#catharsis au

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim x Catharsis - Kane & Luan

K&J chronological masterlist / K&J writing order masterlist

Catharsis masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, escape, begging, starvation, caretaking, dubious caretaker, whumpee turned caretaker, death wish, suicide attempt, recapture, torture, gore, burns, rescue, brief self-harm for vampire feeding purposes, side robot whumpee

Whumpmas in July Day 15: A Soft Reprieve

the first time i've ever done a crossover between two different series of mine! this one's been living in my brain rent-free. massive props to @sowhumpshaped for inspiration!

-

Luan’s heart practically stopped when he looked through the doorbell camera to find a vampire.

The camera  wouldn’t matter if it was a vampire. The door wouldn’t matter if it was a vampire. He would be taken, again, this time manhandled from his own apartment. The fact that he couldn’t sleep all night was the only reason he had this last moment of freedom.

“Stay back,” he said through the speaker, trying not to let his voice shake like his hands as he clumsily looked up the number for the local hunters. There was no way they’d get here in time, not even with their base just down the road. Not with a vampire’s speed.

“Please,” the vampire whimpered, kneeling on his doormat. “Please help me, I beg of you. I’m not a threat, I promise, please don’t call the hunters, I’ll do anything!”

Now that Luan really looked, he could see beyond the bright-red of his eyes and the intimidating fangs: the figure at his door was… not well. Clearly emaciated, a feeling Luan knew all too well. He could see what looked like burns, and what were definitely cuts. Tears tracked from terrified, desperate eyes.

“What do you want?” Luan snapped, thumb hovering over the dial button.

“Please, please, sir, I can’t find anything to end myself, the sun is coming, they’re going to find me, please, mercy, I can’t go back, please help me!” the vampire begged, weeping into his hands. “I can’t use persuasion, I promise, I wouldn’t even if I could!”

It was objectively stupid. It was going to get him killed or worse. If Luan opened this door, that would be the end of it. The vampire would take one look at him, use persuasion, and his freedom would be gone again, just like that.

There was no faking the way his stomach turned inward like that, worse than Luan had ever been. If Luan had ever starved that badly, he suspected he would have died.

Would there be any point to a vampire going to these lengths just to trick him, when he could have just used persuasion from the first moment?

“One minute. Stay there.” He dashed to find something, ending up with a ruler he hasn’t dug out in years. Sawing at it with a kitchen knife made something resembling a stake, though he knew in his heart that it likely wasn’t strong enough to get through flesh. He just had to hope it would be intimidating enough.

Luan hesitated. Was he really going to do this? Let a starving vampire into his home?

He looked through the camera again, at the pitiful man collapsed on his porch.

He opened the door, makeshift stake in hand. “Get inside.”

The vampire scrambled in, crouching like a cornered animal on his floor, panting hard. “Th-thank you, sir. Thank you so much. Please don’t call them, please, I just–”

“You can stay the daytime and that’s it.” It wouldn’t be the first time Luan had stayed awake a full 24 hours. He could do it again. “At sunset, you leave, and you don’t come back. You never take a human. Agreed?” He pointed the stake at the vampire with both hands. “Try anything and it’s the stake.”

What Luan wasn’t expecting was for the vampire to look up at him with utter adoration. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I’ll be good, I promise, thank you so much! You can kill me if you’d like, I don’t mind, I won’t resist. Whatever you want.”

Luan slowly lowered the stake. “That’s… probably not necessary.” A look around the room. The sun would start rising in a few minutes, he had to act fast if he was really offering this vampire refuge. “Go wait in the bathroom,” he pointed, “There’s no windows in there.”

“Yes, sir!” The vampire started to run, but tumbled over himself, collapsing to the floor. Before Luan could react, he picked himself up to his hands and knees, crawling quickly to the bathroom and closing the door.

“Jesus,” Luan muttered. The blinds were already closed, always closed, but he knew some light could trickle in through the gaps.

What to do next? He knew what he wanted next when he was rescued. To feel safe, to feel free, to feel in control, to know Cyrus couldn’t hurt him anymore. Food, water, blankets, a fucking warm shower. Home.

What had even happened to the vampire to make him like this?

In the end, he gathered up some sweats and sneakers he wouldn’t miss–he wasn’t going to make the vampire run home half-naked and barefoot when sunset came–and a blanket, then knocked on the door, stake stowed in his pocket. “Hey.”

“Yes?” the vampire called back.

Luan opened the door, finding the vampire huddled in the bathtub. “Brought you some stuff. You can use the bath and whatever too if you want, you know.”

The vampire’s eyes widened as Luan set the bundle down on the edge of the sink. “Thank you, sir! That’s so kind of you! Thank you so much!”

“Mm-hm.” It felt good to be the one in control. Safe, somehow, even with a vampire.

He wanted to ask what happened to him, but he hated when people asked for details. Those fucking true crime junkies. If the vampire wanted to talk, he would talk.

“I’m Luan,” he offered. “You?”

“M-my name is Kane. No one’s asked me that in a very long time.” The vampire stared at him like some kind of divine being.

“Alright, Kane. Glad this isn’t going to shit immediately. I’ll be… out there. Knock if you need anything, I guess.”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, Luan let him be. The vampire did not return, staying locked in there well after his shower ended. As the hours ticked by, he couldn’t keep his mind off the vampire in the bathroom. How could he?

Food. He was probably hungry. Starving, if his appearance was anything to go by. Luan knew that feeling, the never-satisfied clawing in his gut.

He pinched at his skin. He had blood to go around, didn’t he? Just once.

Luan knocked at the door. “Kane? You doing okay in there?”

“Yes, sir,” came the vampire’s muffled voice, “Do you need something?”

“You need something,” Luan corrected. “I’m gonna feed you some blood. Open up.”

The door opened fast, Kane’s wide, red eyes greeting him. “You would give me blood?” he asked in a hushed whisper, the blanket still wrapped around him.

“Yeah. Here.” Luan held out his arm. That’s where they did blood draws at the doctor’s, right? “I know you’re hungry. Go ahead.”

Kane burst into a huge, fanged grin. “Thank you, sir!” He took Luan’s arm gingerly, with a gentleness he wouldn’t have expected from a monster of the night. Deciding on the wrist, he bit in slowly, carefully at first.

As soon as he broke the skin, all that gentleness disappeared.

The vampire bit in hard, making Luan wince at the pain of it. But he’d expected pain. It was a goddamn vampire bite, of course it was gonna hurt. He grit his teeth and bore it. He’d had worse.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he announced as he started to feel woozy. “I get you’re hungry, I wanna help, but I’m not a buffet.”

Kane paid him no mind, continuing to gulp down mouthfuls of blood, eyes wild.

Luan’s heart began to race, either from the depleting blood or the sudden terror or both. Suddenly, he wasn’t in control anymore, and that meant the vampire could do anything to him. It wasn’t like with the robot, who had to follow his orders. This was a vampire. What was he in comparison to that? He was powerless. He was–

No. Not again. He would not be that helpless thing again.

Luan hit the vampire as hard as he could, bringing his fist down on the back of his head. “I said stop!”

Kane reeled back, his bloody fangs tearing from skin, the blow jerking him back to reality. Landing clumsily on the floor, he looked up in horror as he realized what he had just done.

“I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m s-so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to, I swear, I was just so hungry I couldn’t control myself, I’m sorry!”

His eyes grew watery, his breaths quick and panicked. Kane backed away on the floor, cowering against the tub. “Please just k-kill me, please kill me, I’ll be good, I won’t resist, please, please, I’m sorry, I can’t, please kill me!”

Luan clutched his bleeding arm, staring at the pathetic creature before him. Was that what he’d looked like?

“You’re fine. Just don’t do it again or it’s the stake,” he said firmly. He was in control again. He got to make the rules.

“Please don’t call them,” Kane begged. “I’ll do anything, sir.”

“You’re fine,” Luan repeated. He picked the blanket up off the floor, having fallen in the chaos, and draped it back over the vampire. He instantly clung to it, his shaky hands curling tight in the fabric.

“Th-thank you, sir.” Kane gasped. “Thank you, thank you, I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Luan grabbed a box of bandages out of the cabinet and left, closing the door behind him. He was sure the both of them would feel better that way.

-

Luan woke up to insistent knocking at his door.

He wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. There was a fucking vampire in his apartment. As soon as his head was clear enough to realize, he bolted upright, looking to the still-closed bathroom door, then to the window.

The evening sun still filtered through the blinds: it was still daylight, at least for a few hours more.

“Who is it?” he asked, unlocking his phone. An emergency alert from hours ago plastered the screen before he could check his doorbell camera: VAMPIRE IN AREA.

“I’m with the local vampire hunters. We just wanted to ask some questions,” the man at the door said.

Not a sound came from the bathroom.

It would be more suspicious if he didn’t answer the door, right? Luan opened it. “What questions?”

