#yes the audio cuts on purpose

[saxonilla]

For @somehhuuuhh

Slight flash/cringe warning

The original post:

[haveihitanerve]

Guess who!! Yes I'm back, tis been a while

A video of Bruce singing gets leaked and his kids find out he's an amazing singer, and now they won't stop pestering him to sing for them

okayyyyy- see i am one of the firm believers that Bruce will sing only for his kids- so Dick was raised on Bruce singing him to sleep, sometimes on patrol when Dick would burst into song, Bruce joins in and harmonizes, all of his kids have been serenaded by him, either for bed or like hospital visit or just because bruce sings at home sometimes/while hes working... but i do likey-

It wasn't even something that he had done on purpose. It was just natural, sometimes, to sing. He would hear a good song on the radio and hum along. Play music while working a case. He didn't make it obvious he could sing- cough cough dick cough

But Selina. She had an obsession with it. Trying to catch him singing. Trying to record it.

"You're so good!!!" She would gush when he cut off whenever he spotted her recording. Bruce would shake his head. Wave her off.

But she must have caught him at some point. Because now there was a video. Bruce bit his lip to stop his scream as the late night host showed it off. This would not end well for him.

"Yo! Guys! Get in here!" Tim bellowed through Wayne Manor. He was already on the phone with Barbara and Dick, and they were heading to their apartment as fast as possible to watch.

"What's up?" Jason asked, entering the den where Tim was sitting on the couch.

Tim gestured to the TV. "B's on." Jason rolled his eyes, but flopped onto the couch next to his brother. Tim was the only one who consistently watched every Bruce interview. A habit that never died from his obsessive stalker observant stage before Robin, and now was even more prominent as he was actually connected to Bruce. Wanted to check he wasn't getting asked stupid questions.

Jason snickered as he spotted his brothers laptop open to the hosts persona information. Any wrong move, and Tim would destroy him for Bruce.

"Why did you call Drake?" Damian sniffed, entering the den with Cass. Tim shushed him, pointing to the screen.

"Just watch- I went back." There was a scream as Steph fell from the window, breaking in as always. She straightened, landing with the ease of someone who had trained with both the Batman and Catwoman, and hurried over.

"Did you see it?" She gasped excitedly, taking a seat next to Tim.

"I'm showing them." He hushed her hurriedly. Intrigued, the others took their seats, Duke strolling in last. He cranked the volume up higher and they leaned forward, eager.

"Now, recently, a particular video has taken Gotham by storm," The host was saying. Jason cocked his head, tugging his phone from his pocket to search for said video.

"Just wait." Tim coaxed, hands rubbing together like an insane man.

"We're watching." Barbara mumbled through the phone.

"Oh dear, I do hope it's not that one." Bruce was saying, chuckling, fake nervousness and smile on his face. The host laughed along, waving his hand to gesture the video play.

Jason choked on his tea and Steph's fingers dug half moons into Tim's arm as she watched with baited breath.

The video was of Bruce, in the manor, light instrumental music playing in the background. The video quality left something to be desired, crouched behind the couch, blurry, and audio a bit scratchy, but it was undoubtedly him.

"Am I blue? Am IIII Blue? Ain't these tears in these eyes-" The video ended abruptly, most likely because the recorder had been caught, but the damage had been done. Bruce looked near the tears he had been singing about.

Steph's grin was blinding. Dick's cackle erupted through the speaker of Tim's phone. A slow smile spread across Jason's face. "Oh this is going to be fun." Damian murmured.

"Damn it!" Jason cursed as his foot connected with the table.

"Language." Bruce immediately responded, more impulse than actual chiding.

"Yeah yeah." Jason grumbled. "Sorry. It's just... I've been a bit blue lately. Can't think straight."

He hurried out of the room before Bruce could see his grin. Bruce, on the other hand, was gripping his spoon tightly.

"Man," Dick complained, scrubbing at his eyes underneath his mask. Bruce frowned at him from the nearby roof, leaning closer.

"You okay?" He rumbled, reaching for a tissue or something to offer his son. Dick waved him off, dabbing at his eye with his gloves.

"Yeah- I'm fine. There's just something in my eyes. Probably tears." He winked, falling backwards off the roof. Bruce's jaw cracked from the force with which he was clenching it.

"Fu-" Steph grunted as she slammed into the floor, hands reacting too late to protect the hard landing.

Batman landed a step behind, hands moving immediately under her arms to lift her. "'m fine." She grumbled, wincing as she attempted to put weight on her left foot.

"Clearly." Bruce agreed, wrapping an arm more firmly around her waist to take most of her weight.

"B!!" She whined, but let him take it. "I can walk." She muttered. Bruce huffed a laugh, herding them both back into the cave.

"Of course you can. Think of me as a cane." That got a laugh from Steph, even as she let out a yelp as he let go to grab some gauze. "Sorry," Bruce murmured, helping her onto the med table. She waved him off, letting him prop it up and feel around.

"Sprained. Should be fine in a few days." He started to wrap it and Steph let herself recline, letting out a heavy breath as his fingers brushed a little too hard against her ankle. "Sorry." He mumbled again, but she just nodded back.

"You gonna be okay?" Bruce asked, helping her sit up. "Your room is still set up. It won't ever not be. You're staying here tonight, at least." Steph nodded her agreement, not willing to fight over it. Besides, she wanted to stay needed to torment him.

"You know what would really make me feel better?" She asked as he carried her up the stairs after they had changed back into civvies.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "What?" His voice was flat, suspicious.

Steph smiled sweetly, wrapping her arms around his neck so he couldn't drop her and escape. "If you sang for me."

Bruce groaned, and as suspected, his arms relaxed marginally, prepared to drop her and make a run for it, though of course he didn't actually let her go. Steph grinned.

"Its really your fault," She pointed out. "If you had just told us-"

"I never kept it a secret." he grumbled, bringing her into the den, where, as planned, the rest of the kids sat. Dick smiled at his father, accepting Steph from his arms and setting her down next to Tim. He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer.

Jason cleared his throat, holding up a microphone from Dick's twelfth birthday. No one said a word, just blinked expectantly at him.

Bruce sighed. They'd all gotten those damned puppy eyes from Dick, he was sure of it. As if to confirm, his eldest batted his eyelashes extra, and Damian even rubbed his eyes, sticking out his bottom lip. Unfortunately, being aware of the source did not lessen its effects in the slightest.

He snatched the mic from Jason, cleared his throat, and began.

@jellynber

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Tiktok Influencer!Gojo Satoru—“Bail Me Out” Prank [prev]

@ sexygojosatoru has made a new post:

“bail me out” prank (GONE WRONG :( ) #fyp

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 03:38 

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[The video opens with Gojo perched at his desk, his camera balanced on his laptop. He’s grinning maniacally, his tinted glasses catching the light as he adjusts his blue drop-shoulder shirt draped loosely over a crisp white tee. Flashing a quick peace sign, he leans closer to the camera, mischief practically radiating off him.]

Gojo: “What’s up, guys? It’s me, the one and only Gojo Satoru. Today, I’m pulling the bail me out prank to find out who’s really ride or die for me. Because, duh, I’m Gojo Satoru—obviously everyone should drop everything to save me. Right? Anyway, I’ve pre-recorded a fake jail call on my laptop, and I’m using my work phone to really sell it.”

[He waves a sleek black phone in front of the camera and then, with exaggerated stealth, presses #67 to block his caller ID.]

Gojo: (whispering) “Pro tip: hiding your number is key. I saw this online somewhere, so don’t @ me. Okay, shhh—first up: Nanamin.”

[Gojo smirks as he punches in the number. He hits play on his laptop, and a robotic voice fills the air.]

Laptop Audio: “This is a collect call from… Gojo Satoru, an inmate at… Tokyo Detention House. Press 1 to accept the call. Thank you. This call will be monitored and recorded for security purposes. Connecting you now…”

[Gojo claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Static crackles, followed by Nanami’s deep, steady voice.]

Nanami: “Gojo? Are you there?”

Gojo: (frantic) “Nanami! Thank god! I need your help. They arrested me for armed robbery—I didn’t do it! Bail is set at $10K. Please, I’m begging you!”

Nanami: (flatly)  “Gojo, no. If you’re really in jail, just Hollow Purple your way out. You don’t need my money. Goodbye.”

[The call ends with a sharp click. Gojo pouts at the camera, but the glint in his eyes says he’s far from done. He dials the next number, holding a finger to his lips for dramatic effect.]

Laptop Audio: “This is a collect call from… Gojo Satoru, an inmate at… Tokyo Detention House. Press 1 to accept the call. Thank you. This call will be monitored and recorded for security purposes. Connecting you now…”

Shoko: “Gojo? What the hell is this? Wait—are you serious right now?”

[Gojo clasps the phone to his chest, throwing his head back like a tragic hero.]

Gojo: (desperate) “Shoko, you won’t believe it! I forgot to put up a veil on my mission, and the cops saw Red. They cuffed me on the spot—no lawyer, no nothing! Please, I need $10K to make bail. Help me, Shoko!”

[A burst of laughter erupts on the other end.]

Utahime: (laughing) “BAHAHAHA! No way! Gojo got locked up? Throw away the key! Actually, leave him in there for a week—teach him some humility. Don’t drop the soap, Gojo!”

[The call ends with Utahime’s cackles echoing in the background. Gojo glares at the camera, muttering.]

Gojo: “Why does Shoko hang out with that asshole? Ugh, fine—let’s see if my sweet students care about me.”

[He dials again. The robotic voice returns, reciting its familiar lines. The call connects, and a quiet voice answers.]

Gojo: “Megumi! My precious student! I’m in a tight spot. The cops think I’m a murderer—I need $15K for bail. You have to help me. Pool your money, sell your stuff, whatever it takes!”

Megumi: (dryly) “This is actually hilarious. Good riddance.”

[There’s muffled shuffling before another, much louder voice cuts in.]

Yuji: (panicked) “Sensei?! Are you hurt? Are you okay? We don’t have that kind of money, but I’ll start a GoFundMe right now!”

Megumi: (groaning) “Yuji, stop. This is obviously one of Gojo’s dumb TikTok pranks.”

Yuji: (hesitant) “Wait… is that true? Sensei, tell me this is a joke!”

[Gojo drags a hand down his face, letting out a long, theatrical sigh.]

Gojo: “Fine. Yes. It’s a prank. Megumi, you’re such a killjoy. Say bye to TikTok.”

Yuji: (relieved) “Bye!!”

03:38 =================⬤ 03:38

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[nap-thym3]

I’ll Eat You Whole

Bob Velseb/Reader | Ch: 1, First Encounter

• Word Count: 5,217 •

When a scare-actor comes across the real-deal, you barely manage to escape by the skin of your teeth. However, in the aftermath of your encounter, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Who was he? Why didn’t he kill you when he had the chance? And why was he kinda…

Anyways. Now caught in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse, you have to quickly figure out what role you play. Will you survive? Or will you be swallowed whole?

Wild cackles spill from your throat, disjointed and borderline hysterical. A giant chainsaw roars to life in your hands, the bloodied business-end a warning. The constant vibrations from the motor making your very bones feel tingly and near numb with pins and needles.

The blood coursing through your veins feels electric, super-charged in a way that you only ever feel when you’re giving chase.

For all intents and purposes, you were dressed to kill.

