Fandom: Malevolent (podcast)
Characters: Arthur Lester. John Doe. Noel Finley.
Chapter: 6/32
Read on AO3
---
"It's our fault," Noel stared into his fifth coffee cup, trying to feel his body again.
"I know," Arthur exhaled.
"I warned him… He wanted to help."
"He would—John!"
John's hand slammed hard on the map spread on the desk. Message received. Focus. Noel downed his coffee.
A dozen pins sprawled over New York. They might not find The Pallid Mask's halls in time.
"You take half, I take the other?" Noel suggested. They had no time to be safe about this. Oscar might already be dead. Or worse.
"If there's nothing here, Leerie's our last hope," Arthur said.
Fandom: Malevolent (podcast)
Characters: Arthur Lester. John Doe. Noel Finley.
Chapter: 5/32
Read from ch 1
---
Arthur's knee buckled with no warning. He dropped the dirty dinner plates—they shattered and shards dug into his palm as he collapsed.
"Arthur!" John cried.
"I'm fine," Arthur hissed. His right thigh spasmed and ached painfully when he tried to get up, so he didn't.
"Kid?" Noel's voice from the table behind him.
"Do you need a—"
"I don't need a doctor!" Arthur said firmly. "I just need, just—" he panted, suddenly out of breath.
Footsteps, slow and careful, rounded him.
"He's holding out his hand."
"Let's go see Oscar," Noel said.
Arthur slapped Noel's hand away.
"All right."
Fandom: Malevolent (podcast)
Chapter: 4/32
Characters: Oscar.
Warning: Kidnapping.
Read on AO3: Chapter 4: Cup Chapter 1: Ruin
---
Hands held Oscar's shoulders, someone kicked his knees; he fell. Fists yanked his hair until his eyes teared. The sculpted face of their occult God looked down on the spectacle, expressionless.
Out from the shadows something gold emerged. A cup. A mockery of the vessel for the blood of Christ.
The cup-carrier approached in step to the chanting. Oscar grew faint, choking.
"Drink, false priest. Know the truth." Their voice was muffled behind the pale mask.
"I know the truth," Oscar said, weaker than he intended. The mad faces carved on the cup seemed to be alive.
The cult of the Pallid Mask are still after John Doe, the voice in Arthur's head. Residing in New York City, Arthur uses his friends Noel Finley and Father Oscar to try to take them down once and for all.
By getting involved Noel and Oscar are in danger of harm or death. Or worse. Now they must try to keep themselves safe and sane; a task more easily said than done.
Read from the start on AO3
Read the latest chapter on AO3
or see below the Read More
"No, Noel, you're still injured," Oscar pushed Noel back down in his couch. "You let Arthur help you, won't you allow me?"
"Can't help getting restless," Noel sighed.
"You could explain your cult mystery to me?" Oscar asked. "I'm a good listener."
"Gettin' involved is dangerous." Noel crossed his arms.
"I know."
Noel smiled curiously at him, then.
"You're a great help to us. To me."
"It's my pleasure." Oscar's breath caught when Noel grabbed his wrist.
"Why?" Noel held his gaze. "Just your Christian duty, or…?"
Oscar looked away.
"I suppose it's another mystery for you to solve, detective."
The cult of the Pallid Mask are still after John Doe, the voice in Arthur's head. Residing in New York City, Arthur uses his friends Noel Finley and Father Oscar to try to take them down once and for all.
By getting involved Noel and Oscar are in danger of harm or death. Or worse. Now they must try to keep themselves safe and sane; a task more easily said than done.
Read from the start on AO3
Read the latest chapter on AO3
or see below the Read More
Oscar took another swig from the bottle in the dark kitchen. Trembling like a fawn; dreams of demons and worms and axes clung to his mind like spiders. His mind was irrevocably scarred by demonic influence and he should get used to these dreams, already.
The doorbell rang in quick, frantic bursts; any distraction was welcome at this point.
Somehow he had the capacity for more fear and alarm.
