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thewriteadviceforwriters · 1 month

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Crafting Compelling Morally Gray Characters: A Guide for Fiction Writers

In literature, there is often a clear distinction between good and evil. Heroes are portrayed as virtuous and villains as wicked. However, in recent years, there has been a rise in the popularity of morally gray characters - those who do not fit neatly into the categories of good or evil. These characters are complex, flawed, and often make decisions that challenge the reader's moral compass. In this guide, I'll help you explore the art of crafting compelling morally gray characters and how to make them stand out in your fiction writing.

What Are Morally Gray Characters?

Morally gray characters, also known as morally ambiguous characters, are those who do not conform to traditional notions of good or evil. They may have both positive and negative traits, and their actions may be motivated by a mix of good and bad intentions. These characters often blur the lines between right and wrong, making them more relatable and intriguing to readers.

Examples of Morally Gray Characters

Some well-known examples of morally gray characters include:

Severus Snape from the Harry Potter series: Initially portrayed as a villain, Snape's true motivations and actions are revealed to be more complex and morally ambiguous.

Jaime Lannister from A Song of Ice and Fire series: Known for his arrogance and incestuous relationship with his sister, Jaime's character evolves throughout the series, showcasing his internal struggle between his duty and his personal desires.

Walter White from Breaking Bad: A high school chemistry teacher turned methamphetamine producer, Walter's character is constantly torn between his desire for power and his moral compass.

Why Are Morally Gray Characters Compelling?

Morally gray characters are compelling because they challenge the reader's perceptions of right and wrong. They are not easily categorized as heroes or villains, making them more relatable and human. These characters also add depth and complexity to a story, making it more interesting and thought-provoking.

The Power of Relatability

One of the main reasons morally gray characters are so compelling is because they are relatable. They are not perfect, and they make mistakes, just like real people. This makes them more human and allows readers to connect with them on a deeper level. When readers can see themselves in a character, it creates a stronger emotional connection to the story.

The Element of Surprise

Morally gray characters also add an element of surprise to a story. Their actions and decisions may not always align with what the reader expects, keeping them on the edge of their seat. This unpredictability makes the story more engaging and can lead to unexpected plot twists.

The Exploration of Morality

Morally gray characters also allow for a deeper exploration of morality in a story. By challenging traditional notions of good and evil, these characters force readers to question their own moral compass and consider the gray areas of morality. This can lead to thought-provoking discussions and a deeper understanding of complex moral issues.

How to Craft Morally Gray Characters

Crafting morally gray characters requires a delicate balance of positive and negative traits, as well as a deep understanding of their motivations and internal struggles. Here are some tips for creating compelling morally gray characters in your writing.

Give Them a Strong Motivation

Every character, regardless of their moral alignment, should have a strong motivation for their actions. For morally gray characters, this motivation should be complex and not easily defined as purely good or evil. It could be a desire for power, revenge, or even a sense of duty. This motivation will drive their decisions and actions throughout the story.

Show Their Flaws and Vulnerabilities

Morally gray characters are not perfect, and they should not be portrayed as such. They should have flaws and vulnerabilities that make them more relatable and human. These flaws could be physical, emotional, or moral, and they should play a role in the character's development and decisions.

Create Internal Conflict

One of the defining characteristics of morally gray characters is their internal conflict. They are torn between their good and bad tendencies, and this struggle should be evident in their thoughts and actions. This internal conflict adds depth to the character and makes them more relatable to readers.

Avoid Stereotypes

When crafting morally gray characters, it's important to avoid falling into stereotypes. These characters should not be one-dimensional or defined solely by their moral ambiguity. They should have unique personalities, backgrounds, and motivations that make them stand out as individuals.

Show Their Growth and Development

As with any well-written character, morally gray characters should experience growth and development throughout the story. They should learn from their mistakes and make decisions that challenge their moral compass. This growth and development will make them more dynamic and interesting to readers.

How to Make Morally Gray Characters Stand Out

With the rise in popularity of morally gray characters, it's important to make yours stand out in a sea of similar characters. Here are some tips for making your morally gray characters unique and memorable.

Give Them a Distinctive Voice

A character's voice is an essential part of their identity. It should be unique and reflective of their personality and motivations. For morally gray characters, their voice should reflect their internal conflict and the complexity of their moral alignment.

Create a Strong Backstory

A character's backstory can provide valuable insight into their motivations and actions. For morally gray characters, a strong backstory can help explain their moral ambiguity and add depth to their character. It can also create empathy and understanding for their decisions.

Use Foils to Highlight Their Morality

Foils are characters who contrast with the main character, highlighting their strengths and weaknesses. For morally gray characters, foils can be used to showcase their moral ambiguity and challenge their beliefs. This can add depth to the character and create interesting dynamics between them and other characters.

Morally gray characters add depth, complexity, and relatability to a story. By challenging traditional notions of good and evil, these characters force readers to question their own moral compass and consider the gray areas of morality.

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aita-blorbos · 4 months

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AITA for cooking meth with my former chemistry student, killing two people, and lying to my family about it?

I (50M) was recently diagnosed with inoperable, likely fatal lung cancer. I work at a highschool as a chemistry teacher, but both the pay and the students are terrible. Case in point, my "lab partner" (24M) - who we'll call "Cap'n" because of course he'd insist on a stupid nickname like that - not only completely flunked my class, but then went on to skip college entirely and become a meth-addicted drug dealer instead.

Understandably, I was a little shaken after receiving my diagnosis. It came as a surprise since I've never smoked, I keep myself in relatively fair health, etc. (Recently my wife has taken to vegan bacon- apparently it helps lower cholesterol, but I digress.) I haven't told my family about the situation yet; I'm still trying to figure out how to "let the cat out of the bag", not to mention I doubt my wife will take it very well.

As for deciding to try cooking methamphetamine, well. I'm not really sure how to explain it, exactly, but there's a lot of money in it, money that would benefit my family, and I don't have much to lose anymore. This may sound cliche, but it's as though I'm really awake for the first time in my life.

Cap'n and I formed a partnership by circumstance only; I found out he was in "the business" and offered to either turn him into the DEA or work with me, and he naturally took the second option. He had no idea what he was doing on the chemistry side of things - chili powder in the meth! applying heat to an Erlenmeyer flask! no wonder I flunked him, he clearly learned nothing in my class - but does know the trade.

(Note: Don't buy all of your supplies from the same store.)

Sorry, I'm getting too far into the weeds here, let me skip ahead. We purchased a trailer and drove out to somewhere in the middle of the desert to cook without added attention or need for dramatic cleanup if we had to leave the area in a hurry. Our first batch was, according to Cap'n, "pure glass." After all of that complaining, I had cooked the finest product he'd ever seen on the first try! Goes to show paying attention in school does pay off, ahem. In case any of you were reading this and thinking of skipping off to go and make highly illegal substances and risk years in prison instead of doing your homework. You all still have your entire lives ahead of you. I don't.

After making it, the next logical course of action was to sell. Cap'n said he had some connections - I mean, he is a drug dealer, I saw no reason not to trust him (I now see how little sense that makes.) - and came back with two men with guns pointed at both of us. You must understand, it was a kill or be killed situation. These are the kind of people who don't care about morals, or what's right or ethical or kind. If they'd lived... not just me, but my wife, my son, and my entire family would all be in serious, mortal danger. I had no choice.

Cap'n by this point had been knocked out cold- still alive, but entirely unhelpful with the situation at hand. I was on my own. So I offered to show the goons how I made the "glass", surely they wanted to see how it was done? And they did- I still can't believe that actually worked. But, ah, instead of actually cooking anything, I gave them... let's call it a chemistry lesson. When significant heat is applied to red phosphorus - a key ingredient in Cap'n and I's "extracurricular science project" - it oxidizes. Your result is phosgene gas, highly deadly, hence the "killing two people." One... technically isn't dead yet- somehow he managed to survive, I still don't fully understand how, but I'm... I'm working on it. Cap'n still has yet to get rid of the first body, so... technically I'm not failing to withhold my share of the cleanup, since he hasn't done so with his.