“We were holding a vampire in the base a few streets down when it escaped last night. This one can’t hypnotize you, and we had it pretty weakened, but it’s still dangerous–caught it before it could take anyone, thankfully. We know it couldn’t have gotten far, already combed outside. It has to have snuck into someone’s home, so we’ve been making the rounds before it can escape come nightfall. Have you seen anything suspicious?”

“...Take anyone?” Luan asked, the floor falling out from under him.

“Yep,” the hunter nodded, “When we caught it, it already had someone. Almost got away with her, too. If that thing managed to get her over the border, that’d be it. Last thing we want is for that to happen again. Luckily, we’ve got the sun on our side.”

How could he have been so stupid? Of course a vampire wouldn’t be in human territory for any good reason. Kane had already gotten a taste for his blood. He was just a few hours away from being lured into captivity again, and this time, there’d be no one to save him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Luan grit his teeth, chest tight. Cyrus would never let him hear the end of it if he knew. “He–he tricked me,” he mumbled. “He’s in the bathroom.”

“Fuck. Least we caught it before sundown. Read up some on vampire safety,” the hunter instructed him, strolling inside.

The bathroom was no longer silent.

A sob accompanied the frantic scratching of nails against wood for only a moment before the hunter yanked the door open, the shitty lock giving way on only the third try.

“No! No, please, I was out!” Kane screamed, clawing at the sink cabinet ever-harder. “Please, please, mercy! I can’t! I was out!”

“Behave yourself,” the hunter spat, and Kane and Luan both flinched. He grabbed the vampire by the hair. “Come quietly and you get a tarp, not that you deserve that much after the stunt you fucking pulled today. Make a fuss and it’s the sun.”

Kane wailed, a cry of anguish so long and deep Luan thought it might never end. When it did, a shaking Kane wrapped his arms around himself. “I’ll be good, sir,” he whispered, eyes distant.

He offered no resistance as the hunter dragged him away, only tears.

Alone once more, Luan knew he’d made the only choice he could to protect himself, but the tightness in his chest didn’t go away.

-

In the coming weeks, Luan couldn’t get the vampire out of his mind.

Even taking it out on the robot didn’t help, not that it ever really did. He found himself turning it on less and less, leaving it in the closet. Seeing Cyrus’s face just made him feel worse.

The hunters had to have killed Kane, right? That would be fine. Humanity would be safe from him if they did that, and Kane had been begging for it, anyway. What reason would they have to keep him alive?

Luan knew the answer to that better than most.

One call to the hunters confirmed it: the vampire was alive, though they promised ‘improved security’.

“Can I see him?” he blurted out.

It took some convincing, but Luan was able to secure himself an appointment.

-

“Keep away from the bars,” the hunter leading him downstairs instructed. Down, down, down. Concrete walls, concrete floor. Luan fought the urge to run. “You can talk with it for five minutes. Get some closure on whatever it was doing in your place. I’ll escort you back up later.”

“Mm-hm,” Luan agreed.

At the bottom of the stairs was a cell, and in the cell was a metal trunk. Luan dug his nails into his palm.

“It might look a little gnarly, but remember, these things aren’t human. They heal like that.” The hunter snapped his fingers. “Wait here.”

The hunter unlocked the cell, then the trunk. “Out.”

The lid flung open, a skinny, burnt hand retracting as soon as it appeared. Kane climbed out of the trunk, landing in a mess on the floor.

He was much worse-off than Luan remembered him. In only six weeks, the clothes he’d given him had become so torn and bloodstained as to be practically unrecognizable. Nearly all the skin he could see was burnt, his face a mess of severe welts. He looked to Luan with utter terror in his eyes, far more than the robot could ever hope to mimic.

“H-hello, sir,” Kane stammered.

Luan had to run. He knew he was safe, he wasn’t a vampire, but the danger emanating from every crack of this place was far greater than any he’d felt with a vampire cowering in his bathtub.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

“I’m s-sorry,” Kane continued, clutching at his shirt. “Please, please, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Luan asked. “Why are–”

“Please don’t take the clothes away! I’ll do anything!” Kane bowed his head, trembling. “Anything, anything, p-please, I need them, I’m so sorry, please! They’re the only thing protecting me from the silver!”

He picked his head up to look back at the trunk and then Luan with a sob. “Please, I know I don’t d-deserve it, I’m sorry, but please, please, I’m trying. I won’t run again, I’m sorry!”

“They’re yours,” Luan assured him quickly. “I’m not… taking them. That’s not why I’m here.”

Kane let out a massive, shaky exhale, the grip on his shirt still tight. “Thank you for your m-mercy, sir. Thank you for letting me keep them. Thank you for giving me one good day. I treasure it, sir. It–it was the best day I ever had. What can I do for you?” He looked up, eyes shining and watery.

Luan turned and ran.

-

He brought the robot out that night. No one else had the guts to tell him what a piece of shit he was. No one else who wasn’t in prison.

Luan didn’t tell Russ what happened. He didn’t need to. The robot did its job, and by the time he was done, his knuckles hurt. The robot winced as Luan reached down to switch it off, then fell limp.

He called the cops. They didn’t care. It wasn’t a crime to hurt a vampire.

Luan thought about moving, but he didn’t. Instead, he did the opposite, took long walks out to the hunters’ base with his hand on the unused pepper spray in his pocket. It was just a building, as far as he could see, but he knew Kane was in there. Someone had to know.

Until one day, Kane was outside.

He was strapped to a propped-up metal board, baking in the sun, the clothes Luan had given him gone. It was the least human he’d ever looked: his skin boiled like sugar syrup on a stovetop in some places, crisped like burnt marshmallow in others.

There was no one else out there.

He ran home, came back even quicker with his car, and hopped the fence. Barbed wire tore at his skin, but didn’t slow him down. Kane writhed, pulling at his bound wrists.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Luan whispered, taking bolt cutters to his shackles. Kane fell to the ground, letting out a muffled shriek as his yet-untouched back set ablaze.

He didn’t have time to be careful. He hauled Kane up–he hardly weighed anything–and threw him over the fence, following quickly.

Tossing the vampire into his trunk, he added, “Don’t say you’re sorry if you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. You’re going home.”

Kane’s mangled face was unreadable, but Luan could have swore he saw him relax just a little amid the pain.

-

Luan drove. He couldn’t go home yet, that much he knew. They’d find him in a heartbeat. He drove as far away from that place as he could get, the cargo in his trunk surprisingly quiet.

When he’d gotten a few hours away, he found a secluded corner of a parking garage and popped the trunk.

“Easy, it’s me,” Luan shushed when Kane started to cower. “We’re far away. Here.”

Kane’s mouth was sealed shut, his lips fused together by the heat of the sun. It took some prying, but he managed to get them unfused. Kane didn’t seem to mind, not even when his skin tore and bled.

There were no fangs in his mouth.

Whatever. That wouldn’t stop him. He grabbed his pocketknife from the glove compartment and slashed his palm open. Kane writhed again, a desperate whine dragged from his throat, but stopped when Luan made a fist over his waiting mouth and squeezed.

“Drink up,” he encouraged. He kept going for a while, eventually bringing his hand to Kane’s mouth to let him lick the excess blood from it. His hand left scabbed over, as if it had been healing for hours rather than minutes.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Kane rasped, his voice hoarse. “Thank you, I’ll b-be good this time. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

Oh, he’d screwed this guy up bad. Another achievement in his worthless fucking life.

“Who should I contact about getting you home?” he asked. Time to get straight to the point. “Any vampire who could come here when it’s night and get you?”

Kane was silent for a moment. “Bellamy Verta,” he said eventually. “S-safe. Safe for humans.”

The guy wasn’t hard to find, and from what his profile said, he sure seemed to live up to safe for humans. His profile linked to a website that looked like PETA for vampires.

“I’m sending a DM. He’s probably asleep right now, but he’ll probably see it when he wakes up,” Luan reported.

Kane wept, blubbering gratitudes.

-

Luan cleared the area an hour before Verta was set to arrive. No matter how innocent his page looked, he wasn’t taking any chances. He left the trunk closed so no one would find Kane besides the one who was supposed to, not that he expected vampire hunters to be prowling an unpopulated parking garage in the middle of the night. Not exactly prime vampire ground. He was sure Verta would be able to figure out opening it.

He didn’t go back to the car until he got an emoji-filled DM back from Verta with a picture of what looked like Kane’s attempt at a smile.

His trunk had a hand-shaped dent in it, not that he really gave a shit. By the time he got home, it was almost sunrise. He really had to do something about his sleeping before Monday.

Luan stared blearily at the closet.

He opened it, turned on the robot. Russ flinched back at his touch, looking up at him with a harsh glare. “What?” he spat.

Luan unplugged the charger and shoved it into Russ’s hands before backing away. “You can go.”

Russ opened his mouth, then closed it, the glare melting from his face. He turned and ran through the door without a word, off into the sunrise.

It felt better than any time Luan had hit him.

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event: @whumpmasinjuly

[foxys-left-foot]

I've Got Your Back --- C.S. x D.G.

