take her mind of things, leading to a really stupid romance subplot, while he does absolutely nothing to find Turlough.

Turlough eventually very brutally murders Eva in an understandable lapse of sanity and escapes. The Doctor isn't even there when he gets back and they reunite "offscreen". From that point on, the whole subplot is basically dropped. The Doctor asks Turlough if he's okay, he lies and says he is, the Doctor knows it's a lie, but he's glad for a chance to act like it never happened.

So, it really sucks to be Turlough and I'm now exhausted.

[real-total-drama-takes]

cody emmett jameson anderson, to call you a pathetic earthworm would be an obscene insult to pathetic earthworms. your scrawny build incites a fiery rage within me. your gap teeth tick me off so hard i want to make another gap in them with a well-placed sucker punch. the fact that you drew the attention of sierra is laughable at best and horrific at worst. i’ve held pencils with more thickness than you. i’ve touched feathers with more weight than you. i’ve seen squirming insects with more dignity than you. i’ve seen piles of dog poop with more intelligence than you. i’ve watched drying paint have a more interesting personality than you. and i’ve seen dehydrated maggots that are cooler than you. i want to murder the writers, but especially you, you puny piece of filth, for lending you favoritism. i am currently typing this by moving my fingers across the phone keyboard to feel the braille dots. do you know why, cody emmett jameson anderson? because i scratched my eyes out from the torture that was sitting through the twenty-six episodes of world tour that you sullied with your rotting corpse of a presence. not even the smallest sip of water would i lend you, should we be the only two humans left on the planet and you were burning alive to a crisp right before my blessed eyes, even if it meant my excruciating death should i refuse you a sip. seeing the joyous, heavenly imagery of your slimy, sickening skin slipping off your flesh, crumbling to burnt, blackened ashes would be enough to justify an eternity of misery for me. when you were wheeled off the island in season one, i cackled something fierce. not because i was glad you were gone–that intensely pleasurable sensation would be felt after the shock–but because i had finally seen the true power of god right before my very eyes, as his mercy rescued me from another episode of your incessant animated existence. “unbearable” does not even begin to describe the overpowering nausea and agonizing migraines i experience whenever your sour smell wafts from my tv to my nose or whenever your grotesque, gap-toothed speech escapes your lips and the audio waves of your words violate my ears. i hope you die, cody. not only do i hope you die, i hope you do so painfully, miserably, and eternally. not a day goes by that i fail to fantasize about the satisfying revenge i will enact upon you for daring to be drawn and displayed on national television to impressionable kids who were also traumatized by your satanic screen time. but never fret. i am always watching and waiting, biding my time for when my words can transition into action and i can endlessly torture you in my basement, rightfully steal the fair mistress sierra for myself, and break every single limb, joint, ligament, tendon, and appendage of your miniscule, pathetic vessel of shrunken muscle and brittle bones. mark my words, i will spit on your grave, cody emmett jameson anderson. i will hock up the biggest loogie in existence and spit on it. that, i promise you.

𓂸

[adventure-showdown]

What is your favourite Doctor Who Story?

ROUND 1 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

Escape from Kaldor

Synopsis

Returning to a home world she'd rather forget, Liv reluctantly accompanies Helen to the grand opening of a luxury shopping mall. But when a glitch in the system sends the Robots of Death on a rampage, Liv's past comes crashing down about her.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Better Watch Out/Fairytale in Salzburg

Synopsis

The Doctor hopes to take Liv’s mind off recent events by treating his companions to a traditional European Christmas. But not everybody is full of the spirit of Christmas when a wave of misery follows the Krampus as they run through the streets of Salzburg.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Companion Piece

Synopsis

When the evil Time Lord known as the Nine comes across a rare and valuable item floating in the space-time vortex, his acquisitive nature means he can't resist the urge to complete the set.

Soon a wicked scheme is underway. Only the Doctor's friends – past, present and future – will be able to stop him.

But without the Doctor around will even the combined skills of Liv, Helen, River Song, Bliss and Charley be enough to save the day?

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Day of the Master

Synopsis

The Doctor investigates a mystery in the vortex, Liv follows the trail of their enemy, and Helen searches for a god. Everywhere they go there is a Master or Mistress, but is the Doctor's oldest enemy there to hinder them, or to help? With the TARDIS crew scattered and lost, only a miracle can save the universe. And for that to happen someone is going to have to die.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Paradox of the Daleks

Synopsis

When the TARDIS is drawn to a space station running temporal experiments, the crew discover Daleks in control in the aftermath of an invasion. But these are no ordinary Daleks...

To stop his mortal enemies gaining control of the time technology, the Doctor must work out why these Daleks are here and where they came from.

A war fought through time has many fronts - and in this battle, the Doctor, Liv and Helen will face mortal danger in every time and place they find themselves.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Inside Every Warrior

Synopsis

The Great Detective, Madame Vastra, aided by her resourceful spouse, Jenny Flint, and loyal valet, Strax, is looking into a series of mysterious break-ins.

An eccentric scientist and his put-upon assistant are the latest victims. Evidence mounts, with animal footprints and a trail of destruction.

Propaganda

The first audio adventure for the Paternoster Gang that involves SO, SO much lesbian flirting??? And werewolves! First of all Jenny makes Vastra fluster at least twice in this thing, they fight werewolves together after Strax got kidnapped and try to get him back. A maid struggles with her rich employer's abusive behaviour and seeks revenge, and she wrongly assumes Jenny must be in a similar situation. In the final showdown, Vastra uses what she fears to be her last breaths on telling Jenny that she loves her. Also, Vastra actually gets to kill in this audio! Always fun! Overall jumps between the inherent humour that comes with Jenny, Vastra, and Strax, so much fluffy gay flirting, and intense, emotional action-packed scenes. 10000% recommend, I swear to god. (@jennyandvastraflint )

[cocktailsfairytales]

DO NOT OPEN is a dark and twisted thriller about obsession, featuring an author and her 'number one fan.' It's releasing on Halloween!

You can pre-order it on Amazon and Apple now, but other retailer links will be available later this week! Paperback and Hardcover copies will be available on release day and audio is coming soon!

ABOUT THE BOOK:

On the day author Mari Montgomery receives the email, she has little left to live for.

The message—simple yet utterly life-changing—offers a glimmer of hope to her dismal existence. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, and if she takes it, it could change everything.

Mari’s immediate sense of unease is eclipsed only by her curiosity—elicited from the supposed fan on the other end of the email. Unsatisfied despite doing her due diligence, and with no way to discern the legitimacy of the sender, Mari takes a leap of faith and replies.

