AI Could Never make Shit Like Real People

by Depraved Necromancer (BvinYa_Raama)

Summary:

[Crackfic of Fanfic; Dark Livestream inspired]

The Dark Lord eyed the blond wizard kneeling before him with mild disdain, detectable despite the hood he had taken to wearing of late. "Lucius," he murmured. "You may rise." His red eyes glittered within the shadows cast by the hood. "Do have a sꞓat, now; what is it that brings you to my office today?"

This line gets... creatively interpreted.
Very creatively interpreted.

Notes:

• For Anna_Hopkins, AmiRiddle_2005, floral_is_fading, True_Gold.
• Inspired by Dark Livestream by Anna_Hopkins

A Dark Livestream parody, inspired by a conversation in Anna_Hopkins' server.
For Asa, Esmeralda, TrueGold and Floral

Chapter 1: Take A Scat

Notes:

Esmeralda: 'Ah yes, V telling Lucius to have a shit, after telling him to rise'

Take A Scat

"Lucius, you may rise." Just as the blond Death Eater was getting to his feet, the Dark Lord continued, waving his hand graciously at his chairs. "Do have a scat now."

Lucius blinked. Had he heard that right? Surely the Dark Lord meant seat, and -

"Must I repeat myself?"

He had dawdled too much; but when the blond moved forward to settle on one of the chairs, he found them, to his greatest bewilderment, a set of leather backed ceramic sanitaryware

A row of three toilets.

The chairs... were toilets.

 

"Milord!?"

Lucius floundered, looking desperately at his comrades.

"A shit, Lucius." Barty grinned. "He means for you to take a shit."

 

All the blood drained from the blond's face.

"I, surely, milord-"

"Come now, Lucius, we don't have all day."

"Here?" He sounded faint to his own ears. His eyes moved to Crouch, who seemed openly amused by his predicament and showed no intention of leaving.

‘In front of them?’ He wanted to ask.

 

"Barty," The Dark Lord beckoned, and for a momen, Lucius was a naïve fool who thought that the Lord was about to send the others away. "The view is better from this side."

 

What humiliation was this?

In the end, Rabastan seemed to be the one to show a bit of kindness.

"Our Lord has, in his sabbatical in the continent," He murmured delicately into Lucius's ear, "developed highly... unusual tastes."

What?

The Dark Lord was amused enough to allow the exchange.

"He really does mean for you to take a shit."

 

Lucius was sure that he was about to faint. Rabastan gave him a little nudge, and with buckling legs, the blond moved to the chair- the toilet seats and reluctantly lifted his robes. He had never sat on plain ceramic before. It looked cold and uncomfortable.

 

Later, the three were seen walking back to the hallway, Rabastan's arm looped around a shoulder hunched miserably under a blond curtain. Being congratulated on his initiation.

"Only the true faithful ever do it." Barty cackled. "Welcome back, old friend."

~

Chapter 2: Better Start Filling It

Summary:

Asa: Lucius would be the type to take a potion that eliminates the contents of his bowels so that he never ever uses the bathroom

"But, but... My stomach is empty, my lord."

Better Start Filling It

"Have a scat," Said the Lord.

 

After much debate, Lucius had been forced to lift up his robes and perch down uncomfortably onto the ceramic toilet seat.

He waited; they waited.

Finally the the Dark Lord lost his graciousness.

"Must you keep us all waiting?"

 

Lucius flushed an unflattering shade. "There's nothing to-" He paused, feeling three prickling stares on his neck. “To”-

"Dump?" Barty finished for him unhelpfully. "Take the Entrailsweeper everyday, do you?"

Lucius blushed again, not in the habit of discussing his digestive extras with his colleagues.

 

The Dark Lord seemed to consider it properly. "No, I understand. We all have our preferences."

Lucius looked up, beaming.

A long, scaly hand was proffering him an apple.

"It’s nothing a decent dose of laxatives cannot solve." The Lord smiled graciously. "What am I, if not a merciful lord?"

 

Rabastan nudged him back to life.

With cold fingers and the pallor of a dead man, Lucius accepted the fruit.

"I thank you, my lord." He whispered faintly, eyes glazed. His soul had probably ascended; he was watching it from beyond the ceiling of the office. "You are indeed the most merciful."

 

A dead man.

The apple crunched sweetly under his incisors. There was a plate being readied just for him.

All apples. Laxative loaded apples.

A dead man, surely, from sheer exertion, if not excretion.

~

Chapter 3: Shit For The Camera!

Summary:

TrueGold: Okay wait! I just had a spinoff idea: what if instead of killing people on DL, Voldemort made people shit in front of the camera

Smile for the camera!

Shit For The Camera!

The latest episode of Dark Livestream would be on air in fifteen minutes, read the notification. Special episode; the Lord had titled it a sort of human experiment.

“Act of Mercy,” read the title.

 

When the watchers finally logged in, they were surprised, but excited to see a row of people in chains. An episode of torture, wondered the viewers.