In which, Chris misbehaves and attempts to apologize. (Catharsis AU)

Trigger warnings: rlly kinky bdsm shiz and gay seggs, mention of murder attempt / blood, trauma response / hallucinations, angst, etc

Era: But Here We Are / present

Ooh, Shifty really fucked up this time! Dave was understandably angry at him. He'd attempted to kill the man. He didn't know why he wanted to --- he just did. And it left the frontman with a stab wound, burn scars, and so many lacerations...It haunted him to his very core. How was he going to apologize to his boss?

He needed help, so he went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. "Tay, hey Tay? Taylor!" he called. His reflection soon turned to the form of the late Taylor Hawkins. "Yeah, buddy? Sup?" he asked. "We kinda messed up. We pretty much almost killed Dave, and I wanna say sorry to him ---"

"Well then, suck his dick,"

"Excuse me, WHAT?"

"Keep your voice down! But yeah, either that, or have some like, hot sex with him. Worked for me nine times out of ten!" Taylor then giggled. "What's so funny??" Chris barked. "Oh nothing, just the fact that you wanna be his lil' pet," the specter replied. "I --- I do not! W -- Where's your proof for that, huh??" Chris's confidence faltered.

"Need I remind you of your flashbacks, of your fantasies? Hm, how bout those times when the boys weren't home from school yet, and you let Cara peg you?"

"Shut up! Nobody's supposed to know! That was our secret! Plus, not like I liked it or anything ----"

"You did it several times. And digging through those memories specifically, you were wearing a collar? Of all things? Blindfolded a couple times, too? Oh man, this is rich! Now for the fantasies..."

"Okay, okay! I get it! I'll let him know. Just..stop digging in there. If you make me blurt out that I like it when my wife fucks me, I'll know! And I'll find a way to strangle you!" Chris hissed. Taylor ignored his demeanor, still giggly. "Good luck, Shifts." He said before disappearing.

Chris got out his phone and decided to text Dave. How should he do this? 'Hi, Dave, I just wanna apologize for being a snot. Can we have sex?' No, no! He's gotta want to set everything aside for him, and he's gotta give him better ass than Taylor.

Taylor, who was in the subconscious, scoffed in offense. Chris shook his head and typed, 'Swing by my room tonight. Wanna talk.' He hit send and waited nervously. A couple seconds passed, and he got an 'ok' in response. He sighed nervously and headed back to their hotel room, mentally preparing himself.

He sat there on the bed, opening the drawer on the nightstand. His collar. Usually, he reserved this for Cara, but tonight, it would be seeing some different action. It was red leather with small shiny gray spikes. Should he put it on? No, he should wait. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Coming!" he called. He opened the door, and Dave stood there in front of him. Sure, they only had a couple inches worth of height difference, but Dave looked a lot taller --- and much more scarier --- now that they were face to face. "Oh, uh...come in." Chris squeaked, smiling nervously. He then remembered...the collar! Right, that collar! Dave couldn't see it --- yet! But he didn't have time to hide it either...

Dave kept a straight expression, walking into the room. He sat on the bed, unaware of its presence and briefly glancing at his nails. He shot an expectant glare at the younger man. Gulp. He peered over the black plastic frames of his glasses. "So, you wanted to see me? Hurry up, I've gotta get some sleep. You're lucky I didn't ask Pat to bunk with you instead." He snapped.

"Dave, about the other night...I don't know what went through my head," He sighed, sitting next to him. How was he gonna deliver this? "I know it wasn't you, that you can't help it that this thing controls your body sometimes..."

"What about that illusion...where you were..him?" Dave asked. Silence. "I really can't say. I don't remember that. I only remember you passing out in the house. Your screaming," At that, Chris's vision got warped in some way --- he could only see Dave's blood on his hands. Not only on the palms --- but his whole hand --- coated in that red substance. A hauntingly shrill laugh echoed in his head.

He screamed and shut down, gripping clumps of hair tightly in his hands. His eyes held manic fear, his entire body shook with the force of a violent tremor. "OH GOD, THE BLOOD!!" he shrieked, finally bursting into tears. Dave flinched, his expression empathetic instead of infuriated. "Chris, Chris, it's okay, my body makes more! C'mon, if anything kills me, it'll be a heart attack, not you! You were just upset, I underst ---"

But his voice wasn't helping. In fact, it made things worse. He stood up suddenly, not even turning to face him as he spoke. "I'll be back. Gotta cool down in the bathroom real quick." He said shakily, darting into the bathroom and locking the door. Given past events, as soon as that click of the lock hit Dave's ears, he began to panic.

"No! Chris, you'd better not ---" As he went to get up, something landed on the floor next to him with a soft thump. "Huh?" He picked it up, and upon closer inspection, recognized the object and its purpose. He shuddered and quickly set it down on the nightstand.

He knew it wasn't his business, but he should ask. So he picked it back up, holding it daintily in between his fingers like a claw. He approached the bathroom door and knocked. Chris jumped from the sudden noise and backed away from the door. He backed up until he was right against the edge of the tub.

When he looked over his shoulder, it was filled to the brim with blood. A creature, coated in red, began to rise from it. "ALL YOUR FAULT, ALL YOUR FAULT!!" It accused in a raspy, demonic tone. It threatened to breach containment. If it did, it would surely find its way out of here and towards the frontman, mauling him with razor sharp claws. Then, when he was dead, the other four were next. He knew how this went.

He had to protect Dave, at all costs. "Don't come in here!"

"Shifty, I just want to know what the hell's going on!! Let me in!"

"No, it wants you, I won't let it!!"

"Let what?? Chris, you're worrying me!! Let me in!"

"No, I won't let you! It's not safe!!!" With those words, this humanoid with only a top half chose a new target: him. He went to scream, but couldn't. No sounds came from him. In reality, he was letting out the most shrillest, bone-chilling, loudest scream Dave had ever heard.

Even louder than he could manage! "THAT'S IT, I'M FUCKING COMING IN THERE!!" he declared. Chris backed into the other side of the door. "No, you're not!!" He protested through tears. He was gonna die, right here, in his hotel room. Just like Taylor. He was doomed.

Or so he thought. Dave had managed to go at light speed down to the main floor of the hotel and demanded a bathroom key. He knew that Shiflett was in danger. After obtaining it, he jammed it into the lock and kicked the door open.

Chris went flying face-first into the wall, followed by a groan of pain. He slid down and laid there. Dave looked around. The only noises he could hear were Chris's soft wails and the faint buzz of an overhead light. Nothing except the usual in sight.

"DAVE IS GONNA PAY...PAY US BACK ONE DAY FOR OUR PAIN!!" the creature rasped, dissolving into a pool of blood. Then that disappeared, too. The brunet had run out of tears to cry at this point, reduced to a ball of sniffles and whines. Dave sighed in relief and briefly scanned over him. No physical evidence of harm was present on his body. But weary eyes, still on the verge of tears, gradually made contact with his own.

He knelt down, gently scooping the guitarist up and into his arms. At that moment, the door to the room swung open. There, stood the rest of the band, obviously concerned. Dave stepped out of the bathroom and kept Chris cradled in his arms. "What's going on in here??" Nate finally spoke, "Is anyone hurt or dying??"

Dave shook his head solemnly. "No. Chris just had an...episode, is all," he explained, setting the collar down gently on the sink. "He needs...rest. He doesn't need all these people right now. I'm all he's got for the moment." At that, the younger boy dug his nails into his muscular arms. Dave clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

"Please just go. I've got this. Thank you, though. I'm sure he appreciates the concern." As Pat went to protest, the demon briefly took over. "I SAID GO!" it boomed. This caused a forceful wind that blew everyone back a bit. "Okay, okay! We're leaving!" Nate said in surrender.

Everyone left, Josh closing the door behind him. Chris began crying again, the demon's voice scaring him. It realized this and relinquished control. Dave sighed and gently ran a hand through the boy's hair. He began humming softly, slowly stepping over to the bed. He sat down and kept humming the tune.

He knew that his bandmate knew it well --- Sweet Child O' Mine. One of the first songs he ever learned. Slowly but surely, Chris started to calm down. Within no time flat, his tears subsided. Instead of just saying a simple 'Thanks, Dave,' he made a bold move. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Dave's.

"Shifty? What're you ---?" Gently cupping the side of his face, Chris kissed him. He quickly realized his mistake, however, and pulled away. "I'm s - sorry, man, dunno what came over me." He said profusely. He looked away in shame. But the frontman gently tilted his head back towards him.

He kissed him gently yet lovingly. "Don't be," he spoke in the kiss, "I liked it." He pulled away. "Room service sound good to ya?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Champagne,"

"I agree. Doordash KFC?"

"You read my mind, Shifty!"

About an hour-and-a-half later, Chris was beginning to get tipsy from the alcohol they were consuming. "Hey, Dave," he slurred, "Truth or dare?" Dave thought a moment, pondering his answer. "Truth!" he finally answered. Chris shook his head. "Is it true that you and T were getting...like, sexy every damn night?"