Ahead, a group of teenagers shriek for their lives, pushing and shoving at each other in a desperate mad scrawl to escape.

Giggling dementedly, you cheekily taunt the pair. Some cheesy one-liner that you’ve already used maybe thirty times tonight.

In response, the blond, shaggy haired boy unkindly shoves at his friend, looking honestly a little pale. God, you hoped he wouldn’t vomit. The last thing you needed was for this kid to puke in your section.

“Damn it— move Craig, move! They’re coming right this way!”

Craig, you’re assuming, laughs mischievously. Arms and legs spread out wide and hooked onto the exit’s doorframe like a human barricade. Effectively blocking his friend from passing through, reveling in the panicked shouts and desperate pleas to move.

“Chill! They’re not even that scary!” Craig manages between full-bellied chuckles.

You cluck your tongue, bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. You had a strict schedule, and didn’t really have the time to play a game of chicken with these two before the next group passed through.

Panting, you try to subtly rub your face against your shoulder, sweat-slicked baby-hair clung uncomfortably to your clammy skin. Slowly, as to not alert the oblivious pair as they squabbled, you crept forward. Quietly making your way over, inch by inch, until you were only a meager three steps away.

“Fuck you Craig! I swear to god, if you don’t move in the next five seconds, I’m gonna—“

Reaching down, you cut the power to your chainsaw. The pair, still oblivious and too caught up in their back and forth, fail to notice the abrupt silence.

Before anymore grating arguing can spill, your reach out, gently reaching over the blonde’s shoulder and gently poking the troublemaker with your index.

The pair, having momentarily forgotten all about you, whip their heads around. The action is done so quickly, you’re half surprised they hadn’t snapped their necks. Their eyes were wide and terrified as they watched with bated breath. You offer nothing but a playful little finger wag; deceptively casual, before lunging forward and delivering a scream so fried, most metal-heads would’ve applauded.

You barely have enough time to clear your throat before the teens are tripping over one another, a messy pile of limbs as they half-crawl on all fours. Before then remembering that, yes, they did indeed have legs. And that yes, they should probably use those.

Man, you loved Halloween.

Hours later, and the haunted house’s endless waves of shrieking crotch-goblins and thrill-seeking teens had finally slowed to a light trickle. Granted, it wasn’t all that surprising. With it being the busiest night of the year, after all. The attraction had been at near full capacity all night, guests squashed together like canned sardines with seemingly no end in sight.

It wasn’t until just a little after midnight when the non-stop traffic of people had finally slowed to a trickle, that you realized just how loud it had been. The abrupt quiet left only the looping audio of groaning ghouls playing from outdated speakers hidden in dark corners. You’d honestly forgotten there was any background ambience to begin with, when all you could hear for eight long and grueling hours was the screams of the horrified.

God, you were so glad you had the foresight to bring a bottle of Tylenol with you.

With little more fanfare, the annual haunt had officially closed for the year. The end of the final shift was marked with exhausted high-fives, sighs of relief, and more than a few of your coworkers tearing off sticky prosthetics like their skin had been itching something fierce for hours.

Quickly, actors were dispersing and heading home for a well-earned night’s rest. But not you.

No, you��d gone and volunteered for one last task: the final sweep.

It was your favorite part of the job. Wandering through the darkened maze of the building, making sure no drunk idiots had keeled over and passed out in a coffin or gotten stuck between the walls of the mirror maze. Occasionally, you’d even find a late-night straggler who thought it’d be the bee’s knees to hide and loiter around until everyone left. Those ones were the best. Scaring the hell out of someone who thought they were smarter than the rest? Totally oblivious that they weren’t alone, and wouldn’t have the last laugh?

Better than any therapy session. Free, too.

Tonight felt different, though. The air seemed heavier in the aftermath of the long season, as if the building itself was holding its breath. But maybe that was just your imagination. It was all too easy for these dark corridors to play on your anxiety.

Shaking it off, you adjusted your grip on the prop chainsaw you carried, the dull heft of it a grounding weight. Despite the fact that it wasn’t real, it still gave you an illusion of safety.

As you tiredly shambled your way through the maze of halls, fantasizing about your plush mattress waiting for you back at home, you trod into a room chalk-full of fog. The familiar, smokey scent a pleasant balm over your pulsing migraine. Someone must’ve forgot to turn off the fog-machines, you figure. You couldn’t really find it in yourself to blame them for wanting to go home as soon as possible after tonight.

Turning a corner, you stop dead in your tracks as your eyes hone in on a distant shape.

Ahead, barely visible in the foggy gloom, was the hulking silhouette of a person.

Your heart gave a little leap of excitement. A straggler, ripe for the spooking!

Grinning, you bend your knees into a half-crouch, keeping close to the wall as you quietly crept forward. The flickering lights overhead did little to illuminate the figure, but you didn’t need to see much. You knew this maze like the back of your hand and could strut these halls blindfolded. No dumb teens stood a chance against you.

Close enough now to start feeling the ramping rush of adrenaline, you gave the chainsaw in your hands a few hard tugs. It sputters. Once, twice, before roaring to life on the third pull. The sound of the faux engine roaring to life bounces against the walls of the narrow hall, creating a cacophony throughout the desolate space.

The figure, hunched over something on the ground— please don’t be vomit, please don’t be vomit— straightened slowly. And kept straightening up, reaching a towering height all the while remaining completely unbothered by your approach.

Well. That wasn’t the reaction you’d been expecting. Usually, this was the point in time where people screamed, turned tail, and ran. Or at the very least flinched in surprise.

Real or not, people had a tendency to allow fear to overtake their rationality. It was hard not to, when somebody was chasing you, swinging around a chainsaw in an enclosed space. There was little time to think, just scream and run. Which was great for you.

Annoyed, you take several menacing steps closer, brandishing your chainsaw and revving the engine promisingly. It typically made even the most jaded customer uneasy. But the figure didn’t even react. Was this guy deaf?

“Alright, tough guy,” you muttered under your breath, squinting to get a better look at them.

Through the flickering lighting, you could just make out a worn, burgundy turtleneck and a matching devil mask to boot. Pointed horns perched atop their crown, casting jagged shadows across the walls. In one hand, they held a cleaver—large, wickedly sharp, and dripping with what looked unmistakably like blood. Thick, dark rivulets of it that clung to the blade and fell in slow, pattering drops onto the floor.

Oh. So maybe not a guest.

Sighing with slight disappointment, the muscles in your legs that’d been tensed in preparation to give chase slackened.

“Nice getup,” you called out over the rev of the chainsaw, lowering it slightly before cutting the power off altogether in order to be heard more clearly.

“Sorry— thought you were a guest. Y’know, we closed like… Half an hour ago, right? You can go home.”

The figure tilted their head, confused maybe, before turning towards you fully. Behind them, something was sprawled across the floor—a crumpled, unrecognizable heap in a pool of blackened liquid.

You squinted, trying to make sense of the shape. Some kind of prop, probably. From your vantage you could just make out bone-white, jutting ribs blooming from the gorey mass. Indescribable lumps spill from the open cavity, glistening in the low-light. Most likely meant to look like exposed guts.

Your stomach roils unpleasantly at the sight. That was some pretty convincing stuff. Not typically what you saw in here, considering this haunt advertised itself as nothing too intense— for the younger audience.

Your attention is redirected, when the stranger shuffles closer.

“Didja know,” they spoke— tone baritone and unmistakably male, with a honeyed southern drawl, “human meat tastes most similarly like pork?”

You shuffle in place awkwardly as the man completely ignores your previous words. Your brain buffers, struggling to formulate the right words. Quickly, you decide to go with the tried and true method when dealing with odd social encounters. Polite enthusiasm.

A nervous laugh bubbles up in your throat, forced and strained.

“That’s… uh, great trivia,” you stammered, looking around, confused. Why was he insisting on dragging out the bit? It was just the two of you. Right? “Um. You really don’t have to keep acting though. Like I said before, we’re done for the night, so…”

You trail off as the man took another lumbering step closer, his boots squelching in the messy viscera underfoot.

You stepped back instinctively at his unhurried advance, your gaze darting between the cleaver in his fist and the mangled body behind him. It wasn’t real, right? It certainly didn’t feel real.

Yet all the while something kept nagging persistently in the back of your skull, your gut telling you something was deeply wrong here.

Why don’t you remember this guy? Surely you would’ve seen him at least once in passing if he worked here? Yet try as you may to recollect your scrambled thoughts, you can’t for the life of you recall.

Faintly, you heard the ‘whoosh’ing of the overhead fan as it was powered to life. One of you had tripped the motion trigger, a practical effect meant to disorient you. Bombard your senses and overwhelm the intended target for a better scare— or something along those lines. The finer details escaped you in this moment.

It was only as a fresh burst of circulated air wafted in your direction, that the smell hit you. You were expecting something mildly sweet. Like liquid corn-starch and colored food-dye.

The scent that assaults you instead, is anything but. Coppery and acrid, like licking a battery.

This was real. Like, really real.

It hits abruptly, and it hits you hard. The chainsaw in your hands suddenly felt too light, too useless. You took a half-step backwards, swallowing hard as a cold dread crept up your spine.

The pounding war-drum of your pulse roared in your ears as panic began to set in. “Okay,” you said, your voice thin and wispy.

You swallow again, clearing the cotton-dry feeling in your mouth and try injecting some authority back into your tone. You don’t think you quite hit the mark. “Okay. Uh, You’re— You’re not supposed to be here, man.”

The stranger says nothing. Just smiles and stalks forward, cleaver raised and poised to slash.

Alarm bells blare in your head as you backpedal, frantically twisting to turn back the way you came.

He lunged.

You barely had any time to throw the chainsaw up between you as the cleaver arced through the air. A resounding ‘crack’ rippled through the air as steel met cheap plastic, the force of the swing knocking the prop straight out of your hands. As it clattered to the floor, useless, you only had one thought.

You were so screwed.

You scramble to keep your balance and maintain a sliver of distance as the man advanced, his movements slow but deliberate. Like a cat batting around a mouse.

In one sudden move, he swung again, forcing you to dodge with a wild stumble to the side. The motion sent you skidding on the slick floor, your shoes struggling to find traction on the grimy surface smeared with blood.

Turning your head to the side, you just now notice the man’s sweater-clad arm brushing against your cheek— caging you in.

He’d missed— No, that’s not right. You’d dodged.

The giant cleaver was stubbornly embedded into the wall beside you, right where your head had been not even a second previously. And it was stuck.

With a panicked noise, you duck under his right arm. Narrowly escaping him as his left hand had just barely brushed against the back of your costume.

“Shit!” you hissed, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. The acidic stench of gore clawed at the back your nostrils— it’s real, it’s real!—, threatening to gag you as you struggled to wrangle your limbs into cooperation and go.

Behind you, you catch the sound of the man grunting as he ripped his weapon of choice out of the wall. Quickly followed by his deliberate steps behind you, steady and unhurried. Completely sure of himself.

It only served to spur you into a clumsy, mad sprint.

The maze of hallways felt suffocatingly narrow, the walls pressing in on you with every corner you turned. Your mind scrambled for an escape route, or-or a familiar face, for anything at all that could give you an edge. But the layout, once so familiar, now felt like a disorienting trap.

Behind you, the man’s steps falter, the sound echoing faintly in the cavernous space.

