#Hollowed Proxy AU

[mayashesfly]

A follow up/expansion on the Robot replaces Dead Vox scenario au

For simplicity's sake I'll refer to Vox's robot replacement as the Proxy. And any possible future posts about this au will be tagged under "The Proxy AU"

(Do take note that some of these things may be subject to change as I expand on this au in time)

Thank you @theautotrophic for your questions! ^w^

Vox made the Proxy at first after his fallout with Alastor as a way to let out his self loathing. So Alastor didn't know about it.

The Proxy is almost direct reconstruction of his body but improved to better at handling overheating amongst other things while also having the chest area be more… masculine. (If you headcanon Vox as Trans ontop of my headcanon that he can't exactly have permanent top surgery because sinner regeneration is a bitch)

The biggest difference between Vox and the Proxy is that the Proxy doesn't have alot of shark-like qualities unlike Vox since Vox was still terrified of sharks when he made the Proxy.

So the Proxy doesn't have any dorsal like fins and his tail is a retractable cord tail instead of a retractable shark tail. But it still does have the gills as its vents.

There's also details on his backside specifically that he couldn't replicate because well… It's not like he can see his back.

The Proxy was meant to be Vox's attempt to upgrade his body as a way to cope with his fallout with Alastor. After all, if he can upgrade his head, why can't he upgrade his body?

Unfortunately, he couldn't actually replace his body with the Proxy. And the idea of completely getting rid of it didn't sit right with him since he wasted alot of materials and time into making it.

It'll be a waste to scrap it but it's not like he could admit that he made the Proxy in a state of weakness to his only business partner friend left.

After some time of calming down, he realized that he could use the Proxy as a back up plan if things go south with him.

At this point, he still didn't know he could transfer parts of his memories into flashdrives to download them somewhere else. But he reasoned that he could theoretically make a head for the Proxy and program it to act like him.

So knowing that there's a chance Valentino would see the Proxy because you can't exactly hide a life-sized "improved" replica of your body, he told Valentino that the Proxy could be a backup plan for him if things go south before Valentino could find out about it through other means.

At the time, Valentino was utterly confused and pretty disturbed at the information.

But it was something they never really brought up again since they both wanted to forget it.

Velvette didn't actually know about the Proxy until it happened.

After his close fight with Alastor wherein Valentino intervened before Alastor disappeared, his thoughts went back to the Proxy as he realized that he could actually die.

His media empire with Valentino and Velvette was already growing and if anything happened to him, the technological and broadcasting aspect of their business would fall over without him acting as the head.

And their reputation would take a hit if Valentino and Velvette was forced to rebrand Voxtek in the case of his death. Especially if their competitors sees his death as something that'll weaken the Vees.

He couldn't bare letting the Vees go without an actual backup plan in case something happened to him.

So while he and Valentino healed from the battle with Alastor, he took some time upgrading the Proxy to be up to date and actually modifying and programming it so that it could actually act like him in case something happened.

He didn't bother making the Proxy a head of its own since he knew he always upgraded his head and it would just be a waste of time.

But he did set up a machine that can automatically give the Proxy a head after the head that'll be installed has the proper programming and necessary memories installed inside.

The Proxy doesn't actually have any personality of its own unlike Kitty wherein Vox put in the extra effort to give it some personality thay he knows Valentino would like since it was a gift for him (just like how Vark was a gift for Vox from Val which helped him embraced his shark-like qualities)

The Proxy is programmed to handle broadcasting, interviews, and public meetings. Pretty much every public appearance Vox had to make.

The memories downloaded into the Proxy mostly isn't personal at all, and they mostly only pertain to the business and important aspects of their business. (So it doesn't have any personal memories of Alastor)

Though there are also programmed codes and memories on how to handle Valentino and Velvette to make sure they don't fly off the handle based on Vox's previous interactions. With more emphasis on how to specifically handle a Valentino who's having a fit just in case.

Though when the two of them goes against the programmed interaction the Proxy has on them, then it has some difficulty.

After all, it wasn't like it has anything to work off on on how to handle a grieving Valentino and Velvette.

It takes alot of energy from the Proxy to handle its daily public appearances. And it's unable to do surveillance unlike Vox as any attempts to do so would overload its systems and it'll just crash.

When its not on "public appearance" mode, the Proxy is on a "low power savings" mode around the Vees as it tries to keep up the appearance of a businessman for the other employees. Though it visibly buffers and pauses at times, causing its face to disappear.

Sometimes Valentino and Velvette would manually power it off to be hidden somewhere out of plain sight.

It's a miracle if they could remember to plug it in through its tail cord or its actual charger or another charger so it could recharge.

Something that Vox's assistant has to keep up on consistently unless he wants to reschedule the entire day so that the people who are none the wiser won't be confused or upset that Vox had to reschedule their meetings and other public appearances. (Poor Eelliot)

As for Vox's death well… I'll keep that to your imaginations for now :D

But I will say that one of the reasons Alastor knows Vox is dead is because of how their shared frequency went completely silent.

Meanwhile, the Vees have a contract to ensure that everything the deceased Vee has under their possession would be transferred to the other Vees in the event of their death so that they won't lose any power, souls, properties, and ect that the other Overlords and Kingpins could steal.

Even when Valentino and Velvette didn't know where Vox was or how he died, the both of them physically felt Vox's powers and possessions going to them after he died, confirming his death.

Valentino quickly went to Vox's surveillance and control room to desperately search for him while there was an Extermination going on outside.

It took everything from Velvette to convince him not to go outside when he could also be killed and then Vox would be fucking upset with them.

(Neither of them said a word that there was no more Vox to be upset with them ever again)

When they finally located his body, they quickly collected him discreetly so that noone else would know that the Vees lost its eldest member.

Neither of them said a word as they hugged the cold, lifeless corpse.

A stark contrast to the warmth Vox constantly radiated despite his calm and collected persona.

It took some time for Valentino to finally put Proxy to use.

Some of Vox's shows having a few reruns while he gathers the courage to face the machine.

He had half the mind to completely destroy it beyond repair.

To tear everything down to pieces after he had lost his longest business partner.

But Kitty and Proxy was the only things left that Vox made with his two very own hands.

To have them repaired by someone else other than Vox…..

Well, while Vox may still be the same despite how much he changed…

The same could not be said about the robots he made.

It wouldn't be the same.

When metal and wires could easily be replaced but the soul cannot.

It wouldn't be the same.

Still, he couldn't stop himself as he shattered the screen that showcased it buffering instead of the exasperated but still fond sneer he had gotten used to.

Velvette was absolutely devastated and livid when she found out about Vox's replacement.

She screamed at Valentino, asking him what the fuck he was even thinking and HOW THE FUCK DID HE EVEN ACQUIRE SUCH A THING

Vox never told her about the Proxy and while Velvette could care less about the roofies she makes and the Fizzibot Val has and every worse thing she's done under existence, she couldn't fathom replacing Vox with a mere husk of a pathetic disgusting thing.

She only stopped her shouting when Valentino quietly said it was Vox's idea.

And they both promised that they'll kill whoever decided to hurt the Vees and avenge Vox.

For now it was something both of them could focus on, even if it was a lie.

Valentino will hunt them down no matter what other people may say.

When Alastor saw Vox alive and well after the dead silence in their shared frequency, he first thought it must be a bad dream.