"Well, not every night. Depended on how we felt. Your turn, Chris: truth or dare?"

"Truth,"

Dave held up the collar. "Is this yours, and do you have a thing for this dynamic?" Normally, the intoxicated guitarist would deny it, but he was so drunk right now that he didn't care to lie. "Yeah, and yeah. Cara makes me...put it on sometimes when she fucks me in..in the ass." He replied.

Dave's eyes went wide and he put a hand over his mouth. "Kay, truth or dare, Davey?"

"Hmm...how about a dare?? Fuckin bring it!"

"I dare you to fuck me like the slut I fuckin am."

Dave froze. What kind of dare was that?? But rules were rules, he had to do it. "Chris, you sure about this? You're pretty drunk." He protested. "Yeah, I'm sure. Now c'mon, fuck me." He clumsily climbed up into his lap, loosely wrapping his legs around his waist. "Pretty please?" he begged.

Dave did an experimental tug on a strand of Chris's brown hair. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't too harsh, either. Chris grunted in response and kept gazing at him lustfully. "Dare ya to make out with me." Dave challenged. The guitarist shrugged, smashing their lips together.

They made out for several minutes before the frontman fell back on his back and brought the male with him. Chris pulled away, panting softly for air. "I dare you, good sir, to call me your pet, and absolutely fucking rail me." He slurred.

Taylor's ghost appeared by the bed, he and Dave both saying, "Damn!" simultaneously. He unclasped the collar and reattached it to Chris's neck. Once it was on, Chris leaned back a little, appearing somewhat taller and more confident.

Dave got an idea. He grinned mischievously. "Chris, I dare you to strip. And don't just strip --- put on a whole fucking show." He challenged. Chris shrugged. "As you wish." he replied, getting off of him completely. He took his phone out of his pocket, selected his choice of tunes, and set it back down.

"Don't tell me that you're actually going to do this..." Taylor sighed. "Fine then, I won't." Chris shot back with a chuckle. "Oh fuck you!" The blond specter turned around, facing away from him. But he still dared to look out the corner of his eye.

Then it started. The show. Chris slowly unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off just as slow afterwards. Despite his older age and slower metabolism, he didn't look half bad. "Yuck!" Taylor gagged, feigning disgust. But he did secretly enjoy his host getting naked.

Whoa there, he can't think like that! Cut that out! He briefly glanced back over to his host, who was in the process of unbuckling and removing his belt. He then looked away. Eventually, he was almost completely bare, save for his boxers and socks.

As he went to remove those, however, Dave stopped him. "That's good enough for now. C'mere," he invited, arms wide open. Chris crawled back up on the bed, then on top of Dave. He purred softly and Taylor held back what would've been vomit. But it was his idea, though...so he'd punish himself by making himself watch.

Punishment. Forced to watch. That triggered a certain memory in Hawkins's brain.

2015. Taylor deliberately disobeyed him to see what would happen. He had that challenging flame in his eyes, and he had an even stronger one in his heart. Dave frowned and shook his head as they walked back to the dressing room. "Taylor, you dirty whore." He spat. He slapped the drummer across the face and then kissed him passionately as an apology.

"What can I say? 'M already a sweaty, stinky boy. Might as well be a dirty one, too." he replied. The flashback skimmed ahead to Hawkins on his knees. "I told you not to touch yourself while you wait, but like the little snot you are, you did! Now you're going to watch while I get off...with no help from you."

Taylor whimpered but nodded, understanding that this punishment was deserved. Dave started rubbing it out, his grunts only torturing the blond. Soon enough, he came right on his face. The boy was initially frozen in shock, but Dave tilted his head up and kissed it gently. "There's my pretty dirty whore." He cooed with a malicious grin. Taylor smiled lazily, going about cleaning himself up.

Back to present day reality, and he chooses to completely turn to face them. He'd come to regret it. "Now do you have a thing for degradation or praise? Cause I don't want to use the wrong one..." Dave began, trailing off. "Either or," Chris hummed, "Switching between the two really drives me up the fuckin' wall."

Taylor could somehow feel himself begin to blush. Which was odd, considering that he hadn't blushed in a long time. Dave flipped them over, earning a squeak from the shorter boy. "Hey wait a second...why are you still fully clothed? Shouldn't you be naked?" he asked.

He was met with a harsh tug to his hair. "I do whatever I want, whenever I want!" Dave spat. "Yes, master." Chris said through gritted teeth. The older man suddenly let go and started laughing. "What'd you just call me??" he inquired in between laughs.

"Fuckin'...I called you master, didn't I? Shit, I'm sorry, I guess it's a force of habit with my wife." Chris profusely apologized. "No, no, Shifty, you're all good. Say, what else does she do?"

"Ties my wrists, blindfolds me, and sometimes she gags me."

"Kinky. One moment." He got out of bed, grabbing a towel. "Lemme see those wrists!" He hummed in a sing-song voice. Chris offered his hands out to him. Dave wrapped the towel around his wrists.

Chris tried the makeshift restraint. Tight, but loose enough for him to escape if he had the chance. Dave took a swift notice to the glittering silvery tag dangling from the collar. He lifted the tag to read it. He shook his head and grinned devilishly. "Hmm, 'Mommy's Little fuck toy,' huh?" he teased.

Chris nodded. "She likes when I beg and call her mommy. Got me this for my birthday," His boxers got tight and his cock throbbed. Too used to his wife's rough touch, he pleaded, "Mommy, please. Been good." Dave slapped him in the face. "I'm not your damn mother." He snapped.

Chris whined softly. "I'm sorry, master. Master, please?? I just need the relief from your big cock...fuckin' plow me into this mattress, break it, even! Master, I'll be good!" he begged. Taylor cringed. When Chris was dedicated, he was fucking dedicated.

Silence filled the room. All that could be heard were the boy's soft whimpers. "Since you begged like a good little bitch, I think I fuckin' will." Dave spat. He pulled down Chris's underwear, just enough to expose his bare ass. He then spanked him harshly, with enough force to sting.

But the boy still arched his back, grunting softly. When he arched, he humped the bed a little. Dave chuckled, repeating his previous action. Chris did it again. "Like that, lil slut?" He hissed. The latter nods, whimpering. If his hands were free, he'd start beating it right here.

The frontman got completely naked, proceeding to kiss a trail up and down his spine. His hands caressed his legs gently, before spanking him another time. "Knees!" he barked. "Yes, master." Chris mumbled, positioning himself. "Finger yourself. Stretch yourself out while I get a condom. But don't come. Can you do it?"

"Yes, master." With that, his partner untied his wrists. The brunet reached behind him and put a finger in his hole. He tensed but then relaxed. He coaxed it back in and out, beginning to speed up. He found the courage to add his middle finger and choked on a moan. He'd found it. That special spot.

His eyes rolled back in his head. Taylor bit his lip. He could somehow feel as horny as his host, and felt a desire to relieve himself. Then he dared himself something that he hadn't done before: he'd come when Chris did. Dave noticed that his pet was having a bit too much fun on his own, so he yanked his hand out.

Chris stopped, panting and blushing red. "Aren't you dirty?" Dave taunted. The younger man nodded, going back to whimpering. "This'll hurt, Shifty." he warned. After a moment, he finally started burying himself in him. Oh, it burned, but he loved the burn. "Go." He finally said.

Dave began thrusting in him roughly. Skin slapped on skin from the force. "A-ah!" Chris groaned, tightly gripping the sheets. "Fuck, harder!" he encouraged. Taylor couldn't help himself and started beating it. Sometimes, he wished that he was still alive so that he could join in.

"Who barks the orders around here?" Dave snapped, yanking on his hair harshly. Chris hissed in pain. "You, Dave, fuck...you do!" he replied desperately. He was chasing that high, vision blurring as tears rolled down his face. But these weren't tears of sadness or pain --- no --- these were tears of joy.

"Good slut." Dave spat, his thrusts becoming erratic. He let go of Chris's hair, opting to tightly grip his shoulders instead. He let out what was arguably the most guttural noise Chris had ever heard in twenty-five years. He'd come. He pulled out and kissed the back of his shoulder.

When Chris kept whimpering, Dave got confused. Then it hit him. He facepalmed and chuckled nervously. "Okay, Shifty, you can do it now." He said softly. The boy again looked for permission. Dave gave him a nod. With that, Chris jerked off to the point that he released onto the sheets.

He was so dazed that he couldn't moan, just choking them back. Taylor finally finished as well and frowned. Oh yeah, ectoplasm. And all over the floor, too. Gross! He'd have to clean that up. Before everyone could gather their thoughts, Chris piped up, "Round number two?"

Dave was shocked. He only usually lasted just one round and was done. But Shifty? Apparently he wasn't. "Shifts, I'd love to pound ya, but I can't. I don't have the drive I used to,"

"What if I rode you then? That way, you're not doing all the work ---- I am. Sound good?" Chris asked half-playfully. Well, Dave couldn't refuse that.. "Ah fuck, why the hell not?" he chuckled. He threw out the used condom and went to grab a new one. But a hand on his wrist stopped him from doing so.

