#Emotional Manipulation CW

[toringo]

Attached at the hip...

More of the childhood friends au

[timeclipsed]

❝I'm telling you, Sonic, there's something weird going on here. The Doctor's hiding something from me.❞

— ;; DIGITS SWIFTLY RAPPING AGAINST SUPERCOMPUTER keys, Tails works tirelessly to deracinate the firewalls locked in place, encrypting and shrouding precious digital documents from prying eyes.

Lopsidedly lounging on a nearby workbench, having shoved all the tools and material to the floor to make room for his stannic chassis, watching his "brother" work with mild disinterest, "Sonic" pipes up to give his two cents.

❝Playin' the game of fools if ya expected anything else, lil' bro!❞

— ;; ACICULATE APPENDAGE RAISING, OFFERING SOMETHING of a supportive thumbs up, he reclines further. Ugh. Mentally noting the behavior, Tails tucks away the necessity of a behavioral adjustment for later.

❝Just do what'cha do best and we'll have the case cracked wide open in no time— like the rotten egg himself!❞

— ;; COALESCING FULLY, UNABLE TO REPRESS the twinging smile on his lips at the half-praise, half-jest, fingers sweep the keyboard, shattering through every thickly-coded riddle thrown his way. In lieu of his physically weakened state as of recent, he'd began to have suspicions that things were awry behind the scenes.

Of course there was no reason in the multiverse to fully trust Robotnik as is; the noticeable gaps in memory and sudden decline in health only acting as fodder towards that volcanic skepticism.

Chiming with a gaiety fanfare, signaling granted access, Tails immediately begins his deep dive into the depths of the raw mental spillage, reconstructed into paragraphed verbiage.

❝Got it! Now let's see... what's Ro-nut-nik hiding in here...❞

— ;; CIPHERED FILES WITH ENIGMATIC NAMES are the bulk of what's contained within; of course the Doctor would resort to using a secret language, presumably one made by himself. Something no one else could disentangle.

Frustrating, certainly, but it does little to sway his search. Thankfully so.

Concealed within layers of folders, seemingly all full of junk and throwaway text, a document labeled PROJECT MARIA is discovered. There, an array of text logs from the Doctor, journaling what seems to be the process. Nausea churning in a curious stomach suddenly, he clicks on the most recent entry.

Sensing his sudden drop in energy, Sonic hops off the bench and approaches from behind, gazing over Tails' shoulder.

❝What'dja find, bud?❞

❝Not sure... some kind of logbook for a thing called PROJECT MARIA. No idea what it's about, but I definitely recognize the name... Maria, she was Shadow's sister.❞

Entry 27 12/13/xx

Perhaps I began siphoning Maria's essence all at once, or far too quickly. The vessel shows signs of sickness, with symptoms similar to the ones she dealt with on the ARK. The boy complains of pounding headaches, chronic fatigue, and a persisting cough from the lungs. Currently, he's on consistent bedrest.

It's been a chore to keep all his little friends away, however. Aside from the results of Project Shadow from this timeline, none of them are any the wiser, and I intend to keep it that way.

I was eager when that idiot, Starline, approached me with such a braggadocious front over all his technology and tactics. Far too easily disposed of; I should have realized much sooner his methods weren't perfect.

I'm going to have to recalculate and retrace. If the boy gets any sicker, his vessel will be useless to me. There must be a way to reverse the effects of ailment.

❝S-Sonic?❞

— ;; INSTINCTIVELY LEANING TOWARDS CHAOS' PRESENCE behind him, his eyes scan the words over twice, then thrice. Still, yet, processing them seems impossible. Everything clicks into place, as desperately as he wishes they wouldn't.

Flickering, whirring, gears seem to kick into overdrive as Chaos understands the implications of what's scrawled out in front of him, a hand places itself on Tails' shoulder, urging him to stand.

❝...We should go.❞

— ;; IMPROMPTU ESCAPE PLAN CUT TRAGICALLY short as by the time Chaos has Tails' weakened form on its feet, a third voice joins the fray uninvited; the single voice they'd dreaded hearing.

❝Again?❞

❝Oh, Tails. We've had this confrontation how many times now...?❞

— ;; BEGINNING HIS SLOW APPROACH TOWARDS the pair, Robotnik bends down, letting the folds of his wide smile find the same space Tails' horrified breaths shudder out into, hidden behind Chaos' profile.

❝And every single time, it ends the same exact way... you're a little too smart for your own good.❞

❝Back up, Doctor.❞

❝Y-You... lied to me. It was n-never about getting home, was it?❞

— ;; POSTURE STRAIGHTENING, TOWERING HIGH ABOVE Tails and Chaos, the gleam on Robotnik's spectacles tinges off the dim light above. Fixing his gaze on Chaos, he speaks once more, but he still addresses the other.

❝I think we both know there's only way this is going to end, boy. The question is, do you want your new friend here smashed to bits in the process?❞

— ;; SHUDDERING GASPS ESCAPE TAILS' THROAT and he clings tighter to Chaos, shaking his head wildly as tears spill from squeezed eyes.

❝N-No! No, no, no! Don't touch him! Don't hurt him! I- I'll—❞

❝...Bud? Tails, no— don't listen to him!❞

❝...C-Chaos Sonic... initiate force shutdown process.❞

❝Tails—!❞

❝FORCE SHUTDOWN SUCCESSFUL.❞

— ;; CLATTERING TO THEIR FEET, OPENING the gap between Robotnik and Tails, Chaos lies inactive. The latter stares up at the former with petrified eyes, breaths murmuring and skipping raggedly.