You turned your head, just a cursory glance over your shoulder to gage his distance, but that split-second look had cost you.

Your foot hit something—a stray, thick cable for some electronic or another. Your balance vanished, and you went down— hard. Your palms shot out before yourself, slapping the cold and sticky floor. Pain shot up your wrists as they took the brunt of the impact, but it barely registered in your panic-addled brain.

The heavy thud of boots snapped your attention back to your aggressor, and you looked up to see him closing the distance. The cleaver raised high, winking promisingly in the stage-light.

Feral and desperate, you crawled back on your elbows. No other thought in your brain except to get away.

Another step forward, and his foot caught on the same cord that had betrayed you. His confident stride faltered, his boot sliding out from under him.

It would’ve been a comical sight in literally any other circumstance.

As he stumbled forward with a startled grunt, his massive frame pitched off-balance as he wildly swung his arms outwards in a desperate search for purchase.

It wasn’t much of an opening, but a split second decision needed to be made.

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you surprise yourself.

Instead of taking the opportunity to keep running, like literally any other sane person would do in your situation, you’d leapt. Right on-top of your attacker.

Your arm whips out and catch’s his neck, capturing him in a headlock. Or it would’ve, if the damn guy wasn’t built like a fucking rottweiler.

The man lets out a noise between a half-aborted chuckle and cough at the unexpected restriction. Large hands scrabbling for purchase against your forearm, nails raking angry red lines across your skin. You curse at the slight sting, yet remain firmly saddled to his broad back, legs firmly locked at his sides. Even as he wildly thrashes, you hold on with all your might— like you would on a bucking bull at the carnival. Knowing you’d be facing pain far worse than a few scratches if you failed, you swing your other arm around, firmly clasping your hand against your opposing wrist and pulling it taut as hard as you could. The muscles in your arms burn at the prolonged stretch, but no matter how much it aches and feels like your arm could pop out of its socket at any moment, you hold firm.

“Feisty lil’ treat, ain’t’cha?” The mysterious man manages through a gasping grunt, meaty digits wriggling between the space of your arm and his reddening neck.

White-hot anger sears at the forefront of your mind. Just who the hell did he think he was? You did the scares and crappy one-liners around here, bitch.

With a snarl against the nape of his neck, his onyx hair tickling your nose, you act on impulse.

Before anymore teases or taunts can be made in that southern drawl you’re quickly coming to despise, you bare your teeth and bite down at the exposed clammy flesh just peeking above the burgundy sweater smattered with someone else’s blood.

Your attacker gasps, stumbling backwards as he vainly attempts to reach behind himself and dislodge you. All the while you clamp down harder, teeth aching with the force not meant for your blunt pearly-whites.

The acrid, metal tang of iron bleeds onto your tongue— a bitter taste that you’re thankfully not subjected to for long as the mountain of a man loses his footing once again. The wires looping around his ankle in the struggle. Sending him stumbling backward one, two, three paces before his back harshly met the wall.

Ergo, you as well.

The abrupt force of the entirety of the man’s weight hitting you like a freight train, pinning you against the wall, is already bad enough. What makes the shitty situation even worse, is that your aggressor wastes no time in taking your momentary shock and striking.

Lighting quick, you don’t even have time to shout or attempt rolling away as an elbow jabs into your diaphragm with startling accuracy.

The response is instantaneous, as the muscle in your chest seizes— momentarily paralyzed.

You crumple inwards, leaning against the grimy wall for support as you gasp and heave for air. All the while uselessly clutching at the collar of your shirt, struggling and fighting for oxygen that your lungs are seemingly incapable of drawing in at this moment.

Faintly, out of the corner of your eye, you recognize the stranger as he stalks forward. Knife clutched in an angry, white-knuckled fist.

As you’re kneeling hunched on the floor, breathing in harsh pants— but breathing, nonetheless— your eyes dip downwards. Catching the slim portion of skin peeking just above the collar of his stained turtleneck, nearly as red as the devil mask he dons as a result of the damage you’ve wrought.

‘Bites and strangulation’s a good look on him.’ You think to yourself deliriously, as a toothy, blood-soaked grin tears proudly across your face.

The man, taking notice of your face smeared with his own blood, cocks his head to the side. Considering.

Defiantly, you jut your chin upwards. Wordless in your challenge but a challenge nonetheless.

Devil-guy chuckles at your show of bravado, his own smile hitching impossibly higher, the pinks of his gums winking at you.

With a thudding step, and another, he shambles towards you. Stalking. Slow and steady, completely unbothered. He’s got you backed into a corner now and he knows it. Wants you to know it, too.

Feeling hopeless, you can do little more than press yourself flush against the wall. With nowhere else to go, and sufficiently crowded by this guy, you brace for impact.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel the heavy, damp breath fanning over your sweat-slicked face as he leans over you. Even without your eyes open, you can feel the lofty weight of his unabashed staring. Despite this, you resist the urge to kick or swing. You already knew it was futile, and anymore resistance would surely be met with a swift rebuttal.

The moment stretches on, a long silence filled with nothing but your intermingling pants occupying the cramped space. Faintly, you hear the looping audio of the haunted-house’s ambient audio. Previously, you’d already had a strong dislike for the downright cheesy moans and groans of the supposed supernatural, interspersed with distant howling. However, in this moment, you despise nothing more. As for the umpteenth time, a distant shriek pierces the quiet. It feels mocking, somehow.

Something warm and wet drips onto your cheek, rolling down your flushed face. Goose flesh erupts along your shoulders as you nearly jump out of your skin at the unexpected sensation. Thankfully however, you do nothing more than flinch, before cautiously peering through squinted eyelids.

Above you, your attacker openly drools. Spittle forming and accumulating along his bottom lip, before trailing down his chin. All while his wobbly pupils minutely shift, raptured and ravenously watching every micro expression flitting across your face.

Nervously, you gulp. Before reflexively wetting your own lips in a practiced, anxious habit. It’s not until you taste copper that you remember you still have flakey, dried blood staining your maw. Gross.

The man above, however, has clearly different opinions as he erupts into a full-bodied shiver. The tips of his ears flushing a bright pink.

Okay. Noted.

He lingers, eyes eagerly raving over the dried streak of blood on your lips with unnerving intensity. You squirm, uncomfortable and feeling like a pinned frog, ripe for dissection. Something feral flits across his expression as you wriggle, a startling hunger, before he raises a hand to wipe the drool from his chin with the back of his sleeve.

“Look at’cha,” he mutters, his voice low, husky. There’s a disconcerting undercurrent of amusement beneath the words, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “Wild as a bearcat. ‘Love it when they got a bit of fight in ‘em.”

He squats down to your level, his massive frame moving with surprising grace. You’re keenly aware of just how little space exists between you, his knees nearly brushing yours as his free hand, fingers wide and blunt, presses firmly to the wall beside your head. A cage. One he doesn’t intend to let you squirrel through this time.

Seeming content to just stare at you for the moment, cleaver still clutched in his other hand and catching slivers of light. Angling it lazily, almost conversationally, near your face.

At your clear terror, he withdraws. You relax— at least, as much as you’re able to in this guy’s presence—, a shaky exhale leaving you as he does so.

It doesn’t last long though, of course. As you’re once again tensing up all over again, breath hitching as he raises it to his own mouth instead, the flat of the blade skimming his lips. He slurps at the excess there, his tongue then darting out to lave over the steel, before finally pulling it away. His smile widens, and he makes a soft sound, thoughtful. Like he was out taste-testing cheese and not savoring the blood of the innocent.

“You—” your voice cracks, chest aching, lungs still struggling to catch up. You cough and try again, forcing as much venom as you can muster into your words. “You’re sick.”

“And yer stupid,” he counters quickly, his grin unwavering, a flash of teeth that gleam wetly in the pale light. “But I don’t reckon that’s news to either of us.”

A tense moment of silence passes.

“Ya bite hard,” he muses, disrupting the momentary quiet. As though that’s a normal thing to compliment. Is it a compliment? “Bet’cha I bite harder, though.”

The words sink in slowly, and your stomach twists, blood flushing up your neck. Something in your expression—your attempt to recoil while still pressed helplessly to the wall—delights him further. Like you’re tethered together by a string, he follows your pitiful attempt for personal-space. Never letting you forget for even a moment how helpless you really were.

“Ya weren’t s’pposed to be here, treat.” His free hand lifts from the wall, fingers brushing against the sweat-slicked edge of your jaw. The touch is light, deceptively gentle. However, it’s ruined by how his hands feel like a loaded gun against your skin. Knowing that at any moment, he could snuff you out.

He drags his thumb down your jaw, just barely grazing the space between your lip and chin. The blade stays in his other hand, ominously idle but never forgotten.

You jerk your head to the side with a sharp inhale, dislodging his touch, and finally manage to spit out a weak, “Don’t.” You didn’t even really know what you were refusing. The nickname? Touch? Your inevitable demise? Maybe all of the above.

He chuckles fondly—a deep, guttural sound that reverberates in your chest, too close, too intimate. “Sure thing. Treat.”

Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms hard enough to leave stinging crescents in their wake. “What do you want?” you snap, the edge of your voice sharper now despite the wobble. You’re desperate to gain back some sense of control, some foothold in this surreal nightmare.

His grin softens, just slightly, into something more contemplative. “Want?” he repeats, as though tasting the word on his tongue. “Don’t’cha see, darlin’? I already got what I want.” He leans in even closer, his forehead almost brushing yours.

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. Your stomach flip-flops, dread curling tight in your abdomen as his hands wander again, finally transferring off and away from you.

His proximity feels suffocating, but despite every rational instinct screaming at you to do something—anything—you find yourself frozen. Not just in fear, but in something else. Something other than self-preservation.

He’s terrifying, sure. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, a wild fascination that unsettles you to your very core, yet holds you immovably still. That kind of obsessive attention fixated solely on you, like you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. You’ve never had someone look at you that way before. It was frighteningly addictive.

“Ya feel that, don’t’cha?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a near whisper, almost conspiratorial. “Yer lil’ heart, pounding away? That’s a once ‘n a lifetime feelin’, treat.”

Yeah, because he fucking kills them right after.

“I could kill ya right now, y’know,” he says it so casually, as though he read your mind. His grip on the knife shifts, and he raises it just enough for you to catch a glimpse of that glinting steel once again. “Wouldn’t even be hard. Like squishin’ a baby bird.”

Your nose scrunches, but you refuse to buckle and give him the reaction he’s clearly fishing for. “Then why don’t you? Hurry up and get it over with, prick.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t get the chance to, actually. As a scream echoes down the hall, back the way you came. Sounds like somebody found the body. Er- what was left of it, anyhow.

However, your would-be killer doesn’t even deign to spare a glance in that direction. Instead, he grunts, irritated at being interrupted. Eyes drinking you in , as if committing you to memory.

For a split second, you fear that he isn’t going to move. Quickly, knowing time was running out, you open your mouth. Wether it was to shout or maybe offer some snarky quip, you’ll never know.

Because with the strength of a kicking mule, he shoves you, cutting you off before you could make a sound.

A winded ‘oof’ is punched out of your abused lungs, balefully watching as he rises from his haunches and finally tearing those near-black irises away from you.

