I root For All Of My Mutuals Even If We Don’t Talk ❗❗ I See U An Hope Ur Doin Well An Hope Ur achieving

Almost finished my [REDACTED] design! This is the doll version

the main version will take longer to draw because I’m really bad at drawing people, plus I’m often busy with school stuff, sorry

hello friends! i'm getting back into the swing of writing, so here's a teaser for my malevolent vampire au. enjoy! :)

1934 – Arkham, MA:

A quiet dripping echoed in the dark office of Yang & Lester: Private Eyes. From the smoky door window, muddled yellow light trickled into the room where it fell upon Arthur Lester slumped in a crumpled kneel. His head lolled loosely, chin drifting from shoulder to sternum as a heavy fuzz filled his ears. Shapes and colors slowly came into focus as he stirred.

Mostly one color: red.

Pooling blood had spread thin across the hardwood floor, staining the air with a metallic tang in its wake. Arthur couldn’t pinpoint the source—was it him? His upper body was wet—he could feel the damp, clinging fabric without looking. He couldn’t feel the fresh pain of a wound, but a wooziness weighed on him and his aching limbs. The heaviness hung over him—around him? Gravity was unstable as he tried sitting up, and he would have fallen face-first onto the bloody floor if not for a sure set of hands gripping his shoulders.

His eyes widened. I’m not alone.

“Where am I? What’s happened?” Arthur whispered, scrambling for his memory and trying desperately to shake off the grogginess lacing his bones.

“Don’t you remember?” The bemused voice was deep and resonant. It didn’t sound familiar.

“Who are you?”

“Who am I? I’m a friend. The best friend you have right now...” The broad hands held his shoulders firm, leaning Arthur back until he rested against the solid torso behind him. “...the only friend you have right now.”

Only friend? But I have a friend, I have—Parker! Alarm bells rang over each other in Arthur’s mind. Memory eluded him, but emotion erupted within his chest at the name—affection, shock, loss, guilt. Parker was a cherished friend, but something went wrong and he was gone. (Dead?) Flashes ricocheted in Arthur’s brain—a strange book, a great shadow, so much blood, and the ragged sound of strained breathing. (Parker’s breathing? He couldn’t hear it now. Oh god, was Park still breathing?) An urgency struck Arthur then, his veins lighting up with adrenaline as he tried again to sit upright, to get his feet underneath him and stand.

Instead, his muscles simply shook from the effort. Arthur wanted to cry in frustration—he was weak and dizzy and confused and increasingly ashamed of whatever part he played. Specifics escaped him, but guilt and remorse welled inside his chest all the same.(And now he’d lost Parker just like he lost his parents, Bella, F—) His breath quickened, whimpering lungs succumbing to hyperventilation as he trembled in the stranger’s hold.

“Relax, take a deep breath, relax,” the voice soothed, and, almost against his will, Arthur’s body instantly eased back from its fright, taking forcibly measured breaths. The shock of the immediate calm nearly sent him careening into another panic all over again. What in the world?

“Calm down, friend. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” The hands cupping his shoulders gently shifted, pressing warm palms against his biceps, then his elbows, and back up again before repeating the motion.

“Oh, okay,” Arthur mumbled. Despite himself, he found the gesture reassuring, and he sagged further against the upright chest behind him. Within his core, he felt what he could only describe as a pull towards the stranger, as if encouraged to agree with every deep utterance murmured in his ear. Arthur knew better than to trust him, but the desire to do so was steadily growing with each sweeping caress along his arms and shoulders. Leisurely, a sense of comfort swelled within him, promising safety and relaxation to quell his erratic heart.

Lucidity was slippery and fleeting in the face of said reassurance, but a stubborn kernel of guilt affixed itself in Arthur’s chest. He clung to it desperately, a life preserver buoying him just above the rising tide of emotions that were not his own. His shame anchored him to his sense of self as memory thrashed and drowned beneath the calming waters.

The room was steadily losing familiarity when he noticed an oblong shape catching the meager light—the sole of a leather shoe jutting upwards. Shadowed further: a man’s body, limbs flung awkwardly where it lay collapsed on the floor. Jagged tears and dark stains afflicted the clothing, the neck marred by reckless maroon punctures. The face was… one Arthur should have known. Were they acquaintances? No, they had to be more, but Arthur couldn’t remember, couldn’t quite put a name to the glazed monolid eyes. Grief pulled his heartstrings in gradually weakening tugs until all he felt was a mild confusion.