I realize now this is very long, but I wanted to explain the context for my actions. However, a tl;dr for those who might be in a hurry: I was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, so with nothing else to lose decided to try to make some money for my family by cooking and selling methamphetamine. Coincidentally, a former student of mine was also in the business, and I convinced him to work with me. When we tried to put our product on the market, two people tried to kill us, so I acted in self-defense.

But I really, really must know... is what I did wrong? Should I have been content to live the rest of however-long-I-have-left working a miserable job as a public high school chemistry teacher instead? Should I have found a less fatal way of dealing with the two men who tried to kill me and my partner? AITA?

P.S. It's pretty late as I'm typing this so I might've made some errors in coherency or grammar, for which I apologize.

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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cultofkakyoin · 1 year

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Crystal Clear Business

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A/N: This fic was surprisingly popular, I was thirsty for this dirty guy but I felt other fics made Trevor too... Nice? I want Trevor to be so so creepy. Also find it on Ao3. I do try to check these fics for spelling/grammar mistakes but im not perfect so there may still be some, my apologies.

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Relationships: Trevor Philips/Reader, Trevor Philips/Reader/Wade Hebert

Content Warnings!: Rape/non-con, mentions of self-harm, drugs, drug manufacturing, blood, blood as lube. (Tell me if I missed anything.)

"Find her, Ron!" Trevor slams the trailer door shut and stomps off to his truck like an angry child 'aaargh!" He screams. Ron racks his brain on how to find this woman, he doesn't know much about her, she doesn't go out a whole lot, but she does have a presence with the Lost MCs, he only knows she's a woman because of that and Ashley's loose lips...

He also knows she makes pure methamphetamine, not like the kind Chef makes, which puts the crystal in crystal meth. That suggests to Ron that she may have a background in chemistry. But, he still doesn't have a name, she went by Carnie, thanks to a circus carousel on her arm, but Johnny mentioned scars on her arm, suggesting self-harm, Ron wonders if she was ever admitted to a hospital for such things, she also wasn't from San Andreas based on her accent according to Ashley, though she was not the best at naming a region in or out of the US. However, that did help give him some description to work with.

First, he cross-references hospital records of self-harm or depressive episodes with someone with a chemistry background, he finds seven who recently traveled to San Andreas, five are male so that limits it to two. He searches the names, the first woman is only 19 and according to her LifeInvader photos lacks any tattoos, the second woman was practically untraceable via social media, all of it appears to be private and her friends list is small and appears to be only family.

But, one of said family member's accounts are public, looking through several photos Ron finally finds one of this woman... Damn, covered arms. Back to searching. Oh good, a friend, several photos later, finally, he finds a picture of her with a group, arms still covered but what is evident is the people she's with, Lost MC 'old ladies' as it were, and the location was not tagged but with a bit more digging, it's a small bar in Grapeseed, called 'Cherry's Good Time.'

It's not enough for Ron, he's not going to get a woman who might be this 'Carnie' probably brutally murdered. Ron would feel bad and face 'discipline' from Trevor if he got it wrong. He needs more. He goes further back, years back and soon, he finds it, a picture captioned 'Graduation present!' Showing a fresh tattoo on a scarred arm and lucky for Ron (and unlucky for this woman) it's a carousel. Finally, he looks up her name, finding her address, which is just a run-down motel at this current moment in time, she doesn't own any property, which suggests she's probably a cook for another person who can provide a lab to cook in.

...

Grabbing his phone, he calls Trevor "Trevor! I've found her, her name is (Y/n) (L/n), she lives at that motel just outside of Sandy Shores- in room 22. But, I don't think she's working al-" damn, Trevor hangs up before Ron can tell him about a boss. Ron didn't want this woman dead, she seems like a nice person based on the few posts he can find of her.

...

"We're gonna kill us a cook, Wadey boy!" Trevor shouts, wrapping an arm around the young man with a sound of glee. "Do we gotta kill her, Trevor? That meth was really good" Trevor hits the brakes abruptly, turning his head to stare down the Juggalo "her meth is- it's mediocre at best!" He yells, clearly scaring Wade "you only think it's good because it's cut with sulfuric acid that's melting your mind!"

Wade scoots away from his boss "yeah" he rubs his arm. Trevor slams the gas, speeding through every car and taking extra care to bash into any bikers who catch his eye and it didn't help that he started drinking halfway through the ride.

"Fina-fucking-ly" he exclaims, crudely parking the truck "stay here, I'm gonna go get 'er" he slurs, he's clearly drunk or at least buzzed. Trevor lacks any creepiness for this, knocking loudly on the motel door marked 22, the person doesn't answer but he hears a bit of a stir inside.

"You fucking bitch!" He kicks open the door and walks into the apartment full of rage "and I don't mean that in a misogynistic way, I mean that in a I'm going to skullfuck your brains out of your eye!" His tone gets less casual as he continues his tangent.

He hears a few quiet profanities coming from the bathroom and a scramble. Trevor pauses, swaying back and forth just a bit "Look, just open the door. I'm a nice, reasonable, rational guy. We can work this out. I'm real patient."

She doesn't respond, and despite his reassurance, he's not a patient man. "I'm done being patient" he speeds through the sentence before kicking the door open, and finally he lays eyes on the woman, he wants to kill her then and there but that's not going to send a message to whoever she works for.

She's nothing special, a bit young for Trevor's taste, though not too young for him, she looks to be maybe 25-30, that's what he thinks anyway, she could just look good or bad for her age, depending.

"You- you have been treading my territory!" He shouts as he approaches her "you're Trevor Philips, oh no..." She gulps, whispering the last part. "That's right," he says in a sing-song voice "that's me- Trevor Philips- your worst fucking nightmare! You-you meth dealing little- argh! I can't form the words to describe you" he snarls through gritted teeth.

He grabs her arm, roughly pulling her off the ground "you're coming with me" he grits his teeth together, dragging her out of the motel room. (Y/n) doesn't have anything to say, making Trevor even angrier but what is there to say? (Y/n) is well aware of him and who he is, he's not someone to listen to pleas.

Trevor forces her into the bed of the truck, then zip-tying her wrists and ankles together. The plastic bounds are cutting into her skin, slicing through some of her tattoos. "Stay put." He pats her leg before getting back into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" Wade asks, Trevor turns the key, starting the engine "we, my dear meth-addicted boy toy, are going out to the desert to show her who owns Sandy Shores." She sees several people staring at the scene, she knows most of them and she can't blame them for not interfering or calling the police, they were all engaging in illegal activities and didn't want to get arrested, she knew that all too well.

The truck passes through Sandy Shores and only stops when she can no longer see any buildings, just sand, and more sand. Trevor gets out of the car, yelling at Wade to follow suit, he pops the back open and grabs her by the ties, which are now slippery with blood from her fruitless struggle.

Dragging her out and letting go she hit the ground below he closes the bed before stepping on her shoulder. "Are you going to talk, (Y/n)?" He asks, removing his foot and crouching down, and tilting his head.

(Y/n) sighs "I don't have anything to say" she answers honestly, Trevor stands up, putting his hands on his hips and gazing up into the stars "well, you could tell me who your boss is, not that that'll save you from what I'm about to do, but I may be a bit more gentle if you do."

"It's not like I have anything to lose if I don't" Trevor lets out an exasperated sigh. He grabs her by the zip ties once again, dragging her along the rocky ground for a few feet. Pulling out a knife he kneels by her feet, cutting the ties on her ankles.

He runs his hands up and down her thighs, before hooking his finger under her waistband and pulling them down along with her underwear. (Y/n) clenches her jaw tightly, she knew Trevor was bad but this? His partner seems equally uncomfortable, fidgeting just behind his boss.

He runs the knife up her hip and to her shirt, gripping the hem of her shirt cutting completely through the fabric with a bit of leverage from his grip, once finished he places the knife back in his pocket. Moving the split garment open he exposes her breasts "not bad... Not bad at all" forcing her hands up about her head he gropes her breasts with large calloused hands, pinching her nipples harshly.