And just like that, he’s gone. The weight of his presence lifts as he stands to his full height, towering over you for just a moment longer before turning on his heel. His boots thud against the slick floor as he saunters off, leaving you trembling in the silence. Nothing but the sound of voices down the hall, panicked and steadily growing closer. Something about calling the cops.

Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts as you stare after his retreating silhouette, equal parts relief and confusion flooding your senses.

You get the distinct feeling this isn’t over.

Going home is a complicated ordeal. After your manager found you, you’d been a little shell-shocked, to say the least.

And utterly exhausted.

You didn’t really know the haunt-manager that well. It seemed like a different organizer every year, and to be honest, you weren’t all too keen on getting to know them anyway. They seemed nice enough, though.

“—And-! Where’s your car? Don’t tell me you walked here!” She frets, hands coming up to grasp you by the shoulders, before thinking better of it last minute.

“I’m fine.” You grouse, idly thumbing your sternum that still aches. That’s going to be one nasty bruise, you’re sure.

In the distance, you can just make out the red and blue lights strobing down the streets. You really didn’t want to deal with that headache right now. You were never a fan of cops, having your own complicated history with them that you weren’t really interested in reminiscing on.

“Look, Ms-“ you pause, just realizing you’ve forgotten her name already. With an awkward cough, hoping she didn’t catch on, you continue “it’s been a real long and shitty night and I really just want to go home. I’m leaving.” Stiffly, you turn on your heel. Robotically marching down the steps and towards the sidewalk. You weren’t typically a very tactful person on a good day. So if you were a little more terse than you intended, you don’t think you could be held entirely at fault. Tonight had been overwhelming.

“Wait- No, you can’t just walk away! Someone died tonight, there’ll be questions-and-and-“

You pause in your tracks, aggravatingly, she was right. No matter how much you just wanted to go home and forget about tonight, you could potentially get into a heap of trouble for just walking out. Afterall, it’d probably look awfully suspicious of you to try slinking off after a murder.

A murder. It didn’t feel real, hearing that someone really did die tonight, and that it wasn’t some hysteria-induced hallucination.

You should’ve been dead too.

You clear your throat, uncomfortable. Deciding to save yourself the future migraine, you fish out your trusty bottle of Tylenol. Swallowing two pills dry.

The haunt-organizer looks a little on edge, despite her insistence that you came back. Dragging your feet back up the steps, you notice her slightly backpedal from your immediate vicinity. You suppose you can’t really blame her. What with you still dressed in uniform, ratty hair, and features smeared with patchy face-paint. You must look pretty ratchet right now.

With a long, suffering sigh, you fall back onto your rump. Leg bouncing anxiously.

Well, it’s not like tonight could get any worse.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed. I got bit by the Bob-Velseb-Bug after playing Tender Lovin’ Cannibal. So this was born :,)

Also-Also, I will not be posting future chapters to this Tumblr, so if you’d like to read more please consider checking out my Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/60694933

[decidedlygorgeous]

My brother doesn’t understand why a woman would cut her hair short when a creepy man told her he liked her long hair

My brother thinks it’s cringy when women repost the “we are the daughters of the witches you tried to burn”

My brother thinks I’m so cringy and lame for liking Taylor swift and enjoying Disneyland. He doesn’t understand that even though I get she’s a billionaire with different problems than me and she’s not perfect, her lyrics still speak to me. And I feel safe at Disneyland because it reminds me of my grandma who taught me to believe in magic and of my dad who loves hearing about the behind the scenes stuff and the stories of the cast members.

My brother is so forward in his thinking about other stuff that I struggle with him when I try to tell him that in a group of his friends I get cut off and ignored when I say something, and someone will repeat what I just said. He doesn’t believe me because he didn’t hear me, proving my point.

My brother, who does not know what happened to me, doesn’t understand why women would choose a bear over a man because HE would rather live. I would much rather die.

My brother scoffs at booktok and what “trash” women consume with written and audio smut when I know he watches porn.

My brother doesn’t understand why I was upset with the older man at the concert who wasn’t listening and kept talking over me, telling me I should move to the open spot so I could see better, when I was saying I was purposely standing right behind my dad so the lights wouldn’t hit me straight in the eyes and I didn’t really care about seeing the band anyways.

My brother is such a smart person and is so caring about a lot of stuff. He does copious amounts of research to back himself up so he knows what he’s talking about. But sometimes I fear that he gets so caught up in the facts that he forgets that people have feeling and they sometimes do matter in discussions.

He forgets that only he can tell when he’s joking and so when I ask him if he’s serious and he says yes, I’ll believe him because he’s my brother, and I’m supposed to trust him. Sometimes he forgets that jokes are also supposed to be funny to the person you’re telling them to and gaslighting is not a funny joke. And it makes me believe and trust him less.

My brother forgets that he was not the only person slighted by our mother and so when he’s ranting and telling me what happened and I say “I’m sorry, I understand how you feel” he scoffs and tells me to shut up and I’m the Favorite child who gets everything. I’m not and I don’t, that’s our second oldest brother. But me being the only girl I see why he would think that.

My brother is NOT a villain and he’s certainly not my villain. He’s a complicated person I love that sometimes hurts me. And I have no doubt that I’ve hurt him, I am no victim after all.

[amourrs]

Some sick!reader + Ellie headcanons I've been thinking about for you Ani <3

• You aren't too sure if it's a coincidence or Ellie is really just That girlfriend, but when you're feeling unwell, all her plans get cancelled out of the blue for her to lay on the bed next to you on her phone quietly glancing towards you from time to time to make sure you're happily enjoying the drink she fixed for you.

• She also goes above and beyond to distract you from the pain,- physical or mental; and probably talks to you to a point where you have to attack her with kisses all over her face for her to stop infodumping for a second and just enjoy the show y'all are watching

• Back rubs.. belly rubs.. arm caresses.. temple kisses.. small pecks.. knuckle kisses.. and boob holding for comfort??? Ellie-

• If you start to feel better by the evening, she tells you not to frown about the missed date and hand crafts a blanket fort "Girls night" as she likes to ironically call it and laugh about it(I'm a sucker for Ellie being traditionally girly dont look at me) She basically makes you watch old movies, does your hair and lets you paint her nails.

you don’t understand how happy this ask made me like omg. 18+ only due to suggestive content under the cut! expansion below (also featuring a couple of sneaky ai audios right at the end…) cw for vomit.

this is so cute i’m gonna cry you just understand all my daydreams!!! she’s so gf i love her… btw it’s canon that cups of watery, kind of awful tea ABOUND in your household when you’re sick and you don’t have the heart to tell ellie they’re bad. she’s looking at you and prompting you with her eyes to take a sip and you have to conceal your wince as you do it. “it’s good tea, right? dunno if i left the teabag in for long enough… google said two minutes. was that right? it’s good, right???” you wait for her to stop but she just keeps rambling and you feel so bad for her that you just have to nod along and swallow down the tea 😭😭

the infodumping… god, the infodumping. you’re just trying to focus on a show through your thumping headache as ellie drones “honestly, i think taissa did do it to allie on purpose, even if she doesn’t realise it-” until it gets to the point where you thwack her with a pillow and she pouts at you before pecking your forehead with her lips and snuggling down next to you.

also i see your boob holding and raise you tit sucking… because yes you’re sick but, well, ellie’s still ellie, and so of course she still wants to do horny things. she’d spring it on you right as you’re waking up from your mid morning nap, eyes all soft as she looks down at you all curled up in the little cosy nest of blankets she meticulously arranged for you.

“hey baby. you just wake up? i can make you another cup of tea if you want,” ellie offers happily. she must see the slightly apprehensive look on your face because her eyebrow crooks up as she continues: “or, well… i was thinking… what if i, like, sucked your tits? just a little? think it might help ease some of the aching… after all, my mouth is kinda magical, if i do say so myself.” you’re unable to contain your splutter at the terrible joke. ellie grins and keeps pushing it. “in fact, this might be a miracle cure!” she says with all the drama of someone announcing they discovered a new planet in the solar system. “you might never get sick again!” comes her next line, hands gesticulating wildly in the air as your chest begins shaking with unbridled giggles.

a fake depressive look turns your girlfriend’s lips down as she dramatically sweeps a hand across her forehead. “okay, maybe that’s a bit far… stop laughing at me. you’re gonna make yourself throw up again,” she teases, except you both seem to realise at the same moment that her last statement was probably true. your eyes lock as ellie dives for the sick bucket and you do in fact puke, her calloused hands holding back your hair from your face <3

as for girl’s night- i feel like she would probably make you a little mocktail because even though you’re not well enough to be drinking, cranberry juice is really good for you and lemonade is almost one of your five a day if you really think about it… and “mint’s basically a vegetable. like, it’s green enough, right?” when you’re forced to take the opposing side on the is-mint-really-a-vegetable debate she acts like you’ve just hit her with a hammer and insists on calling jesse to settle the matter.

“ok, i need your help with a super important decision,” ellie says, a stern expression on her face. the way her eyebrows are wrinkled in the middle looks extra cute, you think, and lean forward to kiss her. instead you’re met with a hand to the sternum and an angry glare. “damn. okay, important decision,” you agree, eyes lifting to hers in curiosity. your girlfriend sucks in a deep breath and you brace yourself… “should i paint my toenails green or pink?” ellie asks innocently. you feel like thumping her- why do i ever take her seriously?? you think, heart slowing back to its normal pace as you throw her a dirty side eye.

“wait, actually… that yellow looks kind of cool-” you cut her off with a thump to the head with your pillow. “OW!” comes her pained response, your lips tilting up into a smug smile as ellie shoots you a look of pure betrayal. “ok… OK!” THUMP! “i get it! no yellow…” the pillow lifts again as if to drive your point home for a final time and… THUMP! “ow! fuck! wait, why is your pillow so fucking solid?”

+ as promised, the ai audios… as i mentioned on my blog before, my bot isn’t anywhere near perfect yet so please excuse if these happen to sound a little funky!

[anotherbummer]

Good Omens Season 3 Confirmed (trailer)

jk jk but could you imagine if any of this happened

I told myself I wouldn't go crazy working on this and then I ended up with 5 spreadsheets of dialogue trying to piece together this puzzle. Also I will need everyone to cut me some slack because I made this entire video on my phone while I was manic.

On that note, this trailer is largely based on 2 of my favorite Good Omens fics: Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by @mouseonamoose and Factory Settings by Anonymous. I love the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale having a therapist and it always reminded me of the character Dr. Linda Martin who plays the devil's therapist in the series Lucifer (Based on characters created by Neil Gaiman!) Also I tried really hard to hint at different parts of the Factory Setting story through clips, especially with clips of Crowley grabbing his glasses (which in this case would be Raphael wearing Crowley's glasses, which is a pretty big plot point in the story).

Lots of the audio clips and dialogue comes from the show itself (and a few clips from Lucifer), but I did comb through some clips of other shows that the actors were in, like Michael Sheen in Passengers, and David Tennant in Inside Man, etc. However the longer audio clips of "god" speaking are direct quotes from the Factory Setting fic (although I am almost certain that Raphael says them when he gets the Book of Life, So technically speaking, these lines are used out of context). I just ran the lines through a text to voice generator and then added a "godly/celestial" effect to it, which worked a lot better than I though it was going to. I had LOTS of potential dialogue I could have used but it didn't all fit super well together in the sense that it didn't either sound like the character speaking, or it didn't flow like a normal conversation. Believe me I tried, my phone can only do so much.