But he knows it was real.

That it happened.

After the confusing feelings he felt upon seeing that familiar face alive and well passed by, anger gripped his soul.

He had half the mind to ruin and destroy that pretender.

Vox was well and truly gone and it'll stay that way if Alastor could help it.

But when he realized what truly happened, he could only laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh at the situation.

And when he calmed down, he deigned to not interact even further at what happened.

Except for mocking the remaining Vees at what had happened to make himself feel better.

[raddest-laddest]

local man accidentally throws his dead wife into a cult and forgets

[generalsdiary]

hear me out- what if kavetham were in a zzz au?

alhaitham, who works as a proxy and owns a small library as his main job, and kaveh, who is a hollow raider. and over time alhaitham is the only proxy kaveh wants to work with. but they never met after that irl. only communicating via inter-knot and alhaitham’s bangboo. kaveh goes into hollows to find tech parts and analyze the architecture of the buildings lost to the hollows. alhaitham, who loves his cushy job that is only long distance, even in the library he isn’t talking to people, he keeps his other bangboo at the desk job. plot twist they went to the same uni- alhaitham specializing in bangboo and a.i technology + kaveh studying architecture. could also evolve into a 5+1 fic? alhaitham’s bangboo getting corrupted with ether in the hollow, kaveh getting trapped in, left alone with a broken bangboo and mehrak who cannot help. alhaitham now has to go into the hollow despite his near zero experience physically walking in one, goes in with his other bangboo, which requires human assistance, to save kaveh. or they first meet in alhaitham’s library, on the odd chance of him trying to leave to buy groceries and he recognizes kaveh- like truly recognizes; this is the man that he is always guiding through the hollows, standing right in front of him, asking his bangboo about a specific book. and kaveh who remembers the young man who went to the same uni as him. raaah the potential is there, i have so many thoughts and ideas about this-

[ahyesthesufferingoftvteens]

Ooooh yeah I forgot to reblog this. Welp. Yeah. Here this is on my main blog.

Also a fun fact: In the Kai&Co system every alter gets assigned a Sanrio character (if they're not already a fictive or fictionkin one).

Coco, Koda, and Blaze love Chococat. They prefer the ones with blue, purple, and red collars respectively.

Alter Adam was assigned Badtz-Maru. The only reason he wears the necklace is because he can't say no to a Kai-aligned alter.

Kitty OBVIOUSLY loves Hello Kitty herself. Her entire outfit is lowkey themed after her. She has a red ribbon purse and Hello Kitty tights, even some Hello Kitty themed mary janes.

Alter Reeve was assigned Pochacco. Actually thinks the little dog is cute and doesn't mind wearing the occasional themed accessory (the earrings).

Kai Part 2 was assigned Keroppi. He has a Keroppi bracelet that's not shown here.

Cinnamon is literally Cinnamoroll.

The Hollow: Backrooms

The Kai&Co System

This has been something that has been casually mentioned in the past, but Backrooms!Kai becomes a System and splits and forms a few alters!

I (@ahyesthesufferingoftvteens) may talk about some of these goobers in the future. Some basic things to note: Blaze, Coco, Alter Adam, and Kitty form in The Backrooms. Alter Reeve forms right before Kai&Co escape The Backrooms, and Kai (Part 2) and Cinnamon form after The Backrooms. All of the special designs for these headmates are how they dress a year or two after The Backrooms story.

Slightly more detailed information about each of the members of the Kai&Co system are listed under the cut:

Blaze: One of the alters that split from Kai. A host of the system. Bi Aboy, He/They. Trauma Holder; Anger, Fear, and Depression holder; BPD holder; and Emotional Protector. Formed as a persecutor; used to be extremely explosive and had really destructive mental breakdowns. Heals with therapy. Likes to set things on fire and shop at Hot Topic. Is the reason the body is taking Abilify.

Coco: The other alter that split from Kai. A host of the system. Pan Nyan-binary Boy, He/They. Inner Child and Trauma Holder; Age-slides. Had really bad Stockholm Syndrome; found it very difficult to make decisions for themselves due to conditioning. Heals with Therapy. Loves Chococat so much that they kin the character and sometimes assumes Chococat’s form in headspace.

Koda: Kai rejoined after a year of being split apart. Now goes by a different name. Eventually, Coco and Blaze permanently fuse into Koda. A host of the system. Omni Demiboy, He/They. Trauma Holder. A bit more cheeky and dark-humored than he used to be, but it’s still the Kai you know and love. Shops at Spencers. Manic pixie dream boy energy. Can’t stop dating the emotionally unavailable and volitile Latinos in his area (He has nine exes). FINALLY found a good boyfriend (He’s a Wolf Therian, his name is Cillas).

Adam: The first alter to form after the “big split”. An introject of Adam. Gay Man, He/Him. Physical Protector. Formed as a persecutor; used to enforce the paranoid thinking patterns and distrust that the original Adam instilled. Heals with therapy. Likes to go fishing and thrives in a Bass Pro Shop.

Kitty: The second alter to form after the “big split”. An introject of Kitty, an entity from The Backrooms. Demi-Aroace Kenogirl, She/It. Caretaker, Soother, and System Overseer. Nonverbal: texts using emojis. The only way she can best communicate is with cards and drawings. Doesn’t front much; she’s more of a background alter. When she does front though the entire day is usually dedicated to her for her hard work. Loves Hello Kitty and dressing up in frilly dresses.

Reeve: Formed right before the system escaped The Backrooms. An introject of Reeve. Gay Trans Man, He/Him. Physical and Emotional Protector, and a Caretaker. Formed to do Adam’s job but better. Really happy about being in a body that was born male (his euphoria is through the roof). The only alter in the system that is religious.

Kai (Act 2): Formed after the system escaped The Backrooms. A host of the system. Bi Man, He/Him. Social Protector. Is exactly like Kai before the split, and is very detached from the memories of the Backrooms. The “Singlet-sona”. He identifies with the body’s known identity and fronts to interact with family members and pre-Backrooms friends, and when talking to strangers. He also primarily fronts while live-streaming video game play-throughs, but other alters pitch in as well.

Cinnamon: Formed after the system escaped The Backrooms. Aroace Boygirl, They/Them. The only perma-little. A fictive of Cinnomoroll. Excitable and annoying in a little sibling sort of way. Really likes gifts and eating food. No one knows why they formed, they just showed up one day. They exist now.

[almostfoxglove]

HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is. 

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun. 

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation. 

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight? 

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below. 

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands. 

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs. 

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze. 

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring. 

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin. 

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word. 

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take. 

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe. 

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on. 

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[underfcvcked]

Thinking about Caleb x non-mc!Reader but is inspired by those common filipino AU's

Where Caleb is just using non-mc!Reader as a rebound and backburner he’s trapping them in a cruel, quiet kind of love, one where they almost have him, but never fully. They get his time, his touch, his words but never his heart.

What's the difference of a backburner and rebound when it's both Non-mc!Reader?

Because no matter what, Caleb is still shackled to the ghost of his first love — MC And is she dead? No. But God, he grieves her like she is.

The worst part? Non-MC!Reader doesn’t even know.