"Huh?" He looked up at Chris and stopped. The guitarist's eyes looked three shades darker as he spoke. "No, no, Dave. You're gonna fill me up like a good pet." he purred lowly. Dave blushed. "Yeah, okay, that's cool..." he stuttered. With a grin the blue-eyed male crawled over to him and straddled. "Ready?" Chris asked.

The frontman gulped and blushed a darker shade. "Y-Yeah, Shifty, go ahead." Chris could feel himself sobering up a bit. He growled in frustration, wanting the combination of booze and sex that left him with a feeling of enhanced ecstasy. He put a finger up, signaling that he needed a minute.

He grabbed some leftover champagne, chugging what was left of it. Which wasn't that much, but it was enough to keep him buzzed. He went to put it back down, taking several tries to accomplish that. Once he did, he turned back to Dave. He noticed that his partner wasn't as erect as he was and sought to fix that.

He looked to Taylor, who was a bit hesitant. But he knew how to suck dick, and Chris did not. So the blond possessed him and got down. He went to work sucking his former boss off. Dave's body stiffened, back arching up a bit. "Ho, Chris," he commented shakily, "I didn't know you...ah, knew how to give a fuckin' blow job."

Taylor knew his job was done. Now it was his host's turn. When Dave wasn't looking, he switched control to Chris. "Fucking ready, Grohl?" he teased. "You bet, and I will be rating you." He replied cockily. "I won't stop until I get five stars." The brunet purred.

With that, he lined himself up with Dave's cock and sank down. Both men grunted and looked into each other's eyes. They shared a tender yet passionate kiss before Chris sat back up and began riding him. Dave groaned, bringing his hands up to hold on to his lover's waist. He dug his nails into his back, raking them down soon after.

Shifty hissed in pain but kept going. He bounced up and down on the dick, deciding at one point to dismount and remount. He did this several times, loving each time. "Gonna...fuck! Gonna cum, Dave. So close." He warned. "M-me too..." Dave stuttered.

[chronologically-challenged]

There was this one art a little while ago about the family stuck in a situation where they're forced to play ISAT in some post game scenerio. I keep having many thoughts, but here's some about them figuring out who Loop is:

1) They all BAFFLED by how Loop usually talks. They all thought Loop was this shy little star person. Immediately, they get hit with "have you tried not dying~~~~" into "I think you deserve help" and do not know what to think.

2) Odile is in charge of the controller. Mainly bc no one else wants to control Siffrin and they all have equal amount of video game experience aka none, so Odile is being practical about it. This has the side effect that Odile gets to be all investigative. Odile makes it her MISSION to find stuff out about Loop.

3) Siffrin has complicated feelings about them finding out about Loop??? Like okay they HATE their family has to see all this, ESPECIALLY THAT THEY CAN SEE HIS THOUGHTS!!!! But. Loop. Siffrin hasn't told his family the truth. It's not his story to tell. But. If they figure it out...? In a way that proves Loop wrong, right? That they can recognize them. Maybe it takes a bit because Loop looks different is and actively trying to be different from Siffrin. But. Maybe...? Either way they encourage Odile to talk to Loop. If this is a simulation... if this is real in some way even... yeah he wants to talk to Loop.

Anyway here's a list on how they find out one by one:

Odile: She catches the little stuff. She notes the royal We, the fact that Loop alludes to having an old body by accident, the casual familiarity in some places. All of that. She is also the first to note their eyes being different shades. However, Odile doesn't make the connection 100%, not until Isabeau. Well.

Isabeau: He gets some of the weird stuff Loop says but not as many as Odile. HE finds Loops side comments weirder. He sees Loop's reactions and they're a bit. Uncanny.... and then he has another realization, Loop and Siffrin have the same eyes. When Isabeau notes this, it all clicks for Odile.

Mirabelle: Okay, so. You cannot tell me that Mirabelle has not read fantasy stories with weird guide characters. She has to have!!!! So at first, she's not even looking for who Loop is. And tbh? She has the best read on Loop's personality otherwise. Sassy, but clearly caring. A bit of a shit, but serious when needed. And mainly, she appreciates Loop Being There when the rest of them couldn't. That being said, the moment where the "have you wondered who I am" happens. And suddenly Mirabelle Is Thinking Of the Possibilties. And then the ME option pops up!!!! Odile was already about to pick it but Mirabelle YELLS to pick that one!!!!! Uh. Shortly after that they all have a conversation about how yeah, Loop is VERY likely Siffrin. Mirabelle justifies herself with tropes. Of course!!! Of course they're Siffrin!!! If they're anyone they have to be Siffrin. Siffrin got transformed and became the guide they needed!!!! It Just Makes Sense.

Bonnie: ....Tbh doesn't really figure it out on their own? But also. Loop. Feels like Frin. Not exactly like Frin. But they're Frin enough to be trusted so who cares. It takes awhile for them to really get it too because... it's weird. Also they're the one to really ask why there would be two Frins??? Duh??? And why would Frin become Loop???

Anyway, basically, after picking "Me?" They pretty much are all on the same page. They got that it was wishcraft. They got Loop is Siffrin somehow. I think Odile might figure out that "hey, uh if Loop is the guide then what happens when Loop doesn't have a guide" and Mirabelle probably says "wait Siffrin didn't you say to me once that without Loop you wouldn't have made it?"

Meanwhile Siffrin is a mix of sad and very emotionally touched. Because. Yeah. Even when trying to actively hide, their family recognized them.

Notably, Siffrin gets them to twohats (Siffrin remembers that they understood Loop most after showing them the coin. So yes, the family does get to see Siffrin's "I will forget everything I love" moment. Goes as well as you expect. Lots of hugs and the reassurance that they will bug Siffrin until the end of their days so he can't forget him so HA!)

But yeah. Siffrin really wants to make sure they can get little simulation Siffrin to realize Loop is Siffrin as well. Because if there is any chance of this being real and that they're guiding a Siffrin in another reality, then they want to make sure they can get Loop to know just how much they did. How much they helped and changed Siffrin's fate for the better.

To note: I'd imagine in this scenario, Odile wouldn't go do any of the side stuff. At least not too much of it. There wouldn't be as much exploration either. Siffrin likely would be very underleveled as a result.

So perhaps in this scenario? Imagine if you will that while the Siffrin watching definitely defeated Loop, the simulation Siffrin loses.

And Siffrin finds out that... no. No! Of course Loop couldn't kill him. Of course they wouldn't. There is a catharsis to that realization.

(After they finish the game, either a) prologue playthrough time or b) they're freed and the group IMMEDIATELY try to figure out a way to find Loop bc uh??? Even if they weren't Siffrin, they want to find them. But like. Two Frins. Two Frins they know are different but who cares, no matter who Loop chooses to be, Loop Is Family Too).

Anyway, family plays isat featuring the Loop Saga.

[moldypoff]

God, I want to make a fanfic where you kill (accidentally or not) Jimmy after you find out that he assaulted Anya and the crash doesn’t happen but now you have to deal with the consequences.

Even if you do the “morally right” thing everyone’s gonna hate you (they won’t say it but they’ll think it).

With the way Pony Express operates I think Curly will have to severely punish you. Either A. Lock you up in a secluded space for the rest of 8 months or B. Kill you, as per policy because you’re mentally unstable and at risk of harming the rest of the crew.

Besides the mental strain that’ll be on just you for the next few months, everyone else has to bear the consequences as well.

(Elaboration under the cut)

Explaining the situation to the company and cops is going to be hell for Anya, because when you explain that you did it on Anya’s behalf they’re immediately going to assume that she may have been an accomplice/and or orchestrated the attack. Not even that but you’ll permanently stain her already half-baked resume since this can be seen as her being an ineffective healthcare provider since she’d clearly misjudged your mental state during psyche evals.

What’s worse is that Curly might not get that promotion because of you since he failed, as Captain, to settle the dispute. Not only did you kill his long term friend but you ruined his life and now he has to deal with keeping everyone calm and Jimmy’s rotting body on the ship.

Daisuke? Considering you’re probably the closest to him out of everyone in the crew because of his friendly personality he’s going to feel so betrayed on top of stressed from living in the environment you created for the next few months. Again, rotting body. Next, everyone’s going to have to decide on how to collectively come up with a solid strategy to get out of this somewhat or completely scot free WHILE continuing to perform their usual tasks on the Tulpar.

Swansea’s probably furious right off the bat. Not just because he already know’s there’s going to be so much work when you all get to your destination (too which he will simultaneously be unemployed), but because he thought you were better than this. Jimmy’s an asshole and rapist, but you? Adding to their troubles of already being laid off and traumatizing them at the same time just because you felt like playing hero? You’re almost just as bad as Jimmy.

Of course they didn’t know how things would play out if they kept Jimmy alive, but is this really any better?

They’re filled with impending doom, they need to keep the smelly, rotting crime scene untouched to prove their innocence, and worst of all they probably still have to take care of you, if you’re alive, AND take over your tasks for your role on the ship as well as Jimmy’s.