Trevor nestles between (Y/n)'s thighs, pressing his pelvis into her bare one, the denim fabric hurts the sensitive skin of her labia and vulva as he ruts against her, he twists her nipples, making her whimper in pain, and tears soon prick her (e/c) eyes, Trevor up and strokes her cheek with his thumb.

"Don't be like that, now" he croons "this is your fault, after all," his soft touch changes when he grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks, and along with that he digs his dirty nails into her nipple.

He abandons her face in favor of her cunt, prodding uncoordinated her entrance and clit. Abruptly he sticks a finger inside of her, making the woman arch her back and widen her eyes, tears starting to fall now.

"Now, that's a face I like seeing." He kisses her collarbone, forcing a second finger inside he feels wetness accumulate, sitting up and looking he sees it's not arousal but blood, and he grins triumphantly.

"Who needs lube when you have blood, am I right, Wade?" The young man jumps in response, scratching his neck he stares down at the two "I guess..." his eyes fixate on his fingers and the blood that trickles down, his baggy jeans suddenly feeling very tight at the sight.

"Dirty boy" Trevor groans, violently thrusting his fingers inside of her, adding another finger to coax a sound of the pain out of her twitching body. It stung so bad, it was so much- too much at once, snot runs down her face her cries turn into sobs.

He stops thrusting, just letting his fingers sit there buried inside her tight insides. Licking his lips he pulls out, wiping the bloodied digits on her shredded shirt, he gets up "don't move, or I'll spill your guts, sweet cheeks" he threatens.

She looks at Wade, her eyes going lower, staring at his erection, she scrunches her face up and looks away, clearly not finding any sympathy from the other man, she closes her legs as his gaze embarrasses her.

Trevor opens the door of his truck open, rifling through the glove box to find two condoms. He makes his way back to her, forcing her legs back open and resuming his previous position between her legs.

Unbuttoning his jeans he frees his cock and tears open the foil with his teeth, wrapping his hand around his cock he slides the latex down his throbbing appendage, he wastes zero time lining up before he pushes it all inside with one thrust.

Letting out a sigh, Trevor leans back, grasping her hips, he looks at his 'employee' "Wade, take her mouth" he demands, handing him a condom, which the man stares confused at "stick your cock in her mouth, Wade" Trevor growls.

Wade hesitates before taking the condom "are you sure, Trevor, I thought this was just for you?" Trevor glares "if I do this alone, you are a liability and next you'll be in her position well I silence you" with that threat Wade relents, getting on his knees next to (Y/n), he pulls down his pants, locking any underwear as it were, his shirt was too long and covered him up, he places the hem between his teeth as he put the condom on his length.

"Open, please" he muffled out through the drool-soaked hem. (Y/n) complies, turning her head and opening her mouth, seeing no way out of this, Wade slowly guides her head onto his cock with both of his hands, Trevor scowls "and who said chivalry was dead?" He threads his hand in her hair and pushes her head all the way down Wade's cock.

Wade moans into his shirt, closing his eyes at the pleasurable feeling of her wet mouth. Trevor begins to thrust slowly, watching intently as more blood leaks from the abused hole, coating his cock nicely, he strokes her scalp as he allows Wade to rock against her race.

"This is all you needed, isn't it? After this, you'll forget all about whomever it is you work for" he breathes out, it was nice having a cunt around him again, especially one so unwilling, it clenches, trying hard to push him out.

Snot begins to bubble out of her nose as she attempts to breathe, Trevor is quite impressed by her self-control, most people would be fighting hard against both of them but not her evidently, he expected more fear, he wonders if this has ever happened before.

Trevor pulls her mouth off of the cock stuffed in it, letting her catch her breath before plugging it back down her throat and making her gag. Trevor pulls out and maneuvers her on her side, lifting one of her legs onto his shoulder and the other beneath him before he buries his cock back in her aching cunt.

"You're not a bad cook, you should-ah fuck- work for me," he says, biting his lip. (Y/n) opens her swollen eyes to look at him in disbelief at the comment, he was raping her and trying to, what? Employ her?

Trevor notices her confusion "I'm being serious" he grunts through thrusts, gripping her leg tightly with one hand to hold her still and get as deep as he could. "That stuff of- of yours is pure" (Y/n) doesn't know what to say, not that she can with the cock stuffed rudely in her throat.

"What is it, like 75%? That's the purest crystal on the market, Wade even buys it, right?" Said man looks to Trevor and opens his mouth, letting the shirt fall on his head and cover his face "ye-yeah! It's real-ly good" he moans, closing his eyes once again and grinding into her face.

"We'd make a killing, you and I" Trevor admits, pushing the shirt off of her face to look at her. "I'll give you a cut too, that's more than I do for those other fuckwits working for me" Wade, one of said 'fuckwits' is far too caught up in the feeling to respond, that or he's just used to being treated that way, either one could be true.

(Y/n) closes her eyes and attempts to ignore the man, who picks up the pace as he's getting closer "50 for you, 50 for me" that, however, was hard to ignore, she was only getting a 25% cut with her current boss, even though she outsources most of the material and cooks, though she can't exactly speak with her mouth full at the moment.

Money was her incentive to start cooking crystal in the first place. She wonders if all that money would help her get over this little event. She could have chosen a less criminal job but money was the issue, that and a few of her own drug habits.

Wade pushes her head down and holds it there as he suddenly cums, luckily it's contained inside the condom, keeping her mouth free of it. Trevor gets even rougher with that, snapping his hips quickly, eager to spill.

And he does, moaning loudly as he cum, he doesn't stop sloppily thrusting through the orgasm, though he does slow down, thankfully. Wade pulls out first, panting "take off the condom," Trevor tells him, holding his hand out, Wade stares in confusion but does what is asked of him.

"Hey! Careful, don't spill a drop." Suddenly, her chest wells with worry. Once the condom is given to him he pulls out slowly, enjoying seeing her walls cling to him, once free he removes his condom.

He flips her on her back, slipping his thumb into her mouth he presses on her tongue, stroking the muscle for a second before hooking his thumb on her teeth and holding g her mouth open as he lines the ends of the filled condoms up with her mouth.

Her eyes widen as he squeezes the condom, and in turn, the cum into her mouth, she gags as the fluid hits her tongue, it's not a good flavor, in fact, it's disgusting.

Once he's satisfied, Trevor forces her mouth to close "be a good girl and swallow for your new boss" he sees her eyes water once again as she holds the semen in her mouth, after a few seconds of him holding her nose closed she's able to down it, letting go of her face she turns and gag violently.

Trevor pulls up his pants before retrieving the knife from his pocket and cutting the zip ties. She didn't realize how badly they had cut into her until she sees the uneven slice marks, she rubs her wrist but then winces in pain.

"Now, I think you've learned your lesson," he says standing up, she looks up at him with a defeated gaze but looks away soon. "You will meet me at my trailer, okay? And I will work out our deal from there."

(Y/n) wants to tell him to go to hell, but she didn't have it in her. And what was she going to do after this? If she did go, would he make good on the 50/50 deal? She hates him, but goddamn if that didn't sound like it would help fill the void this was going to leave.

She needs time to think.

#dead dove do not eat #reader insert #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #gta #gta 5 fanfiction #gtav #gta5 #trevor philips x reader

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offender42085 · 8 months

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Post 1037

After the Judge commented that she would make sure that the inmate would never see the light of day again, the inmate whose hands were shackled responded; “That’s great,” and gave the Judge a thumbs-up.

Talen Clark Barton, California inmate AX9898, born 1996, incarceration intake October 2015 at age 19, sentenced to 71 years to life, scheduled for parole consideration July 2039

Murder, False imprisonment

In October 2015, a Laytonville California teen described by a Mendocino County detective as “pure evil” following a brutal, hate-fueled rampage in which he stabbed to death two members of the family he was living with and nearly killed two others was sentenced Tuesday to 71 years to life in prison.