❝Please don't... I-I... I'm scared...!❞

❝Is that so? Let me help you ease those fears so you can get to sleep. It's late, boy.❞

— ;; GRIPPING BANGS BETWIXT LONG FINGERS in one hand, the arm belonging to the other pulls back, fist promptly making contact with Tails' face.

And like a light losing power, the world goes dark.

[grislyintentions]

|| Immolate ; (Yaoshi Excerpt) ||

[Listen]

Obsession is the common thread that binds love to hate. A thin layer of separation that fails and bleeds, intermingling in want for definition until they are one and the same.

Push and pull. Black and white. Fear and attraction. There is not one without the other. And to feel is to be alive.

The hate, apathy, anger, loathing and want. The adoration, the need, the fear of emptiness and grief. Flavours of life in Abundance. Cherished beyond belief without relief.

Suffocating, snuffing out all resistance. With patience, time and passion. The mind is strong but flesh is weak. Is yielding. Is want.

Coexisting Codependence Never alone Forever haunted but more so with the idea of being left

In time, love blossoms whole. No matter how much of you has to die to make it happen.

[virtuoshosh]

Maker- Tell us about each of your fledglings

"Oh, are we talking Council business, now? How dull...ugh, fine, if you insist...well, you'll know all about Sascha, of course. Such a pretty thing, aren't they? Refined, obedient...the perfect sire, one might say—though, let me tell you, they weren't always that way. A walking disaster, really, when I first found them...simply spilling over with all this delicious despair. I made Sascha into the best version of what they were always meant to be—and just look at them now! And do I ever hear a word of thanks for my efforts, my endless benevolence? Peugh...but, that's why I have my new project. She's a captivating beauty—red hair and red lips. But damaged, with a fragile mind—like a helpless, wilted rose...and oh, the things I have planned for her will be—ah, whoopsie, I've gone and said too much, haven't I? I can't have the Council knowing about her just yet..."

[The Maker leans in and compels the Council's errand vampire] "...you're going to forget we ever had this conversation, and then you're going to walk outside and stand in oncoming traffic until someone runs you over."

@robin-thevamp

[bubblebbunch]

Childhood.

1. Luca and Sabrina, 7 and 2 years old. They used to be thick as thieves, but after their parents passed away, things were never quite the same again... the love they used to have for one another is what fuels Sabrina's hatred towards him today.

2. Noel, when he was still known as Noelle, coming home from school to his alcoholic father. Knowing that if he was ever to get anything around this house, he better act the part of a perfect child, as well as hiding any single thing he may want to keep to himself... He's already begun practising that ever-present smile of his.

3. Corwin's mother did, just like him, struggle with BPD and depression. Often accusing her son of lying to her and not caring about her, worried that he was going to leave her with his dad and that he actually hated her... After his parents' divorce, followed by a planned kidnapping by his own mother, Corwin learned very early on that love is a very, very complicated emotion.

[bugs-and-grass]

Long Day, Long Night

CW: Implied Emotional Manipulation, Misgendering, Parental Abuse

Midnight. Not a rare time for Kyle to see. His days often ended closer to 1-2 AM even on a good day. But today, Kyle had effectively done... next to nothing. Slept for several hours, even. The missed day of his medication was hell on his body and it showed. At least he had a few fun things to do. Low energy games. Watching video essays. Possibly a combination.

Mama perked up the moment he stood to move to his office setup. A reasonably good gaming PC setup for his income. Good enough to play some of the higher end games that came out as of late. Not like its owner was in the mood for those focus-intensive experiences anyway. He'd taken his night medication and just needed to pass the time before it kicked in. Just a few puzzles, and--

BRRRZZZZZT!

A pause. His Poryphone was ringing. But... he didn't expect a call. Not so late, and not from anyone he recognized. The number was from another region entirely.

BRRRZZZZZT!

Normally he'd block unknown numbers. Normally. But... something was off. Normally the caller ID would tag any suspicious numbers. But it was... just a normal number. From Unova, but still. It could have been a wrong number.

BRRRZZZZZT!

He'd give it a chance. Worst case scenario, it'd just be a quick misunderstanding to pass over. No big deal.

BRRRZZZ-- Beep! Kyle tapped to pick up the line and put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

As the call began, Chitters hopped her way up next to her trainer and under his free hand with a trill. But contrary to her expectations? He didn't start petting.

His eyes went wide. Fist clenched. Something was suddenly wrong. Very, very wrong.

"Wh-- YOU!?" Kyle's voice cracked as he yelled in shock, waking the other Pokemon as he did. "How the hell did you get this number?"

Lychee bounced her way up onto the desk next to Kyle's hand. Silvie was... confused. Why was human being loud? Was something wrong? Mama knew. Mama knew something was wrong.

"You-- No, don't talk over me. Don't talk--" Another voice was barely audible on the other side of the call. A woman's voice. Stern. Angry. Demanding. Chitters crawled up Kyle's sleeve as Lychee attempted to grab at his hand. It pulled up to pet at the Bounsweet's head.

"What? No. No, I--" The voice was interrupting. Incessant.

"Please, can you just let me-- MOM." His voice raised, both in volume and pitch. Any voice training was out the window in the moment. Mama pawed at Kyle's side to try and pull his attention back away. Something was wrong. She couldn't let her human deal with it. Not alone, at least. Chitters was on the same page, prodding at Kyle's cheek with a foreleg. An act that just garnered a scritch from his free hand. No further attention.