What harm could come from one innocent message?

Soon, as she comes face to face with her ‘number one fan,’ it’s all too clear things are not what they first appeared. Now trapped by a villain far more sinister than she could’ve crafted herself, the fate awaiting her is inspired by the darkest depths of the monsters in her own novels.

In order to escape and survive, Mari must use the strength of the heroines she’s spent years writing about. But this villain has spent years inside her worlds, too.

How will she defeat an evil who has learned from the best?

For fans of Misery, YOU, and Behind Closed Doors, million-copy bestselling author Kiersten Modglin brings us a haunting tale of obsession and survival in the form of a writer’s worst nightmare come to life.

→Pre-order now: https://books2read.com/donotopen

→Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/donotopenkm

→Order a signed copy: https://www.kierstenmodglinauthor.com/store/p149/donotopen.html

[bob-foolery]

The Boatman 

Launch Audio in a New Window

BY CAROLYN FORCHÉ

We were thirty-one souls all, he said, on the gray-sick of sea

in a cold rubber boat, rising and falling in our filth.

By morning this didn’t matter, no land was in sight,

all were soaked to the bone, living and dead.

We could still float, we said, from war to war.

What lay behind us but ruins of stone piled on ruins of stone?

City called “mother of the poor” surrounded by fields

of cotton and millet, city of jewelers and cloak-makers,

with the oldest church in Christendom and the Sword of Allah.

If anyone remains there now, he assures, they would be utterly alone.

There is a hotel named for it in Rome two hundred meters

from the Piazza di Spagna, where you can have breakfast under

the portraits of film stars. There the staff cannot do enough for you.

But I am talking nonsense again, as I have since that night

we fetched a child, not ours, from the sea, drifting face-

down in a life vest, its eyes taken by fish or the birds above us.

After that, Aleppo went up in smoke, and Raqqa came under a rain

of leaflets warning everyone to go. Leave, yes, but go where?

We lived through the Americans and Russians, through Americans

again, many nights of death from the clouds, mornings surprised

to be waking from the sleep of death, still unburied and alive

but with no safe place. Leave, yes, we obey the leaflets, but go where?

To the sea to be eaten, to the shores of Europe to be caged?

To camp misery and camp remain here. I ask you then, where?

You tell me you are a poet. If so, our destination is the same.

I find myself now the boatman, driving a taxi at the end of the world.

I will see that you arrive safely, my friend, I will get you there.

Here speaks the "Boatman" who is narrated by a man who is charged with navigating a boat through wartimes or to escape a war torn city of Christendom (A mostly Christian state ) I gather from the poem that the Boatman is a depicting his symbol of Jerusalem . The poem creates a real Image in my mind of what this person has experienced in the time that he was the Boatman and I can imagine the feelings that he felt and what horror his people faced in the uncertainty that was their reality. Through the Boatmans description of the events that were present it leaves me with a clear Theme of the place that they were Leaving and the uncertain destination ahead of them. There is Consonance in that the account of the Boatman is in fact his depiction of the events that he perceived, but that does not take anything away from this work for me. The Author CAROLYN FORCHÉ has done an impeccable job in relaying the story of a Cab driver who is a refugee of this horrible war that tore a hole in his life and the land that he once knew. " What lay behind us but ruins of stone piled on ruins of stone" this excerpt from the poem instills that the 31 souls aboard the boat were left with no option but to run to the sea and be Captained by the Boatman even though he had no destination because all the lands out of sight were torn by war and death. No time soon will I forget the Image that the Boatman depicts in the authors recollection of the Refugees story of his life. In my opinion there is no consonance in this work, more so a clear Narrative of a true life event for a real person.

[reformationcartoons]

From Grace Gems…

He may be on earth at noon, but in Hell at night!

(James Smith, "The Dangerous Progress!" 1864) Play Audio! Download Audio

https://www.sermonaudio.com/saplayer/playpopup.asp?SID=5712185102

"They walk on in darkness!" Psalm 82:5

The minds of sinners make progress, but it is in the wrong path! They started wrong. They will not believe that they are wrong. Therefore they walk on to their own destruction. It is a painful sight to see thousands, and tens of thousands of travelers, passing through this world--and all going wrong! Every step they take, leaves us less hope, and gives the Prince of darkness more power over them. In temporal things, they see clearly enough; but in spiritual things, they are stone-blind! "They walk on in darkness."

Darkness is the emblem of IGNORANCE. They are ignorant . . .

of their true state before God,

of the character of the God who made them,

of the just desert of sin,

of the only Savior who can deliver them,

of the way of escape opened up before them,

and of the dreadful doom that awaits them!

They walk on in ignorance! If they were not so ignorant, they would surely fly to the Lord Jesus to save them.

Darkness is also the emblem of SIN. They live . . .

in the violation of God's holy law,

neglecting Christ's gracious gospel, and

making SELF the end of their existence.

They live to themselves,

they live for themselves,

they neglect God's requirements,

they despise His invitations,

they turn their backs on His throne of grace,

they treat His Book with contempt,

they waste their time in idleness and folly,

and yet talk as if they expected that He would have mercy upon them at last!

They walk on in sin, and yet hope to arrive in Heaven at last!

Darkness represents DANGER. These people are in imminent danger!

Disease may arrest them at any hour!

Death may remove them out of this world at any moment!

Disease introduces death,

death ushers into the presence of God,

and God dooms the careless sinner to Hell!

He may be in health in the morning, but a corpse at noon!

He may be on earth at noon, but in Hell at night!

He walks upon snares.

He is surrounded by the officers of justice.

He may be seized any moment. Once seized . . .

hope departs,

despair approaches, and

outer darkness closes up the scene!

And yet they walk on in thoughtlessness! They . . .

fool away their time,

neglect their opportunities of escape,

disregard the warning voice, and

perish in their own deceivings!

Beast-like, they have no concern for any of these things. They say they shall not be worse off than others, as if it were any relief to be no worse than others--where all are in misery, agony and endless woe!

Not worse off than others! Yes, they will, for it will be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment, than for them.

Not worse off than others! Indeed they will, for the men of Nineveh will rise up in the judgment and condemn them.

Not worse off than others! This is a mistake, for careless, indifferent, Christ-rejecting sinners, "will receive the greater damnation!"

"They walk on in darkness," but if they persevere in doing so, then how fearful will their end be. It will be . . .

misery without mercy,

darkness without light,

despair without prospect of deliverance,

and all the result of a willful determination to "walk on in darkness!"