"Parker! Oh, God!"
"We need to lie low. Please?" Parker—Arthur, his name was Arthur—held up a barely conscious, pale, so pale Noel at his side.
Oscar ushered them in.
Fandom: Malevolent (podcast)
Characters: Arthur Lester, John Doe, Noel Finley.
Warnings: Canon-typical Violence
Chapter: 1/32
Summary:
The cult of the Pallid Mask are still after John Doe, the voice in Arthur's head. Residing in New York City, Arthur uses his friends Noel Finley and Father Oscar to try to take them down once and for all.
By getting involved Noel and Oscar are in danger of harm or death. Or worse. Now they must try to keep themselves safe and sane; a task more easily said than done.
AO3: link
Written for @thedrabblecollective's May 2026 Drabble Challenge
Arthur spat on the body at his feet.
"He's dead, Arthur," John said.
"I know," Arthur kicked him. "How's Noel?"
"He's not moving. I can't tell if he's…"
Arthur drove his heel into yielding, cooling flesh and stepped on the corpse.
"The Pallid Mask don't know when to quit," Arthur sneered and dropped on his knees at Noel's prone form.
"They will learn," John vowed, and sighed in relief. "I can feel his pulse, he's alive."
Arthur turned him over, cradling his neck.
"How's he looking, John?"
"His new suit's ruined with bloodstains."
"Hah. We'll send them the drycleaning bill."
I know you have dreams of yellow (and I'm sorry) | 999 words
Fandom: Malevolent (podcast)
Rating: M
Characters: Noel Finley. The King in Yellow. Oscar.
Relationships: Noel Finley/The King in Yellow. Noel Finley/Oscar.
Warnings: Non-consensual somnophilia
Additional tags: Sexsomnia, Possession, Fear, Frottage, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort
Summary:
Noel knew the King in Yellow was powerful in dreams, could whisper and manipulate and twist and change reality, even possess someone! But Noel was certain the King was dead.
This was just a nightmare.
---
The King visits Noel's dreams. And then Oscar's...
Read on AO3 <- click here
or see below the Read More
--
This is a dream, Noel thought desperately. It must be. He went to bed in New York, and he was still in bed in New York and this wasn't real.
This wasn't the grand halls of Carcosa's palace filled with the ethereal plucking of golden harps, and that wasn't the King looming over him. This was a dream.
It had to be.
Noel stood frozen, naked, and didn't dare to breathe.
"You're dead," Noel choked.
The King angled his head and laughed.
"Am I?"
Noel swallowed and wished he felt confident.
"You don't need me any more…! Why am I here?"
"I've missed you," the King intoned and yellow ribbons appeared from thin air, drawing him in like a net. Noel didn't struggle—it would only make it worse.
"The feeling isn't mutual."
"Have you forgotten the pleasures of serving me? The bliss I offer?" The ribbons tightened like grasping hands of cruel iron, and the King leaned down and spoke softly like a lover. "My priests are capable of wonders your puny human priest could not imagine."
"What?"
"Your Oscar," the King purred.
Noel startled awake with a flinch and hot murmurs in his ear. A palm pressed on his groin in rhythm with grinding against his ass. This was just another part of the dream, set dressing, a fake— wait, no, he was awake, in New York. He's in New York, and he's Noel, and—
And he's so fucking hard it ached. The arousal coursed through his body sudden like a car crash, uninvited and familiar.
"Oscar?" Noel choked and made to move, finding his underwear down his thighs, restricting his movements as that hand worked his hard shaft. He tried to move—one, two, three, breathe, fucking damn it…! It's just Oscar, so, he could stop this. Why couldn't he move?
A deep moan of unbridled pleasure kissed his neck. Noel forced himself over onto his back, pushing his palm into Oscar's chest to get some distance. Oscar didn't yield much.
"Warn a guy you wanted feel him up asleep next time?" Noel tried to smile, more of a grimace than anything. Memories floated to the surface of his mind like bloated corpses. The associated fear and panic nauseated him, once the instincts that kept him on edge and alive—they had no place in their bedroom.