"Mom, you're not-- No. NO. Mom, I am NOT a little girl! I'm not a GIRL! You do NOT get to call me your DAUGHTER after everything." His voice raised further, attempting to break through the ramblings on the other end of the line. Lychee attempted to press her head against Kyle's arm, but he turned in his seat away from her as she did so. Simple bad timing.

"No, I-- I don't have the energy for-- Mom. MOM." The Flareon now in front of Kyle put her paws up onto his lap. Silvie padded her way to her mama's side and squeaked out a little confused mewl. She didn't know what was going on.

"CAN YOU LET ME GET TWO FUCKING WORDS IN!? I-- NO!" The Pokemon in the room furthered their attempts to get their owner's attention. To pull him away from the emotional threat. None of which worked, at least not fully.

"THAT'S NOT MY FUCKING NAME ANYMORE AND YOU KNOW IT! IT'S KYLE. K-Y-L-E. I AM A BOY. I HAVEN'T GONE BY THE NAME YOU GAVE ME IN FIVE YEARS NOW!" His voice was in a full shout now. Tears began running down his cheeks. Whatever was going on in this conversation, it was hitting him hard. Silvie backed away in fear. Mama noticed and fled to comfort her. The emotion in the room was nothing but tense.

"NO. FUCK OFF. You are getting NOTHING from me. You are NOT getting Dad's number. You are NOT going to call this number again. And if you come ANYWHERE near me, I-- NO. SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'M DONE. I'M FUCKING DONE WITH YOU. YOU'VE DONE NOTHING BUT TRY TO GET BACK IN BED WITH DAD FOR THE PAST YEAR AND YOU REFUSE TO FUCKING CHANGE. I'm done. I'M FUCKING DONE." Even Chitters had jumped off at this point. Her owner's mood had gone sour far faster than anyone could think. The voice on the line only got a couple more words in before being interrupted again.

"NO YOU ARE FUCKING NOT. YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY POWER OVER ME OR DAD ANYMORE. You are NOT to call this number again. FUCK. OFF. LEAVE THE BOTH OF US ALONE." A shrieked expletive sounded from the phone before Kyle hung up. His hands shook. His heart raced. This was the last fucking thing he needed.

And in a moment of weakness, a moment of lack of control, he threw the phone into the mountain of plushies on his bed. A Vibrava plush fell off to the side from the impact. He stood up from his office chair, stepped over... and faceplanted into bed. The flump of impact knocked another couple plushies loose.

A sob escaped his throat.

With the anger turning to grief, all of the Pokemon in the room approached once more. An attempt to comfort their trainer. Their friend. Mama brought Silvie onto the bed by his arm. Chitters nestled into his hair. Lychee sat by his face to give off her pleasant smells. Mama pulled herself up into bed and warmed up against Kyle's back.

More sobs left Kyle's throat as he clutched Lychee in his arms.

Not a single word was spoken the rest of the night. Only the sounds of a family of Pokemon worried for their trainer. Trying to help their friend feel better. Feel safe.

This was going to be a long night.

[cpirits]

★ ━━━━━━ She was so LIGHT, easily he could snap her neck, but where was the fun in having the most willing servant, giving her the chance to be closer to him━━ closer than she could ever picture.

His reiatsu was suffocating, he could see it on her face, and yet he enjoyed the feeling of power, of dominion he held over her, HIS LOVELY PHOENIX.

His fingers dug into her skull a little, he didn't need to hold her hair, making his fingers mesh with her skin to keep her in place. He had Momo right where she was wanted, at his feet, in his hold━━ soon she'd get a wish not thought of possibly, for her virginity to be taken by the one she devotedly served, to whom she'd give up herself, her soul.

"You are so cute, Momo..." He whispered in her face, tugging her close to breathe on her ear. A smile wrapped his lips and he stuck out his tongue to drag it along her ear. "I shall take your petals and give you rebirth."

Within, he knew she was still in-tact, and his body trembled to know that he'd get her innocence, to be her first, and for her to see his body, eventually.. But he wanted to take his time... ease into it, make her BEG.

His arm wasn't tired, but he set her down on her knees, going back to alight on his throne. Seated comfortably, he watched her shake, crooked a finger. "Come here."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐘 , 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 .    ━━     Hazel eyes that have long given up their light , gazed upon the one that would , soon , transcend all limitations . The heaviness of Aizen's REIATSU settled upon her ; Momo had witnessed it , in the few instances that required the Lord to show force , to DISCIPLINE the few that have yet to bend to his rule . A glimpse into the TRUE SELF of the man she'd once called Captain , FACADE TORN TO SHREDS , like it had never existed .

❝ My Lord … ❞  Lips trembled , soft breath caressed his face as she tried to process what he had just said to her . 

TO BEWITCH A GOD … was she , his former [ falsely ] meek Lieutenant , truly capable of such ? TO STAND WITH HIM … she'd always wished it , remembering the silent vow she'd made , upon being chosen by him for the Fifth Division . TO DO RIGHT BY HIM , TO SERVE HIM .

Mouth agape , lids fluttered close for a moment before she , at last , continued … her lips , inches away from his own .

❝  Lord Aizen … might I know what you mean by … experiencing you ? ❞ Momo stammered , fumbled over her words as she realised how FOOLISH she must look , being so ignorant . ❝ Don't get me wrong , I— I'll do whatever you require of me , I just— I've never— ❞

She cut herself off , sensing yet another jolt of Aizen's reiatsu course through her , TAKING HER BREATH AWAY .