She thinks Caleb is the sweetest man in the world. non-mc!Reader loves talking about him, loves telling her friends and family how he treats her exactly the way she’s always wanted gentle, thoughtful, perfect. They’re happy for her, relieved that she’s finally found something good after everything she’s been through. They tell her she deserves this. That she’s finally free from her past toxic relationships.

Oh, if only they knew that she had only walked into another storm one far worse than before.

Caleb gives her his time never rushing, never making her feel unwanted. He pulls her into the kind of embraces that melt the weight of the world off her shoulders. He spoils her with gifts, ones so perfectly chosen that she swears he must know her better than anyone ever has. But it’s all a lie. A lie wrapped in warmth, dressed in devotion, whispered in the softest I love yous that taste like poison if you know where to look.

Because Caleb only touches her when his chest feels too hollow, when the emptiness is suffocating, and he needs something — Anything to fill it. She is not a person to him, not really. She is a remedy. A crutch. A proxy for the love that still lingers like an open wound in his ribs. She is a bandage that will eventually be discarded.

She doesn’t know that the nights he spends with her are the ones where the yearning for MC is unbearable, when he can’t stand the silence, when the weight of her absence crushes him so violently that he has to reach for someone—anyone.

And that someone happened to be poor non-mc!Reader

So Caleb holds Non-mc!Reader close. He kisses her softly. And then he closes his eyes because if he closes them tight enough, if he lets the world blur and fade, he can pretend.

Pretend it’s her. Pretend he’s been given a second chance. Pretend that for just one moment, he didn’t lose the only thing he’s ever truly wanted.

And the gifts.. God, the gifts. Thoughtful, expensive, beautiful. But never ones that truly belong to non-mc!Reader. No. They are always just a little off. The right brand, the right color, the right design just not for her. Does she ever wonder why Caleb never asks what she wants? Why he never surprises her with something that only she would love? Because those gifts, weren't supposed to be hers.

How strange… Didn’t she tell him what her favorite flowers were? She remembers the conversation vividly how she described them with so much excitement, how he nodded along, smiling as if he was committing every word to memory. And yet, time and time again, he gives her the same flowers. The ones she never would have chosen for herself. The ones that don’t quite fit her but it's okay, it's the thought that counts yeah?

Or maybe just maybe she wonders why Caleb never looks her in the eyes when he says I love you. Why, whenever he holds her, he lets his lashes flutter shut, breath hitching like he’s chasing the ghost of a memory.

Because when his eyes are closed, she doesn’t exist.

When his eyes are closed, he gets to have her again.

And when he opens them when reality sets in, cruel and unrelenting he still stays.

Because to Caleb something is better than nothing Even if that something is a lie.

Bye crying should I write something like this? The pinoy side in me is raging

[1800titz]

THE THRILL | Phone sex operator AU

preview

“God— I feel good, too. I’m so wet for you,” you hum. 

The confession is syrup on embers— a simmering, wet heat in the trench of his underbelly, and feels like liquified nirvana across his fibrils. 

It pries another grunt from the asunder seam of his teeth— gravelly, husking— the rasping growl of a faceless stranger on the verge of splintering. 

(Hunk of a man, precarious footing like the lip of a mountainside, toying at the sutures of pseudo-phone-sex— an automated script of moans and coaxes— and crooning please with your fingers dug under the cotton of your underwear and sweat on your brow.)

And maybe that’s the thrill of it. 

Chasing the dirty bliss on borrowed time— costly minutes— painting the monolithic bulk of an innominate outlander behind your eyelids when you pour your work ethic into doing the very best job, giving it your all, heel of your palm pressed tight to your clit and your fingers tucked deep. 

(Because, maybe, you both feed off the kick. Chasing the same buzz that’s molded off an intricately carved proxy of intimacy.) 

There’s something marginally less vulnerable (marginally more— parceled up in the seedy filth along the grooves of your fingerprints, saturated on the crumbling bulwark of melding scripts and vices), in evading the tangibility of sex through a phone. In pretending—

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips flexing into the nook of his fist. His shoulders quake with the shudder that rolls up his nape. The swivel chair creaks under the pressure of the motion. “Can hear it, dirty fuckin’ girl—“

And in the knurled grimace that graces his pink mouth (the guttural hiss shattering in his windpipe) you nearly taste euphoria off his bared teeth. The way you know they glint white. Soak in the scorching deluge of the same ecstasy when he ruts into his own hand at the way you moan. 

Your favorite regular. 

He was different. Chipped his way under your skin and sinew to make home in the hollow he carved from the moment he dialed. Heady timbre flowing like smoke; sultry, kerosene-soaked, rough-hewn in hedonistic pursuit. 

So unlike the other regulars or the one-timers rolling onto the line, scuffing their speakers against their clothes when they shuffle, voices low and brittle when they beg you to tell them how you’re going to step on them and call them filthy names. 

(You moan and purr how you’re so close, how bad you want them to cum inside, phone tucked to your cheek, sprawled with your legs kicked up over the arm of the couch, scrolling through Pinterest meal prep recipes on your laptop.) 

You should feel ashamed, maybe, at the startling ease it took for him to thaw you away and reverse the roles (leave you hankering for the sweet warmth of a gray haze— thick, smoggy, petrichor with your tummy buzzing and your breath caught in your throat— when he bid you goodnight with the murmur of we’ll do this again, sweetheart before the line clicked). The way it left you feeling like you were on the line with an operator on the other end, milking you for more. 

(“And what name should I have in my mouth when you make me cum for you, hm?”)

(Borrowed time, costly minutes; you soak in every cent he spills into your wallet.)

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・・

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[galpalaven]

WIP Wednesday

Hythazemet Beach Episode AU

Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus, and the 13th Shard of Azem go on a Vacation

Andromeda had always loved the sea.

Hades remembers it well. She often gravitated towards it when she traveled the star as Azem, and she’d always bring him shells. She even had a massive aquarium in her apartment, full of all kinds of fish and sea creatures that she loved to watch when she was home. By proxy, Hythlodaeus had developed a love for the sea, too — he remembers Hythlodaeus saying that the sea spray reminded him of her, when she was gone, when it was just the two of them by the bay in Amaurot.

All things considered, he supposes that it makes sense that they would choose this place for their little “vacation” idea.

Though no longer enthralled by Darkness, Zodiark now long dead, Hades still avoids standing in the hot sun when he can. They arrive in Tulliyollal late in the afternoon, when the sun still beams far too brightly, and immediately it becomes clear that the world-threatening catastrophe he had set the Warrior of Light on the trail of has already been dealt with. The docks and city seem to be in a state of reconstruction, though people are as friendly as he remembers. Almost blindingly so, if he’s honest. 

He had only been to Tural once in the wake of the establishment of Tulliyollal, but he remembers his chest squeezing at the joy that radiated from the people around him. It had been familiar, even in the hollow faces of the creatures who had inherited his world, to the point that it had made him sick at the time.

It is much the same now — friendly grins and shallow eyes — but it’s hard to feel quite as upset with both of his hands occupied, fingers tangled through the fingers of the two halves of his heart, standing happily on either side of him. Andromeda drifts close to his side, half leaning on him on his right, while Hythlodaeus on his left tugs a little, eyes bright and wide as the brilliant grin pulling at his full lips.