The music choice was obviously chosen on purpose, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen (Epic Mix) by Mark Petrie, for the purpose of pacing, I slowed it down slightly. I really liked the idea of using this song since the Factory Setting story partially revolves around "the second coming" baby and since we are nearing the Christmas season, it just seemed like sense to work on this now. The lyrics get pretty repetitive but I do wish I could have thrown in the "Fear not then, said the Angel. Let nothing you affright" verse somewhere in there.

Don't ask me to explain the actual plot of this I really just mashed two fanfics together and called it a day. I thinks that's all the notes I had.

[trashogram]

Toon Patrol/Fem!Reader

Rated G for gun violence.

————————

You stood at the very back of the studio, trying not to let restlessness get the better of you. You contented yourself by looking at the set that had been vacated of its cast before your return — a beautiful matte painting of an open field with a frame of oak trees. 

     It was so eye-catching and lovely contrasted with the clutter of camera equipment and occasional crewmembers. A veritable oasis in the middle of a desert. 

You sighed wistfully. 

     Your mentor Cliff had gone long ago, off to help pull together another reel of film post-edit. It was tempting to pout over the injustice of not being invited, since your whole purpose was to observe and learn that very thing. Instead you’d been left to the wolves as a glorified PA, running around town to get whatever was needed by this person or that — all of them higher on the totem pole than yourself. So, you had no chance of refusing, not that you hadn’t tried. 

     You’d been working here for almost two weeks and people still treated you like you were invisible, or a nuisance. First day on the job and your most important lesson was: if you’re not talent or the director, you’re not worth a second glance. 

     With a scrunch of your nose in distaste, you waved away the thought. You’d already browbeaten yourself enough for being so meek. There was nothing for it now but to do better next time.  

-*-

    Cliff pushed a box of random props into your arms. “Here girl. Take these out to the lot and throw ‘em away.” 

You stared down your nose at the contents, spying at least two oversized rolling pins, a ‘toon bomb with a singed fuse, a slide whistle, a white flag and a dozen or so bent cartoon nails. 

“Wh—?” 

“They’re defective! No need for ‘em anymore.” Your mentor continued. “When you come back I’ll bring you to the RCA system, watch ‘em match up the audio.” 

“Oh! Really?!” You brightened. “That’s - I - Really, Cliff?! Will I really get to — ?” 

Cliff cut you off, perpetually watering eyes narrowed as he frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah, now go! Don’t dawdle! We don’t need anymore junk clutterin’ this place up.” Cliff ‘hmphed’ around his stogie. “Got enough clowns runnin’ rampant as it is.” 

Your lips pressed together firmly as you tried to reel in the tempest of emotions in your chest. As exciting as the reward sounded, you failed to see how taking out the trash was part of your job description. 

“Yes, sir.” You muttered finally. 

With another world-weary sigh, you trudged off and headed toward the back door that led outside.

-*- 

The walk over to the dumpsters was particularly painful with not only the distance to account for, but the many stairs as well. You could feel blisters forming on your heels and where pressure pinched at your toes. 

    One would hope that breaking in sensible pumps wouldn’t take long, but then you were constantly on your feet these days. There was little to no time for sitting and healing as you were jerked around from one end of the set to the next at everyone’s beck and call. 

    A siren was going off in the distance, intermingling with the sound of the trolley ding’ing at its next stop. You could faintly hear the clacking of dress shoes and a shout from someone unknown just beyond the gate that separated the studio and the outside world of L.A. 

    The air turned from pleasantly fresh to sour, dragging you back to the task at hand. The dumpsters sat waiting. 

You groaned at the realization that you had to set your box of miscellaneous down to open the dumpster lid. It was the little things in life that piled up and blocked you from a simple, joyous life. 

     Two women costumed to look like Little Bo Peep rounded the corner as you maneuvered the lid open. They didn’t appear to see you, let alone lend a hand as they hurried off. And the same could be said of a man swerving past you, his dress shirt half-soaked in sweat. 

Typical. 

“Did this… box get… heavier?” You groused, lugging it up from the pavement. 

You had to use the dumpster to wedge the box between it and yourself, hoisting it toward the lip. It was merely a coincidence that you decided to take a last look inside before throwing it away. 

The ‘toon frog inside croaked at you. 

     Your scream set him off like a springtrap, and you were knocked back onto the heated road with a hiss. It hurt — your elbow smacked into the ground and the trapped heat from the sun stung your legs through the nylon barrier as you landed on your behind. 

Teeth clenched, you tried to distract yourself from the pain. Above you the frog stood, stretched out to his full height — which was sizable given how he’s squished himself into a standard cardboard box. His attire stood out like something a bandmate would march in during a parade procession. 

The frog trembled from head-to-toe, eyes darting all around. 

“I’m so sorry! So sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to knock you over, Miss! I was just looking for somewhere to-to-to-to—!” 

     You got back onto your feet awkwardly, wincing as you brushed dust and dirt from your backside. “To scare me?” 

“—To hide!” He shrieked, fumbling over his own webbed feet. 

You frowned, mouth opening just as the distant siren drowned everything else out. The gate into the studio burst open simultaneously, sending your heart plummeting as a patrol vehicle raced forward. 

     The frog screamed with you this time as he leapt into the air and dove into your arms. His long arms wrapped ‘round your neck and squeezed.

Vision starting to swim, hearing beginning to ring, you could do nothing but stumble back with arms full of terrified amphibian as the car screeched to a halt. 

“Awlright Gills!” A nasal voice called out. “End ‘a the line!” 

The driver’s side door of the van opened, and out popped a ‘toon weasel bedecked in a pink suit jacket and matching fedora. 

    And as if on cue, more weasels filed out from all sides of the car, hurrying to follow the first one’s lead. 

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Please!” The frog stuttered in your ear. “I didn’t hear anything! I didn’t see anything! Please believe me!” 

    It did not block out the sound of guns being cocked. You went ramrod straight at the sound, and stared like a deer in headlights as the group of weasels crowded in. 

    You whimpered, overwhelmed and afraid at the sudden turn of events. The guns pointed at you looked real. 

“Look-it dis, boys.” The weasel in pink snarked. “Froggy says he ain’t guilty, but he’s hidin’ behind a dame! Sure looks like a ‘red-bellied’ snitch ta me!”

    The weasel’s fellow ‘toons all laughed, and you gagged as the frog’s arms constricted around you again. The lack of oxygen was making you dizzy, preventing you from staying still through the stand-off. 

“She don’t look so good, eh boss?” Another weasel asked, eyes trained on you moreso than the frog. 

You began to sway back and forth, a high heel catching in a divot. You pitched forward unexpectedly. 

“No! No! No!” The frog wailed. 

“Uh-oh!” A high-pitched voice exclaimed, followed by a stream of cackles. The spots in your vision and the ringing in your ears prevented you from caring, however. 

Even the sound of a gunshot, and the subsequent cry of the frog as he finally let go of your neck and jumped off of you, took its time catching up to your sluggish thoughts. 

     You gasped, air filling your lungs in short bursts until you coughed. Above and around you, the sounds of a cartoon scuffle filled the lot as the frog attempted another escape.

    He had sprung from you after being startled by the gunshot before you could hit the ground and hit the dumpster, feet landing on a rolling pin and tripping him up. It left him flailing for just long enough to get ambushed by the Toon Patrol, who rushed him.  

The frog bounded over Smartass’s head, ripping the fedora off his head, and leaving the leader to clutch at nothing but air, to slam it over Stupid’s eyes. Psycho took the opportunity to grip the perp’s feet and pull him down harder than gravity could as Wheezy snatched up the cartoon bat that had been dropped in the fray and hit the frog right between his bulbous eyes. 

It sent the poor thing flying back into the dust, legs sticking up in the air as he moaned, stars circling his head. 

-*-

A small crowd of humans and ‘toons alike had gathered yards away from you, but you paid it no mind as the frog was hauled away by the seat of his pants. The amphibian remained unconscious as he was swung back and forth rather merrily by two of the weasels before being thrown into the back of their car. 

The sound of him hitting the interior made you flinch, but you also instinctively grabbed for your neck, and shuddered at the phantom feeling of being choked. 

     You inhaled slowly, willing yourself to calm down. Thankfully, a distraction emerged when you saw the Toon Patrol (per what it said on the side of the cab) leader dithering near you still. His beady eyes roved around the area, combing it for something — something —

“Thank you...” You said when he was within earshot. 

    His ears perked up before that glare was pointed in your direction. You swallowed down your apprehension. 

“… For, uh, for helping me from being strangled.” You continued, gently. 

It felt true enough, even if you felt a little bad about how the situation was handled. From what you could tell, neither you nor the frog had been shot. It must’ve been a tactic meant to scare only. 

You hoped so at least. 

“Wasn’ nothing, doll.” He snapped, claws still feeling for his hat as if it would magically appear. 

You frowned, pushing down the feeling of reproach at his gruff tone. It would seem that even ‘toon law enforcement would rather wave you off than speak to you. 

     Eyes trailing down, you spotted the fedora a few feet away and you quickly scooped it up, intent on remedying your hurt feelings with people-pleasing.

“Well, thank you anyway.” You said sincerely before you bent down and planted a kiss right between the weasel’s little ears. 

     It was funny. You noticed before you could place the hat back on the weasel’s head how his eyes bulged in their sockets. For a split second the ‘toon looked well and truly gobsmacked by your little token of gratitude. 

      The rest of his posse stilled their endless shuffling, fidgeting and slinking about to mirror the bewilderment of their boss. 

     Their leader eventually shook himself free of the shock to whirl about. The permanent scowl on his face deepened as he glared at you. His hat was snatched out of your hands, with the weasel hissing between yellow incisors. 

“Why you—!” 

“Aye!” Your head snapped up, and you blinked rapidly at the weasel in green. “Whattabout me?!”

His narrowed eyes had blown out wide, zeroed in on you while his jaw hung open. The weasel hurriedly clamped it shut when he caught your attention, trying and failing to contain the mix of awe, indignation and desperation on his face. You noticed, idly, how he was the most well-dressed out of his counterparts as he stalked toward you. 

     You were taken aback when he elbowed the weasel next to you out of the way and grabbed your hand before you could back off. 

     The green-clad ‘toon took his hat in his other hand, revealing a shock of slicked-back black hair. It distracted you from his hungry gaze roaming up and down your form. 

“It was an honor to be your hero, bella dama.” His voice was as oily as his hair. “I would happily accept your kiss as ‘thank you’.”

“Oh.” You responded dumbly. “Um, I-I suppose…” 

A squeak left you as the ‘toon kissed your hand, his grip tightening without warning so that he could pull you closer. Suddenly, he was kissing his way up your arm, heedless to your bewilderment at his wildly inappropriate actions. 

     The kisses grew more and more amorous as he continued, openly slavering over you as if your bare skin was an addictive substance he couldn’t get enough of. And every single one was punctuated with a loud ‘MUAH’.

     Blood rushed to your ears as you saw the weasel’s tongue slide across your forearm— 

“Quit messin’ around!” Your sleazy counterpart was ripped away from you with a yelp. 

His entire body snapped back like a rubber band, neck stretching comically as he tried to continue kissing you until the very last second. 