[cupcakeslushie]

Thinking about kendra confiscating donnie's battle shell,,,,, hmmmmm something something leaving him vulnerable, she could probably twist it to be about the other turtles if she really wanted to

Also something something changing someone's physical appearance without their consent as a form of torture

You really got me thinkin thoughts out here

Oh lord this ask slammed into my brain at full speed. Kendra turning Donnie’s battle shell into something that he used, not just for protection in battle, but also for sensory comfort. And then making it seem like he actually only wore it because his brothers were dangerous to be around. Guilting him into putting his discomfort aside just to be agreeable. 😭

Thanks for this brainrot!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

sometimes I hate how casually this fandom treats the idea of nightmare filling killers soul with negativity.

[whumpiary]

content warnings: abuse cycles, grooming, referenced noncon, referenced drugging, general dubcon vibes

-

Cass sits in the front seat with his head against the car window, hands tucked into the navy woolen sweater Christopher dressed him in this morning, watching droplets run long and silver along the glass. He has his feet tucked up, knees held to chest and, for once, Christopher doesn't say anything about keeping his shoes off the leather seats.

It’s grey outside. And cold. The heater blows soft and gentle on his face and the condensation keeps building on the glass. They’ve passed the rain now, though. Driven above it, maybe. They’d been on a steady, uphill climb for some time now, and they’d passed through fog a while back.

He doesn’t know where they’re going. He doesn’t know how far they’re driving or when they're heading back. He can’t remember if he saw anyone pack bags into the car. But that doesn’t mean anything either. It wouldn’t be the first time he thought they were going on a day trip and then they were gone for a week, two, three.

He can’t bring himself to fucking care today. He’s too angry and too tired and his body is aching too much.

Nat King Cole plays low through the speakers, the only other sound between them besides the car’s low hum. Christopher tried making conversation when they first started driving, attempting to stoke his boy into small talk and light hearted jokes. But silence is about the last line of protest Cass has to hold at the moment. So he holds it. And ten minutes into the drive, the music went on.

He’s glad, at least, for quiet. He’s glad the car is warm. The clothes he’s been dressed in are casual and comfortable for once. And if he sits very still and the road stays smooth, his body doesn’t even hurt that much. He’ll take the small wins. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Christopher tried to put him in a shirt and tie today. Thrown a fit, probably. 

Cass is focussed on watching a neck and neck race between two particularly tenacious rivulets when Christopher pulls into a gravel car park, turning the engine off. “Here we are.”

To call it a car park is generous. It’s more of a worn-down patch off the side of the road, loosely bordered with the sawn-off trunks of some old gums. Cass' eyes slide to Christopher, making no move to unbuckle, “Where? The side of the road?”

Christopher sighs, clearly tired of the attitude, but not annoyed enough to rise to it. “We’re going for a walk. Out you get.”

Cass looks out the window as Christopher steps out of the car. He can see a worn down path through the trees, low ferns and bush scrub giving away to yellowed dirt. Christopher can’t actually be fucking serious. A bush hike? When walking ten steps makes him ache?

By the time Christopher opens his door for him, he’s tucked himself even more tightly into the passenger seat.

“Out you get, darling.”

Cass stares at his hands, picking at the dead skin around his finger nails, “Get fucked.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m not going for a walk with you.”

“I have something I want to show you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ve driven all this way-”

“You’ve driven all this way. I’ve just sat where you put me.”

There's another tired sigh, “Get out of the car, Cassius.”

“No.”

The sounds of the bush fill up the quiet that follows. Slender leaves brushing against each other on thin branches. The call and squawk of a flock of galahs. Fairy wrens darting in the scrub. The constant pitch of a bellbird somewhere in the distance.

Christopher sighs a final time. “Fine.”

The car door closes sharply, cutting the sound of the world off with it. The boot opens. Then it closes. And then, in the reflection of the rear view mirror, Cass watches as Christopher walks away from the car, down the worn-down path, a picnic basket in his hand and a bag slung over his shoulder. Cass keeps watching, waiting for him to stop and call over his shoulder. And then waiting for him to come back. But he just disappears into the bush without looking back.

Everything feels more silent without him there. Like the car has its own atmosphere. He can’t hear the trees or the wind or the birds. He can see the galahs, pink against the eucalyptus. But the whole world is muted. Excised by tinted glass. His ears start to ring with the quiet of it all. And he sighs just to hear his breath. He shifts in his seat just to hear the rustle of fabric. The movement shoots pain through him that makes him wince. And reminds him why he's been so pissed off in the first place.

One minute Christopher had been beside him at the party, laughter bubbling, hand on his waist like usual. The next he’d been left alone in a room with a dozen strangers, a bit of rope, and far too much fucking booze.

He still doesn’t know where Christopher had gone in the hours in between. Just that they’d left for the party right after dinner. That he'd been given a pill in the car on the way there. That someone, at some point, thought it would be funny to have a competition to make him scream the loudest.

By the time they were coming home, he had an ache right the way through him, blank spots in his memory, and the sun was rising over the trees.

And everything just felt horrible. And he felt dirty and used and awful.

Has all week since.

Cass tilts his head back and looks through the windscreen, up the road that winds up the hills and around a corner into more scrub. Were there houses up here? Maybe. It looked like a truck road, more than anything. There for carting cargo more than people.

Still, though. He could get out. Try to walk it. Find someone. Hitchhike. Run away.