Hades can feel the urge to smile, already twitching at the corners of his mouth, watching Hythlodaeus experience this new world for the first time. He’d been much the same in Sharlayan as they came up from the Sea (he is still grateful, begrudgingly, to the Forum for their discretion at providing them travel documents). The entire few days they spent preparing for their journey were spent trailing after his loves from sun up to long after sun down as Hythlodaeus insisted on seeing as much of the island as he could, neither Hades nor Andromeda willing to tell him no. Andromeda may have been the traveler among them, but Hythlodaeus is the only one who has not seen this world in the slightest. Hades has walked every inch of this world — of every version of the world, in every vain reflection — and Andromeda had kept a vigil over the pieces of her soul from her place in the Sea, but Hythlodaeus?

To him, the Final Days had only just happened months ago. 

To him, this is all bright and shiny and new.

And it warms Hades’s cold, aching heart, watching the joy glitter in those pretty purple eyes of his.

Hades urges them to find their lodgings first, though the smell of street food seems to be enticing both of his companions. It makes him chuckle when they both pout at him, though they agree easily enough. He leads them towards the cabins near the edge of town, pleased to see that they’ve been unharmed by whatever carnage hit the city. The pier is long and stretches out into the bay, and he can only imagine the beautiful views the ones near the far end must have. 

The look of subdued shock on the attendant’s face when Andromeda requests a room for the three of them, “With one bed, if you don’t mind. We like to sleep all cuddled up when we can,” nearly makes him laugh. He has to turn away to keep from making a stupid noise, half burying his face in Hythlodaeus’s shoulder, though he still grins as Hythlodaeus giggles in response.

How he’d missed the sound of his laughter, truly…

They are directed to the farthest cabin — the biggest and most expensive, they’re told, but Andromeda is a master of her craft, and whatever payment exchanges hands is not nearly what the asking price was. Her hand returns to his in the next moment, shooting him a sweet grin that makes his stomach dip, leading the three of them towards the end of the long wooden pier. His loves make idle chatter as they walk, both of them swinging his hands in a way that distinctly reminds him of when they were children, though Andromeda had always been in the middle then. He dare not truly wonder what makes the two of them place him in the middle now — pity, perhaps — but he can’t find it in him to care all that much once they finally reach the door to their room.

The cabin is beautiful.

The room comes with a beautiful little dining area, a massive fluffy white bed, a beautiful seating area with a cozy looking couch in front of a bookshelf filled with books of some kind — and it is missing a wall on the far end, the whole room opening straight onto the sea.

Hythlodaeus gasps at the sight, grinning as he reaches for Andromeda to pull her along, clearly planning to go look out at the deck, but Hades follows close behind with a scowl, clicking his tongue as he pushes at his sleeves.

“Are they out of their minds?” he asks, brushing past his darlings to lift his hand and, with the snap of his fingers, a sheer wall of magic forms, closing off the room from pests as well as sealing the sound of their voices from prying ears — while leaving the view. “Honestly, the bugs alone would be a nightmare with this open wall concept! I have half a mind to go get some of our money back since we aren’t getting a full room.”

“Fussy,” is all Andromeda says as she breezes past him, laughing as she squeezes at the back of his neck as she passes, making him reflexively draw his shoulders up around his ears.

Rather than let her get away with it, Hades makes a split second decision to act on an impulse he’s had since they were young. Fast as lightning, he snatches her by the waist, reeling her back in, fingers dancing over her sides until she is shrieking with laughter and then, to punctuate his punishment, he blows a loud raspberry into the side of her neck — which earns him a squeaking, “Hadeeees!!”

Andromeda twists and squirms in his grip, laughing that full, loud laugh he’s missed so much, and it’s not long before he’s joining her. Hythlodaeus stands a few feet away as well, giggling into his hand as he watches them — and his eyes are warm with affection when Hades catches his gaze. Hythlodaeus’s face softens even more as Hades grins at him, settling with his arms around Andromeda’s waist to hold her close and swaying gently, as if he hadn’t just been rough-housing with her like an unruly youth. 

Andromeda chuckles, sliding one hand into his hair as she turns her head to kiss his cheek before attempting to extrapolate herself from his grip — only to laugh when he just tightens his hold, curling around her as he uses the flick of his wrist to reel Hythlodaeus in as well. Hythlodaeus laughs as he stumbles into Hades, humming contentedly when Hades just catches him by the jaw and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Where do you two think you’re going, hmm? The door is closed and we are finally alone for the first time in weeks…”

He’ll never get tired, he thinks, of being caught in a group embrace with the two of them. His loves exchange an amused glance at his expense, sliding their arms around him and each other. As Hythlodaeus rests his forehead against Hades’s temple, Andromeda presses up on her toes to nip at the underside of his jaw.

“Are you not the one who claimed to be exhausted, Hades?” Hythlodaeus murmurs, raking a hand through Hades’s hair, scratching a little in a way that makes him want to shiver. 

On his other side, Andromeda hums, kissing her way down the column of his throat. 

“He certainly was,” she breathes, hot breath washing over his collarbone. “It would seem that was all a ruse, though. He just wanted to get us out of our pants.”

Many, many years ago, he might have gotten flustered by that. The old Hades would have shoved them both away and made any excuse to make himself seem more in control than he really, truly is.

Now, though, all he does is shrug lightly, smirking with his eyes fixated on Hythlodaeus’s mouth as each of his hands slip into the back pocket of both of his lovers. He uses this grip to tug them both closer by the hips, a little rougher than they were expecting, judging by the way their breaths hitch in unison.

“Can’t hide anything from you two, can I? No point in denying it now.”

Andromeda giggles, nuzzling under his jaw. “You could try. It was always funny when you did.”

“Bold words for someone still in tickling distance,” Hades comments, pinching her hip and grinning at the way she squirms in his grasp. Before she can make another witty retort, he dips his head to catch her lips with his, nipping at her lip as he does. He only manages to kiss her for a moment, before Hythlodaeus is sneaking a hand up the side of his neck, tilting his head so that he can kiss Hades instead.

What bliss, he thinks, to have you both in my arms. To know the taste of your lips and the shape of your smiles.

If this is a dream, Hades can only hope he never wakes.

The sun is sitting low on the horizon when they finally begin to stir again. His body aches, but in such a pleasant way that he can’t bring himself to complain, sprawled as he is across the giant bed between his lovers. He’d ended up with his head on Hythlodaeus’s chest some time ago, and as he runs his fingers through Hades’s hair, Hades is struggling to find the will to move, lulled to stillness by the gentle caress and the steady thrum of Hythlodaeus’s heart beneath his ribs. 

He’s half dozing when the woman on his other side sits up, sighing contentedly as she stretches her arms over her head (his eyes are drawn to the curve of her spine and the plump, heavy weight of her bare breasts as she does). He reaches for her as she moves to stand, and she pauses, smiling as she lets him tangle his fingers through hers.

“Where are you going?” Hades asks, voice a little hoarse as he lifts her fingers to his mouth and kisses them.

Andromeda giggles. “I’m hungry. Thought I’d go find us something to eat and bring it back here so you two could have a nap.”

Hades’s hand tightens around hers, tensing at the thought of her leaving his side. It’s not as if they haven’t been apart — briefly — since they came back, but…

“I’ll be right back, love,” she says, laughing as she leans over to kiss him. “The restaurant I saw is just up the beach.”