Oscar climbed over him, his own boxers down, frotting against his painfully hard, dry member. Oscar didn't seem to notice or care that he flinched or hissed. Oscar: a generous, giving lover to his own detriment. This was wrong behavior.
"O—Oscar? What're you doing?"
By the light of his permanently switched on bedside lamp he caught the reflection of yellow in Oscar's eyes. It was light from the lightbulb. It must be. But Oscar's eyes were open and awake, yet not focused on Noel, not focused on anything.
"Say something!" Noel jostled his shoulders, finding himself weak and trembling. "Oscar!"
A hand closed around his throat. Noel's eyes widened and he withdrew his hands as if burned.
"…King?"
The hand moved, fingers pried between his teeth and down his throat like a tentacle would have.
"That's better, aye?" Oscar's voice asked, used by someone—something else. Yellow glinted in Oscar's eyes. A harp played in the shadows.
The King loomed over him again, and he didn't struggle—it would only make it worse for them both. He canted his hips to meet the movements, getting on with the program.
His wires for terror and arousal had crossed far too many times, now hopelessly woven together. He hated how good it felt to be near something that puppeted his lover's body, to be afraid for Oscar's safety and sanity.
Wet fingers stroked his cheek as soothing tones in a language Noel didn't recognize fell from Oscar's lips.
He closed his eyes.
Polished marble— tall spires— maddening carvings—
He opened his eyes wide, tears running down his face.
"Leave him out of this," he begged. "It's me you want. Not him."
"You're mine. Just mine," Oscar smiled.
"Yes. Only yours. You have me," Noel forced the words out, gripping Oscar's hips and moved in the way their bodies liked.
This didn't count. His pleasure didn't count, his building orgasm didn't count…! Nothing counted except getting out of this with sanity intact.
He clutched the sheets as his body twitched with his climax, heart racing and mind tattered and weak.
As if waiting for Noel's downfall Oscar moaned too loud than was safe, painting Noel's belly with his release. Oscar watched him, unseeing, smiling all dopey as if it was real, as if this counted for something. Then he rolled back to his side of the bed, pulled his boxers up, and softly returned to sleep.
In the blood rushing in Noel's ears the strings of a discordant harp still sang. Noel pressed over his ears to silence it—it didn't stop—and he shook.
This happened because of him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered thickly, hot tears rolling down his face.
--
A hand gently shook Oscar awake. Slowly stirring, he stretched and luxuriated in the bliss of a good night's sleep.
"Morning," Oscar yawned in Noel's direction.
Noel inhaled slow, scrubbing his face with his hands.
"That you, Oscar?"
Oscar rubbed the hazy sleep from his eyes and snorted.
"Who else? Oh—" He sat up and cupped Noel's tear-stained face. Noel's smile trembled. "What's wrong?"
"Do…" Noel swallowed. "Do you remember anything?"
"Of what? What happened?" Oscar allowed Noel to topple him over and curl into him. "A nightmare?"
"I'm not afraid of you," Noel said, muffled against his chest.
"That's… good?" Oscar rubbed his hand up and down Noel's back, trying to coax Noel to relax and let go of his nightmare visions.
"Did you dream of anything?"
"Hm... I think… an orchestra?" Oscar frowned at the hitch in Noel's breath.
"Was there a harp?"
"I think so—" Oscar interrupted himself as Noel suddenly sobbed, and he held him tight.
The Mistreated Body of Arthur Lester: A Catalogue COMPLETE
Read on AO3 <- Ch 6
Read on AO3 <- Ch 1
A cataloguing of Arthur Lester’s wounds and injuries, to be used as an optional reference guide for fanworks.
Based on my interpretation.