He could be gone before Christopher even knows he's missing. He could be over the state line before nightfall. He could slip away. Never go back. Find someone else's bed to warm. Some other place to stay. Some other person to be. No Cassius Drake, no brother to think about, no record to work off. Just another stranger on the street.

He watches as a white ute approaches up the curving road, bigger and bigger the closer it gets. He could get out. He could flag them down. It gets bigger and bigger. Closer and closer. He could tell them he broke down. Needs a lift. They wouldn't ask any questions.

The car gets bigger, bigger, bigger on the horizon as it approaches. Bigger, bigger, bigger… and then it passes by and around the corner and he can't see it anymore. Cass looks back to the galahs. And then he closes his eyes. He's not going anywhere. Christopher knew that when he left.

The better part of half an hour passes before he sees Christopher reappear on the beaten down track. He watches him approach in the rearview mirror. Bigger, bigger, bigger.

Cass’ only movement is to shift his eyes to stare forward out the windshield, hands curled tight around his seatbelt as Christopher approaches. He braces for a fight. But the door opens and Christopher doesn't say a word. He reaches down and over, and Cass barely has time to process what he's doing before his seatbelt is being unclicked and he's being scooped up and out of the car, door shut with the swing of Christopher's foot behind them.

"Hey."

Christopher doesn't say anything, or even really acknowledge that Cass has spoken. He readjusts him slightly to have a better hold and keeps walking, back down the same path he'd disappeared down earlier. It takes Cass a minute or two to process properly what's happening. It's so far from what he expected Christopher to do he feels disoriented by it.

"I didn't ask to be carried."

"Tell me to put you down," Christopher replies calmly, still walking. “And I will.”

For a moment, Cass chews his cheek. Even if Christopher refused. It'd be as easy as naming him. It would always be as easy as naming him. But he doesn't. He tucks in close, head against Christopher's chest, hand curling in his shirt, and lets himself be carried.

They walk in silence for a little while, up a slope and down again, across a fence line that declares private property, down through denser bush. Cass eyes the swaying trees and the set line of Christopher’s jaw intermittently as they go. Occasionally a bird calls overhead. Occasionally the wind picks up. Aside from that, it’s as silent between them as the car ride had been.

He notices the break in the tree line first, sky a little more visible as the gums open out into a wider sprawl. He adjusts his grip around Christopher’s neck and looks down to see the scrub giving way to rock, tightly packed sand, and a small, still body of water.

Christopher walks them to where he’s set up the picnic under a tree on the banks and sets Cass down on it. The blanket is already splayed out, the basket unpacked: cheese, wine, a neatly wrapped lunch. There’s even a little thermos of something.

Cass is unmoved by it. Or he tries to be, arms wrapped around himself in silent, moody protest. Hell of a way to go for a picnic lunch. The view isn’t even that good.

Apart from the little dam thing maybe. The water's prettier than he wants to admit. Strikingly blue. So blue it almost doesn’t look real.

Christopher gives the elbow of his sweater a brief tug, before starting to take off his own cable knit cardigan, “Strip, darling.”

Cass looks at him with complete incredulity and scoffs a laugh, bitter and angry. A fuck in the bush is it? “Oh fuck off.”

Christopher sighs, folding his cardigan and laying it down on the picnic blanket, before moving to take off his watch, “I don’t want to fight, Cassius. Just strip.”

He kicks a stone and it skitters to a stop before it can make it to the water. “Fucking make me-”

“Cassius.” Christopher’s voice is stern enough to cut Cass off, head jerking up to look at him. He almost never yells. And it always strikes Cass through with as much fear as the sharp snap of leather.

But Christopher looks more tired than angry. And then he sighs again, hands palm up and half pleading. “I don’t want to fight. This is meant to be a nice thing. Just let it be a nice thing.”

Cass stares at him for a few beats. He considers refusing. He considers ruining the whole fucking day. He considers protesting, arguing, throwing insults. Making Christopher angry enough to slam his head against the rocks over and over until he stains that pretty little lake red.

But Christopher is tired. And if he’s honest, he is too. 

They haven’t fucked since Saturday. And they haven’t really spoken either. The silent treatment is as exhausting to give as it is to get, it turns out. If nothing else, it’s achingly lonely. He doesn’t know how Christopher stands it.

And right now, when Cass reaches out… all Christopher seems to want right now is just a truly nice day. A rest. A glass of wine. A reset. It’s hard not to give in to that.

Cass strips the jumper, dropping it in the sand at his feet, and then kicks off his shoes, his socks, the soft drawstring pants. The air is cold enough on its own but the wind properly chills him, his skin pricking with goosebumps. He wraps his arms back around himself, looking back to Christopher, half undressed himself and dusting sand and dirt from Cassius’ clothing before re-folding it on the picnic blanket.

Christopher nods to the water, “In you get.”

Cass stares at him. “It’s fucking freezing.”

“Mmhmm,” Christopher agrees. And then he smiles gently, almost playful, and nods again to the water. “In you get.”

Cass frowns, contemplating arguing for a moment or two before relenting, approaching the water’s edge like someone might an angry snake. The water is so still and so blue. Almost milky, even. It barely looks natural. He looks back over his shoulder to Christopher, who is watching him with a mild smile as he undoes his own belt. “Go on, darling.”

He takes a few more steps forward, brings his foot into to the water and-

He flinches back, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes, “...It’s warm.”

Christopher’s smile widens, and he nods. “Hot springs.”