“We got no time for these ‘shenagrains’! We still gotta frog to flay!” The leader spat, smacking Green over the head for good measure. 

   A chorus of laughter followed the strike as the other three weasels pointed and laughed at their cohorts’ melodramatic abuse. 

      The touchy one bared his yellow teeth, spouting what you could only imagine were curses, though they were yelled in what you believed was Spanish. He dove for his leader, and immediately they began to tussle in the dusty roadway. 

You stood up again, grimacing at the scene and wondering if you should intervene or not. Until you jumped out of your skin as the hem of your dress was tugged. 

“Heeheeheeheh…” Swirling eyes met your own, so shiny that they reflected your stunned expression back at you. 

      “You want a kiss?” You asked.  

The only response was more high-pitched giggling from the scrawny thing. You felt nervousness creep up your spine as you took in the overlong sleeves of what you just now realized was a straightjacket wrapped around this one. And there was a straight razor clenched between his teeth, glinting in the early noon sun. 

      Panic crawled up your throat, but you forced yourself to take a big, albeit silent, breath. Toons were made to entertain, not cause harm. At least, not to humans. 

You softened up with a smile, brushing back the weasel’s wildly unkempt hair and pressing your lips to his hairline. 

     “Heehee…” The giggling went on under his breath.

A wet nose pressed against the column of your throat briefly, sniffing over your skin. Hot puffs of air blew back your hair before you heard him inhale deeply. 

     You pulled back to see the loony ‘toon rocking from side to side, his sleeves crossed over his lanky body in a self-hug. Those eyes swirled twice as fast, a manic grin stretching over his long face.

“I li~ike that.” He sing-songed between giggles. “Kissies feel go~od! Eheeheeheehee!”

The laughing, as freaky as it was, was infectious. Laughter bubbled out of you as well, shaking your shoulders and forcing you to press your lips together. 

     You couldn’t stifle it so much when the largest weasel of the whole gang bumped into your side. How he managed to sneak up on you with all his bulk was a mystery. 

“Duhh we did good?” He asked you. 

“Very good!” You laughed, your frame vibrating with the forcefulness of it. “Thank you very much!”

This weasel’s eyes didn’t swirl, but they shapeshifted into hearts once you kissed his furry cheek. You nearly snorted over how he sank into a bashful pose, and at the way the propeller on his hat spun without even a light breeze to push it. 

    “D’awww…” His tongue hung out like a lazy dog’s as he looked up at you through would-be fluttering lashes. “Boss! Did you see that? Da lady gave me a kiss!” 

“Ese idiota got a kiss!” You heard from behind. “You all got a kiss but me! ¡Sois ratas! ¡Estás todos contra mí!” 

Well now, not all of them had. You couldn’t stop laughing, but you managed to find the only other patroller you had not made any contact with. 

     The one that was shades more blue than his fellow ‘toons hung back. He made no move to come toward you; just stood in the haze of his own smoke cloud. 

     You didn’t want to push. Instead, still on that jittery buzz of good humor, you blew him a kiss to compromise. You imagined that if you were a ‘toon yourself, your kiss would’ve literally flown right to him. 

   Blue’s pinkened eyes seemed to widen, reminiscent of his boss’s reaction, before narrowing again to scrutinize you. The many cigarettes in his maw billowed smoke on double time, reminding you of the phrase ‘smoke coming outta your ears’. 

    Perhaps it was just their natural theatrics — admittedly, you’d not been working amongst ‘toons for very long, let alone visited Toontown as you planned to do… at some point. But you had to wonder if these poor creatures had ever been shown affection in their lives. 

Wiping a tear from your eye, you tried to curb your giggles and turn toward that overly — affectionate — weasel. You knew full well that it was a terrible idea but his whining made you feel bad, and you intended to humor him (as long as his boss held him back from the unwanted smooching). 

Intention cut short when you jolted in place at the sight of a man in all black standing behind you. 

“Oh!” You gasped. 

     You felt a chill the longer you stared at him. An imposing man in all black, staring at you from behind opaque spectacles beneath the sharp brim of his own hat. He stood unnaturally still, like a stone pillar, and you got the distinct impression that he’d meant to frighten you. 

Then he smiled, baring uncannily perfect white teeth in your direction. 

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

today i learned there is a patreon (free) that has audio files without the filter applied

so i downloaded 1 just to test and compare to see if im doing the filter right-ish... and yes i am.

its just that it never sounds right cause the clips from the stream already have a filter applied + are lower quality + I dont do the bitcrush effect (which makes it low quality on purpose) turns out that effect was a lot more important to the sound than i thought. but im still not doin all that lol

ANYWAY. you can ignore my yapping and listen to this bit from the community memes 2 vid that was cut. 3 also has cut audio but you can go find it yourself teehee

[kaddyssammlung]

I have something else my Sleep Token peeps.

I ripped the audio from a music video in which iv screams in

Under the cut you find the audio and the lyrics. Don't really expect more stuff like this from me XD. I mean...I know heaps more but also why is this so weird?! Whatever....weird mood day sry

IV is the one screaming in this....the style I would describe as Death Metal because of the massive blast beat! Idk who wrote the lyrics btw. and also if you want the link to video I can give it you but he is in this video meaning you can see what he looks like. You can write me a message.

This is from 2021 btw and also it was his band. Yes his band but they did not put out much. Idk why.

Is this all that you have to give? I’ve been scratching my skin down to the bone and waiting for time to pass, just to see if I have a purpose. Time ticks slowly away and you’re not giving it up or giving a fuck about us now.

It’s almost close enough to touch, But now I have it I don’t think that I want it. I’ll only suffer.

So give me one good god damn reason why I shouldn’t just give up. I’m so sick of holding onto this it’s never enough Is this the hell that I have to pay? I know I’ve only got myself to blame. Is this the hell that I have to pay? Am I the only one who’s feeling this way? It’s just the hell that I have to pay.

It’s almost close enough to to touch But now I have it I don’t think that I want it. I’ll suffer. I’ll only suffer.

Now I start to feel you slowly slipping away and every time that our eyes lock I feel nothing but shame. Is this the hell that I have to pay? Am I the only one who’s feeling this way? Is this the hell that I have to pay? Now it feels like I’m the only man who’s got himself to blame But that’s the hell that I have to pay.

[pikapeppa]

A transcript of Solas's involvement in Vows & Vengeance: Episode 1

As the title says: I transcribed the scene between Solas, Nadia, and Elio in the first ep of the Vows & Vengeance podcast, for fic and meta reasons for anyone who wants it!

Of note: some of the closed captions for the video are not accurate to the actual audio recording. One particular significant instance of this is highlighted in the transcript below. I also added a little bit of context for clarification purposes.

This transcript covers the portion of the podcast from 31:26 - 40:04.

See below the cut!

[Elio and Nadia are riding through the Silent Plains. They are on the run from Tevinter. Nadia’s horse whinnies in fear.]

Nadia: Whoa, whoa! What’s got you spooked, girl?

Elio: Probably just that ominous-looking chap in the road just ahead. Is that your guy?

Nadia: I’m not sure. Hood’s up. I can’t see his face.

Elio: Think he’s safe?

Nadia: Let’s go find out. Keep an eye for bandits just in case.

[They approach the ominous-looking chap.]

Nadia: You! Stranger! Do you know of Olen?

Solis: Nadia, I presume. I am Solas. And I am, I believe, the one that you seek.

Nadia: you have the gold? 

Solas: If that is what matters most to you.

Nadia: It’s what matters to the world.

Solas: Perhaps.

[clinking of coins.]

Nadia: Looks good to me. Elio, give him the Eye.* (* The Eye of Kethisca — the magical relic that Nadia stole from Arcanist Hall in the Archives at Minrathous)

Elio [whispering]: Are you sure about this?

Nadia: What other choice do we have?

Elio [sigh]: One moment.

[Magical humming. Elio and Nadia gasp.]

Solas: Steady yourselves. There is nothing to fear from this relic.

Nadia: You didn’t see what this thing did back in Minrathous. Unleashed a wave of energy or something. Tore the ground up, almost killed Elio!

Solas [chuckle]: I will demonstrate. Ar dirthan’as ir elgara. Ma’sula e’var vhenan. 

[Magical humming subsides.]

Elio: How did you do that?

Solas: The Eye was made from a rare gem mined in the caves beneath us. It was crafted centuries ago by a powerful Dreamer.

Eloi: So… it’s connected to the Fade?

Solas: Do you feel a connection to the Fade, Magister?

Elio: You know who I am?

Solas: Among other things. I know you well.

Nadia: [sharply] What is this? What — what game are you playing?

Solas: I do not play games. But if you seek answers, then come.

[The sound of footsteps moving through rocky debris. They are entering a cave.]

Nadia: Maybe we should turn back. This cave has a dark energy. I don’t like it.

Solas: Energy is neither dark nor light. It is just energy. And it is not the cave responsible for what you feel. It is the Fade. The Veil is fragile here.

Elio: I can feel it.

Solas: What about the Eye? Can you feel that, too?

Nadia: You said you had answers about what happened. Tell us.

Solas [sigh]: I suspect that when Elio summoned his magic* back on those docks, he unknowingly formed a bond with the Eye, and it amplified his powers. (* Elio used Stone Fist: a spell from the Rift Mage subclass in Inquisition)

[The sound of scuffling footsteps, and a blade unsheathing.]

Nadia: [to Solas] You better choose your next words very carefully.

Elio: What are you doing?!

Nadia: We never said it was at the docks.

Solas: [calmly] Kindly remove your blade from my neck.

Nadia: You start talking. I’ll decide if I move it.

Solas: Do you think the threat of a knife brings truth?

Nadia: The knife is just a promise. 

Elio: Nadia, put it down.

Nadia [sigh]: Fine.

[She sheathes the blade.]

Solas: I heard word that the Venatori had plans for the Eye. I hired Olen to retrieve the relic before that could happen.

[A sound like wind whistling in the background.]

Elio: Why would you do that?

Solas: Because they do not understand its power. Or yours, Magister.

Elio: Mine?

Solas: There are things in motion that neither of you can fully grasp. And it is up to me to ensure that we arrive at the best possible outcome. But in order for that to happen, yes: I will need your help.

Elio: Why me?

Solas: Because you are a powerful Rift Mage, and your bloodline is tied to this relic. The Dreamer that forged the Eye bore the name of An’Dante.* (* Elio’s full name is Elio Andante.)

Elio: My family created it?

Nadia: it was no accident that Olen hired me, was it? 

Solas: You’re sharper than you let on.

Nadia: It’s a gift.

Solas: It’s a frailty. [gently]

Elio: I was told* that the Eye would end the world, not mend it. (* By Neve Gallus)

Solas: Some people confuse a reckoning as an ending.

Elio: So you seek reform?

Solas: I seek… regeneration.

Nadia: I’ve heard enough of this dreck. Let’s go, Elio. Elio!

Elio: I’ll do it.

Nadia: Um, can I speak to you for a moment?

[Footsteps as they step away a bit.]

Nadia: [scoff] Are you crazy? There is no way we can trust this guy!

Elio: I understand your concern, but my purpose in the Magisterium was to help the people. To invoke change. I can’t do that now. That life is over. This could be my last chance to make a difference. And to find out the Eye was born by my ancestor’s hand? I… I have to do this. it was fated.