The crimes committed by Talen Barton were so heinous that Mendocino County Superior Court Judge Ann Moorman said she would be writing a letter to the state corrections department so she can comment at his parole hearing, should he ever be granted one decades from now.

“I’ll see to it you never see the light of day,” Moorman told Barton.

“That’s great,” said Barton, who was shackled but still able to give the judge a thumbs-up.

Barton has indicated on multiple occasions that he believes he deserves to be punished for what he did the night of July 19, 2015. But he has remained largely emotionless in court and during interviews with sheriff’s detectives and psychologists, according to a comprehensive probation report filed with the court.

Barton in September 2015 pleaded guilty to charges that include two counts of murder and two of attempted murder. He also pleaded guilty to imprisoning two teen girls in the Laytonville home after the attacks and preventing them from phoning 911 by cutting the phone lines, according to the probation report. He later used a cellphone to call 911 himself.

Barton smoked marijuana and offered the imprisoned girls cookies while he waited for deputies to arrive, according to the probation report. He also asked the surviving victims how it felt to die as they struggled to live, the probation report stated.

The plea agreement allowed Barton, who has told sheriff’s investigators and psychologists that he was suicidal the night of the stabbings but afraid of death, to avoid facing a potential death sentence.

He told a psychologist he wanted to kill people “to know what it was like to die,” according to the probation report.

The crimes were so atrocious, and Barton was so “self-satisfied” and unemotional, that one of the detectives interviewing him later wrote he felt he was encountering “pure evil” and hoped to never see Barton released from prison, according to the probation report.

“He is an absolute monster,” Detective Clint Wyant said in his investigative summary.

Psychological exams found that Barton suffered from depression and post-traumatic stress disorder from his early years living with drug-addicted parents and step-parents. Mental health examiners suspect he was exposed to methamphetamine while in his mother’s womb. Barton also alleged he was once sexually abused by one of his mother’s friends.

Barton frequently expressed self-loathing to psychiatric evaluators and sheriff’s investigators, according to the probation report. Scars on his forearms showed that he had burned himself with his marijuana joints. He said he’d initially planned to kill himself and take others with him because he believed in reincarnation and believed they’d all be together again, the probation report states.

But, despite his many emotional problems, psychiatric evaluations found Barton was not psychotic when he attacked his victims.

#inmate

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log6 · 11 months

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they really said "so you think drug addicts shouldn't have safe drugs???" on a post where the point is we should not bring the already bad production of unsafe illegal drugs to other drugs too. Yeah I think people should have access to clean needles and pure and accurately dosed methamphetamine, heroin, cocaine, etc.

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nihilizzzm · 6 months

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TAG GAME

I was tagged by lovely @hippodameia , thank u sun 🤩

Nickname: i don’t have one, ppl use my name or some variations

Sign: oh fuck ok i will tell u, but it looks bad 💀 sun gemini, moon leo, rising virgo

Height: 169cm

The last thing i googled: the iconoclastic crisis in byzatine empire

Amount of sleep: not enough, like 3-5 a night (it’s not a flex, i am just majoring history and i need to read hell amount of things)

Dream job: history teacher or a coffee shop owner

Movie/book that summarises you: oh god, maybe Dead Poets Society or The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, also Patrick Melrose by Edward St. Aubyn (sounds edgy but it’s purely philosophically, I have a mess of a mind tbh)

Fav song: for now Who We Are by Hozier and Inkpot Gods by The Amazing Devil

Fav instrument: drums

Aesthetic: i am walking chaotic academia, more towards dark than light but wholly chaotic, so let’s say that. And i like it a lot.

Fav author: j.r.r. tolkien, adam mickiewicz, fyodor dostoevski

Random fun fact: ok, so actually ii world war was highly influenced by use of methamphetamine by germans and benzedrine by brits (usage of drugs in history is my special interest 🤪)

Tagging, no pressure: @fenharel-enaste @aroace-moron @boromiiir @horsewithaface

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 8 months

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Just a Little Side-Quest, Part Three: GRIEF, a TMA x Malevolent series taking place in the Dark World

Egg storms. God-eating monsters. Mysterious machines. The Dark World responds to minds and hearts in a way no one can predict, and sometimes, even with a baby god on their side, harm still happens.

That doesn't mean it all has to be bad. Today, it starts bad, though. Boy, does it ever.

Just a Little Side-Quest: part three of A TMA x Malevolent crossover taking place in the Dark World. Spoilers for the entirety of TMA. Spoilers up to part 35 of Malevolent.

AO3

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“Who is dreaming eggs?” Martin cried. He didn’t dodge quickly enough, and lukewarm horror splattered him from behind. “Oh, gross!”

“Keep moving, keep moving!” Jon shouted, dragging him with a fist around his denim suspender. “Arthur! Follow my voice!”

I can’t fucking see! John bellowed, because the first bomb had landed egg all over Arthur’s face.

“This way! This way!” Jon cried.

Arthur was good at following voice commands, and he kept up.

It had been like this for nearly an hour. The rising sun brought a storm of eggs. Huge eggs. Massive eggs. Eggs the size of lorries, splattering everything with sulfuric goo and sticky, gelatinous white, and the only thing there was to do was run.

They’re aiming for us, I swear!

“No, she’s weeping!” Jon said, which made no sense to anybody. “Follow! This way! This way! It’s going… godsdamn it, that’s not east anymore, but it was, but it’s going that way , so we go this way!”

“East changes?” Martin’s voice cracked. Then he started spitting; some of it had gotten into his mouth.

“Keep going! ”

What else could they do?

Eggs hit with the power of grenades, denting the earth, shell-shrapnel flying. All three runners understood that they didn’t really have bodies, that they couldn’t die, that receiving injury made no sense—but they felt like they might be cut and bled, or brained by eggs, or choked in goo, and so they ran.

“Damn this place!” Arthur snarled.

“Here! Down here!” And Jon did the unthinkable: he abruptly darted right and into the Chasm.

Martin screamed. “Jon!”

“Right here!” Jon called, his hand waving above the sharpened edge. “Here! There’s a ledge!”

Why would a ledge in a hole help anyone? John bellowed, but Arthur was already scrambling down.

Martin made a small sound. He couldn’t see them. Jon’s hand seemed to be sticking up out of pure shadow.

Then so did Jon’s head. “Martin.” He reached. “Come to me.”

Martin met his eyes and did. He reached, and was pulled down.

The eggs did not penetrate. They did not even hit the Chasm. There had to be some horrible reason for that, but none of them had the mental space left to figure it out.

“I am so… sticky,” Arthur moaned.

John kept flexing the fingers on his left hand, breaking the strings of goo trying to dry between them. So… this is sort of like the Dreamlands.

“The what?” said Martin.

Dreamlands. It’s… fuck, it’s another world, apart from Earth’s universe.

“Interstitial,” said Jon, leaning against the rough Chasm wall, eyes closed. “An in-between place; the playground of gods and monsters. People who dream vividly can go there, and even make something of a life.”

“Right,” said Martin. “No idea how to respond to that.”

“I think I get what you’re saying, John,” said Jon.

The Dreamlands are formed by the power of dreams, said John. Human minds and imagination shape it even more than the will of gods and monsters. They create reality there.

“Ephemerally,” Jon added.

Sure, but that’s my point. This like that, but… so much worse.

“On speed, or something,” said Jon.

“On speed?” repeated Martin, amused. “Jon, just out of curiosity, what do you think speed is?”

“Well, it’s methamphetamine,” said Jon, and several more eyes than expected opened. “Chemically, it’s C10H15N. It’s a central nervous system stimulant, highly addictive, related to amphetamine which has a common medical use, but with worse side-effects. Generally a white, odorless, bitter-tasting powder, it dissolves easily in water or alcohol, and…” He realized they were staring at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Wow, said John.

Martin was smiling. Dried egg shone on his face and made his hair stick in all directions, but he was smiling. “Gods, I love you,” he said. “You’re adorable.”