Cass looks back to the water, fascinated. He brings his foot back to the surface, dragging his toe through the water, and then stepping in. One foot. And then the next. It’s warm as bath water.

“Is it real?”

Christopher exhales a laugh, “You’re standing in it, my love. What do you think?”

“No, I mean like… did they make it? Or is it-”

“Oh, I see,” Christopher says. “It’s natural, yes. As far as the story goes, anyway. A friend of mine owns the property. The family stumbled across it a decade or two ago. They thought about commercialising it for a while before deciding it was more special to keep it private. Their own little family sanctuary. You and I are two of about a dozen people in the whole world who knows it exists.”

Cass barely takes in the story. He’s sure it’s meant to sound impressive or interesting but frankly how the fuck is he meant to give a shit when he’s standing in something this beautiful? This unreal?

It's so, so blue. He wades into the water, over ankles, up his shins, to his knees, before looking back again to Christopher, who’s watching him with fondness. He gestures to the water, “Can I…?”

It earns him a smile, “Of course, darling.”

He dives under, a shallow skim under the surface. And when he opens his eyes the water is clear enough that he can see weak winter sunlight dappling the stones below. It’s so weird. It’s so weird and so cool and so nice. It’s like a fucking magic swimming pool, carved into the middle of the bush.

He's always loved swimming. Always, always, always. The weightlessness and the water around him. The movement and the tide. It washes him clean in a way nothing else does. Makes his body feel realer than anything other than sex. It's so easy to forget until he's in the water again.

He’d grown up by the beach. And the worst part of it was always the icy cold. And the worst part of a pool was the smell. And this place had neither. Just peace and water and eucalyptus and warmth. It’s like the rest of the whole world has stopped. Like this place erupted from the earth just for him. Just to hold him.

It soothes the ache in his body and the twist in his chest and when he emerges again from the water, for the first time all week -- all fucking week -- he feels like he can breathe.

He pushes wet curls back from his face to find Christopher seated on a towel laid out on the rocks, one foot trailing in the water, smiling soft as he watches him, “Nice?”

Cass relaxes onto his back to float and drags his fingers through the water —  warm, warm water — and laughs for the first time since the party, “This is fucking insane.”

Christopher laughs too, “Insane good?”

“This is a spa in the middle of the bush.”

“I suppose it is.”

Cass holds his gaze for a moment, feeling the thrum of satisfaction coming off of him. This is all he wanted, wasn't it? All he wanted was to see Cass enjoy this. He dares to give him a smile, “You gonna join me?”

“I might in a minute,” Christopher says. “I need a rest first.”

“Tired already, old man?”

“My arms are a little. I just carried you for about half a kilometer, didn’t I?”

 Cass flips onto his belly so he can paddle over a little closer, “Well maybe if you come in I’ll make it up to you.”

“Just maybe?”

Cass gives him a grin and splashes water up at him in a shining sheet before sinking below entirely. There’s a thrilling delight at hearing the muffled sound of Christopher’s shocked laughter through the water, right before the splashing sound of him coming in after.

-

They eat lunch on the rocks with their feet in the water, Cass wrapped in Christopher’s cardigan. The food is good because of course it is. And the wine is better because of course it is. But there is a soft glow of recognition when Cass realises that the food’s that has been packed is more or less a collection of his favourites. The crusts have even been neatly sliced off his sandwich. It’s weird to realise how well Christopher knows him.

He ends up back in the water not long after, and when Christopher settles again on the rocks, Cass lays himself back in the shallows with his head against Christopher’s legs like he’s relaxing back in a bath. He watches Christopher watch the lorikeets, his face tilted up to the pale winter sun.

“I didn’t think you liked swimming,” he comments mildly.

Christopher laughs, brows raised in mild surprise and brushes a knuckle down his cheek, “Why would you think that?”

“No pool at the estate,” Cass points out. “And whenever I go to the pool at your hotels, you tell me you’ll meet me at dinner.��

“I came with you at The Maribella.”

“To sit by the pool with a book and a drink.”

“I thought about swimming.”

“You thought about fucking me in the pool you mean.”

“I thought about swimming,” Christopher repeats. He reaches a hand up to tuck a damp curl behind Cass’ ear. “But sometimes I just want to watch you enjoy yourself. Is that so wrong?”

The phrasing almost sours things. It’s dangerously close to what he says right before a guest is over. Right before a party. But Christopher doesn’t mean it like that. He knows he doesn’t. So he tries a smile. He lets it go.

It’s like Christopher’s mind drifts to the same thing, though. Because his face gets soft and sad. He cups Cass’ cheek. He brushes his hair back, “Have you liked today, darling?”

Cass nods. It’s surprisingly easy to give him a soft smile. “Been pretty nice actually.”

Christopher keeps brushing his curls back. Gives him that sad smile in return, “I’m glad to hear that.”

Cass wants the conversation to end there. He wants that to be it. To draw Christopher back into the water for a kiss and a lazy float in the water and then go home. But of course it doesn’t.

“I know I asked a lot from you the other night, darling boy.”

Some tired, angry animal tries to wake up in Cass’ chest. He sedates it with a breath deep enough to make his ribs ache. 

“And I wanted you to know…” Christopher continues. He speaks carefully. Like he’s practised the phrasing. Perfected the sympathetic cadence. “We won’t be seeing those friends again.”

Cass doesn’t know if he believes it. And he doesn’t know if it even matters if he does or not. He stays very still, timing his breath to the strokes of Christopher’s fingers through his hair.