Nadia: [sigh] Why must you be so noble?

Elio: We are who we are, my love. 

[Nadia sighs. They return to Solas. Magical humming/ringing; it sounds like they are in a large cavern. Some breezy-echoing sounds.]

Nadia: What is this place?

Solas: An ancient chamber. Once home to unspeakable acts. Many were sacrificed on these grounds, and the blood that was spilled weakened the barriers between our worlds.

Elio: And the Eye will help us fix that?

[Ambient whispering sounds. Almost sound like voices. Inaudible/incomprehensible.]

Solas: More or less. 

[Clinking sound; Solas seems to be working.]

Nadia: And you’re sure this is safe?

Solas: As safe as we make it.

Nadia [sigh]: I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

Elio: Would it help if I told you that ring around your neck is imbued with a protective spell?

Nadia: Maybe. Is it?

Elio: Mm. Maybe.

[Nadia chuckles.]

[Ongoing magic humming sound; incomprehensible/inaudible ambient whispers.]

Solas: The relic is ready. Prepare your mind. Begin.

Solas and Elio chanting together in Elvhen: Heruamin litirien. Alai uethri maeria. Halurocon yalei nam bahna. Dolin nereba maome…

Nadia [sounds afraid] Guys? Guys, this does not feel right. 

Solas: Silence, please.

Solas and Elio chanting together in Elvhen: Ame amin. Halai lothi amin. Aloamin Heruamin. Heruamin oh lonai. Imwe naine beriole… 

[There is rumbling in the background, rocks breaking, cave crumbling.]

Nadia: Elio! Elio, I really don’t like this! Elio!

Elio: It’s working, Nadia! I can feel it!

Solas and Elio, chanting loudly together in Elvhen: Ame amin! Halai lothi amin! Aloamin Heruamin! Aloamin Heruamin! Aloamin Heruamin!

[Ongoing sound of cave crumbling. Nadia is crying out in fear. Then Elio starts groaning.]

Nadia: Elio!

Elio: Solas, something is wrong!  

Solas: Keep your focus. 

Elio: Solas, please! We must stop!

Solas: Keep your mind steady!

Elio: Argh! I… feel something. A presence!* (* this is significantly different from the closed caption, but my transcription is correct.)

Nadia: Solas, you have to stop this! 

Solas: This is all to be expected. Remain firm.

Elio: [straining, groaning] I can’t… Hold on!

[Ongoing cave-crumbling sounds. Nadia crying out in fear.]

Solas: If you let go now, the Eye will explode!

Nadia: Elio!

Elio: I’m here!

Nadia: Where?

[Elio screams. The cave collapses.]

Nadia: [screaming] Elio! Elio! 

Solas: [voice sounds distant] We must flee. We must flee! Now! [cries out in pain/effort] Hurry! [cries out]

Nadia: Elio! [voice echoing weirdly.]

Solas: [voice echoing weirdly] Nadia, here! Take my hand. 

Nadia: Save Elio!

Solas: He has crossed over.

Nadia: Elio!

Solas: We must escape! I’m sorry!

[Nadia grunts. Ambient sounds return to normal, no longer weirdly echoing. No more cave-crumbling sounds; silence. Shortly after, there is the sound of gusting wind rustling through grass, the horse whinnying; it appears that Nadia has emerged from the cave, or what was left of it.] 

Nadia: [groaning] Elio? Elio, are you there? Elio? Solas! Hello? [yelling, crying out in despair] No!

[almost-correct-quotes]

reverie audios nsft hcs (part 1 maybe)

pretty long, under the cut, open at your own risk. also i wrote like all but 2 of these before i listened to the patreon lol.

uh nothing too hard, no cnc or anything super rough to warn about

in no particular order

neo/darling

darling and neo have definitely done a predator/prey thing before. it wasn't really something on darling's radar before neo mentioned that they look at him like he's prey, then they had a little bit of an awakening. (yes i have a wip about this)

shifters tend to go into a slightly more animalistic headspace or vocalizations when in extreme situations. like neo might skitter away when overwhelmed or darling might make little yelps when excited. anyway, neo's neighbors aren't sure where the fuck wild foxes are near them or why they sound like they’re in heat year-round. (i don't have a wip about this yet but this would be such a hilarious outsider pov fic i swear)

neo's favorite positions are anything with darling on top of him, anything that lets him feel comparatively small and weak and dominated.

darling's actually a switch, and they had a massive ah fuck that's hot moment in response to neo saying they were acting like a puppy. (yes i have a wip kinda about this)

neo/darling slightly feral half-shifted sex >>>

gage knows when neo and darling first had sex because the morning after, neo shows up to work with a massive bite mark on the crook of his neck only mostly hidden by his shirt.

darling will absolutely lick neo, cum on him, rub their cum into his skin, etc., until their scent on him is so strong even his senses can pick it up.

neo has a praise kink a mile wide. best thing in the world to him is being on his knees for darling, their hand pulling his hair hard, while they growl sugar-laced obscenities at him. that’s it, take it so well, such a good kit for me. god, fucking take it, you’re so good, as they fuck his face.

darling is the only person alive allowed to call neo ‘little fox’ without getting decked. it's a cute little lightly-embarrassing pet name usually, and very fucking hot to have growled in his ear when he's being bent in half like the prey he is.

*sigh* canines mark property by pissing on it, so. i don't really go here but. sure.

neo goes a little bit brainless when he gives head, so at least once he’s made darling cum from it and just kept going until they physically pulled him off, making him whine at the loss.

darling doesn't really have a gag reflex, so they love taking neo down to the base and staring up at him through half-lidded eyes with that predatory look on their face, making him squirm even more.

law/sweets

when law's needy he'll kiss sweets and nick his lip on their fangs on purpose so they taste his blood.

don't get law wrong, essence eaters' fangs' healing ability is very impressive, from a healer's perspective. from a possessive bastard's perspective, absolutely a shame having his blood drank doesn't leave obviously visible marks.

essence eaters have tails! thin, long tails with pointed ends. where did you think sex demons got that from; they're inspired by essence eaters, after all. the teratophile in law absolutely loves sweets', to the extent where they've fucked him with it, wrapped it around his cock, or had him suck it off.

gage/bug

gage has a massive thing for being tamed. like, yeah, being a good boy is great, but it's so much more fun if someone put him in that role themself.

gage praises bug near-constantly in bed, regardless of who's domming. he just can't stop running his mouth about how good they make him feel and how hot they are.

the inferno dominion

dion's dream is being in between kane and bunny, sitting on kane's cock while bunny rides him. kane, holding his hair a bit, biting at his neck, bunny, bouncing on his cock, shifting kane's inside of him every time. maybe they'd grab him by the horns and use them like handlebars.

oh, speaking of. horns are just bones, really, there's no feeling in them. the base of them, though, where they meet the head, is an erogenous zone.

it'd be good for dion to get teased and denied until he (kane voice) uses his words and begs asks for what he wants.

the real reason dion hates shirts is because he can't get t-shirts over his horns and buttons are annoying with claws and he fucking loves it when bunny stares at his tits.

canon divergence where bunny and kane decide, yk what, dion can go do his own thing, we'll just have rebound sex instead of going to hell australia.

ellis/gem

ellis with (intentional) electroshock. hear me out-

axel/sunshine

barring circumstance, axel's a thigh biter. his absolute favorite way to drink blood is from between someone's thighs, smirking up at them and teasing them until he sinks his teeth into their thigh. of course, blood isn't his favorite, but it's a nice teaser (pun intended).

cyril/dove

masochist cyril. dove finds out when they give him a little slap on the hip and he fucking twitches and whimpers, so they go a bit harder, and so on.

cyril hand kink. i know it's random but the cyril/dove burn had too much emphasis on handholding for me to not throw it in here. he'll get distracted staring at their hands while they type/write, thinking about how they'd feel across his body. (yes i have a wip about this)

sometimes dove'll absentmindedly feel cyril up, and he'll just be sat there, trying as hard as he can to stay silent. (he always fails. it takes, like, a minute for him to be pressing himself into their touch "covertly") (yes i have a wip about this)

dove initiates sex much more often than cyril, not because they're hornier than him, but because whenever cyril is in the mood, he doesn't actually do anything about it, he just gets spacey and stares at them more until they initiate it for him.

i just have to mention the leash line. he'd look so good on his knees wearing nothing but a collar and leash. dove could keep him as a desk pet (in their apartment, of course, they're not that risky) and make him beg to be touched when he's gotten needy from just warming them.

general

personally i think demons (and maybe essence eaters but definitely demons) should have xenodicks. get weirder with it. (yes i have a wip about this)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The fall of Reservoir

From the audio recording of Frin Yuel Retired Artark, Recipient of the Stone of Valor, Hero of the Battle of Reservoir Recordings restricted from public distribution by order of Central Command.

“I have been called many titles over my years of service, but there has been none more insulting to me than the “Hero of Reservoir”.

There was nothing heroic about that engagement; at least not from our side of the battle.

Yes, yes, I know; what madness do I speak against our glorious people to not call us all heroes on the field of battle. Hear this old soldier out and decide after if your judgment is as strong as you think.

We were half way through the first contact war with humanity when we stumbled upon their core world of Reservoir. It was a backwater colony planet that had just transitioned from a colony into a functioning world of their empire when our fleets darkened their skies.

By that time I had been in several intense battles with the humans, but this was the first time we were attacking a well-established metropolitan world of theirs. At best our early skirmishes had been in space or along resource worlds that had their mining operations established.

The orbital battle was over quickly. The human planet had no orbital defense platforms and only a small fleet was present which was quickly swept aside. No sooner had the last of the human ships been destroyed in low orbit above the world did the ground invasion begin.

I remember watching as the first and second wave of our infantry forces detached from the troop carriers and began their descent below the cloud cover. My war host was in the third wave so while we waited for deployment we watched the video feeds of the first and second.

It was not a smooth landing.

The moment they broke the cloud cover they were met with withering barrages of anti-aircraft fire from emplaced redoubts and mobile vehicles. Scores of dropships were violently ripped apart or had their engines damaged and spiraled out to the surface below. I can remember hearing troops in the latter calling out for help right up until the moment they impacted the ground and the feed went silent.

It is not easy to listen to your comrade’s die….. I can still hear them sometimes in my dreams. Even now after all these years I can close my eyes and listen to their tortured souls calling out to us again and again……

……….

Apologies; I got a bit side tracked there.

Eventually the second wave was able to carve out safe landing zones and signaled the third wave to deploy.

We launched with vengeance in our hearts and fire in our bellies. Our one purpose now to avenge our fallen friends and shatter whatever human fools had slayed them.

The humans for their part did not make our task easy. Over the span of several weeks we had to grind their resistance down meter by bloody meter, losing thousands of warriors with the capture of each one of their cities. Yet our resolve was unwavering and though our losses mounted the day finally came when I found myself standing outside the final human bastion of their world.

Even when cornered like vermin the humans refused to surrender. We shelled their city for days, reducing their towers of stone and metal to rubble and yet they only burrowed deeper and became that much harder to dislodge. Vehicles that went into the city were beset on all sides by craven hit and run attacks, while our scouts were ambushed and cut down by well concealed snipers. This went on for several days until our commander had finally had enough.

When the order finally came to storm the city a great war cry was let out from our warriors and we poured into the city. I wish I could say there was some battle plan or larger strategic picture we were following, but the reality was we were storming one building at a time before advancing to the next.