“You may be wondering,” The Dark Lord’s voice carried in through the speakers, a prelude to the man himself, “why I have chosen to entertain an unusually large number of esteemed guests today.”

“Please, by all means,” The camera was being moved to hover uncomfortably in front of the faces of the chained people, “take a gander; today’s experiment is on tolerance and acceptance.”

‘Recruitment,’ chimed Assistant from the chat.

Following which, the chatbox exploded.

“We must be tolerant of each other’s limits,” The Lord said grandiloquently. “As we must be of our own. We must accept that our lives are, inevitably, moved by a higher power.”

 

A brief pause.

“The higher power being, of course,” The camera had reached the end of its course of showing the prisoners and begun to drift back into a wider shot, “me.”

Claps. A round of donation. The crowd surely loved their lord’s performative grandeur.

The man had turned to the row of people who looked like they would rather be anywhere else in the world. Unwilling recruits, said someone in the chats; Bellatrix corrected them by revealing that the Dark Lord was offering a second chance to certain undesirables. A chance to quit their rebelliousness and pledge themselves in His service.

 

“Do you accept?” The Lord asked, commanding the kneeling prisoners to look up at him.

Yes, came the chorus; the chat could see that this pleased the Lord greatly.

“Very well; you may rise.”

 

“And now,” The Dark Lord had turned back to face the camera, holding up his hands in a two-fingered gesture: V for Voldemort, “Shit for the camera!”

 

The camera panned to the farthest end of the hall in which they were filming; and now the viewers could see that a setup had been arranged for the newly pledged faithful.

“Our services, unfortunately,” began his Lordship, “do not have enough lavatories for the number of guest rooms we have in the basement. He turned to smile at the row of the prisoners. “But of course, you are all well-fed and watered, are you not? Come now, friends;”

The row of hopeful faces had faltered.

“I cannot deny you your relief any longer.”

He gestured at the single ceramic toilet on the platform; surrounded by filming equipment of all angles.

“Roger?” The Dark Lord stretched out a hand benevolently, “come now; you are first in line.”

 

“No?”

The prisoners shuffled awkwardly, and then the rest of the group had the smart idea to retreat. Roger was indeed a few feet away from the pack when he realised the Dark Lord was clapping, encouraging him to mount his seat.

“Good. You may now defecate. The rest of you,” Said the Lord, “take your... seats.”

 

This lot was certainly more eager to scramble and settle around the rows of foldable steel chairs that had appeared around the pedestal. After all, what reality television was complete without a row of live audience?

 

“Yes, Roger? Is there a problem?”

He was a half-starved, raggedy man; there was no doubt the poor man had nothing in his stomach to expel, even if he wanted to.

“No?”

“I can’t.”

“Very well, Roger. You’ve wasted our screen-time long enough; you may go.”

A spell shot from the Dark Lord’s hand just as the man moved to stand. The splatter-zone experience, the Dark Lord hoped aloud with amusement, was to die for.

“Number two, Rosetta. Hop on, now.” The Dark Lord paused, sniffed delicately and smiled- wide, terrible and utterly delighted. The second prisoner was levitated onto the seat with a lazy flick. “Yes,” He grinned, “this is the low tolerance I was hoping for.”

Really living up to her cell number, it would seem.

 

“How kind of you to have obliged the moment I asked? Hmm; it is a pity we did not get to capture it on camera; but since you have been so obedient...”

“You are accepted.” He graciously welcomed the newest Death Eater into his ranks. “Next!”

~

Notes:

Excitement ❌
Excrement ✅

Chapter 4: Quantum Shitting Through the nth Dimension

Summary:

Floral: I mean, if hes going to Livestream recruitment hazing with this kind of thing, might as well do it in style was more the vibe.
I'm trying to come up with the wizarding version of 'thrusters' but now I'm just stuck on the concept of DL!Voldemort just full sending public humiliation rituals with all the style and aplomb that his donators can buy

Behold, the Scat Eviscerator!

Quantum Shitting Through the n^th Dimension

“You have a visitor, Milord.” Barty cleared his throat.

“This steak is disgusting.” The Dark Lord spat out his bite, burning the meat off his plate. “I couldn’t let even Nagini eat it. Lucius!”

“Make him wait,” Rabastan whispered to Barty. “Do you expect our Lord to go without his breakfast?”

“It’s a sponsor, Milord.” A big sponsor- a company; the sort they couldn’t keep waiting for too long.

“Lucius!” The Dark Lord called again, and then proceeded to send the burn through the Mark. “I need another steak.”

Rabastan scampered to the kitchens to bully the elves. Barty was left to escort their well-paying sponsor into the presence of their irate Lord.

 

The Master of the Manor made his appearance in the throne room after half an hour of what everyone supposed was nervous primping.

“Yes,” The Dark Lord was rubbing his chin, considering the blond with narrowed eyes. “Yes, you’ll do perfectly.”