“I am not … look. We need to get out of here soon. The Chasm isn’t a safe place. There just wasn’t anywhere else to go right now.”

“Was this ledge even here?” said Arthur. “Or did it appear because we needed it?”

“I don’t know ,” Jon cried after a moment. “Why don’t I know?”

“Hey, easy,” said Martin, leaning in and placing one sticky hand on Jon’s sticky arm. “It’s all right. I don’t expect you to know everything, and neither do these two yahoos.”

“Yahoo, yourself,” said Arthur warmly.

I don’t think you can know everything, anyway. Can you?

“I don’t know that, either,” said Jon. “I just want to know enough to get us out of here and safely to—” He stopped.

“To?” said Martin. “Where are we going, anyway?”

Jon looked at Arthur.

He’s looking at you, Arthur.

Arthur went still. “You know, don’t you? You know… that.”

“I do,” said Jon quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t try to know it. I’m not… attempting to be invasive.”

Martin looked back and forth, eyes wide. “Should I ask?” he said slowly. “Or is this one of those things where if I find out too soon, I’ll just go mad?”

“It’s not mine to tell,” said Jon. “But we are headed in a specific direction.”

Arthur’s face turned toward him. “We… we are? You’re doing that?”

“Of course,” said Jon, sounding posh. “Naturally.”

Arthur ducked his head. He was crying. John’s hand wiped at his tears. “Gross,” said Arthur, because there was goop everywhere, and he and John both laughed weakly. “Martin, I… Jon, you can tell him. I…”

“I’ll wait until we’re out,” Jon said. “You don’t have to listen.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, softly.

“What is making the eggs, anyway?” said Martin, wisely changing topics. “You said ‘she.’”

Jon looked so solemn. “She’s a gh’pluh from a planet I can’t pronounce. Sort of a… sapient… chicken dragon one-eyed giant. Her species lives its entire life in the air.”

“How?” said Martin. “That can’t—how?”

“It’s a wildly different ecosystem than what we know,” said Jon. “The thing is… she lost all her eggs. They are laid… well, her cloaca is on her back.”

“That would be really messy,” said Martin slowly.

“They’ve adapted. It’s more hygienic than you might think; but the key here is she was deeply ill, and her eggs couldn’t stay attached.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Arthur. “So all her babies fell to their deaths.”

“Yes.”

Then she did? John said.

“Then she did. She… she hasn’t found her children. What we just experienced was a storm of her grief.” Jon looked into the Chasm, not at Arthur.

Arthur swallowed. He tried very hard not to consider what his own grief-storm would be. “Is it… hard to do that, here? Find someone?” he finally said.

“Yes,” said Jon. “They imagine, too. You’re trying to sail two discrete tidal waves with one will.”

Arthur fell silent.

Martin again steered them clear. “Wish I had a way to make us some tea.”

And in the gloom of the Chasm, Jon’s eyes seemed to glow briefly green. “There’s water up ahead in the red forest.”

“The… the what?” said Martin.

“The red forest. It isn’t far.”

There was no forest in sight, said John.

“It will be when we climb out of here, which we should be able to do soon,” said Jon.

Martin touched his arm. “You don’t have to be the one taking care of all of us, you know. That isn’t… that isn’t owed.”

Jon turned his face away and did not answer.

Heavy with thought, they all sat for a while, silent as the pounding of eggs continued overhead, and did not speak again until it quieted.

Martin peeked over the Chasm’s edge. “What?” he said, climbing out. “There’s no egg.”

“How can there be no egg?” Arthur said, climbing out alongside him.

Fucking hell, he wasn’t wrong. There’s no egg. But there is… well, that’s a red forest if I’ve ever seen one.

“Like… like fall colors?” Arthur said hopefully.

Uh. No.

The ground was unnervingly like brain matter—gyri and sulci, but a brilliant red instead of pink. The trees that grew out of it were tangled , thick and impossible growths, sharp-edged and disturbingly lacy where the wood joined.

There were no leaves; merely a dull red glow, filling the spaces. John thought it might be pulsing.

This red forest stretched as far as he could see from left to right, only skipping the Chasm. There was no way forward without going through. Uh, he said again. Maybe we can… go back down and reset this view?

“No,” said Jon. “We have to go through it. Besides, it won’t be that dangerous for us. It’s not occupied by any living thing, exactly. There’s fresh water in there, too.” He accepted Martin’s hand and climbed out.

The moment he did, the ledge they’d been on broke and fell, tumbling, crashing into the sides of the Chasm, echoing forever.

“Was that… what we were just on?” said Arthur, his eyes huge.

“We… didn’t need it anymore?” suggested Jon, weakly.

“Reassuring,” Arthur mumbled.

Did you make it? said John.

“I don’t know. I just knew it was there,” said Jon.

It sure seems like you conjured it, somehow. Kept it for us.

“I don’t know how,” Jon said. “I don’t know what I did, and if we depend on that when I don’t know how to do it—”

“Hey. Shh. It’s all right,” said Martin.

Jon fell silent.

“What did you mean, ‘not occupied by any living thing, exactly ?’” said Arthur.

“It’s a grief-place,” said Jon. “We can’t die here, as you know, but we can… succumb. Give up. Remain in one place and feed the Dark World with unending, spiraling sorrow, and some people do. But it isn’t… it’s not inevitable, even for them. They could wake up. They’d have to choose this.”

John audibly gulped. So the trees are people.

“Yes.”

“Oh, gods, it’s horrible,” said Martin.

Jon took his hand. “Some places are, here. But I need you to believe me that other places are as good as this is terrible. It comes down to us. It’s our choices.”

Martin exhaled slowly, cheeks puffed out. “Why do we have to face this grief-forest right now?”

“I don’t know. It seems to be a theme, today," said Jon.

Arthur hung his head.

It’s not you.

“Sure, John.”

If you were powerful enough to bring a forest of grieving souls to us, you'd be powerful enough that we would have already found her.

Arthur made a small sound.

John held his hand.

They walked in silence, inevitably toward the forest.

The red forest smelled vaguely like strawberry ChapStick.

“Pink and waxy,” Martin said, stepping carefully. “I swear, I can taste it.” The ridges in the ground were solid and did not give way underfoot as he’d feared, but the gaps between them were just wide enough to threaten twisted ankles. (Which he did not even have to twist. He reminded himself. He told himself. It sure felt like he had ankles, though.)

“Familiar with that taste, are you?” Jon teased.

“I mean, yeah,” said Martin. “You don’t know all my phases.”

Jon laughed softly. “I want to. All of them. Everything about you.”

“Will I be boring to you then?” said Martin, only mostly joking.

“Not as long as there is love within me,” said Jon. “Not as long as I have eyes to see.”

“Jonathan Sims! That was positively poetic.”

“I’m trying,” Jon said, cheeks flushed.

Sappy, pronounced John.

Arthur smiled weakly. “Let them have it. Do we just… keep walking straight?”

“Yes,” said Jon. “Specific direction doesn’t matter. We intend to leave, and so we will.”

Arthur’s jaw set. “I’ll go on ahead a bit,” he said, stuck his hands in his pockets, and hurried.

Martin swallowed. “That bad, huh?”

“He lost his daughter in a tragic accident,” said Jon softly.

"Gods, no!"

“She drowned in the bathtub. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but…”

“How could he not feel like it was?” said Martin, softly. “I still feel guilty over my mum dying, and that had absolutely nothing to do with me.”

Jon took his hand.

"So you meant trying to find his daughter."

"Yes."

"I'm in."

"I knew you would be," Jon said warmly.

They walked in silence for a moment. “Anyway, if you can figure out tea on our route, I’d consider that a good use of your godly powers.”

Jon laughed. “Sure. Tea plants. I can do that. Probably.”

Martin kissed his cheek.

“I am all over egg!” Jon protested.

“So am I. I still love you.”

Jon leaned in. “We’re both insane.”