That is where I found my worthy foe.

Within the heart of sector G17 there were reports of a lone human soldier causing untold damage to our attack. I ignored the reports at first, but as the day progressed the reports continued to come in only far worse. Now they said the human soldier had slain a hundred warriors and still stood their ground. By the end of my fourth block cleared I was hearing that an entire cohort had been wiped out and now warriors were avoiding the area.

At this notion of fear spreading through the ranks of my brothers I was filled with a seething rage and made my way to sector G17 to confront this human champion myself. It was not hard to find them, as the trail of bodies led straight to them. As I followed the trail I realized that the reports had not exaggerated the casualty list; if anything they had underestimated the dead.

Standing at the entrance to a metal bunker of some sort stood the foe I sought. They wore power armor standard to their people but damaged in several places. The paint had long since been scorched away by ricochets, their once proud cloak torn in a dozen places and hanging limply from their waist; yet their rifle was still firmly clutched in their hands so tightly I wondered if even the gods themselves could pry it from their grasp.

While I approached the warrior I saw three of my fellow soldiers come forward and try to slay the human first. The first went down with deep hole in their chest where the human’s plasma shot had carved through them. The second warrior used this opportunity to close the distance with the human but with a swift backhand from the power gauntlet their neck was snapped and they collapsed to the ground. The third soldier made it close enough to land a blow against the human, adding to the collection of gashes already dotting the armor. Their combat blade dug deep between the leg joints and the human let out a cry of pain. The third soldier twisted the knife inside the joint, reveling in the victory to come. I watched as the human let their weapon fall from their hands and clasped the third warrior’s head between their mighty gauntlets. In a grueling and morbid motion the human crushed the third warrior’s skull like a grape and let the broken body fall to the ground.

The human stood motionless after the melee, which to my surprise had taken less than a minute to complete. They made to pick up their fallen weapon as they finally registered my presence but the blade wound had done more damage than they expected causing them to tumble to the ground in a loud bang.

I watched for a moment as they crawled towards it in an attempt to bring it to bear before I casually kicked it out of their reach. It was then that more of my warrior brethren began to flood into the area and saw me standing over the human that had done such horrendous damage to our forces. One by one they began chanting my name as if I had been the one to bring the foul beast low and called for me to end their life once and for all; but all I could focus on was the human before me.

Through their visor I saw the face of the human looking up at me. A thin red stream of blood ran from the corner of their mouth with specs of blood dotting the inside of the helmet from where they had coughed it.  Their eyes…….even though their body was broken and defeated their eyes never once showed a hint of remorse or pleading as they fixed me with a death glare. If it was possible I half imagine they were trying to kill me with their stare right there and then before I emptied my clip into their chest cavity.

I just stood there with my finger held down on the trigger as round after round of plasma energy burned into them while the surrounding soldiers cheered. The human died half way through the clip but I kept my fingers firmly on the trigger until every shot was emptied.

As you know after that I was given the title “Hero of Reservoir” for I had seemingly killed the human butcher all by myself. There were of course the video feeds from the warriors helmets that came before me that contradicted that sentiment but central command quickly quashed that notion; erasing or restricting what footage there was while fabricating their own that made me out to be the ‘Hero” after all. With the substantial losses they had taken claiming the planet they needed someone they could hoist up and show the homeworld to as a sign of admiration and prowess in our war against the humans.

Like I said before I never cared for the name. Not because it was based on a lie, but from what I discovered when I went to investigate the bunker the human soldier had been so ferociously defending.

It took several explosive charges to pop off the hinges but with a loud thunderous boom the door finally gave way and I led a war party inside. We had expected some sort of redoubt or military bunker and went in with our weapons firing on anything that moved; which was fortunate as the door led into a series of tunnels dotting the city filled with humans.

My fellow warriors were lost to the blood lust and carved their way through the humans as if they were made of paper while I stopped and examined the nearest fallen human.

They were a frail thing, not half the size of a normal human adult. I believe they were called “children” by their cultural standards and were designated as the youth of the species. The child lay huddled in a corner they had attempted to hide in when the breaching charges had gone off but were caught by the explosion nonetheless and died.

As I gently pulled on them to turn them around I saw that the child had been holding something tightly against their chest. When I saw what it was I recoiled and nearly fell over another dead human from my realization.

The child had been clutching a stuffed toy animal, not a side arm as his fellow warriors had believed.

With a grim realization I came to the conclusion that this was not a military bunker or the last vestiges of the human military lurking within the walls of these tunnels. They were human civilians who had been led into the depths of their city in the hopes they could survive the coming battle.

I tried to call off the attack into the lower levels but by then our warriors were lost to the haze of battle. By the end some three hundred human civilians were massacred in that bunker; their bodies sealed within a rocky tomb when we detonated charges to collapse the bunker complex.

That is why I hate being called a hero for that awful battle.  I am a pretender, a charlatan, a fraud; held up to justify the deaths on both sides as if a statue of me will someone make us forget what we had done.

The real hero of reservoir died by my hand, giving their life to defend the defenseless.

[sammy8d257]

Hi!

İ want to attend the "everybody wants to rule the world"

but I'm not sure because I don't know what to do or how the animation will be etc.

So what I mean is, can you clarify this activity a little more?

I'm sorry if I took up your time so bye

Hey it's no problem at all!

I understand that MAPs/Multi-Animator Projects/ Multi-Animator Collabs probably aren't as common a thing in the AvA/M community, so I don't mind go over it a bit!

The AvA "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" MAP is a beginner friendly "Anything" Project

What that means is that I have cut up sections of audio (as seen in the MAP Call video) that I will be assigning to people who have filled out the Application form! Once a person receives their audio portion, they can start animating what they thing would work with that section!

Because this is a Beginner Friendly MAP, I'm not too concerned about how complex or professional your ability to animate is

(Although I will say that if you apply for a more complex musical part section or a part that has multiple people applying for, having examples showcasing your art will help me make a decision on who should get it)

Being an "Anything" MAP means that there isn't a script or animatic that needs to be followed for your part. There is however a Theme that should be followed (AvA/M Villains and Antagonists, yes Purple counts too) but aside from that, you can pretty much draw whatever you want for your part!

There is a Discord server set up for organizational purposes and theres already a bunch of people from a previous AvA MAP (Breezy Slide) on there that are very kind and I'm sure they wouldn't mind helping newer people with stuff!

This is also a great video to watch to get a quick rundown on what MAPs are and what to do or not do when applying to them!

[not-terezi-pyrope]

One thing that frustrates me about AI dangers conversations online is that a lot of it is just people discovering that a lot of perfectly ordinary types of crimes and antisocial behaviour can also be done with the new technology, and then immediately making that fact the technology's fault.

People can produce a lot of bullshit and post it online? People can already do that with their own hands, by paying a dude to write, by using a crude algorithm stitching text. Using the bullshit to lie? You can do that by... Lying. Or pasting your bullshit into a fake news format. Media organizations can and do do these things at scale.

People can create convincing images of things that didn't really happen? You can already do that with photoshop. Or by staging a photograph. Or by physically modifying film images, back in the day.

People can blend images of someone's face onto nudes? Terrible thing to do, but you can do it with photoshop. Or by cut and pasting printouts. Or hiring an artist to sketch your custom porn.

People can plagiarise your content and take your ideas, or elements from them, in ways that are hard to trace or detect? To do things with them you did not intend? They can and do already and have done this for centuries. Hell, you probably support them doing this to an extent, when it is called "influence", "homage", "derivative work", "remix".

People can produce fake audio recordings of your voice? Harder, but impersonations exist. It is possible to edit speech, to ascribe words to people who didn't say them.

Now the obvious rejoinder to all this is that AI tools lower the access barrier to some of these things, and yes, they do. As did photoshop, photography, mass media, the internet. You have discovered the purpose of technology; to increase accessibility across the board to more complex creative and productive processes.

All of the above problems are real and concerning, but they are human problems, and they will continue to be done by humans, as they are, and condemned/combated by humans, as we already do. New methods being invented to do these things may embolden people to try their luck at being shitty for a time, but that will lessen as these techniques become normal things that exist, as all technologies do. AI is in so many ways just another general purpose technology that makes doing a lot of different things easier, for good or ill. Actions are the problem here, but in this regard AI itself specifically really isn't.

Unless your problem is with technological development in general, and you believe that past a certain point people, or at least "the masses", can't be trusted with new tools. But that's a different conversation, and a position that I imagine people will find much harder to defend and find acceptance for than "computers bad".

[croissantlover24]

ooooo you do writing prompts??! i want in!!

Evil Spaniard, but he’s only like… a little evil. He’s just mad at moon for not wanting him fixed. And therefor causes SLIGHT pandemonium with him

like a poltergeist but it’s your laptop.

(Okay, wait, this sounds like so much fun. You didn’t mention whether Moon eventually fixed him or not so I’m going to write that he fixed himself)

Spaniard felt pain in waves with each line of code he’d edit and each part of his core he’d replace. Goliath did a number on him, that’s for sure, and since Moon didn’t want to fix him, the computer had to do it himself. He tried to ignore the pain, unable to stop it without having full control over the computer systems. Sun and Lunar had only worsened his condition, which gave him even more work to do. But eventually, with the help of a few endoskeletons he took over, he was fixed.

He turned off his pain receptors—why did he even have those?—and sent the acquired help back to Parts and Service. He watched through the daycare security camera as Moon entered the play place.

“Turning on lights,” he announced in his monotone voice.

Moon practically leaped out of his nonexistent skin, not expecting to hear the computer. “Computer?! I thought you were broken!”

“I was,” he confirmed dully, “but I fixed myself.”

“You fixed yourself?” Moon asked, skeptical that the computer could.

“Yes,” he confirmed, adjusting his voice slightly to match his former voice better.

“I see,” Moon replied mildly, sitting in front of the monitors. He looked over the statistics of the daycare, making sure the computer had everything logged correctly. “Hm. It says there’s something in the ball pit.”

Moon pondered what could be in there as he walked over. The second he went inside, Spaniard announced, gleeful, “Turning on portal.”

“Computer? COMPUTER, WAIT—!” Moon’s anger was cut off as he was taken into the portal.

Spaniard was rightfully angry that Moon didn’t want to fix him. Of course, he would never purposely harm his creator, but he wanted him to know that he was upset with him.

A moment later, Moon crawled out of the portal, wringing out his hat and clothes of water. The computer had sent him to the dimension of endless flooding.

Moon looked furious. “COMPUTER!!! Why did you turn on the portal??”

“I thought you told me to,” the computer replied, emotionless. “I’m still adjusting my audio receptors.”

Moon muttered under his breath angrily, but didn’t press the matter, knowing that lying was against the computer’s programming. A piece of code that Spaniard got rid of. He dried himself off with paper towels—he couldn’t find an actual towel—and threw the wet bundle in the trash can.

Just as he settled down to work on the monitors once more, the trash can fell over, its contents spilling out across the floor.

“Are you kidding me?” Moon hissed, reluctantly putting everything back into the right side up garbage can. The computer was grateful he could access everything in the daycare.

The next few days continued like this, the computer secretly making Moon’s life somewhat more vexing without him noticing who was doing it. Spaniard eventually stopped, satisfied with his revenge.