“Then we can all go,” he says, pushing himself up. His lovers exchange a look that makes him tense, but he shrugs it off, sliding down the bed to start trying to find his clothes from earlier.

“Hades, you’re tired. Stay here and relax.”

Hythlodaeus this time, running a hand up his spine. Though it makes him shiver a little, he shrugs him off as he makes a grab for his discarded pants.

“I’m fine. Let’s go to dinner together. After all, is not part of the fun of a vacation meant to be spending it together?”

He waits, but neither of them answer even as he pulls his shirt back over his head. When he turns to shoot them an expectant look, he finds them looking at each other. For a moment, as they have their silent conversation, he blinks and their forms become transparent — silvery, wispy, the feeble illusion of an addled mind succumbing to grief — and then she looks at him and everything snaps back into focus. Andromeda seems to sense his unease, if the way her smile does not reach her eyes says anything, but she nods anyway.

“Alright. We’ll go together.”

They take one of the farthest tables, out near the surf, where the sand is cool and the torchlight reaches them only enough to barely illuminate the menus. Hades lets himself soak in the sea breeze — cool and salty and humid, a welcome change from the chill of Garlemald or the Light-addled sky of the First. Hythlodaeus pours over the menu with the excitement of a child, and it makes him smile as he rests his head on his hand, watching Andromeda explain the flavors and tastes to him whenever he asks. So engrossed is he in watching Hythlodaeus laugh about one of the kitschy dish names that he nearly startles when Andromeda’s fingers tangle through his, sliding across the table to hold his free hand where it had been idly tapping the wood.

Silver eyes, sharp as a blade, find his, a subtle quirk to her eyebrow all he needs to know she can tell he’s somewhere else. He doesn’t know what to say or how to reassure her — doesn’t even truly know how to reassure himself — though he opens his mouth to make an attempt when something bright lights up the entire shoreline, followed by a noise that makes him flinch. Fireworks, he realizes, but it’s too late for his mind, because when he next opens his eyes—

A world, ablaze. Crumbling. Aether lighting the sky before him as Hythlodaeus turns and offers him one final wave. And then—

The sky, burning with light brighter than the falling stars littering the Earth. His eyes catch on it, the final burst of a dying flame, and the color of it—a shimmering white, interlaced with every color, so familiar, so beautiful—

He remembers murmuring her name. Remembers as Zodiark began to form, he let the aether pull his body away, towards that familiar signature, that wayward soul…

He’d found her on a platform overlooking the star, covered in her own blood. The rock at their feet scorched until it turned a shimmering white, like glass, as if striving to match the soul that had caused the flare.

The mask of Azem lay a few feet away from her limp hand. In her final act, she had taken up the mantle one last time — and with her very soul, she had put an end to that final, misbegotten fiend.

“Hades, beloved, can you hear us?”

He comes back to the present with a strangled gasp, coughing a little when it hurts his throat. His lovers — his Andromeda, his Hythlodaeus — have moved to be on either side of him, each of them with one hand on his back. His eyes dart between them, and he knows he must look frantic, can feel the way his breath comes quick and shallow, before he manages to shake some of the fear away. Clearing his throat, he straightens in his seat, reaching for the fruity cocktail Andromeda had ordered him when they first sat down in an attempt to help ease his heart rate. 

“I’m alright,” he murmurs at length, clearing his throat one more time for good measure. He doesn’t look at either of them as he continues, “I was simply… caught. In a memory.”

“Ah.”

Andromeda sounds unsurprised, and he’s grateful, knowing that she knows so much — that she can guess without pressing. Her hand cards through his hair and he leans into it, risking a glance at her to find…

…empathy. She understands, better than anyone he’d wager, what sort of memory he was trapped in.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Hythlodaeus asks, leaning against Hades’s arm. There’s a slight tremor in his voice that draws Hades’s eyes to him. Hythlodaeus meets his gaze with a tiny smile, though it does nothing to mask the emotions roiling in those pretty purple irises.

Confusion. Worry. Heartache. Longing. Hesitance. Guilt.

…guilt?

Wishing to belay his fears, whatever they might be, Hades offers him a small smile, covering Hythlodaeus hand on his arm with one of his own. “I’m alright now,” he says, running his thumb across the peaks and valleys of Hythlodaeus’s knuckles. “The memory has passed.”

Hythlodaeus only frowns more. “And if it comes back?”

Hades snorts softly, leaning in even more, slumping on the table a little. “Well, then you had best not leave my side. Either of you. Having you here is the surest way to pry me from the jaws of times long past.”

Hythlodaeus looks unconvinced, and Hades snorts, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his boyfriend’s frowning lips. Distantly, Hades remembers how often he’d thought about doing just this, in those final days. How often he’d talked himself out of it, knowing that his two best friends were in love with each other, and the last thing they needed at the end of all things was for him to shove a wedge between them.

As Hythlodaeus sighs softly into his mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss just a little, he thinks about how silly that had been. 

They’d always been a trio, the three of them. It makes sense for him to be included in the deepening of the relationship.

When he pulls away, the worry is still there in Hythlodaeus’s eyes, but it’s smaller now, weaker in the wake of the affection burning in them. Hades can feel himself grinning, stupid and clearly infatuated, and Hythlodaeus looks away, biting his lip as his cheeks flush a rosy pink.

Cute…

“I love you,” Hades says softly, raising his hand to gently brush some of Hythlodaeus’s hair from his eyes. 

Hythlodaeus ducks his head, eyes on his hands where they are folded on the table. It surprises him, still, how shy Hythlodaeus can get. He’d always expected him to be more confident — though, Andromeda had shared as much once, he remembers distantly. A thousand thousand lifetimes ago, she’d told Hades how unsure of himself Hythlodaeus was, how shy and sweet and surprised by her affection he’d been.

He hopes that someday Hythlodaeus won’t be surprised anymore.

“I love you, too,” Hythlodaeus says at length, clearing his throat a little. He risks a glance at Hades, before looking away to the woman on the other side of the table. “I love both of you. More than I think there are words to express.”

When Hades follows his gaze, he finds Andromeda with chin resting in her hands, watching the two of them with such a hopelessly lovestruck expression that even he feels his ears begin to burn. She grins at them both as she says, “I’ve loved you both since we were kids, I think. I’m so unbelievably happy that I get to have both of you. That I don’t have to choose — it would break my heart into a million pieces to have to pick between you, I think.” As both he and Hythlodaeus grin at her, she laughs and asks, “Do you remember our first kiss? When we were kids?”

That makes both men laugh, and Hades slides down in his chair a little, chuckling and rubbing at his eyes. He remembers it very well.

It’s a silly thing to be upset about, truly, but Hades is struggling to remember that as he watches Hythlodaeus and Andromeda sit under the blossoming cherry tree, holding hands and leaning toward each other with intent. A strange, ugly emotion writhes just beneath his ribs as he huffs loudly and grumbles, “That’s not fair,” under his breath.

It startles him when one of them answers him.

“What’s not fair, Hades?”

He stiffens, arms still crossed as he shoots a half-panicked look at Andromeda. She is still sitting next to Hythlodaeus, still holding his hand, but she’s peeking at him curiously — and so is Hythlodaeus, concern etched into his features. 

Oops.

“I — nothing! It’s just — you two get to have your first kiss together, but I won’t get to have mine. You’ll have something together that — that I won’t have with you anymore. It’s not fair.”