“Long as we’re complementary in it, I don’t care,” said Martin.

“Pathetic,” said Jon.

“Absolutely pitiful,” said Martin.

“Particularly fascinating,” said a hissing voice they’d never heard before, and something long, white, and heavy tackled Jon from behind with enough force to tear him away.

You’re not in danger, John said. As if I’d let you drown here, after everything we’ve been through.

“I wonder, John,” said Arthur, “just how fair it is, though.”

Fair?

“You’re a god, or part of one. You shouldn’t be experiencing all of this with me.”

What the hell are you saying?

“I’m not good for you. There. I said it. You're probably supposed to be in some weird heaven for your kind, and instead, you're stuck here with me.”

John’s hand rose and lightly smacked Arthur in the face.

“Ow! What the hell?”

Stop being stupid. I chose to stick here with you. I clung to you on purpose when we died. I'm doing it now. Shut up.

“I’m not… look here, you.”

No. You don’t get to have it both ways. If I’m part of a god—-“

“Which you are!”

Then I damn well get to decide what I do with me, and you!

“I didn’t say you were my god.”

You little punk , said John, who had no face to smile, but gave the impression, anyway.

Then, behind them, Martin screamed.

Arthur spun on his heel and ran toward the sound, tripping on the odd surface, half on all fours, unstoppable.

Jon knew he had no real body. He did; he knew it, fully understood and believed this, but he didn’t feel it yet, the power of it, the freedom.

What he felt now was pain.

The thing had clomped horrible jaws right on the back of his neck, as if to sever his head from his body. The pain—electric, heavily limp— ragdolled him as the thing’s inertia wrenched them both forward and away from Martin, who screamed.

Jon’s eyes opened. Searching for Martin, whose voice had gone distant and panicked.

“Pleh!” said the thing, spitting Jon roughly from its mouth. “What is that! Rotten egg? What have you been doing, little god?”

Shouting, shouting in the distance, but Jon knew they couldn’t see him, wouldn’t reach him on time.

It was going to eat his brain (was it?) and his heart (how?) and digest him, absorb all he was, become him in a way only gods could end here, a death everlasting, an action verb forever, and he was too scared to do anything more than cry out.

“Well,” said the thing. “It won’t be the worst marinade I’ve ever had.” And it opened its mouth too wide, too wrong , and bit his head, and it didn’t matter that he had no skull because it was cracking and that long tongue was pushing inside—

Arthur hit it like a train.

Slammed into it, full-speed, with a weight and density he did not possess but the will of a battering ram.

The monster wrenched off Jon, tearing skin, its black tongue sliding out of his skull in the worst feeling he had ever known, and panic followed: had he already lost himself? Was he lobotomized? Was he damaged now, half devoured, useless?

“Jon!” cried Martin, landing beside him to grab him up. “No, no, no, Jon!” His scream was—

He thought Jon was dying. Was Jon dying? He didn’t know!

Horrible sounds rose from where Arthur fought the thing, vicious yowling like some bobcat in a blender.

Jon didn’t want to die (he couldn’t , he knew , but Martin’s grief—)

Damn you! John roared.

The creature gasped. “ H'aaztre ?” it said in terrible awe, and Arthur cried out as the battle changed from a monster trying to get away to a monster trying to eat him.

Martin let out one sob.

That sound rocked the world. Slowed time. Turned it all to low and terrible distortion, and in that moment, Jon saw three things.

One was Kayne, barely visible behind Martin, a man-shape blur with sharp red eyes, watching with clinical and unmoving focus.

Two: The other was truth. He was damaged, because he believed he was. Except he wasn’t damaged. He was fine. It was fear speaking, making him wrong, an unreliable witness to himself.

Three: the god-eater currently trying to eat John contained within itself a multitude of the eaten, and if Jon ate it instead, he would gain what they used to be.

“Jon!” Martin cried in long, bass tones, stretched in time like taffy.

Kayne watched.

It all seemed distant, and strangely clear. If he ate that thing, Jon could know so much. Could have it all, immediately upon swallowing. But that would be doing what he dreaded being done to him.

No. He would not eat the creature. That’s not what Martin would want. Those suffering god-bits needed to be freed, able to renew themselves. That’s what Jon would have wanted for himself. Jon knew .

“No, you don’t!” Arthur snarled with glacial speed, somehow avoiding the black tongue striking like a snake, attempting to get into his eyes.

Jon couldn’t explain what he did. It was instinct. It was Jordan Kennedy all over again. It was no Ceaseless Watcher, but his will, and he had no idea how it worked.

But it did work.

Jon woke the trees closest to Arthur and showed them Martin’s grief. They didn’t know he was still alive—that Martin wept though he did not have to. They knew Martin’s despair because Jon fed it to them, and knew what was the cause and, with absolutely terrifying silence, slid through the sulci of sad, red soil and descended on the god-eater.

Arthur was simply knocked aside. Martin gasped. Arthur cursed. The god-eating creature screamed as the trees widened their impossible lacy wood and took pieces of this monster into every small eyelet.

The incorruptible within this thing could no longer be contained, and it exploded. The trees nearest popped into shrapnel, spraying everywhere, and everybody cried out. There was wood-creaking weirdness for a moment as nearby trees shifted, then silence.

Arthur panted. “What? What the fuck?”

I… I don’t know! It exploded!

Martin held Jon, still sobbing. “Jon.”

Jon was fine. He knew he was fine, and as he leaned into that, he was. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.” He touched Martin’s cheek.

Martin stared. “The… it’s gone? The hole’s gone! You’re okay? You…” He clutched so tightly that if Jon had needed to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to.

“I’ve got you,” said Jon, clutching back.

“Did we just… murder a bunch of grieving souls?” said Arthur.

“No,” said Jon. “They’re freed, like the gods that thing already ate. They’re all free. Maybe the grievers will choose to take root again, but they don’t have to.”

Okay, what? What the fuck?

“What did that thing call you, John?” said Arthur.

I don’t… I don’t know. I mean, it was Hastur’s name, but it wasn’t.

“Tried to eat you, anyway,” Arthur growled. “Fuck him.”

Yeah, said John less optimistically. Archivist, what the fuck did you do?

“I don’t know,” Jon said into Martin’s chest.

“Where did that thing come from?” Martin moaned.

“I didn’t see it,” said Jon. “I don't even know how long it was following us. I think I... can’t see them unless someone else I’m connected to does first. They’re camouflaged, somehow.”

“Shit,” said Martin.

“Okay,” said Arthur. “Okay. We just… we need to keep our eyes out. That means you, John.”

Of course it means me, nitwit.

“Did it come from the Chasm?” said Martin.

“I don’t know,” said Jon. “I don’t even understand what they are.”

Hey, maybe I’m crazy, said John dryly. But we should probably get the fuck out of here?

“Yeah.” Martin stood, lifting Jon. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered into Jon’s egg-thick hair. “I don’t… I can’t tell you how afraid I just was.”

Jon shuddered. “You can’t lose me,” he said.

“Sure.”

"You can't. You won't. I'll never leave you."

Martin shuddered, too. “Hey, Arthur,” he said slowly. “How did you do that, by the way? You… moved so fast, and hit it so damn hard. And you avoided that tongue-thing.”

“Fuck if I know,” said Arthur, apparently unbothered by that weirdness.

I don't know, either.

“Great,” said Martin. “We’re all mysteries today.”

Move, people, said John. If I have to take point, I fucking will.

“I don’t think anyone minds,” said Jon.

Oh. John paused. Okay. Uh. Sure. Arthur, turn left and go straight. Not that far left.

“Fucking place needs public transport,” muttered Arthur.

“They do closer to the cities,” said Jon. “I don’t know if you understand how far away we are from any reasonable parts of the Dark World.”

There are no reasonable parts.

“There are… slightly more stable parts,” said Jon. “And that’s where we need to go.”

Nobody said the reason. Then Arthur did. “She’s there?”

“I don’t know yet, but I believe so.”

Arthur swallowed.