Tags: Meta, Encyclopedia, Essay, Data Collection, Non-Fiction, Catalogue of Arthur Lester's Injuries, Contains Spoilers, Each chapter is one season
Thank you, everyone who has left a comment or kudos or bookmark, I appreciate it a lot. I hope you have found/will find this a useful resource, that is the whole reason I started working on this :)
hello! 20 for the ao3 ask game! if that has already been asked, then 7.
20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?
Hm. mm. I think it'd be the first Malevolent fic I wrote, though specifically chapter 7. I really like the comfort and intimacy I wrote there. It's got touch-starved Arthur and Noel helping him with that.
No Path Was Solely My Own
-
You're the only ask I've gotten, so I'll answer 7, too!
07 If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?
Oooh, an excuse to make a list! rubs hands together
The Ark: 2
Diablo Swing Orchestra: 2
Austra: 2
Midlake: 1
Agnes Obel: 1
Lost In The Trees: 1
Laleh: 1
Robbie Williams: 1
Honestly I thought I used Diablo Swing Orchestra more times. huh.
I stopped using lyrics for flash fiction fics when it started taking too long to find one that fit, so now I only use song lyrics as titles when the song itself sparked the story. For longfics I try to find one song that Fits just right and loop it while writing.
Fun fact: according to spotify wrapped I played the song for I'm either really loved by God, or I have sold my soul 166 times. (It's a Malevolent fic, Oscar/Arthur/John unrequited love triangle with a happy ending)
hold me down and make it hurt, it's for my own good | 1k words
@flashfictionfridayofficial
ID: FFF333 BROKEN WINGS in white over black. END ID.
Fandom: Malevolent (podcast)
Rating: M
Characters: Oscar. Arthur Lester. Noel Finley. John Doe.
Relationships: Oscar/Noel Finley.
Warnings: Bad BDSM Etiquette.
Additional tags: Whipping. Whump. Hurt/Comfort. No Safeword. Not Safe Sane and Consensual. Religious Guilt. Religious Trauma. Non-Sexual. Catharsis. Men Crying. Arthur is blind. Arthur and John share a body.
Summary:
Oscar practiced the religious act of mortification of the flesh; self-flagellation. He's supposed to be spiritually cleansed, to suffer in unity with Jesus and become more divine, less wicked, less sinful.
He cannot make himself trust his own judgment when it's enough. He needs someone else to do it, decide when he's had enough.
He trusts Arthur Lester—his purpose—most above all.
Oscar thinks he can handle it.
---
Oscar gets whipped by Arthur.
Read on AO3 <- click here
or see below the Read More to read it
---
"You don't have to be here," Oscar said while unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed hard and passed it to Noel, their fingers lingering warmly.
"I'm staying," Noel said.
Oscar relaxed minutely, secretly relieved. He stepped back to the middle of the living room and lowered onto his knees. He inhaled deep, willing his nerves to settle, hoping this worked.
What kind of priest was he to fail at his own flagellation?
Behind him Arthur muttered something to John under his breath, swinging Oscar's discipline in the air with a whistling whoosh.
"How many times?" Arthur asked, voice thrumming with… Excitement?
"Until you think I've had enough."
"You're leaving it up to me?"
"I trust your judgment."
That was the crux of it all: Oscar couldn't trust his own judgment with this. His back littered with bruises, arm aching from repetition, always just one more strike away from making up for all his sins and mistakes; he's never earned his cleansing when he held the seven-tailed scourge.
If Arthur said his penance is complete he would believe it.
He gets no warning before it starts.
The first strike is so soft, off mark—Arthur coordinating his sightless movements with John's description until he finds Oscar's back with each swing.
Oscar schooled his face as the pain built, not wanting to scare Noel.
Through pain and suffering he is enduring one small fraction of what Jesus did. It's supposed to bring him closer to the divine. He imagines his sins sloughing off his soul in thin, thin layers, leaving him like—
"Mmgh," he grunted despite himself, as the three-knotted tails found a tender bruise— again— again— Was Arthur aiming for it?
He bowed his head to hide a wince and shifted to the side. Arthur corrected likewise. The pain lanced through his back like fire, up his neck and tightened his jaw.