That explanation feels wrong as he says it, but he doesn’t know what the right answer is. All he knows is that his ears and face burn and his chest feels full to bursting with… something. Something mean and angry.

Again, he doesn’t expect what happens next.

Andromeda thinks for only a moment, before she says, “Okay!”

He raises an eyebrow, glaring at her. “…okay?”

He nearly starts scurrying away when she clambers over to sit in front of him, Hythlodaeus following not too far behind. Both of them stop on their knees in front of him, and he leans farther back against the trunk of the tree as he eyes them suspiciously.

“…what?”

Hythlodaeus, at least, seems a little confused, too, because he looks at Andromeda expectantly. She shrugs and smiles, grabbing Hythlodaeus’s hand and holding her free hand out to Hades in offering.

“You’re right. It seems silly to exclude you. We’re all best friends, after all.”

Cautiously, he places his hand in hers. “So?”

Tugging so that he has to come closer, she offers him a bright grin. “So we’ll all be each other's' first kiss!”

He blinks. 

Hythlodaeus laughs. “Will that even work? Won’t it be silly?”

Andromeda just shrugs, shuffling closer to Hades and urging Hythlodaeus to follow. “Nah. I think it makes perfect sense. We all three love each other, and we’re all three best friends. Why would only two of us get to be each other’s first kiss? Hades is right — it’s not fair to him.”

It had been silly, looking back, but it is one of his most favorite memories. The nervous flutter of butterflies in his stomach — the tickle of his best friends’ breath when they both giggled against his lips — the lingering tingling on his lips when they both pulled away, giggling and blushing. He remembers that he’d been almost angrily flustered, covering his mouth and glaring at the ground as his whole face burned.

Ah, youth.

“Remind me how it went again?” Hades says, smiling sweetly at his girlfriend, who just laughs. 

“Gladly,” she murmurs, reaching out to curl her fingers under Hythlodaeus’s chin, nudging him closer until they can all three meet in the middle. 

It’s easier now, with years of experience between them. They all know how to kiss now, so it isn’t nearly as stiff and uncomfortable, though it is still a little silly. It’s not quite as perfect as kissing one of them at a time, but it doesn’t matter, the alcohol in his system making him feel a little less inclined to care about PDA as his lips press against theirs over and over again, until he is grinning too much to continue. 

When the kiss breaks and they return to their seats, his chest is lighter. Andromeda reaches for his hand again as Hythlodaeus spreads the menu out in front of him, leaning forward to continue his debate with Andromeda about what funnily named meal to get as if nothing had happened, only this time, with his calf pressed against Hades’s under the table, he’s including both of them in his discussion.

this is very much a WIP i have some other ideas for like... first of all running into my WoL and her friends but also just. the three of them learning how to be together again. learning how to move forward. i have ideas for so many scenes lol. hades waking up choking on tears and screams both to his loves and to an empty bed, because the two of them thought to let him sleep and now he doesn't know what is real and what was a dream. hythlodaeus and g'raha becoming instant bffs. hythlodaeus wrestling with the gap of knowledge he has compared to andromeda and hades. hades desperately not wanting to tell hythodaeus of the last 12000 years but knowing he needs to know. my WoL helping him break the news and also being like "he almost had me convinced it was right too." g'raha and hades being weird in-laws bc they are both in love with the same soul but there are two versions of her walking around now, the one hades knew and the one raha knows. ANYWAY UH. YEAH.

[ainzwel]

Yugioh Vrains but ZZZ AU!

Yusaku is a famous proxy in Den City known as Playmaker, his job is to guide people inside the Hollow (or sometimes just investigate the hollow). Using his Bangboo, he can enter the Hollow safely.

in this AU, Soulburner and Revolver's Avatars are their real appearance. so even they're not in the Hollow, they still look the same.

(I want to call Link Vrains is The Hollow, but for now I think I'll stick with the Hollow)

[artwolf19uwu]

Guys… what about #ZZZ and #Dannyphantom #au

Like except Danny didn’t turn to go ghost bUT he turned into a half Hollow sentient being. Team phantom becomes a proxy.

And Fenton works, becomes hollow scientist that research hollow beings. And hate proxy’s and what to know why people become hollow creatures.

Whoever is playing Zenless zone zero you know what I’m talking about?

Like I have story’s now..

Who wants in on this?

[selfaware-promise-au]

Hello! I just read you forsaken deity concept which I find very interesting. I was thinking about this fit a while now. However the zzz world isn't as magical or supernatural compare to genshin and honkai. So me personally i feel like it would make sense if the majority of yhe citezens couldn't recognized the Reader as the real deal. However are there some characters besides the proxy siblings that could tell the Reader is the real deal? For example could Miyabi pontetial identify the reader as the real deal since she has experience with spirits due to her sword and can feel the reader's aura is benevelont and gentle or maybe Trigger who despite can't see she does have good senses and can smell the reader because the reader has a particular scent? Or maybe other characters who feel something is off and decided to do their own investigation. Since I assume the reader has power but doesn't want to hurt anyone in this concept

Useful links: AU's Backstory

Explanation about Carole's bit

------

It's a good point. Technically, only a few number of people in New Eridu should recognize Reader.

However, the situation is a little bit complicated.

In New Eridu there will be no problem with realizing, that Reader aren't completely human. There will be problems with seeing Reader as a human.

Let me explain.

Technically, Reader are a demigod, a descendant of Creator's experiments on making an artificial god who could control people's minds and take away negative emotions. Creation of a demigod included fusing flesh of multiple divine (or close to divine) beings (Tyrant's included) with embryos and their parents.

In the Real World, they are just a normal person. They might have better health, but on every level they are humans.

In Honkai and Teyvat, with time, they will gain a connection to these worlds, awaking new powers in them. The process will be slow and "harmonious". Reader would still look human.

New Eridu is different. In this world, Creator tried to make people evolve into demigods. They fused the world, made with their powers, with powers of different divine beings. All from the same beings that were used while creating Reader's ancestors.

What worked with a person didn't work with the whole world. Hollows appeared, and people still didn't evolve into demigods.

But powers still remained. And when Reader got into New Eridu, multiply powers started to change them, "charge" them with powers.

Reader's powers skyrocketed. They could spend weeks in Hollow Zero without protection; they could turn Ethereals back into humans, they could regenerate if they lay on ether crystals for a few minutes.

They started to change physically. They become taller; sometimes, their hair moved on a magical breeze. Their eyes would randomly start glowing from time to time.

Others will see that Reader aren't completely human. All playable characters will see it.

Any Thiren, thanks to their senses, will notice, that your walking are strange, that your breathing are strange, that your heartbeat are unnatural.

People and intelligent constructs will see, that Reader aren't completely human.

At first, people will just wonder about Reader....

-----

In Forsaken Deity AU:

Until The Exaltists learned about them.

Unfortunately for Reader, The Exaltists have seen Creator, they knew the sign of divine being, and they are aware of a wrong child, whose birth delayed the Promised Golden Age.

They have enough evidence of Creator's existence. They will twist the narrative, painting Reader as an evil, vile deity.

People of New Eridu are tired of living in a world of Hollows. In their eyes, gods left them. And then they got Reader. Deity, they can touch. Deity, they can hurt. Deity, they can take their revenge on.