“We’ll go wherever’s needed to find her, you know,” said Martin. “You get that, right? You won’t do this alone.”

“You don’t even… you never knew her,” said Arthur.

“So?”

Arthur turned his face toward Martin. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Martin scoffed, still holding Jon under his arm. “Spend as much time with the Lonely as I did, and you’d end up knowing exactly what you’re saying, too. Besides… ask this guy how easily I give up when I’ve got a goal in mind.”

“You don’t,” said Jon. “One thousand, one hundred, and fifty nine cups of tea before I finally realized you were trying to tell me something.”

"Worth it," Martin said and kissed his forehead. “So Jon’s stubborn, too, is what I'm saying. You've got help."

“Thank you,” whispered Arthur. "Thank you both."

We’ve got this, said John.

"Hey, listen," said Arthur. "What's that?"

The red forest was finally thinning out, and at last, they found the water Jon had promised. It was clean, crystal-clear, a patch of water flowing quick and cold like a river saying hello from deep underground.

They were all silent as they stripped and bathed, sputtering in the cold and deeply grateful for it.

Their clothes were gone when they finished. Somehow, it made sense. “Offering to the woods?” suggested Martin.

“Fuck if I know,” said Arthur, and fished a new outfit from his pack.

At long last, the ground stopped being made of ridges and valleys. “That was a big place,” said Martin softly.

“You have no idea,” said Jon, tucked under his arm again. “It stretches the whole width of the Dark World, and it’s growing all the time."

“That doesn’t seem right,” said Martin. “Not everyone there deserves to be there, I’m sure.”

“It’s not about deserving. It’s choices,” said Jon.

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Martin gently chided. “Though… not to change the subject, but my ankles shouldn’t feel better? I know I don’t have any. I know I don’t. But damn, they feel a lot better.”

“I still want a damn car,” said Arthur.

“Naw,” said Martin. “We need the Mystery Machine. Because we're mysteries, you know?”

"Ha," said Jon.

“The what?” said Arthur.

“It’s this van from a cartoon called Scooby—” He stopped.

The fuck.

Arthur stopped, too.

Jon started laughing.

Before them sat an egregiously teal van. It was without question a 1965 Dodge A100, painted wildly with love-child flowers and a deeply groovy font proclaiming it The Mystery Machine.

“What?” said Arthur. “What?”

Apparently, Martin really wanted that cartoon van, said John dubiously.

“Let’s see if it drives, shall we?” said Martin. “And nobody imagine monsters inside it, or something.”

“Well, now I am,” muttered Arthur, but followed Martin’s voice.

The van inside was lovingly pristine; it had shag carpet and a horizontal bench seat in the back, all an eye-watering orange; up front were two more bench seats, still orange, and—to Martin’s delight—a full tank of gas.

He turned the key, and it started.

They all took this in, the rumbling of the engine and the acrid smell of the exhaust more mind-blowing than anything they’d experienced today.

“So let’s try,” said Arthur.

“We’ll be a target,” said Jon. “This thing is noisy as hell.”

“But we’ll also make a lot more distance,” said Arthur.

“You’re thinking too logically. It’s possible we won’t make any distance at all,” said Jon.

“Jon,” said Martin. “Get in the damn van.”

Jon laughed. So did Arthur and John.

The seats were shockingly comfortable, and though the steering wheel was not on the side Martin was used to, he drove it just fine; happily, he knew how to drive manual. "Worked delivery for a while. I was fifteen and it was so illegal, but whatever," said Martin.

Jon settled against him, meaning to stay awake, to keep track of it all, to try to keep him safe. "What are we, I wonder?"

"Hm?" said Martin, pulling out.

"We're all weird, you know? Or maybe everyone is weird, and I'm just assuming, but..."

"No, you're right," said Martin. "We're... I don't want to say special, because that's the wrong word, but it all feels terribly chosen, somehow."

"It does," Jon murmured, soothed by the softness of Martin's belly, soothed by the warmth of his jumper. "We should... think about it."

"Rest," Martin murmured back. "You've got to be exhausted."

"Can't be," Jon mumbled, and then he fell asleep.

He dreamed of Kayne repeatedly poking his sleeping form, going, Why did you do that? But Jon had no reply.

#tma #malevolent #tma fic #malevolent fic #tma crossover #the dark world #malevolent the dark world #just a little side-quest series #crossover fic #tma spoilers #malevolent spoilers #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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the-gnomish-bastard · 8 months

Note

Want some spare deadly stuff

I got phosphorus

Highly pure potassium

Methamphetamine

Magnesium

Uranium

Demon core

Elephants foot

Give me the uranium.

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years

Text

In the last couple of weeks, something magical has happened to my neighbourhood. More and more people are driving scooters. Ranging from the usual Vespas and Yamaha Zumas to a really hogged-out Honda Spree, there is a cornucopia of motorized delight on offer. Lately, I can barely walk down the street without having to turn my head at the delightful sound of a small-displacement two-stroke engine approaching redline in order to bang on the door of a playground-zone speed limit.

In general, I'm a practical sort, and I get it. There are lots of socioeconomic that an individual may stop driving their expensive car in favour of a scooter. Saving on expensive gas, insurance, and registration is an obvious incentive, not to mention the absurd cost of parking. You can twelve o'clock it right into the elevator at work and leave it in the abandoned cubicle next to you, dripping oil from the clutch basket right into the high-wear carpet. If more layoffs happen despite the best promises of middle management, at least you can leave in style.

I'd be lying if I said I was entirely enthusiastic about this state of affairs. The increased demand for scoots has meant that I've had to adjust my complex deprecation spreadsheet. To keep things up to date, four interns from the local university were hired. Cheap shitboxes are too important to be left up to pure intuition, as I've explained previously at the TED talks.

Because those students are young, dumb, and full of vlookups, they've been working around the clock – with the help of white-labeled methamphetamine and my backstock of 2003-era Jolt Espresso. And, as you'd expect with any model worth its salt, some unusual discoveries have been made.

As demand shifted away from regular vehicles, towards ridiculous scooters and ultralight economy cars, it turns out that a gas-guzzling shitbox like a 1998 Suburban has actually become a pretty reasonable deal. You can practically show up with a fresh battery, a ten-pound bottle of nitrous oxide, and a contemptuous sneer and be driving home in something that once indebted a family of five to eternal servitude. My favourite part is how nicely the rich leather seats in the back hold onto a greasy Mopar Slant Six on the way home from the junkyard. And the seatbelts even still work!

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smegmafactory4prez · 20 days

Note

drugs tierlist?

Best: Amphetamines, Methamphetamines, Pure MDMA

Really Good: Xanax/Klonopin, Alcohol, Pain Pills/Parkinson's Pills

Decent: Ritalin, Weaker benzos, Ecstasy

Kind of sucks: Weed, Cocaine

Awful: Benadryl or anything similar, Poppers, any inhalants really, Strong ass benzos like Midazolam and roofies

#Forgot to add ecstasy onto the decent tier

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nesiclor · 1 year

Text

Bro Blue really out here acting like he can't make 99.6% pure methamphetamine.