The arm rubbing his left shoulder reached out then, retrieving a book that had fallen open to the side. Sketchy runes glowed like banked embers from the pages within, its hardcover waterlogged with blood. Arthur’s eyes followed the book as the stranger removed it from sight. He didn’t get a good look at it before, but he wanted to see it again. (Again?)

The voice hummed, capturing Arthur’s attention. The sound was all-encompassing, reverberating in his bones as his focus narrowed entirely to the gentle thrum.

Angling his head, Arthur peered back at the figure looming behind him. The movement strained his neck and shoulders in an unexpected way, but the effort was worth it. Inky black fabric cloaked the stranger, its hem lined with gold flourishes glinting in the dim light. Long strands of dark hair slipped beneath the hood to frame skin smooth as porcelain. The man's jaw was slathered in slick crimson, and smirking lips revealed the tips of undeniable fangs. Acute golden eyes openly gazed back, drinking him in.

“My name is John Doe, and you, Arthur Lester, shall be my first thrall.”

TMA Au where everything is the same except The Magnus Institute is a shopping mall and the archives are a Claire´s.

my s2 rowan theory

okay i had an epiphany the other night about this. i've been analyzing venetian blind man (and the songs blue has on his offical rowan playlist, but that analysis isn't complete yet) recently, and there's one lyric i could never figure out.

"Lord knows I've said awful things 'round this house They echo through the frame and six feet down"

now this!! this is interesting!! let's take a look see at the "six feet down" part. who do we know that has died? no not that one. rowan's former co-counselor. and to further seal this?

"...last year, in a different weather-related incident, a counselor from Cabin Magpie Moth was tragically… destroyed." -FILE 3. The Squall of Prophecy.

and who predicts those weather incidents? rowan. and how does he communicate his predictions? by saying them to others. and by god i'm sure those predictions count as "awful things". and i may be looking too far into this, but the venetian blind man lyrics say "i've SAID awful things." past tense. it isn't him currently saying these things that have a fatal effect, but rather he's said them and the fatality has already happened.

another tidbit that could be unrelated is this line

"Well, campers returning from last summer will remember what happened last time we ignored one of Rowan's forecasts." -FILE 2. The End of the Squall.

could rowan have predicted something so awful that it killed his own co-counselor?

John Malevolent is so funny. He'll see a fucked up goat man with glowing eyes chasing them through the woods while howling like a dog and go "Hmmm. . .Guys, I think something is off here☝️"

I'm not coping well, thanks for asking.

Kindly reminding everyone that when Arthur died on the witch's table, John was stuck in his body. I'd love for John to usurp The Dark World like any other malevolent enjoyer but he might also end up waiting for somebody to hear him in the beaten, broken husk of Arthur's body, no eyes, no hand, no foot, no Arthur

0 connection to the world. only flesh soup.

I Died For You [A Malevolent Animatic]

Voice acting and audio by @malevolentcast , who very generously sent me this audio file to use for this animatic. Thank you for creating such a beautiful show.

Background and details under cut

I began this animatic early last year after finding the audio on TikTok. Once I heard it, I was immediately struck with the thought of how those first couple of weeks in the Dark World would be for John immediately after Season 2. It seemed perfectly fitting, how John might be tortured by his guilt and uncertainty if Arthur was even still alive, and that torment would only aid his regression to his more… Kingly qualities.

I began to draft the thumbnails of the animatic in my sketchbook before transferring it to my digital workspace, which was incredibly intimidating at the time. This was my first independent animatic. In last year’s InvictusCon, Harlan popped into my stream as I was explaining my animatic thought process to my viewers, shaking with both excitement and terror. I was stunned when he offered to voice it himself. The next day, he sent me the audio file. To this day, I am still stunned he spent so much time and effort to create something. It was the encouragement I needed to finish a longer-form animatic. It may be only a minute and some change, but this is a whole year of my life condensed - my obsession, my adoration, my passion for not only this podcast but for art in general, both visual and audio.

It’s by happy accident that I finished this right at the cusp of the Season 5 finale. It almost perfectly slots in. So… let’s all pretend that this animatic took me a month to do rather than the year I spent sweating on my couch and complaining about the number of times I forgot Arthur’s wooden finger.

on EVERYBODY’S soul charlie dowd will return tonight

(arthur voice) our time in the cannibalism pit really fixed the marriage I think