~ ~ ~ ~

[escapedaudios]

It's been a while since I've used Miseries in my audios, I really think I left them under-explored. They have a lot of interesting monster lore/fantasy anatomy that I didn't get the chance to showcase, but I really want to up them as villains. They were originally meant to be a metaphoric monster that invokes abusive and manipulative friends/family/romantic partners that perform victimhood while attacking and draining you.

I would love to make them a bigger stakes villain so their theme as a metaphor can really shine in a narrative and not just be a cheap thrill. They only exist in the Gothic timeline, maybe they'll appear in Wolfsjäger?

[five-rivers]

Solutions to Nonlinear Equations

For @currentlylurking for the Phic Phight.  :)

.

“Ancients, Vlad.  I’m not rejecting you because I’m a rebellious teenager and you’re an adult, I’m rejecting you because you’re incredibly creepy.”

Vlad sniffed in what he hoped was an aristocratic manner and raised an eyebrow, minutely adjusting his grip on Daniel to keep him pinned to the floor.  

“We’re human-ghost hybrids, Daniel.  I’d hoped that you’d have realized by now that we are meant to be ‘creepy.’”

Daniel squirmed and began to mutter into the carpet. “Clockwork never acts like this, I’m fine with him—”

Vlad pulled back as if burned.  He hadn’t heard that name in—in—

In a long time.  

Years.  

The thought was almost expelled from his head when Daniel managed to elbow him in the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. Before he knew it, Daniel had slipped from his grasp and zoomed away.  

Whatever aspersions Vlad cast on Daniel’s mastery of his ghostly abilities, the boy was fast.  When he put his mind to escaping instead of picking a fight, he managed it more often than not, to Vlad’s great frustration.  Hence Vlad’s usual strategy of needling the younger half-ghost until fighting was the only thing on Daniel’s mind.  

He set down on a nearby roof.  There went his plans for the day.  Which, admittedly, had consisted of distracting Daniel while his ghostly minions set up a nasty surprise for him at the school, hence making him fail his test, which would, in turn, convince Maddie and Jack to let Vlad set Daniel up with a tutor, something he had suggested to them earlier, and—

Well.  Daniel would find them, now, no doubt.  

Ah, well.  

He had more important things on his mind, now.  Such as, how in two worlds did Daniel know Clockwork?  Because Daniel never just said things like that.  He barely knew anything about ghost culture.  He wouldn’t know to bring up obscure, secretive, ghost historical figures.  He wouldn’t know what that particular name would mean to Vlad.  

Tongues of fire flared out of his fingers, bringing a measure of stability to the gyrations of his core and his emotions.  

Daniel knew Clockwork.  And, it seemed, met him with some regularity.  Enough for him to compare his actions to Vlad’s.  

Would that ghost never be satisfied with ruining Vlad’s life?  Was he not satisfied with—

He cut off the thought, shaking his head.  Never mind that.  

What Vlad needed to do was find Clockwork.  Which meant inducing Danny to go to him at a time when Vlad when Vlad could follow.  Which meant determining when he had visited Clockwork in the past.  An undertaking to be sure.  

He closed his eyes and teleported to his lab beneath his mansion.  

“Maddie!” he called out, even before his body had fully reformed.  

The hologram flickered to life with a faint crackled from the projector.  “What is it, sugarpie?” it asked with a smile.

“Review the audio recordings from Fentonworks,” ordered Vlad.  “Search for the term ‘Clockwork.’  Report findings to me.”

“Sure thing, honey!”

Vlad had to review the cheerfulness settings on the Maddie program.  Maddie was upbeat, but not that upbeat.  This was almost sickly sweet.  

He threw himself into a nearby chair.  

Clockwork.  He thought he’d never hear that name again.  Not after he’d been literally and figuratively ghosted by him.  

He telekinetically pulled a book off his shelf. He ran his fingers over the leather tooling on the cover.  The book had been given to him by Clockwork, years ago, when he was still in that hospital.

Clockwork had been the one to first show him the Ghost Zone, and all the wonders in it.  Clockwork had been his friend, his only friend, through that long, agonizing hospital stay. He had been supportive, wonderful, kind. He visited often, though not on a regular schedule.  He’d helped Vlad ride out the waves of misery and anger that so often threatened to overwhelm him.  

Then, without warning, nothing.  

No goodbye.  The last time he left, he had even said something along the lines of ‘see you soon,’ although the memory was frayed from age and Vlad could no longer recall the exact words.  For a long time, Vlad had worried something disastrous had happened to Clockwork. But then he had finally managed to build his own portal, reach the Ghost Zone under his own power, and, according to every search he did, every line of inquiry that bore fruit, Clockwork was just fine.  

Vlad had been furious.  He had been betrayed.  He had spent the better half of a decade trying to plot revenge against Clockwork, before realizing that was akin to plotting revenge against a god and turning his sights to a more manageable target.  

Now…

Now, Vlad just wanted answers.  Both as to the reason behind his abandonment and as to why Clockwork was apparently repeating history with Daniel.  

“Sweetie pie,” said the hologram, with a chime, “audio processing complete.  There are over ninety-nine instances where the word ‘clockwork’ is mentioned.  Would you like to play the selected files?”

“Yes,” said Vlad.  “Include the video portions where available, and the thirty seconds immediately prior to and following the mention.”

He turned his attention to the nearest screen.  He had a lot of videos to watch.  

There was an envelope pinned to it.  It was sealed with wax, impressed with the image of a pocket watch and the initials CW.  Vlad attempted, and failed, to suppress the growl that grew in the back of his throat. Was this a joke to Clockwork?

He tore the envelope from the screen, ripped it open with equal viciousness, and began to read.

.

Three cups sat on the tea service tray next to the teapot.

“Are you expecting someone else,” asked Danny, “or am I going to break one of these?”

Clockwork chuckled as he began to pour the tea.  “The former,” he said.  “Although you may always surprise me with the latter.”

He handed Danny his cup.  Danny inhaled deeply.  It smelled sweet.  “What is it?” he asked.  

“A chamomile blend,” said Clockwork.  “For calm.”

“I think Sam drinks chamomile before she goes to bed,” observed Danny, offhandedly.  “Who’s coming?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Danny made a face.  “Do you have to be mysterious all—”

The front door of Clockwork’s lair slammed open, and Danny jolted forward in alarm – the only people who regularly did that were the Observants, who didn’t much care for Danny – but Clockwork put a steadying hand on his shoulder and rewound his tea into his cup.

“Clockwork!” came the expected yell.  The yeller, however…

“Is that Vlad?” asked Danny, not quite scandalized, but more than a little surprised.  

“Why, yes,” said Clockwork.  

“Did you – Clockwork, did you invite him here?”