Actually, Miyabi and Trigger will be the first ones who see Reader as a human.

Miyabi's connection to spirits let her realize that Reader's aura aren't bad or evil. They have an aura of a kind person. Of a human.

Trigger will feel that Reader, while powerful, are still a human. And a kind one.

Not even once did they hurt their attackers. They continue helping people. They are healing Ethereals, returning people to their families.

Trigger and Miyabi will try to make others see Reader as a human.

Reader will also have another ally. Mayor of New Eridu. Carole knew Creator on a more personal level, and she told him what she learned about their experiments. However, at first, Mayor will also assume that Reader are more of a human, then a deity. He would like to help Reader, and he will try. While citizens will try to get them.

-----

If we aren't talking about Forsaken Deity, Reader will have it easier. There won't be a narrative about them being an evil god. Their kindness and deeds will make people think, that gods finally decided to return to their world and save them from an apocalypse.

And this time, Miyabi and Trigger will see Reader as an benevolent god, on top of being a great person.

[aurae-rori]

For the ZZZ aventio au, would ratio use his alabaster head to disguise himself? Because most proxies don’t have the ability to sinc w/ a bangboo like belle and wise, so I assume they go into hollows with hollow raiders. (Also in nekomatas story quest your client is confused why just nekomata is there and no proxy until eous is pointed out to them)

nah, i'm probably going to give him the syncing ability due to the fact that when he was a prof, he used his alabaster head to disguise himself within classes. he's also a registered missing case in this au, so any hints towards his past life would immediately set pubsec off on him which he really won't want. i think he considered using his alabaster head to be a proxy but then realized this and then came up with the tech with eous x]

[alterwriting]

primary - in outer ring by default - au possible - he / him

* // lighter headcanons

I portray Lighter as an adult around the age of 27-29 years old.

The name "Lighter" actually is an alias he was given during his time as an underground boxer. Struggling with the loss of his friends, he had a major setback in his attempt of quitting smoking and was always flicking his lighter to calm his nerves. When becoming friends with the members of the Sons of Calydon, he considered changing it, but was reassured by the others that he did not have to change to fit into the group.

Lighter has a rigorous training schedule that starts early in the morning as soon as he gets up. It is crucial for him to stay in shape to be able to always face an opponent head on.

He always carries lemon drops with him to supress the urge to smoke. It took him quite some time to drop that habit even with his late friends' help. While he still carries a lighter with him, which he flicks open for a quite flame to appear, he then follows up with a piece of candy. The sourness helps him focus on something else. Besides, he did make a promise to quit without a fallback.

In his dreams he frequently revisits the site of the Hollow where his friends were killed by Ethereals due to his misjudgement. By now, he doesn't wake up drenched in sweat anymore, but rather simply turns around and closes his eyes again. Even though he may never be able to fully forgive himself, he is learning how to live with himself.

He actually is hemophobic, but also uses it as an excuse to wear his shades. It takes quite a lot of blood for him to faint, yet the sight of any bloof makes him nauseous. It is rare to see him without them, usually this privilege is limited to the inner circle of the Sons of Calydon as well as a special Proxy

Due to his past as an underground fighter, Lighter is very good at taking care of wounds and injuries. He himself was suffering under the survivor guilt and did not care much for how much he was beaten, technically punishing himself by not dodging punches.

Lighter actually is pretty good at cooking.

He is not a big fan of being indebted to someone he can't trust. He always repays his debt full as soon as possible and regardless how little the matter may be.

Sometimes he plays dumb to get under his opponent's skin, but he really is a bit forgetful. Names and birthdates specifically are a bit of an issue, much to Lucy's anger and disappointment.

As a mercenary, he became very experienced as a fighter. However, his group also accepted any other minor job to get through. Therefore, he has many very surprising talents.

Can't hold his liquor well, but is good at estimating how much he can drink before he has to stop. It's not worth being hungover and he also can't afford slacking off of his training.

Some of his old scars still hurt from time to time. He's not sure why, but he keeps pushing through the day each and every day.

[verdemoun]

Wait even Micah makes an exception to call Bessie 👀 can we hear about them and their relationship?

I always kinda imagined Micah would have a hard time with timewarping, he very much was a man shaped by his father and by the era, his sole goal was to survive, and by proxy whatever enabled that. I imagine he'd have had a hard time readjusting not only to the drastic changes, but also not having to constantly think about his next move yk

Yeah no Micah had a bad time timewarping.

Firstly, he died! He died and there was no consequences. Died and popped up in modern era. What is survival worth if death is seemingly not finite?

Second, he wasn't allowed a gun! This is magical modern au America with something resembling gun control. Whatever meager test he had to do to get a gun, he failed it. While Micah's infatuation with guns was very much linked to his overwhelming belief in survival, he also liked the power of a gun.

Third, Micah was weird with Dutch. He followed Dutch. He reunited with Dutch after Dutch walked away from him in Beaver Hollow. Why? Because he desperately wants something resembling family, and Dutch was part of whatever that meant to Micah. And his father was a piece of shit sure but Dutch shot him? Dutch took away everything Micah believed in only to indirectly warp him to a world where everything was ugly and foreign and he had nothing. And Dutch wasn't turning up for a while.

Fourth, the gang didn't immediately decide to trust Micah again. Can you imagine the anger the 1899 gang felt towards Micah? They didn't want anything to do with Micah! They were more than happy to let him walk into the woods unarmed and let him become a hermit, or die again of natural causes. Micah was the first 'bad guy' to timewarp and they hadn't really considered how they were going to deal with that. Micah was a traitor. What had the gang always done to traitors?

Bessie was not immune to the general anger the gang felt towards Micah but she was a self-made woman from the 1880s. She had to learn all about how the world had changed sociologically on her own. She had to unpack so many of her own issues. She wasn't going to let anyone go through that on their own.

She also had the bonus of being a historian. While a womens' history professor, she'd used to access at the university to research the gang in an attempt to figure out timewarp. She's read all their rap sheets. She knows Micah was only a boy when he committed his first murder alongside his father. She's read the few historians who are interested in the psychology of the Old West wonder if Micah Bell III, notorious outlaw, ever had a choice - if he ever knew life could be more than survival.

And she's just soft. She's a tough bitch who can fend for herself but give her a troubled outlaw who's that bit helpless and confused and she can handle the misdirected anger. So she helped him get his shitty trailer home, and sat at the table while he looked around the shipping-container sized building squinting suspiciously at the concept a permanent structure that was meant to be his private camp now.

It was almost like going through a foster kid cliche but with an adult man helping Micah adjust. He learned to drive faster than anyone else in the gang because sitting in 'camp' constantly was counter-productive to survival, and got a map so he could learn the layout of the area. Not having a gun meant he always needed escape routes. He kicked the windows out of his trailer.

Bessie would never say it because Hosea would kill her, but Micah without a gun really reminded her of teen Arthur. Just angry and scared and assuming everyone was out to get him. And Bessie is soft but she is no pushover. Micah make a comment like he used to with Grimshaw? She'll slap him. That doesn't mean she won't drop off leftovers and sit and try to make small-talk.

And Micah still has issues. He craves connection. Being completely isolated is counter-productive to survival. Bessie sets boundaries but she's for the most part more patient than he deserves and does what she can to teach him about modern era survival.