Inspiration + Reflection:

Tbh I feel like this is a good reflection of how society treats heros. I remember hearing about this dude who had his daughter SA’d and out of pure rage he killed her abuser, and upon realizing that he was going to jail he went on a spree to kill as many predators and rapists as he could.

That man will never see freedom again but he saved countless young girls and women from being taken advantage of.

It’s also interesting to think about the families and friends of the predators and rapists. Did they even know about what their friend, brother, or husband was up to? Do they comprehend the sheer capacity for cruelty at which this person they trusted operates themselves at? And are they sad to see them go? Are they mad at the person who took them away? Are they willing to accept the fact that they were a bad person or do they desperately cling to the memory of them when they were ‘good’?

I’d really like to explore these topics with multiple endings. Writing a whole fanfic is hard man- I’d rather just get to the important stuff, I’m sorry 😭

Speaking of, I have a couple in mind.

Endings:

Estimated reader satisfaction: # / 5

Bad Ending: -1 - 0 / 5

Everyone dies under the pressure of it all.

Mini Bad Ending: 0.5 - 1 /5

Curly kills you.

Neutral ending#1: 1/5

You live, everyone’s alive (except for Jimmy, duh), all of the expected consequences occur, you’re in jail, you all go your separate ways and struggle like hell. (The most realistic ending.)

Neutral ending#2: 3/5

You only kill yourself. Everyone else is proven innocent and gets to live a somewhat “normal” life, but is forever haunted by your sacrifice.

Good: 5/5

Pony Express is sued, and you all (well… maybe except for you) are awarded a shit ton of money in compensation. You all live happily ever after (you’re actually in jail but the others can easily bail you out). <- Very unlikely, kinda vanilla if you ask me, but fix-it AUs do go hard tho, I just wouldn’t write it myself.

Side notes: Did I remind you that Anya’s pregnant this entire time? Also, this can serve as justification for Curly for his ‘inaction’. If this were him instead of you it might be two times-ish harder on him to be honest.

[wowa-bublord]

Does your Zack ever get to his true breaking point where everything is just too much to push away and he can't help but show his true vulnerability? And if so, what or who is the catalyst?

OMG I RRRRR I LOVED DRAWING 4 THIS ONE OKAY SO. with the au, zack will reach a breaking point with the way he's handling his emotions by blocking them off/bottling them up. It's inevitable. The question of what/who is the catalyst and not when or if it happens hehehe AND IM SO EXCITED TO ANSWER. Through out the au story, zack is stuck in this sorta mentality.

he's so reliant on Cloud being okay, that he can't focus on anything else (for reasons i can discuss another time). My instinctive reaction, it to think that Cloud waking up would give him enough emotional relief to let down some of those walls. But, then I thought that if Zack bases his emotional wellbeing so heavily on cloud...

then theres not going to be a point where Cloud is suddenly 'okay' enough in Zacks brain to let it out. Life has its ups and downs, recovery from physical/mental trauma like cloud went through especially has its ups and downs. Theres always going to be some excuse for Zack to close up even further, particularly since he chooses to be in a caretaker role for Clouds early recovery when he needs it.

So then my mind hopped over to Tifa and Barret, his two closest friends in this au. But I thought that also could only go so far, Zack wants to appear strong for the people he cares for, and in his mind, he's somehow 'tricked' Barret and Tifa into thinking he's stable and tough enough to be their friend, he doesn't want to risk suddenly being too much. (IMPOSTER SYNDROME GANG RISE UP) And since Zack is so numb to violence and battle, I think it'd take a lot to push him out of that even in physically violent scenarios (u could still try though. whump writers i am on ur side 4ever) And not only that, but Tifa and Barret have only known Zack as he is now. They know that he's definitely a bit weird, but they don't know how far that goes, as this is the only version of Zack they've ever met.

BUT HE OBVIOUSLY will still have his own explosion. It's necessary, it's inevitable. Just look at that guy. So I thought, who else?

and who else could it be if not her?

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I will always be so sad and angry that Eragon never recognized how horribly the elves treated him and that no one else helped protect him from it either. Oromis is so insidiously and inexcusably cruel to him and Eragon truly deserved the chance to escape that and see the damage he caused, and also to then beat Oromis into a bloody pulp. And Glaedr too, honestly. He's mostly gone unscathed in my past rants, largely because at least his personality isn't so insufferable, but he ain't shit either. He's fully complicit in all of Oromis's vile abuse, and adds to it himself in certain places. They more than earn Eragon's ire, but they all constantly belittle him and insist that they inherently know better than him about everything, and poor Eragon believes them, so he doesn't fight back. No!!! Every misgiving you have about them is true, and not only should you stand your ground, but you should also start maiming them!!!!!

Oromis's mannerisms are respectful, kind, and gentle, but they in no way indicate his actual feelings. It just serves as a guise, while their actions demonstrate that both he and Glaedr don't have a single shred of respect for Eragon. They don't trust him, they don't put faith in him, they don't care about his wellbeing, and they have so much contempt for him. And they do all that while they take everything from Eragon, demanding he sacrifice himself constantly, and not always just in the interest of beating the Empire! In some cases it's solely an expression of their resentment of him or a way to cut away at the parts of him they don't like.

And Eragon gives them everything, so earnestly and generously. Then they give him jack shit. They only give him whatever suits their intention to use him as a weapon, and even in that, they pick and choose things to withhold according to their disdain for him. Contempt is all he gets in return for his trust and loyalty.

And it makes me sad how Saphira isn't there for him in this. In her defense, she's very young and they harm her also by prioritizing her utility to them over anything else, which she sadly does not recognize either. But beyond that, the elves and Oromis and Glaedr specifically treat her far, far better than they treat Eragon. She's in no way responsible for their actions, but there are places where she enables the abuse. Most often through overlooking it, but sometimes when Eragon rightfully balks at their mistreatment, then turns to Saphira for her input, she tells him, "I trust them and I think you should be deferring to them."

Eragon is so earnest and compassionate and he deserves care, both in the form of other people caring about his wellbeing, and also through the chance for him to learn how he can and should care for himself. Yet at the end of the series, he's so conditioned to accept manipulation and abuse and I just want my poor boy to have a chance to rest and HEAL 😭

[alilyamongroses]

ASOIAF bitches have made an entire genre of literary criticism out of twisting themselves into giant, angry knots over how unfair and misogynistic it is that such a huge swathe of women in this text get murdered or tortured or raped for the purpose of influencing the male characters’ storylines but you make a single inadequately deferential point about how many women of color are made to swallow up huge amounts of graphic, intense suffering for that same purpose in the service of white women and they turn into stupefied, pearl-clutching children who just can’t understand why you’re being so mean to their Stronk Female Lead Who Has Been Through So Much

[landinrris]

On Our Terms- Chapter 5

Pairings: Carlos/Lando

Rating: E

Tags: Football Player Carlos, Artist Lando, More specifically Lando does pottery, Unintentional Outing, Explicit Sexual Content, Established Relationship, Minor Angst, Always a Happy Ending, Fluff and Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Euro Cup, Introspection

Chapter: 5/?

His legs give out without his permission, the ground rushing up to meet him. The grass is overstimulating against the backs of his arms and his neck, but he doesn’t move. He lifts his arms to rest over his eyes and tries to take steady breaths to calm himself. This isn’t real. This is a dream. He’s still sleeping next to Lando in their hotel room. He wasn’t just subjected to one of the worst referee performances in his life.

Read Chapter 5 || Start from the beginning

[quaz-art]

Send me your Grishaverse AUs that "nobody cares about" and I will draw art for them because motherfucker I CARE

[comatosebunny09]

It goes something like this:

You’re a little bruised and battered. A little rough around the edges, yearning for the comfort of your bed. Maybe some brandy to chase away the ache and mask the throbbing between your ears, but…

Well, he’d sent for you. Of course he did. You’d barely stumbled back into Baldur’s Gate when he received word of your resurgence—gods damn his spies for occupying every nook and cranny of this city.

He could’ve at least granted you the luxury of a cold shower beforehand. Maybe even a change of clothes and the acrid sting of a beer at the back of your throat. You’ve just endured training from hell and deserve to push it all into the darkest reaches of your mind.

But nooo.

He wants to see you. Now. As if the stars will fall from the sky if you don’t show face. Given his might and overabundance of magic, he could very well make that happen.

So, here you stand. Before the towering, oakwood doors of the king’s quarters, a little worse for wear, a little over this shit.

Your uniform’s heavy and mottled with dirt. You’re still sweaty. Still achy, grinding your teeth and shifting your weight between your feet to take the pressure off them. Your exhaustion outweighs everything, burdensome on your shoulders like the buckles and leather ornaments dangling from your cloak.

You look and feel like utter shit, for lack of better terms. Not like it matters. He’s seen you at your worst and still beckoned you with a crooked smile and the curl of his elegant finger. And you always come running like the ever-faithful guard dog, exhaustion be damned.