“Other than the Observants,” said Clockwork, “no one can enter unless I will it.”  He took a sip of his tea.  

“But,” started Danny.  

Clockwork raised a hand.  “Don’t worry, he’ll find us soon enough.”  He repurposed the hand to pat Danny’s knee.  “And even should he prove to be in a combative mood, I will not allow you to come to harm.  You are safe here, Daniel.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Danny, looking away, towards the door in the sitting room through which Vlad would presumably enter.  

Sure enough, a few seconds later Vlad half-flew half-skidded into Clockwork’s sitting room.  He leveled an accusatory finger at Clockwork.  “You!” he proclaimed, with a great deal of venom.  

“Hello, Vladimir, I’ve poured you some tea.  Why don’t you sit down?  I understand it has been some time.”

“You under-?  No!  I will not sit down!  I will not drink your tea.  Not after you abandoned me for over a decade, just like that bumbling oaf—”

“Hey!” interjected Danny, not only because Vlad had once again insulted his father, but because he could tell that Clockwork, regardless of his stoic façade, was actually quite upset.  

“Don’t interrupt me, Daniel,” snapped Vlad.  “You don’t know what this, this ghost is. What he does.  You don’t know that he gets close to you, makes you think you’re friends, and then drops you without a moment’s notice.  Did you think it was funny to string along a man in dire straits? Did you?”

“I did not abandon you, Vladimir, I—”

Vlad scoffed and went on a tirade that Danny honestly found hard to parse.  But it sounded like Vlad and Clockwork had known each other in the past and then fallen out of contact in a way that aggravated Vlad’s abandonment issues.  Which didn’t seem like Clockwork at all, but Vlad sounded extremely certain and insistent, and Clockwork’s upset was actually finding its way into his voice, now.  Danny didn’t—

With all the force and abruptness of epiphany, Danny realized what was going on here.  

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, putting down his cup. “Vlad, breathe or whatever.  Clockwork, you did tell Vlad that you experience time nonlinearly, right?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork, clearly offended.

“But Vlad, ah, had you gone through natural portals often when you met Clockwork?  Or, like, did you ever see him without him initiating contact?”

“I didn’t have my portal built yet, Daniel, so, no.”

Danny turned to Clockwork.  “Why did you-?  No that doesn’t matter.  Haaauuuhh, Clockwork, do you have-?”

Clockwork waved a hand and a whiteboard appeared.  

“Thanks,” said Danny, picking a marker up from the little shelf on the bottom.  He uncapped it, then recapped it.  “Actually, before that.  Vlad—” he pointed at Vlad, who looked about one second from exploding “—you have some idea of how old Clockwork is, right?  Or at least how old ghosts can get?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Vlad, managing to overlay his supercilious ‘I know better than you’ attitude over his still obvious anger.

“Okay, great.  So, just to establish, Clockwork has been around at least since, uh, beginning of time?”

“Give or take,” agreed Clockwork.  “Although I have not experienced it all directly.”

“Right,” said Danny.  “Just, already, his perception of time is different from our because of age differences.”

Vlad looked slightly less angry, and slightly closer to curious.  

“But, then, there’s the larger issue,” continued Danny.  This time his uncapping of the marker was decisive.  He drew a flat, straight, horizontal line across the whiteboard.  “This is our timeline.  We deal with time linearly.  We’ve also got, I don’t know, parallel timelines, like this.”  He drew several more lines.  “You following so far?”

“Yes, Daniel, I’ve read my share of science fiction.”

He was probably rolling his eyes.  Curse his solid-colored red eyes.  It made interpreting his looks and figuring out where he was looking during a fight much more difficult.  

“Anyway, Clockwork isn’t on any of these lines. Because he experiences time nonlinearly.”  He drew a squiggly up and down line on the board that resembled the world’s saddest sine wave.  Or cosine wave.  There wasn’t a y-axis on the not-quite-graph, so it wasn’t like anyone could tell the difference.  They were effectively the same.  

And Vlad still made fun of him for failing math. Danny knew plenty about math.  He just didn’t have time to do the work.  Mostly because of Vlad.  

“Now, that, that is Clockwork’s timeline.  It isn’t always in contact with ours.  It’s, like, solutions to a system of equations. Nonlinear equations,” he specified, in case it had been too long since Vlad had encountered basic high-school-level algebra.

“It is somewhat more complicated than that, Daniel,” said Clockwork, exasperated.  “It’s more of—"  

“Yeah, but this gets the idea across more than the whole parade metaphor, doesn’t it?”

“I would say not.  This doesn’t even begin to touch on my abilities.”

“That’s because we’re just talking about your perception of time,” said Danny.  He considered for a moment.  “And also your ability to interact with our timeline.”

“Which includes my ability to perceive multiple timelines.”

“But that’s complicated, and I still don’t get it,” complained Danny.  

“It is less complicated than what you are currently trying to explain.”

“To you maybe, but the whole point of this is that you aren’t seeing things the same way we are.  You disappeared on Vlad, what, a decade ago?”  He looked to Vlad for confirmation.  

“A decade is hardly any time at all,” said Clockwork with exasperation.  He sipped at his tea.  

“It was fifteen years.”

Clockwork made a somewhat dismissive motion with a gloved hand.  “It’s a tiny fraction of your life as a whole.”

“It’s… closer to a third of his current lifetime,” said Danny with a wince.  “Or a fourth?  I don’t know how old you are, dude.”

“I went to college with your parents.”

“I know, and you were already graying then. Your age is weirdly hard to place.”

Vlad gave Danny a look, but his body language was no longer screaming ‘I’m going to beat the snot after you.’  Danny counted that as a win under the current circumstances.  He disliked Vlad, but in a fight with Clockwork… Well, Clockwork could demolish just about anyone.  

Not that Clockwork would.  Just that he could.  

“Daniel—”

“Please, Vladimir.  Just sit down.  Try the tea. I made it for you.  I knew you would be upset, although I could not see exactly why.”  Clockwork was almost pouting, now.  “Fifteen years is such a short time.”

“Clockwork, I’m fifteen.”

“I know,” said Clockwork, patting Danny on the knee. “Your timeline is so small.  And cute.”

Vlad was now distinctly on his back foot, offput and disarmed.  “His timeline is cute?”

“It is.  Don’t worry, yours is almost as cute.”

Vlad opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Danny pushed the whiteboard away.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he said.  “Like I said, different perception of time.”

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel abandoned, Vladimir.  I simply wanted to give you some time to, ah, how should I put this?  Have space?  Find yourself?”

Vlad sat heavily on the couch.  