"Arthur, wai—" he bit his tongue with the next strike, and Arthur didn't wait so he leaned forward.
"Sit still." Arthur's shoes scuffed the floor as he stepped closer.
Oscar couldn't bear the disappointed tone in Arthur's voice.
"I'm sorry."
And he made an effort, he truly did. No more meditations on God and forgiveness, there was no time for it between the lashes. The pain didn't have time to ebb, he had no possibility to brace. Is that blood or cold sweat down his back? He tasted iron, he'd bit through his lower lip; he tensed at the realization when it ran down his chin.
Somewhere he was aware Noel sat now on a chair in front of him. His large, rough hands closed around his upper arms and straightened his bowed back.
"Noel, No—oough, mhh!" Oscar clamped his mouth shut. The world seemed to tilt to the side, making his stomach flip as nausea overcame him.
"Don't move, angel," Noel said with firmness. Deliriously Oscar wondered if this was how angels suffered when their wings got torn off.
He nodded and his eyes ran over with tears. Just a physical reaction, nothing more. Noel's wallet pressed in-between his jaws, and he urged Oscar to breathe insistently.
He hitched.
It's not supposed to be like this.
It's too much, too painful, too far beyond what he had ever inflicted on himself.
He wanted it to end.
He jerked in Noel's grip and found himself locked in tight, unable to pull away. Noel was much too strong and the world spun so fast.
He pushed himself up on his knees, allowed this much movement but the next strike hit on his lower back and he saw spots in his vision and keened, hurling the wallet out, almost vomiting.
"Enough, enough, Arthur!"
…
It stopped. He panted open-mouthed, staring unseeing into Noel's chest, fixed on the pattern of his tie-clip.
Arthur's hands fell on his shoulders hard; he flinched.
"You entrusted me with this," Arthur said.
"Yes, but—"
Arthur and John's fingers moved down and pressed into new and old bruises and wounds. Oscar gasped sharply, moving forward to escape the pressure until he felt the tie-clip against his cheek and breathed in Noel's scent, heard the beating of Noel's heart. The fingers moved with him, and he had nowhere to go now. His tears were true, now.
"I don't think you've had enough."
"Arthur, John, please, it's too much—I can't."
A beat.
"Oscar is a pious man, John, he knew what he asked for."
Oscar shook his head, dizzy and faint with the movement. The hands on his arms tightened and steadied him.
"No, I didn't, I didn't, please— Noel! Noel, I'm done, I'm done, let go of me please…!" he pleaded pathetically, voice thick and shaking.
"You're not done until Arthur says so. It's what you wanted, remember?"
"I don't anymore, please…!"
"Seven more," Arthur decided. "Count down, priest."
With an end in sight it's suddenly bearable, he clings to it desperately as he drools and bleeds into Noel's shirt. He felt his right hand shaking uncontrollably. Humiliation at his own cowardice burned hotter than his back.
He asked for this. He can do this.
"Seven."
The very second the scourge struck him Oscar changed his mind, even with an end in sight it's too much. He was on fire, choking, dying. The only comfort was Noel's thighs bracketing him, scaffolding him.
"No."
"Come on, doll," Noel whispered, "you're so close."
"…ssix?"
Thwap!
"Fahv."
Fwip!
"Ff—ffor."
Snap!
"Th—tee."
Whoosh!
"Ou..."
Thwap!
"Nnnn…"
Swish!
His lips trembled, bloody and slick. He gasped fast and shallow, collapsed into Noel's open lap when the grip on his arms let go, his arms hanging over Noel's legs.
Pain.
Everything was pain.
And…
Deep within, a kernel of something cleansed, something forgiven of its sin.
He rasped an inhale and exhaled a sob. Relief washed over him like laudanum, morphine, heroin— it worked.
It worked…!
"Oh, God," he moaned.
"Very good," Arthur said, so close behind him. Someone caressed his hair.
"Thank you, thank you, th— God, thank you," Oscar cried.