“And I’m glad today has been nice,” he continues softly. “I wanted to find a way to thank you. I know sometimes you struggle to find my gifts sincere.”

The tired, angry animal rolls over. Cass holds his breath for a second so it doesn’t rouse and ruin everything. “Is that what today is, then? A gift?”

Christopher laughs in a way that would probably sound self deprecating if Cass didn’t know him better. “It’s.. a gesture. To show you what you mean to me.” He smiles, winding a damp curl about his index finger, letting it lovingly loose back to its natural spiral. “I wanted to give you some of the gentleness you deserve.”

Cass doesn’t know what to say to that. He keeps his eyes on Christopher’s face, tracing the lines of it. The most prominent of his wrinkles are the ones around his eyes. Creasing crows feet that match a merry face. They frame his eyes just right. Strikingly blue. So blue they almost don't look real.

He reaches a hand up before he knows what he’s doing. He cups Christopher’s face. He swipes a damp thumb over his cheek. The shining trail it leaves almost makes it look like he’s crying. Especially when he’s looking at him like that. So soft. Full of a strange kind of longing that has no claws to it. No teeth.

Christopher turns his cheek to press his lips to the side of his boy’s thumb. He presses his cheek into Cass’ hand like a man truly looking to be absolved.

“I love you, darling boy. You know that. Don’t you?”

It’s not an apology.

But it’s close.

Cass cranes his neck up, offering a kiss. Asking for one.

Christopher’s hand cradles his jaw, firm and warm. His thumb brushes damp his hair back along his temple. His tongue slides into his mouth. It’s deep and passionate. But for once it’s not hungry. Cass breathes into it.

Maybe there was a kind of power in this. In being loved like this. In having a man like this love him.

In these moments… it feels worth it. All of it. The hurt, the pressure, the asking too much. He presses and presses and pushes and pushes but then, at the brink of things, he always knows to release. He knows to soothe and pull back and reset. He knows how much give there is before the break.

Cass doesn’t remember falling asleep on the rocks. But he must. Because he rouses as he’s being lifted from the picnic blanket and cradled against Christopher’s chest like some precious thing.

It makes him think of being a little kid. Of pretending to fall asleep in the backseat, hoping to be carried inside and tucked into bed. He can’t remember if anyone ever actually did that for him back then. He can’t remember if anyone ever held him this gently. It’s nice. It’s so, so nice.

"You said your arms were sore," Cass mumbles in quiet protest, head against Christopher's chest. He can feel the vibration of every footfall as they walk.

"I'll survive, my love."

When they get back to the car, Christopher sits him down gently in the passenger seat. He buckles him in. He kisses his hair. He even fetches a blanket from the back of the car and tucks it over his lap.

It’s The Decemberists instead of Nat King Cole on the way back down the mountain.

The heater blows soft and gentle on his face. He watches a flock of carellas careen their way over the backroads. They turn on to the main roads and Christopher takes his hand, gently kisses his knuckles.

As they roll back up the winding entry road of the estate, the sun is setting over the trees.

And everything feels alright.

[toringo]

Some 'fond' memories of these two.

Ties into the 'nothing bad happened' au (everyone needs therapy there)

[grislyintentions]

||ehe. Dan Feng in the AU for you know who~~~

“ your scorching breath is my doomsday, salvation and reawakening all at once ”

Meme (x) || Accepting || @shining-gem34

Several lifetimes spent in chains can grow to become...pleasant for some. When misery is all he knew from hatching and rebirth, how could they possibly resent him for being misguided?

To liberate flesh that had grown accustomed to unyielding shackles, there will be pain - that is unavoidable - before there is true freedom.

《Weep not, Cherished One.》 Nectar oozes from shattered bone, crushed by a blade piercing through, sinking even deeper when they laugh. Bells softly ringing in the air. With a deafening crunch, it is pushed deeper in by a guiding hand firmly wrapped around his arm.

The Thousand-Handed Merciful Medicus leans closer. Veil brushing against tender skin when they cradle his face in affection.

《Do not resent what you must do or how you must feel in order to fully gain liberation for yourself and your kind.》

Mouths touch in light whispers.

《Your hate, your anger, your shame, your fear and pain...I will hold it in your stead. And forgive your every transgression.》

《Until the day you truly embrace acceptance.》

《And cleanse yourself of your defilement.》

[bambiraptorx]

Content Warning: ableism, disfiguremisia, emotional manipulation/ emotional abuse

[I.D. First page of a three page comic, using Big Mama from ROTTMNT and a fan design for her assistant. In this comic, Venus is a small child. She is based on a yellow-bellied slider and has stripes around her eyes, going up her forehead, down her chin and neck, and around her arms and legs. She also has a mixed bilateral cleft lip, with a complete cleft on the right side of her mouth and a much smaller incomplete cleft on the left. She's missing a tooth under her complete cleft.

In the first panel, Big Mama holds her hands out towards Venus, and says "Turtleboo!" Her speech bubbles are cloudlike, with small dots and hearts hovering around them. Venus reaches out too, an excited grin on her face, and yells "Mama!!" In contrast, her speech bubbles are much smoother. In the second panel, Big Mama holds Venus and kisses her cheek. She says "How is my darling girl?" Venus smiles happily and says "Happy to shee you!" Big Mama responds, "Oh, good. I've come for a little chizzy-chat." End I.D. 1 of 2.]

Rest of comic under the cut, mind the content warnings above.