“You get used to it,” said Danny.  “But, Clockwork, do you think you can talk him into having fewer evil plans?  Because, really.  There are way too many.  Like, one a week.  They’re destroying my grades.  Have you ever seen anyone else who had weekly evil plans?”

“Evil plans, Vladimir?  Really?”

[kunikinnie]

Hello I hope you have a nice day/night! First of all, I wanna say that I love your work so much🤩 You are so talented!!

If the request is still open, may I have scenario one please? Kunikida has been busy lately that his s/o and he didn't meet each other. When he doing his work at the busy agency he received a call from his lover, asked him if he can talk to her/ them a little bit but he was so busy that he cant spend some time with her/them (which one you prefer!), his s/o have a high fever and barely do anything. Kunikida was so frustrated and said something hurt his lover without thinking clear (we both know how scary he is when he is frustrated). The rest is filled with comfort, please!

I really do love your talent and your work that I'm so excited and nervous when I send a request to you! Take care of yourself please!!🥰

a/n: thank you so much anon! i'm sorry this took so long to finish :'DD i hope this is alright tho!

a busy kunikida dealing with a sick gn!reader

Case after case. File after file. Day after day, work keeps just piling up without end. It has been like this for almost two weeks now, and Kunikida has not seen you once since.

He does miss you dearly, but right now the only thing going through his head is the sweet respite in a clean bed and a good night's sleep.

As he scurried across the Agency with a huge stack of paperwork in his arms, his phone began to ring. Hastily he drops the stack on his desk and swiftly flips open his phone. It was you.

There was a rule between the two of you that no one should call the other during work, although this was enforced mainly in terms of you calling him. A harsh sigh escaped his lips. What on earth could it be now?

"Hey, are you free right now?"

"What do you think, y/n?"

The bite to his words left you stunned for a moment. You knew he was definitely busy at work right now, but you couldn't resist trying to ask him for a bit of time anyway.

"S-sorry. I just-"

"Tsk. Can't it wait, y/n? You know I don't have time for this." The exasperation in his voice was all too strong, even he felt himself twitch from it.

He was met with a very soft apology from your side followed by the silence from you hanging up.

Only after putting his phone away did he realize that you sounded different than usual. It was...lower than usual? And the audio sounded a bit scratchy too, unless-

A message notification. His eyes widened when he saw the preview.

I wanted to ask if you can come over and bring some food. High fever rn.

Ah, shit.

---

"Tired" just isn't enough to describe your current state. You were left motionless on your bed, every inch of your body screaming with pain. Moving was painful. Breathing was painful. Living was painful.

You risked calling your boyfriend if only to distract you for a moment - unfortunately, that didn't work.

You didn't even have the energy to cry right there and then. Perhaps it was the hunger from not eating anything yet or the terrible headache you were having. Either way, you were stuck in a limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness, wishing that somehow an angel would just appear and save you from your miseries.

You were convinced that one did appear in front of you right now. He was gently calling out your name, you thought, and oddly enough said angel looked a lot like a familiar blonde.

"Y/N, are you awake?"

Ah, so it wasn't a dream.

All you could manage was a low grunt as the short conversation you had earlier zapped all the strength from your body. You suddenly felt something cool on your forehead, and you guessed that it was Kunikida's hand.

"Wait here."

He came back with a wet towel and a hot bowl of what looked like soup. He helped you sit up slowly, and promptly wiped your forehead with the towel.

The soup he handed to you tasted like water, but you continued to slowly but steadily eat spoonful after spoonful. Only then did you realize how hungry you were.

He proceeded to wipe the other areas of your body as you ate, hoping to at least lower your temperature and make you feel a bit better.

"I'm sorry."

It was so soft and low that you thought you were hallucinating, but the look on his face made you think otherwise. You swallowed the tasteless food and mustered as much energy as you could to speak. "It's okay. I should have called later-"

"You idiot. You should have called earlier. Didn't you even think of what would happen if I came here too late?! Y-you could have-"

He didn't even want to think of the word that came next. It's not an absolutely serious condition (hopefully), so Kunikida knows he's probably just overthinking it - yet he couldn't help but worry.

It physically pained him to see you in such a state. It's the complete opposite to how you were usually, so just the slightest hint of anguish on your face was like a slap to his own.

You sat there on your bed, motionless. Not a single word left your lips, but the look in your eyes was enough for him to understand what you wanted to say.

Please don't be too harsh on yourself.

"Alright, alright. Is there anything else you need?"

"But what about your work...?"

"I brought some with me, so don't worry. Now if you have nothing else to say you should go back to sleep. I'll be right there if you need me."

He was about to stand up to grab said paperwork but your hand tugged on the cuff of his shirt. "...stay here." It was barely above a whisper, but he heard you clearly. He smiled at your plea for affection, and it relieved him more than anything of the anxiety that was plaguing him right now. "Wait here."

Just as quickly as he left did he return with a laptop and some files, placing them gently near the edge of the bed. "I'm all settled now, so go to sleep."

Your left hand weakly cupped the back of his right hand and attempted to intertwine your fingers with his. He chuckled at your gesture, but nonetheless fixed it and properly held your hand. A soft squeeze was all you managed to show your gratitude.

With his free hand, he began to type and finish whatever paper he was working on. His multitasking skills are topnotch (given what he has to deal with on a daily basis) and he is more than proud to be able to utilize them even in this case. It's not that he wants to save time by not totally focusing on either you or his work, but rather he likes feeling your warmth even while he accomplishes his tasks.

The sound of steady tapping was strangely calming - well, it was much preferable to hear than the throbbing of your head. Plus the comfort of his hand in yours was an added layer of security. Before you knew it your grip had slightly loosened and your eyes slowly shut tight.

---

You don't know how long you were out, but by the time your eyes fully opened you were sure it was at some unholy hour in the morning.

You attempted to stretch your body - which wasn't aching as much, thankfully - but you couldn't move your left arm. To your surprise, you found your boyfriend sitting fast asleep beside you, his right hand still intertwined with yours, and his head buried in the crook of his left arm.

You couldn't help but smile. But at the same time, you knew that his current position wasn't comfortable at all indicating just how tired he really must have been. Unwittingly, your free hand began to gently stroke his blonde hair.

"A-ah, Y/N. You need anything?"

You tried to suppress a chuckle at his messy state while you shook your head. "No, I'm fine. I'm feeling much better thanks to you. You should get proper rest yourself, you know."