The frigid metal of the door handles sends a shiver through your bones. Cold. Grounding. Much like him.

You heave a sigh. Your shoulders slump, and your head thuds softly against the door as you contemplate your life choices. Perhaps you were better off a street urchin, peddling stolen goods and picking pockets. At least then, you’d have the blessing of a night’s rest.

A few maids scuttle by, tickled by the pathetic scene you paint. In your peripheral, they wear omniscient grins as they pass you, and their giggles and whispers linger long after they turn the corner.

Like it’s some secret known to everyone else but you onwhy you’re here. Not in bed. Not licking your wounds and nursing your migraine with cheap booze.

Ugh.

You should be grateful. Not many have the privilege of being summoned to the king’s chamber. You’ve been here more times than you can count. More than the maids, his royal advisors.  

You’re typically around for business, standing in good form on the other side of the doors. Quiet, attentive, obedient, loyal. You have to be. Your life is literally bound to his. 

He’s your charge—your king. 

You’ve seen him bleed. Trance. Sweat. Cry on rare occasions. He has kissed you. Touched you. Written the sweetest words into the junction of your shoulder with a sweltering mouth. Fed on you. Promised the best of things as he nibbled on your lip.

You’ve held his hand. Ran cautious fingers through alabaster curls. Whispered words of admiration into the stilled air of his room. You’ve been his confidant more than his bodyguard. Experienced segments of him his subjects could only dream of witnessing.

You count to five in your head. Grip the handles, your shoulder blades tensing, nails digging into the meat of your palms. The doors creak open with some effort, granting you a cool gust of wind on your tired, fevered skin.

Whatever conversation was taking place before your grand entry peters, and there are suddenly two sets of eyes regarding you with different levels of interest as you stand, weary and bone-tired, in the entryway.

Gale’s lips quirk into an awkward smile, brows creasing with sympathy as he cautiously rounds the desk. “Erm, how was your training?”

“Shit,” you answer quickly. Flatly.

Gale blinks, utterly floored by your brazenness. Then again, you’ve never been one to filter yourself in the royal advisor’s presence. Doesn’t help that you’re exhausted and itching for a bath.

Astarion arches a humored brow. ‘Atta girl,’ reads the proud twinkle in his eye.

Gale chuckles uncomfortably, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Like you two are poised to pounce on him. “Er, right. My apologies for your…hardships.”

You shrug. “I survived. Got my ass kicked around a few times, but I’m here.”

The clearing of a throat draws your attention to your king. You straighten. “Right. Well, as riveting as this conversation has been, I think it’s time we wrap this up.”

Gale casts Astarion a pensive look. “Your Majesty, there is still much to discuss. The peace treaties, the plans for reconstruction. We’ve staved this off long enough.”

Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes. Hands thrown up in dramatic flair. “Well, stave it off longer,” he commands, ushering Gale towards the entry of his quarters. “I’ve more…pressing matters to attend to.”

You don’t miss how Astarion’s mouth twitches when his eyes skim over you. Feel it tingling beneath your skin.

Halfway to the door, Gale looks between you and the king, fully aware of the implications of that statement. “Right. By pressing, you mean someone will be pressed up against a—”

“Get out!”

[discordiansamba]

by the way, in case you were wondering who was leading the group of soldiers Ozai paid off to kidnap Zuko and dump him in the Earth Kingdom... it's Zhao. of course it's Zhao. he's the one who gave him his burn in this canon too.

[nartothelar]

Please tell me there’s a happy ending for the apocalypse AU.

this is all hinged on the hypothetical that i actually finish the drawings i have in my head or if it will be abandoned with a constant cliffhanger

that being said

yes

[boundinparchment]

Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLV

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Mature. Rating subject to change. Mind the tags. On AO3 here.

Upon returning to the Palace, Zandik left almost immediately for the depths of Haeresys with little explanation.  When you pressed for more details, considering the morning's journey, he brushed stray snow off the fur lining of your cloak's hood and gave you an enigmatic smirk as you waited for the elevator.

The earring he wore, a perfectly clear glowing crystal, fell against his jaw as he titled his head.  It shifted light differently than the previous one.  The vial and dull liquid were now floating somewhere far away from the Palace, beaten eternally by the tide.

"I'll admit only that this is hardly work and more of a…personal project.  You'll see soon enough."

You weren't going to get more details out of him, not here, where so many could overhear.  The only sanctuary you had were your private rooms and such spaces provided little comfort despite their amenities.  That, too, would change, according to Zandik; on the ride back, he mentioned a designer would be by within a week to discuss your ideas.

He made a point to emphasize not to worry about figures and costs; as if that would stop you from thinking about it nonetheless when you were used to making mora last.

Left to your own devices, you returned not to your quarters but to the music room, determined to put the new rhythms and notes in your head somewhere.  The wind up north was different and even the shifting and clinking of the ice had a unique element you wished to capture while the idea was fresh.

What did he have that he wanted to be a surprise, you wondered.  The entire morning had been rather solemn and on more than one occasion, you had a difficult time capturing his attention.  Anyone else might have been hurt by such a demonstration.  Returning to a single mind was hardly easy, you imagined, when he was previously so used to sharing thoughts and ideas as one shared water.  Gaining your footing again in reality was the closest experience you had.

He had only just said goodbye, after all.

You lost yourself in the ink and the keys, rubbing an index finger and thumb together idly as you looked back on your notations and hummed to yourself.  Your callouses were softening and your tendons were adjusting to a different position now that you were adjusted to the piano.  The aches were different.  Some days it felt as if you woke with hands that weren't yours.

While not the same, you were likely one of the few who understood that normality was not instantaneous.  Nor possible when equilibrium had yet to be reached.

He returned sometime later when you were finishing up a section, slipping into the room with a smile that warmed you better than any fireplace or radiator in the entire Palace.  Boyish, exuberant, sharp and full.  A wild contrast from his earlier solemnity but his excitement rolled off him in waves as he checked for potential interlopers. 

Zandik unclipped his mask and placed it on the closed lid of the piano.  Crimson eyes danced with a light you vaguely recalled.  Dreams never quite captured it, however, and you were certain your memories held nothing similar.  Zandik was in his flow, eager and thrilled.  It was infectious and you found yourself closing the lid on the piano and adjusting the hand-embroidered cover with little prompting.

Deft hands made quick work of your own face covering and led you away from the piano, towards the other end of the room with space to dance.

"The doors are locked.  Close your eyes, rooh 'albi."

"What are you—"

Zandik's nose brushed against yours as he leaned in close.  He held your hands in his, palms up and open.  He coaxed you with your name, the syllables rolling off his tongue emphatically.  You closed your eyes and resisted the urge to turn your head and look up as a jolt ran through every fiber of your being.

The distance never closed and instead you felt something drop into your open hands as lips ghosted over yours.  His warmth retreated and you opened your eyes to find a conductor's baton in your hands.

Despite its size, it was rather ornate.  Familiar polished wood, well-balanced, its handle following a flowing motion that felt more comfortable than it looked.  The base gave way to a small device with a glowing light that, when waved, bathed the entire baton in a golden glow.  Examining it closer, you recognized the carvings in the handle, the lines and texture unmistakable.

“This is…”

“Yes.  Summon your weapon and I’ll explain.  Some testing may still be required but presumably, as both are yours, the connection should work with little trouble.”

Confused, you reached into the void and summoned your claymore, careful of the nearby furniture.

“Your profession results in the wearing down of muscles and tendons that are also crucial for everyday use.  Despite pushing through many of the tests and demonstrations I asked of you in Sumeru, it was unmistakable that holding such a heavy weapon exacerbates both the pain and the damage done.  As few humans take well to having certain augmentations, the alternative is to bridge the gap; ease the burden while still allowing for the same result.”

Zandik held out a hand and he took your claymore, maneuvering it adeptly with a single hand.  He pulled a device from his pocket, like the one on the end of the baton.  Red eyes scanned the pommel and crossed hilt until they found an ideal spot and placed the device; it soldered itself to the handle with a brief hiss and tuft of smoke and the light pulsed twice before glowing steadily.

He laid the sword down on the hand-woven carpeting and came to stand behind you.  His chest pressed against your back as he nudged your feet apart slightly.  You hoped he missed the thrum of your pulse as his hand adjusted your arm and wrist.  Poised, baton glowing, Zandik flicked your wrist up and then stepped back when you brought it down to indicate the first beat.

Instinct took care of the rest. 

It was weighty at first, like trying to leverage a boulder with a stick.  Any movement from your wrist or hand would consequently move the claymore through the air, the weapon enveloped in a golden hue much like the baton.  Every time you wielded the blade since that moment at the foot of a Ruin Golem, you relied on a rhythm; it was predictable, Zandik said, a problem in actual combat with another, but useful when learning and understanding the act of swinging such a heavy weapon. 

Without the actual weight in your hands, movement might be quicker, more adaptable.  After all, Zandik controlled his weapon without the aid of such a device.