[I.D. The second page has three panels. The first is a closeup of the bottom half Big Mama's face, Venus leaning her head contently against Big Mama's cheek. Big Mama frowns very slightly. In the next panel, she smiles, and says "I've decided you need a new name, my poppet." Venus looks up at her with a questioning expression. In the third panel, Big Mama is shown from farther away, her eyes cut off by the panel's borders, with Venus in her arms and looking at her. Venus asks. "But why? I like Venush, Mama."

The final page has two panels. In the first, Big Mama bends down and sets Venus on the floor. Venus holds onto her hand and looks confused as Big Mama says "Oh, dearest, it just doesn't fit you." The next panel shows a close up of Venus' face, a look of shock and betrayal as tears gather in her eyes. Big Mama's hand rests on her head as she says "Venus was beautiful." The words are written in cursive, and lay over Venus, partially see through. Behind her is a pattern that looks like a heart beat monitor line, then transforms into a cluster of jagged, squiggly lines. End I.D. 2 of 2.]

A little backstory for why my version of Big Mama's assistant is referred to as both Venus and Frida: she originally was Venus, but was forced to pick a new name.

Big Mama does have her reasons for doing this (given that she basically kidnapped Venus from Draxum, the name change helps to hide her identity so Draxum won't try to get her back), but at the end of the day she knows it's cruel. She doesn't say things like this much, but when she does it's very intentional.

[blondeaxolotl]

Swap au except only two characters are swapped, can you guess who and who

Can't forget the bonus doodles:

[trapton]

𝚘𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑 disturbs him so. no, no, n̴o̷ [...] are you not my special little friend? are you not the mind of which i have chosen to inhabit? are you not the perfect little malleable piece of strength, who has found her own power in the situation she's found herself in? are you not my starstruck little puzzle piece, d̸o̵ ̶ ̴y̵o̸u̷ ̸ ̵n̷o̵t̵ ̴ ̷l̸o̵v̸e̸ ̵ ̵m̵e̵?̶ too much contact with the outside world, reigns pulled. perhaps it was to late. the fans within her, the weight. it closes in with his ire. his guise in the flickering of mind's eye as she tries to get away. howcouldyou? 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄? it's like they hadn't been down this road, before. the loss of control makes rabbit antsy, motor whirring like the soft pat, pat, pat of restless paw against the simulated ground of nothingness.

STOP FIGHTING ME!

her questioning him makes it difficult for rabbit not to make twisted smile out of goofy child-appeasing guise. his hand over avatar heart, still beneath as nothing resides. 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎. his hands, arms, legs. marionette walking on stilts.

he tries to smooth out static, appearing closer. the hum spreading through her, taking on more of his own human voice she's so lucky to have been privy to, like a siren song of his own creation meant to lull her into something warm. tries, oh so hard to become so sweetly overbearing, instead of unleashing monstrous anger. the frothing trapped behind the smiling maw. "o̶h̸,̶ ̸ ̴ ̵ ̴v̶a̵n̶n̷y̴."

he cuts through.

touch of a phantom ghosts blades of her shoulder, first human hand of visions past [...] his own ghastly specter projected behind her. 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜. "must i hold you again, to make you feel like you are everything to me?" he says it because somewhere deep down, he knows he needs her. digital conscious tells him it's a lie, though speaks it anyway. "without you, i am nothing. i cannot be. [...] does that not mean you are a god, in your own right?"

❛ i won’t give up on you, i know you’re worth it! ❜ malhare :3 ?

˗ˏˋ ———— horror-themed sentence starters | always accepting ! | from @trapton's malhare.

the shaking won't stop. it started in her hands, and what meager amount of control she had on it was shaken out of her by all the feelings trying to get their moment on her. it's everywhere now. everywhere that matters. tight in her shoulders, buckling her knees, so bad her fingers can't keep grip on the handle of a knife. she has to set it down, lays it flat, delicate, like its GLASS. hands lay on the surface, fingers splay. nothing settles. she is still shaking. it's the fight of her life here, really coming back into her own. and when she puts up a fight, that's when he comes back to her like this, the way she first found him. the shaking takes to her stomach, makes her a little nauseous. this is the nature of this glitch, this virus in her brain. with it she can hear the buzzing of electricity, the humming of fans, the life of artificial intelligence. somewhere in the song, there is a voice. ozone-sharp and reeking of burning. it talks like it knows everything she's been dealing with, how recently it's only gotten harder.

" how do you know ? " this part feels like being lost in a dark forest, sun going down, nothing but shadow and stars. it's newer than everything else she's had to share with them. this shaken faith, this wanting to go back. she's hyperaware of how long it's been since she's heard her parents voices, the last time she's spoken to any of her recruited friends. it's just been her and them for who know how long now. " i don't... i don't feel... " she blinks. breathes in, breathes out, shakiness in her exhale. she's trying to sort out the thoughts, theirs and hers, trying to find another line of separation. trying to BREAK FREE. does she not feel worth it ? or does any of this not feel worth it ?

[stagesofkiller]

whenever killer and dust are getting heated, making out, getting real close or in eachother’s laps, killer should always remove dust’s scarf.

and maybe dust doesn’t think much about it or even thinks killer is just helping him undress, but if dust ever attempts to ask about it or protest for any reason killer should immediately withdraw any and all affection or attention until dust does what he wants and takes it off. even in situations where he just doesn’t want to see it, outside of heated moments.

this was inspired by something new sans’ reaction to chara wearing papyrus’ scarf in the comics and the drawing by rahafwabas answering the question of how killer would react to dust.

killer would not like that scarf. remove it.