"Are you sure?" He took a good look at you while attempting to fix himself a bit. You did look much more alive than you did before sleeping, so he let his shoulders relax. "I'll take the couch then. But before that-"

He pointed to the desk beside your bed. There was an empty glass, a pitcher of water and some medicine on top of it. "I've already prepared those for you there, just in case you need it. If you're not going to sleep immediately after this I'll heat some food for you right now. You should eat enough to get better quickly."

His usual demeanor returned to him, you noticed. Somehow it was more reassuring to see him like that rather than the fumbled mess of worry he was earlier.

"Thank you, Kunikida."

Hearing your words brought a soft smile to his sleepy face. He then slowly moved hair away from your face and gently kissed your forehead.

"Anything for you, y/n."

[b0amagination]

Hasan and Declan - 13

Series masterlist

Content warnings: restrained, sound torture, dirty talking (no, it’s not sexual. yes, that’s the only way I can describe this), description of medieval torture and recorded/broadcasted whump, mention of noncon kiss. 

I have to encourage listening along to the audio for this chapter because it’s so much better for it, especially with the heavy dialogue focus, and it was such an experience to record. However, I do have to warn that the reason it’s so effective is because it’s creepy as all hell. So, you know. Listen at your personal discretion. 

~~~

I had to split up the audio file for this chapter so click here for (RECORDING PART 2)

Previously…

~~~

Declan felt really weird when he woke up.

Which was saying something, considering his kidnapping predicament.

He opened his eyes to darkness. Okay. Normal. He pulled his arm back to roll over and sit up. It caught on the bar of the cot. Not normal.

Both his legs and arms were tied to the bars holding his shitty cot together. The pressure against his head should have been bandages wrapping around it, but it felt too tight. When he muttered a curse to himself, the sound was muffled to his ears and ricocheted in his head instead. Something sticky pressed against his forehead and nape, winding around his head in the same way the duct tape had when Hasan gagged him.

Over his ears were what felt to be padded headphones, and that was all too much for having just woken up. It must have been the middle of the night. He settled as comfortably as he could and let unconsciousness claim him once more. Hasan’s presence would wake him when necessary.

And wake him it did.

Blaring vocals with a driving guitar and drums flowed directly into his ears.

“Yesterday I heard you say your lust for life has gone away! It got me thinking: I think I feel a similar way and that’s sad (that’s sad, that’s sad!)”

“Fuck! Fuck off!” Declan yelled, a newfound understanding of his situation dawning upon him. “Thank you for less 2000’s love proposals! But that doesn’t mean I’m down for this bullshit! And it still sounds like half of a love proposal! Or an offering to join a cult!”

The song was only halfway through once an awful headache set in. The left side of his head was still in misery, only amplified by the joy of Hasan’s music taste introducing itself.

And when it finally ended, their voice was there to console him.

“Well well well, good morning my darling! You just heard The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience! I hope I didn’t frighten you. Or that I did. As much as I do so much wish I were there with you, my self control has kept me my job thus far.

“I’ll fill you in on some basics: Yes, you are tied to that cot aren’t you? Tough, unyielding ropes holding you down, just the same as last night. Do squirm and wish for escape, won’t you? I expect to see some gorgeous, irritated red skin by the time I’m home.”

“Yeah sure,” Declan grunted. “And I’ll hope you got mugged or something.”

“Second of all, I know it sure is tempting, but you are not to touch these headphones. They’re taped in place for a reason. I promise that even if you take them off, the volume is far too loud to block out in any meaningful way.”

“Fuck youuu, that’s stupid.”

“They’re very not stupid. Otherwise you’d spend another day left to your own thoughts instead of my lovely guidance. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“No.” Declan rolled his eyes.

“I’m not asking for your input because that was rhetorical.”

“Are you fucking listening to me?! Bitch, is this live radio?!”

“I feel like I should have something else to say, but I’ve forgotten. Perhaps you’ll hear it in a later session as I check in with you throughout the day. I leave you with 2012 by Will Wood and his since redacted tapeworms,” they said.

Another song picked up lightly before the vocalist shouted “FUCK!” directly into his ears. Ow. At least it was relatable.

The silence once it fizzled out was eerie, but entirely more pleasant than being deafened or monologued at. He felt entirely too awake, but there was nothing else to do but sleep and try to ignore his grumbling stomach and parched throat.

He wasn’t especially surprised to be woken out of a listless state with another song. Just mildly disappointed.

“You know what, I’m doing part of this tonight and part of it on my lunch break tomorrow, and I’m ecstatic about it. It’s like recording a podcast episode, but I know my viewer and I get to talk directly to them. 

“By the way, I’ve got this lovely microphone so when I lean closer and whisper… I can imagine the shiver that just went down your spine.” They leaned back and laughed.

“Anyway, this is the segment where I give you a rant on medieval torture techniques!”

“Gee, I sure hope you don’t ever make a podcast because that’s an awful segment,” Declan muttered.

“See, when one is looking for torture, they’re often looking to keep someone alive and see them suffer, yes? At least these days. There are so many medieval torture devices simply meant to maim or kill.”

“I’m done listening to this bullshit. Wake me up when it’s over.”

“Have you heard of the rack, for example? Right, the one they used during religious inquisitions to force a confession. But the only other option with the rack is to rend someone limb from limb! Each shoulder and hip is dislocated, then knees and elbows, wrists and ankles, so on and so forth until the body is unsalvageable! It’s tragic!

“Did you know they used to hang people upside down and saw them in half? Imagine just how exhausting that’d be! Yes, Gwenython, hoist him on up, hasty now, and Johnson and I will saw on down through all his bones and watch his innards spill. No, no, it won’t be more effort than it’s worth, and certainly won’t be a massive pain in the ass to clean up… ugh. Not to mention there’s no way he wouldn’t already be dead by the middle of it. It’s just too effective in every wrong way.

“And they all go on and on like that! Yes, they cause extreme suffering, but they also result in death! It’s all so fucking counterproductive! 

“Anyway, my darling, if you happen to know any useful torture methods that will not maim or kill you, do be sure to let me know.”

Finally their voice left him and he got his outro song. He almost rolled his eyes at the lyrics.

“Welcome to the panic room… where all your darkest fears are gonna come for you (come for you). Welcome to the panic room… You’ll know I wasn’t jokin’ when you see them too.”

Uh huh, rub it in, and keep avoiding subtlety so I have to understand your sick jokes, Hasan.

And that’s how Declan kept himself sane as the rest of the day continued similarly. He backtalked or tuned them out. The rest of his time was spent falling in and out of sleep, or putting incredible focus into far happier daydreams.

He was jolted out of a particularly nice one by rock music that was just delightful at maximum volume. His ears were ringing by the time Hasan’s voice tuned back in.