“Perhaps not the best environment,” you teased, moving a bit too far and narrowly missing an armchair.  “I’d rather not break a window.”

Especially if it meant dealing with Pantalone.  But you kept that thought to yourself.

Zandik chuckled, his hands still behind his back.  “Ideally, the baton follows the same convention as your claymore.  It can be dismissed and summoned at will.  Try it.”

You imagined your hand and the space your claymore occupied as empty, pushing them away as if you were packing a trunk.  In a flash of stardust, both vanished; you had only to think and the baton came back.  Only the baton?  Frowning, you raised it as if you were awaiting musicians to ready themselves and then gestured with a downstroke.  The claymore appeared and sliced through the air, ever obedient.

"How long did you work on this, Zandik?" you asked, turning to look up at him through your lashes.  "When did you work on this?"

How you'd missed your old friend.  The grain was the same.  Zandik did everything he could to preserve the core of the cello head while repurposing it.

He pulled his shoulders back and his smile softened before he spoke again.  This Zandik, your Zandik, was buried in the shadow of himself for so long.  You only ever caught glimpses of him, ghosts of what he wanted to show you.  Something tugged deep inside you as you recalled frozen petals and moments such as this that you knew existed but were lost to a fog. 

"The benefit to my…previous methodology was being able to delegate.  With Omega handling the artificial god and the Akademiya, I was free to work on other ideas.  This was simple, especially after enough observation of your combat style.  Time was not advantageous until now.  Your next surprise was far more complex."

Your brow furled in confusion and before you could get another word out, you caught sight of a glistening item behind Zandik, near the piano in a resting stand.  You were glad to have dismissed the baton, for you might have dropped it as you realized what the crystalline object was. 

The glass panes were so clear, so refined, that part of you wondered whether it was glass at all.  Soft curls and filigree were etched into the surface, so subtle they were only noticeable when light hit just so, refracting in such a way that it appeared to glow from within.  Your fingers itched to brush against the metal strings, feel the weight of a bow in your hand again, and you drew in a shaky breath.

Glancing back up at Zandik, his enthusiasm tempered but nonetheless proud of himself, you found him watching you to gauge your reaction. 

"The acoustics should sound exact, if a little muted because of the Cryo panels.  A microphone took care of that easily enough," he explained. "But you have the better ear for such things."

Your eyes burned and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh in response.  Words weren't enough to convey the overabundance of sheer joy running through you.  Not glass but Cryo, then, and likely all the stronger for it.

"You made this, mon rêve?" you asked, seeking nothing more than confirmation.

He was more than capable of doing such a thing, you well knew; you were not shocked by that, but rather by its craftsmanship. 

"Of course.  Purchasing you a new one would have been easy enough—a few of my colleagues certainly thought that the more reasonable option—but I am never one to turn down a chance to innovate, rooh 'albi."

Your arms wrapped around his neck without a second thought as you closed the gap between you.  Zandik stiffened and inhaled sharply as your fingers settled into his hair, gently playing with the locks as you pressed your lips to his.  It felt as if you were breathing fresh air as you nestled yourself against him and he finally relaxed his shoulders, leaning into you.  Your fingers tingled and, in your fervor, you brushed your tongue against Zandik's, deepening the kiss to channel every bit of excess emotion you couldn't otherwise express.

A hand cradled your face but never pulled you away; instead, it skimmed your jaw and neck to hold the back of your head, keeping you there.

Every previous kiss, few though they were, felt like nothing more than a fleeting touch in comparison.  Breathless, you pulled away slightly, admiring your own handiwork as every knot in your body undid itself.  If being apart was akin to losing a limb, then you could only imagine what came with any kind of union.

Thoughts for far, far later, you reminded yourself.  There was time.  There was always time.

"What does that mean?  Rooh 'albi?" you whispered. 

"Soul of my heart, roughly," Zandik replied, voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead to yours. "Few things and people in this world have made my very being feel as if it is on fire and drenched with the coolest waters all at once.  It seemed fitting."

With a final kiss, this one softer and filled with an unspoken promise, you hesitantly parted.  Zandik's ears were pink, slowly turning back to their usual color.

"Indulge me?" Zandik asked as he revealed his other hand, presenting you with a bow as clear and dazzling as the instrument itself.

As if he even had to ask.

The neck was cool beneath your touch but not uncomfortably so.  After adjusting the tuning and playing a few scales to warm your muscles, you began a familiar, sweeping melody.  Hesitant curiosity, the expansion and elongation of time, mechanical lifeforms battling against the divine.  Memorized notes gave way to freeform composition, the deepest waters now explored and mapped.  Vibrations ran through your very bones and although they felt different compared to the way the wood absorbed them, the notes seemed to glide through the air instead.

The final sound, once a minor key, shifted on a whim to its major variant. Singular applause, slow and marveled, echoed through the room, and in that moment, you swore nothing you played before was as sweet and soul-shaking.

[felikatze]

do the people even know why my human loop design has long hair. do they even know the insane context for divorce AU i inflicted on people.

[youleavethetardisbrakeson]

Something, something, Princess Bride AU...

A young Corlys and Rhaenys are madly in love and want to be married. Maybe Jezzy disapproves or wants her to marry Viserys instead. Corlys, an accomplished sailor, must prove himself and show he is worthy of marrying the princess. He sets off on a voyage to far eastern Essos, the first of its kind for a Westerosi, in search of fame and fortune.

Before he leaves, he promises Rhaenys that he will come back from the ends of the earth for her. She declares her love in return and promises that she will wait for him.

But somewhere near Asshai, pirates attack his ship. Reports say that a man called the Sea Snake captured and killed most of the crew. Corlys is said to have been killed by a dagger to the throat and thrown overboard.

Rhaenys won't believe it at first, but months go by without any word or sign of Corlys. His family finally loses hope and believes him dead. They hold a funeral on Driftmark, casting an empty stone casket into the sea.

Rhaenys swears she will never love again.

Vaemond becomes heir to Driftmark. A few years go by, and without any better marriage prospects for the princess, Jaehaerys is finally able to wear everyone down and get his way – Rhaenys and Viserys are to be wed.

Rhaenys is miserable. As fond as she is of her cousin, she does not wish to marry him. The princess often sneaks out of the Keep to walk along the docks and beaches of King's Landing, dressed in plainclothes. Rhaenys revisits the places Corlys showed her when they were courting. She befriends a few codwives, fishermen, and sailors; asks them about Essos in futile hope for some word of her love actually being alive. Some sailors tell stories of the Sea Snake and his amassing fleet. Rhaenys' blood boils every time she hears the pirate's name and wishes she could feed the man to Meleys.

One evening, Rhaenys is grabbed by a few men and dragged, kicking and screaming, aboard a ship docked in the harbor. They disarm her of the weapons she has hidden on her person. Her dragon is far away in the pit and is not able to reach her quickly.

A masked man, cloaked in shadow, greets her and introduces himself as the Sea Snake. Rhaenys is furious, spitting venom at him.

The man, almost amused, asks what he has done to deserve such words from a princess.

"You killed my love," she declares, her eyes burning.

The man laughs and says he's done no such thing. Last he checked, Prince Viserys is very much alive and well. He congratulates her on their impending nuptials.

"No," the princess declares. "You killed Corlys Velaryon. The greatest sailor Westeros has ever known. He was bold and brave and... perfect."

She is lost in thought for a moment, but then, her gaze snaps back up to him, accusing.

"On the Jade Sea by Asshai, your ship attacked. I've heard the stories; the Sea Snake takes no prisoners."

"I can't afford to make exceptions," he says with a shrug. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"You mock my pain!" Rhaenys bites out.

His eyes turn to steel. "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

A silent tear rolls down the princess' face in answer.

"He died well, if that brings you any consolation," the Sea Snake says casually. "No bribe attempts or blubbering."

He ponders for a moment.

"He simply said, 'Please, I need to live.' I asked him what was so important. 'True love,'" the pirate quotes with a scoff.

Rhaenys' eyes close in despair, her heart aching.

"And he spoke of you, dear princess," the Sea Snake admits. "A woman of exceptional beauty and faithfulness." The last word is laced with poison. "You should thank me for killing him before he found out who you really are."

Fire ignites in Rhaenys' eyes.

"And what am I?!" she demands.

"Faithfulness, my lady," the pirate repeats bitterly, the unsaid accusation hanging between them. "He spoke of your unwavering faithfulness!"

He steps closer, looming. "Now tell me truly, when you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince in the same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?"

The slap across his face echos against the walls of the cabin.

"You mock me once, never do it again!" Rhaenys cries. "I died that day!"

The Sea Snake stands there silently, shocked not by her force, but by her words. He takes a step forward.

"You can die too for all I care," she spits out, shoving him away.

A large hand catches her wrist. The princess tries to wrench free of his grasp, but it is too strong.

"Rhaenys," he whispers softly.

Her eyes, blurry with tears, look up at his face.

He swallows thickly as he pulls the mask from his face.

"I came back from the ends of the earth for you."

[lunarharp]

for "ocean" prompt