#alan becker #ava shorts #animation vs animator #animator vs animation #ava blue

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warningsine · 10 months

Note

How to make meth

Making Methamphetamine at home:

List of chemicals and materials: Diluted HCl - also called Muriatic acid - can be obtained from hardware stores, in the pool section

NaOH - also called lye

Ethyl Ether - aka Diethyl Ether - Et-0-Et - can be obtained from engine starting fluid, usually from a large supermarket. Look for one that says "high ethyl ether content", such as Prestone

Ephedrine The cottons in todays vicks nasle inhalers dont contain efed or pfed (ephedrin or psuedoephedrin) but there are still lots of easy ways to get good ephed or pfed, pure ephedrin can be extracted out of it's plant matter, from a plant that can be bought at most garden stores. Or you can get pfed from decongestive pills like sudafed. Most people perfer to work with pfed from pills rather then ephed from the plant. The important thing is that you must have pure pfed/ephed as any contaminants will fuck up the molar ratio leaving you with over-reduced shit or under-reduced shit. Or contaminats will jell durring baseifying and gak up your product which will then be very hard to clean. So you want to find a pill that is nearly pure pfed hcl, or as close to pure as you can get. Also check the lable on your pills and see what inactive ingredients they contain. Inactive ingredients are things like binders and flavors. These you dont want and will remove when cleaning your pills. but certain inactive ingredients are harder to remove then others. You dont want pills with a red coating, you dont want pills with alot of cellose in them and you dont want pills with much wax. you also dont want pills that contain povidone. As a rule, if you have a two pills that contain the same amount of pfed hcl then take the smaller sized pill because it obviously has less binders and inactive ingredients, time released pills are usualy harder to work with because they have more binders and tend to gel up durring the a/b stage. Also only buy pills that have pfed hcl as the only active ingredient. You first have to make ephedrine (which is sometimes sold as meth by itself):If you are selling it...I would just make ephedrine and say it's meth.

Distilled water - it's really cheap, so you have no reason to use the nasty stuff from the tap. Do things right.

List of equipment : A glass eyedropper

Three small glass bottles with lids (approx. 3 oz., but not important)one should be marked at 1.5oz, use tape on the outside to mark it (you might want to label it as ether). One should be clear (and it can't be the marked one).

A Pyrex dish (the meatloaf one is suggested)

A glass quart jar

Sharp scissors

Clean rubber gloves

Coffee filters

A measuring cup

Measuring spoons

Preparing your Lab:

Preparing Ethyl Ether: WARNING: Ethyl Ether is very flammable and is heavier than air. Do not use ethyl ether near flame or non-sparkless motors. It is also an anaesthetic and can cause respiratory collapse if you inhale too much.

Take the unmarked small bottle and spray starter fluid in it until it looks half-full. Then fill the rest of the way with water, cap the bottle and shake for 5 minutes. Let it sit for a minute or two, and tap the side to try and separate the clear upper layer. Then, draw off the top (ether) layer with the eyedropper, and throw away the lower (water) and cloudy layer. Place the ether in the marked container. Repeat this until you have about 1.5 oz. of ether. Put the cap on it, and put it in the freezer if you can. Rinse the other bottle and let it stand.

Ethyl ether is very pungent. Even a small evaporated amount is quite noticeable.

Ephedrine & or P-Ephedrine: Please discuss this on the neonjoint forum

5. Pour 1/8 teaspoon of the lye crystals into the bottle of ephedrine and agitate. Do this carefully, as the mixture will become hot, and give off hydrogen gas and/or steam. H2 gas is explosive and lighter than air, avoid any flames as usual. Repeat this step until the mixture remains cloudy. This step neutralizes the HCl in the salt, leaving the insoluble free base (l-desoxyephedrine) again. Why do we do this? So that we can get rid of any water-soluble impurities. For 3 oz. bottles, this should take only 3 repetitions or so.

6. Fill the bottle from step 5 up the rest of the way with ethyl ether. Cap the bottle, and agitate for about 8 minutes. It is very important to expose every molecule of the free-base to the ether for as long as possible. This will cause the free base to dissolve into the ether (it -is- soluble in ether).

7. Let the mixture settle. There will be a middle layer that is very thick. Tap the side of the bottle to get this layer as thin as possible. This is why this bottle should be clear.

8. Remove the top (ether) layer with the eyedropper, being careful not to get any of the middle layer in it. Place the removed ether layer into a third bottle.

9. Add to the third bottle enough water to fill it half-way and about 5 drops of muriatic acid. Cap it. Shake the bottle for 2 minutes. When it settles, remove the top layer and throw it away. The free base has now been bonded to the HCl again, forming a water soluble salt. This time, we're getting rid of ether-soluble impurities. Make sure to get rid of all the ether before going to step 11!

10. If there is anything left from step 3, repeat the procedure with it.

11. Evaporate the solution in the Pyrex dish on low heat. You can do this on the stove or nuke it in the microwave (be careful of splashing), but I have found that if you leave it on top of a hot-water heater (like the one that supplies hot water to your house) for about 2-3 days, the remaining crystals will be ephedrine HCl.

If you microwave it, I suggest no more than 5-10s at one time. If it starts "popping", that means you have too little liquid left to microwave. You can put it under a bright (100W) lamp instead. Microwaving can result in uneven heating, anyway.

First Batch: 120mg ephedrine HClEstimated: 300mg (100% of theoretical, disregarding HCl)

Now, Making Methamphetamine out of ephedrine by reducing it with Hydroiodic Acid and Red Phosphorus.

Items needed: Alot of matchbooks (the kind with the striking pad)

Coffee filters (or filter paper)

Something that measures ml and grams

A flask (a small pot with a lid can be used)

iodine

Hydroiodic Acid (I will tell you how to make this)

Red Phosphorus (I will tell you how to make this)

Lye

*Optional (toluene and HCI gas)

Making Red Phosphorus: The striking pad on books of matches is about 50% red phosphorus. The determined experimenter could obtain a pile of red phosphorus by scraping off the striking pads of matchbooks with a sharp knife. A typical composition of the striking pad is about 50% red phosphorus, along with about 30% antimony sulfide, and lesser amounts of glue, iron oxide, MnO2, and glass powder. I don't think these contaminants will seriously interfere with the reaction. Naturally, it is a tedious process to get large amounts of red phosphorus by scraping the striking pads off matchbooks, but who cares?

Yeah, Mr. White! Yeah, science!

#listening and learning #anon #my inbox sure is interesting atm

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loving-n0t-heyting · 2 years

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If Walter white were an EA instead of a generic politics-free avatar of the archetypal American middle class suburban father he would constantly be telling Skyler how great and heroic he was for inventing an exceptionally pure, low-cost form of methamphetamine production and the fact he thereby saved lives that would otherwise be ended thru overdoses outweighed all the murders

Everyone would be too flummoxed by the novelty (to them) of the defence to point out this was undermined by his insistence on keeping the method a trade secret

#irl the anonymous cartel guy who actually invented the method ww invents in the show #is probably kind of a hero for exactly this reason?#Gale brings up this point and it is subsequently totally ignored #effective altruism ambivalence tag

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nevergonnasimpyoumikey · 2 years

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One word Trikey prompts from @despitethecold , I love you darling ❤️ Angst with occasional hints of fluff.

Just this one night, Michael thinks to himself. One night before it all ends. One night when he can think about what he wants and not what's best for his family. One night of letting the hidden part of himself take over.

Just this one night, Trevor thinks to himself. One night before it all ends. One night when he can borrow Michael from his family and keep him all for himself. One night of letting the poorly-veiled mutual desire take over.

When they share each other for the second time a decade later, the thought mercifully avoids them both.

It started as a test.

Trevor stopped calling him. No more unannounced little visits to see the kids. When they were on a job, he kept it purely professional, not inviting Michael for a drink afterwards, just taking off to lie low on his own — well, with the company of his dear friend methamphetamine. At least he had someone to trust.

Because the problem with his test was that Michael seemed perfectly fine with their new relationship. He never reached out, never questioned why he was being avoided.

And with each day of loneliness, Trevor lost a piece of himself.

The electricity is out again.

Could be worse, Trevor mutters, shaking slightly with the cold despite wearing his winter jacket.

How could it be fucking worse than this, Michael grunts, miserable and tired. Trevor knows he wants out of this kind of life.

The light of the last candle is about to go out, flickering with its last breaths of life, but Trevor still sees Michael’s hand, resting on the floor between them. He waits until he answers, voice soft.

I don't know. We could be alone.

Michael doesn't pull his hand away, only welcomes Trevor closer in the darkness.

#my fics #trikey #michael de santa #trevor philips #gta v #trikey fanfiction #michael/trevor #gta fanfiction #gta v fanfiction #took me about an hour #Brain is slow but hey at least something creative is still coming out

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yandere-romanticaa · 2 years