“And for this segment, I’m going to describe one of my many fantasies in excruciating detail,” they grinned audibly.

“Cool! So the past however many hours of this horrendous radioplay, then!” he shouted.

“I know you’re being overdramatic right now and it’s really for naut. I just want to tell you about…” They paused, breathing into the microphone as they grew closer. “I can’t stop thinking about logging into your Twitch account.”

“You and every hacker ever.”

“Getting the password out of you, no matter how long it takes you to give it, and having all the power in my hands.”

“And now you sound like a shitty Batman villain or something.” He rolled his eyes. Nothing like his kidnapper getting into more of his social media accounts.

“I wish I could have you speak to your audience, but I fear you’d be all too tempted to doxx me, which is so unfortunate. And I’m sure you’d hate to spend such a long time gagged, but it’d be a lovely opportunity to try out more on you.”

“You’re right and you should shut the fuck up now.” But Hasan kept on, and Declan’s defiance was slowly devoured by terror.

“The ring gag would be lovely to hear your screams through, but I should acquaint you with the rest of my collection as well. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

“I wonder… How many of your loyal fans would stay to watch? How many of them have dreamt of this all along, and how many of them are about to discover a few new kinks? How many new fans are going to find and follow your account because of this new direction you’re taking? And how many of them would stare in horror? Try to contact you? Attempt to find any clues they can? 

“And I’d have to mask my identity, of course, but the thrill of all those people- It would be so fun to interact with chat, maybe even take a few requests, and, of course, make you bleed for them.

“But my favorite part is your reaction. I imagine I’d get this set up while you watch on, try to guess what I’m doing, and oh… god, when you realize? When you beg me not to? When you cry? When I kiss away those tears and tell you it’s going to happen anyway?

“I want to watch the fear fill your eyes as you stare into the camera. I want to slap you and tell you to keep your attention on me. I want to kick you and beat you and humiliate you in front of that audience. I want to spit on you and tell you that you deserve it. I want to grind my heel into the back of your neck and hear you choke against the floor.

“And when the camera is off, I’ll cradle you in my arms and tell you I was only being mean for their enjoyment, that I don’t think any of those things, and you’ll be too tired to tell me how much you hate me.”

“...”

“I’ll see you soon, darling. I love you.”

That segment didn’t end with a song. Even with headphones over his ears, Declan heard his breaths hitch and shake. He closed his eyes against the vast nothingness and tried to calm down. They hadn’t done anything like that yet except for… photographing him. And taking a video to send to their friends. 

But there were too many legal risks with streaming. Declan always had to watch his own steps, for heaven’s sake. There was no way literal torture would be allowed to stay up.

Just hearing what they wanted was chilling enough. 

“Hey! I know you just heard a broadcast, but I thought I’d let you know that I’m on my way back for you now! See you soon, dearest.”

“See you never, dumbass,” he retorted to nothing, letting out a world weary sigh.

He felt nauseous with discomfort in almost every way. It was interesting in an awful sense, how any other torture Hasan inflicted upon him would feel worse, yet he was about to go insane sitting around like this. There had to be some way to get water, at least.

Declan tensed his muscles and threw his body to the left, scooting the cot ever so slightly. Doing it again got the same result, and he’d almost worked up a sweat by the time he felt one side stop moving against the corner of something. If he could get his hands close enough to check what it was…

Leaning his body weight to one side of the cot, he attempted to tilt it so he could reach, but he overestimated his range. With nothing to catch himself on once the cot tilted off balance, it followed through and Declan crashed down on his front.

“Shit! Fuck!” he grunted, trying to adjust himself before remembering his limbs were still affixed to the bars.

Thankfully the cot wasn’t heavy, but the floor was cool even without its pressure and he desperately adjusted so that less of his bare skin was touching it. He might as well see if the box he’d gone for even had water in it in the first place.

He wiggled his fingers near enough to find… not water. Crinkly plastic packaging met his hand and he sighed. He didn’t trust himself to open any packaging right now, but especially not some dry snack he’d choke on without liquid.

Declan was busy feeling around for anything else when he thought he heard a door. 

“You know, Dec, I’ve actually got confidence in you today,” Hasan admitted. “I believe that there is no way you could have fucked me or yourself over in your position. Or at least no major way. I sure would be impressed if you’d made any progress at all-” The lights flicked on and the narration only paused for a second before laughter filled his ears.

“You’re such a loon! You’re actually mad!” He turned his head toward Hasan as they approached and tried to give an effective scowl as the light burned his eyes. “In what world,” they crouched down, “was that going to work?”

Their words, which came through clearly at first, seemed to echo and jumble together as they leaned closer, phone in hand. It got so bad that the frequency pitched up to an unbearable amount and he let out a shriek which, in turn, also built in frequency.

“I’m not being that rude am I? You’re the stupid one here,” they said, but it clearly didn’t reach him. In leaning their head closer, they found out why. They also hoped that one day wasn’t enough to cause permanent hearing loss. They clicked down the volume on their phone. “Can you hear me now?”

Declan nodded, breathlessly.

“Lovely. Seems I forgot to turn your microphone off,” they smiled, their voice amplified in his ears. 

“My…?”

“Yes. The microphone attached to your headphones, obviously.” They pointed at a protruding piece that Declan hadn’t felt before then. “I thought it might be fun to hear what you said to yourself and me all day, and might I mention that I’m generously striking your heinous comments from the record.”

“Fuck you, you can’t listen to me like that!”

“Why not? I’m well within my right to keep tabs on my slippery little captive.” They ran a teasing finger down his nose and flicked it.

“I thought I was alone.”

“Oh, I would never leave you alone for a second if I had a choice in the matter.” 

“I feel like that’s a hyperbole- aaAAAH!! No- fuck!”

Hasan held back a giggle as they clicked up their phone volume and Declan screwed himself over. They turned it back down to ask “Are you done?” and only got a huff of frustration from Declan. 

“Alright. I’ve only got one more question before I take this off of you, and that is: what in the hell did you do to capsize my lovingly provided bed?”

“I… would like to abstain from answering that,” he grimaced.

“Would you really? Because my immediate assumption is that you attempted to escape once again, and I will click up the volume on this if you try any more nonsense.”