“Milord, you called for me?”

“Take a scat, Lucius.”

Again, the blood drained out of his pasty pale face. “Milord!”

Lucius lifted his robes unhappily, looking around for the nearest toilet bowl. They had taken to stocking at least two for each room in the Dark Lord’s side of the Manor. Three, if it was a parlour.

“Oh no. No sanitary wares for you, Lucius. No; you’ve made quite clear to us your struggles with hard, cold ceramic.” It sounded rather ominous. “I believe we have finally found the perfect solution for you.”

He indicated a large box in the middle of the room. Lucius moved closer to it, brows furrowed in confusion. And then baulked.

The Dark Lord looked rather satisfied. “One of our American sponsors,” He began, cutting his steak into little pieces, “sent a salesman to our premises after the last livestream. Suffice to say, I have been very impressed by his pitch. This,” A wave of his hand began unravelling the packaging, “is the tester.

Now, Lucius, I realise that your poor eating habits and secret dalliances with the Entrailsweeper-” Lucius flinched; did he think Lord Voldemort would not notice? “-have resulted in the most pathetic performances amongst my faithful.”

 

TurboShitt™, read the box.

Shit with full thrusters!

“What is this, my lord?” He just knew that it boded nothing good for him.

Rabastan and Barty sniggered. Lucius, in his antiquated pureblood upbringing, had never seen a children’s potty. He had grown up with what generations of Malfoys used: the training chamberpot, then the bare essentials of using the installed lavatories- before graduating, of course, to the Entrailsweeper potion and never having to resort to mere toilets again.

 

The TurboShitter was indeed something like a children’s potty at first sight, but it was supposed to resize magically to fit anyone and came with thick padding to adhere to the shape of the user’s buttocks.

Lord Voldemort bade the man to settle onto the seat and strap himself in: the ankle straps first, spreading his legs; and then the five-point straps to secure his torso onto the backrest, and then Barty was enlisted to swing the plastic crossbar restraint into place.

“For your own sake, let’s hope this attempt will be... fruitful.”

 

The TurboShitter whirred to life, and then Lucius was left holding onto the arm bars desperately while the turbo magic shook, spun and rattled him for the entire contents of his stomach.

“You have to push, Lucius!” Barty wheezed. “The machine can’t do much if you don’t cooperate!”

Rabastan was fiddling with the instructions manual. “There’s a suction option?”

A second turbo whirred to life. Or rather, it began spinning so fast the whole seat had begun to glow; and then Lucius Malfoy looked as if he would ascend to the heavens. His jaw sagged; his composure broke, and then the patriarch of the Malfoy family was sobbing in his seat as the machine beat the shit out of him.

“Crikey!” Barty was doubled over in hysterics, slapping his thighs and clutching his belly. “Oh, Merlin, Merlin- I can’t-”

 

The Dark Lord had a look on his face that was nothing short of enamoured. He got up from his throne and walked to the machine, entranced.

“The TurboShitt™ will ring out warnings when the storage nears its full capacity,” Rabastan read loudly from the manual to more wheezes from Barty, “following which the machine will stop and reroute all traffic to the Scat Eviscerator.”

 

“Scat Eviscerator.” The Dark Lord echoed in wonder. “I like the sound of that. Barty, ring up Mr Schitt and tell him that his product has impressed Lord Voldemort and that we would like seventy seven of his TurboShitters shipped to our warehouse immediately.”

Barty was still cackling, now on his knees. There were tears in his eyes.

“Barty?”

"I'm laughing so much I think I might crap myself." He moaned amidst another round of hysterical guffaws. “Ouch, my stomach-” He could not look up without falling to pieces again.

He gasped, pushing the sight of Lucius rocking on the potty out of his mind and trying to steady himself enough to follow his Lord’s order. Only, Lord Voldemort was turning, slowly, diabolically.

“Barty...”

 

Barty Crouch was sobbing on the second TurboShitter, being drained at full throttle. Rabastan raced away to place the orders before the Dark Lord pulled out a third.

 

There was a row of TurboShitters and film equipment in the Celestial Court of the Malfoy estate. To make the most of the Eviscerator gunk for the gardens.

“Sweet Salazar, what is that abomination?” Asked a passing Death Eater.

“A potty farm. The Lord says the output is far greater than anything the plain ol’ ceramic crappers can produce.”

“Oh, Circe, are they being filmed?”

“Nah, they’re filming themselves. Bloody tourists.” The Death Eater studied the apparatuses and shrugged. “Apparently, it’s the hardcore fan experience.”

~

Notes:

For those of you who want to see the Turboshitter that inspired this fic:

"Why are there straps on his legs I am laughing so hard"
"Power to main thrusters, all systems are go"
Turbo Shit
"But he's still wearing his pants 😭"
"Pants aren't an issue when you're QUANTUM SHITTING THROUGH THE n^th DIMENSION"