“Ughh. I was thirsty and I tried to grab some water. It didn’t work. Obviously. Are you happy? You sure look happy.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. But that is you actively trying to take care of yourself, so I’m already more confident than I was yesterday,” they smiled, and the wretched thing almost took on a fond tone. “Come on. Let’s get you taken care of.”

~~~

Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg, @as-a-matter-of-whump, @hurting-fictional-people

Ask to be added or removed!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers: Part 4 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

synopsis: You're propelled to the heights of fame with your constant success with Suguru, but what goes up... must come down.

wc: 1.3k

tw: none (next part will be different)

masterlist

Success.

Your name and the word "success" are intertwined by the third month of your Kitsune career. With the help of Suguru, you're practically unstoppable, sniffing out criminals all over the city and bringing them out to face justice. Even the Leviathans come to admire Geto, who stands tall as redeemed and a big brother to many of the new recruits.

But even as you reach the height of your fame, there's a nagging feeling that sits in the back of your mind.

Same misery, but with a paycheck.

Same misery, but with a paycheck.

Same misery, but with a paycheck.

It's like a chant that haunts you in the middle of the night, and you lay awake most nights, thinking of escaping. But then the sun comes up, you rise from your bed, and you pretend that everything is okay for another eighteen hours.

Suguru notices your despondency and even mentions it over dinner, but you snap at him, telling him you were "fine", and leave him alone with the others. As you stalk off, you grumble to yourself and rub your temples, wondering when the feelings would subside. When you reach your barrack, you slide into your chair and begin your research for your current mission when you frown at your computer screen.

You always closed out the network of files when you left the room.

So why was the finder open?

And why was there a file sitting on your computer labeled "For Y/n"?

You click on the file hesitantly, knowing any wrong move could open a virus on your desktop, but your scanner doesn't pick up anything odd, and the file opens, revealing four documents, two videos, and two audio files.

All of them are labeled with your first and last name except for the audio files, which are labeled "One" and "Two".

You hesitate again. What is this pandora's box, you wonder internally. Should you even... your mouse drags to the first audio file and you click on it. Your sound is too low to hear the first part, so you rewind it and play it again. You hear the following words first:

"Hello, y/n," a robotic voice says, its tone flat and unmoved, and goosebumps break out across your skin. "You have shown great promise in your field as a Kitsune, and we know you feel empowered by your success. But there are some things you should know about the men and women you work for." You pause the audio file, heart thumping wildly in your chest as you consider the idea that this is either a test of loyalty or a cruel prank. Either way, you'd had enough.

You stand from your computer and walk around your room, covering your prickly flesh with clammy hands. Someone broke into your room to put files on your computer, addressed them to you, and made it seem like you were being watched by some outside source. But who would want to scare you? Who would--

"Y/n?" Suguru opens your door and gives you a look of deep concern, but you try your best to mask your look of fear. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm okay; I haven't been sleeping well," you admit, and Suguru nods, rubbing his neck nervously.

"I have something that could help you if you want. Just a sleep aid. We're given it when we start training to calm us before--"

"Sure." Geto disappears, then reappears with two pink pills.

"Take these right before bed. You'll be off to sleep in no time."

"Thanks," you reply, setting them on your bedside table and stretching. Suguru stands in your bedroom, looking at you for a second more. "I should get off to--"

"Right," he mutters, then leaves you in the room by yourself again.

_____________________________________________________________

But you don't take the pills.

Instead, you stay awake, looking at the computer screen from your bed, wondering just who would be daring enough to come into your space uninvited and place those... things on your desktop.

Curiosity eats at you for three more hours until finally, at sunup, you crack.

Keys rattle furiously under your fingertips as you type in your password and click on the first audio file yet again.

"Hello, y/n. You have shown great promise in your field as a Kitsune, and we know you feel empowered by your success. But there are some things you should know about the men and women you work for. If you wish to proceed in this endeavor, click on the first video. We know you have no reason to trust us, but we hope you will see this as a show of good faith and use the information for good. Reveal, don't conceal."

You drift over to the first video file, and a black screen comes up, the title words popping up moments later:

L/N, W. May 23. Project Kudzu Debrief.

Your father appears on the screen right after, his eyes looking dead into the camera. He's in his standard, antiquated Kitsune attire, with more hair and brighter eyes than you've ever seen. He's much younger; that you recognize instantly.

"Okay, Mr. L/n, go ahead and state your rank and case for the CSB."

"Mr. W. L/N, Kitsune, Project Kudzu."

"Thanks," a man offscreen mutters, then the sounds of flipping paper can be heard. "Now tell us about your project and what the results of it were."

"Um..." Your father shifts in his chair then rolls his neck around. "Project Kudzu is... or was, my bad." Laughs. "Project Kudzu was a ten-year effort concerning the relocation of lower-class citizens into rougher areas to produce Leviathan recruits. I spearheaded the effort with my research, and my partner, Leviathan C--" The name is bleeped out. "helped with the evictions and relocations."

"Okay," Rustling papers again. "And what were the results of this?"

"Exponential growth of the Leviathan enlistment, sir." Your father adjusts his glasses, nodding stiffly.

"Were those the desired results?"

"Yes, sir."

The screen goes black, and you stare at your open-mouthed reflection, shock flooding your veins. "Please watch the next video" pops up on your screen, and you click on it instantly, instinctively knowing who's next.

L/N, F. May 31. Project Redroot Debrief.

Your mother appears on screen, her cheeks plumper and figure fuller than it currently is. She's youthful, with long hair pinned into a bun and also in an antiquated Kitsune uniform.

"Name, rank, project," a female voice mumbles off-screen.

"Ms. F. L/N, Kitsune, Project Redroot."

"What were the aims of your project?"

"To relocate potential candidates for Kitsune potions into areas where large populations of Kitsune already reside."

"And your goal?"

"To increase Kitsune families and potential enlistment."

"How successful were you?" Your mother smirks at the camera, propping her chin upon her palm.

"How successful do you think I was?"

When the screen goes black, the taste of bile rushes into your mouth, and you rush to your bathroom, shoving a mouthful of toothpaste and your toothbrush onto your teeth. Something you can control, something you can control. But even your toothbrushing - which is normally a soothing habit - can't wipe away the look on your mother's face at her triumph. Project Kudzu... Project Redroot...

How could your parents be a part of something so sinister? Making the poor poorer and the elite... more elite?

These videos have to be fake, you tell yourself, circling back to the computer. But when you look up the metadata- which is neatly scrubbed of any trace of third parties - you see that they are in fact originals of the interview.

Finally, you take a look at the documents, the insignia and red letters "CONFIDENTIAL TS_CO" watermarked on the endless pages. TS_CO= Top Secret Clearance Only. This is above your paygrade, and exponentially so. But as you skim the redacted information, you see names, dates, your parent's names, their information, metrics, graphs, everything that you need to know that Project Redwood and Kudzu aren't fake.

They're real.

And they both happened right before you were born.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23 @rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on