She helps him get a job so he can buy his dumb truck and takes him grocery shopping, teaches him about tracking money because Micah gave most of his money to the gang too in VDL days. He's not used to paying for things because he's always stolen what he needs. She buys him clothes and has to turn up to wash them because he is useless but little acts of kindness actually mean a hell of a lot to Micah.

He's still a brash pig at best most days but she notices the 'come near her and i'll fucking kill you' glares he gives people on the street because he's that little bit protective of his perceived family. And how awkward he sounds the first time he calls to ask about what the hell his frozen meal means when it says fan-forced oven.

Micah's sole goal, purpose, reason for being is still survival, because really what else is there? He still doesn't have anything to live for more than living for living's sake. Not pissing off Bessie supports survival. And maybe the little 'good work!' comments and praise when he does the bare minimum like actually putting clothes in a laundry basket completely alter his brain chemistry because he's never received praise for something that wasn't directly linked to criminal or gang activity.

So yes Micah makes an effort to talk to Bessie and sometimes when he's feeling more lonely and isolated than usual he knows Bessie will always answer.

[foofenshmirtz]

My version of the slender forest/ creepypasta universe

Everything in this is fiction, the names and characters said in this universe aren't mine unless said otherwise and nothing is canon. Everything is just my interpretation and purely for entertainment purposes.  Please also forgive any spelling or grammer errors this is all just a summary of my au and not a full written story yet.

In this Au non of the creepypasta characters live in a fancy mansion or anything like that, but most do reside along in similar woods.

 In my interpretation of the woods everything takes place in the Appalachian mountains (Alabama, Georgia, Kentucky, Maryland, Mississippi, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia, and all of West Virginia.)

The logic behind this is because of all the paranormal sightings, cult activity, and murders that have happened over the years along these trails and states, and its unrealistic to think that all these creatures and murders would resided in such close proximity of each other, but i do still think they would interact or at least know each other due to the portals and pathways around these woods.  

Much like the similar (and real, yet its speculated if actually haunted) goatman's bridge in Texas, these woods have many portals along the trees which can be used to access different parts of the forest. These portals are often hard to find but have markers that help the creatures and criminals living in the area help navigate the mountains and forests with ease. 

Along many of the trees there are the slender pages that help indicate to residents where these portals are and also try and help scare hikers or any other passersby away from the portals or the deep sections of the woods.  

The proxies in this Au have the job of patrolling the woods, killing and getting rid of anyone unwelcomed, and keeping slendermans pages up near the portals. There are around 11 proxies but there are around 3 different types of proxies. (hollowed, agents and revenants)

The Hollowed are proxies who have almost no conscience and act rather animalistic, attacking anything in sight and act more like zombies than humans. They seem more skinny and tend to look like they are decaying and slowly dying. They often roam the woods looking for victims, and don't seem to care much about anything other than eating. The hollowed can be seen near caves or just around roaming the woods, attacking hikers and feeding on the bodies to stay alive, though most hollowed don't live long. They are the proxies who couldn't handle the mind control and went too insane to keep any of their original personalities, now just being used as an extra layer of protection to keep normal humans away from the portals.

Agents are a lot more human than the hollowed in the sense that they have feelings, interests, and a sense of their past, though most of their passions revolve around being a proxy. These are loyal followers who aren't fully in the head to understand what they are doing is wrong. Agents are loyal dogs who often act animalistic and don't question why, they do as they are told and when they are told to do so. Agents do a lot of stalking and cleaning up, they help keep the forest somewhat clean and decent around the borders so as to not alert authorities. They mostly hide bodies and are the ones who make the signs for the portals and put them up in areas that are needed. These proxies are quick and look mostly human but aren't typically seen during the day.

Revenants are the scariest of the proxies, these are the ones who are harder to kill, are faster than most humans and seem to have faster regeneration nor do they seem to age. These proxies do have feelings, passions, interests, and goals but have a clouded memory and are typically ruthless with their kills. They do what they need to do and they get the job done quickly and oftentimes messily. These proxies are often in charge of everything though are mostly on patrol duty, walking around the forests looking for hikers or anyone who doesn't belong, or making sure none of the portals close or are disturbed. If faced with one of these proxies there is a very low chance you will make it out alive.

[estro-gem]

Group Chaos: Mirage (Part 5)

Author's note: If your characters are toxic, clap your hands (smack, smack) If your characters are toxic, clap your hands (smack, smack) If your characters are toxic, choosing Munchausen by proxy; If your characters are toxic, clap your hands (smack, smack)

Welcome to the final chapter of Arc 1 in the TADC Oasis AU. Thank you, everyone, for your support throughout the years and for enjoying the absolutely messed up story I desperately try to convey in coherent English.

Julle verstaan nie... dis by tye 'n nagmerrie on hierdie ding op skrif te kry en ietwat verstaanbaar te maak; of ten minste die gebeurtenisse te laat vloei. Ai wel... Dit staan nou maar so.

Anyway, there will be a nice little note for you to read at the end if you want, but for now, please enjoy!

Warnings (IMPORTANT): Mature themes Violence/Assault Sadism Manic/psychotic episodes Sensory depravation Suicidal thoughts/intentions Self harm Abusive/toxic relationships

SUMMARY:

Pomni seem to feel like she found her safespace; A fortress with no means of escape. She should be happy now.

Right...?

MIRAGE: PART 5

There was no time to think, until there suddenly was.

It felt like Pomni was frozen in time and all of what her life had become was idly drifting by her and moving on, far beyond her grasp.

There was chaos, fear, anger, determination and a general lack of self preservation what felt like only moments ago, but now, there was absolutely nothing.

What made it worse?

That feeling… the feeling of the hollow emptiness – the feeling of being stagnant while your life, your sense of self and your reality was moving along without you? Pomni wasn’t even sure if it really was her own.

Being possessed by Gangle was overwhelming in the most underwhelming sense possible. One moment, the little jester was fired up to put a stop to a chaos of its own making; wrangling a wild chess-piece mustang that was about to charge at a psycho-manic Jackrabbit she didn’t even know how to feel about yet.

Then she got pulled down along with it, crashing beneath the checker tiles into a grieving chess King’s domain, where her mind was clouded and overtaken with rage and hurt… but mostly an overwhelming sense of panic. It didn’t seem like any of what she was feeling, were hers, but she couldn’t focus on that. Kinger’s thoughts bled into her own as she rode the knight to tail Jax, desperate and panicked about what would follow if they allowed their dolly to be mauled by him, while masked by Gangle.

How would they respawn? Would they even respawn at all?

The panic imploded to a quiet calm when she managed to catch a glimpse of the rabbit’s sharpened claws, carefully prying the frail, fine, grinning mask from Gangle’s layered complexion.

‘There was no reason to be the monster anymore.’

Pomni was sure that it was Kinger who thought that, not her.

The jester remembered hitting the tiles as the remnants of the wild mustang blew over them in the form of cyan dust that clouded up the surrounding area; and she finally felt free from Kinger’s explosive, jagged mind. The transition of suddenly being one with a stranger, followed by the surprisingly hollowed, empty feeling of them ripping themselves away from the jester was alien, but strangely unwanted.

For a brief moment, she didn’t feel alone anymore.

But he let go.

She was alone with her own thoughts once again – and the steed she rode to help the people she barely knew, crumbled away too suddenly.

She was falling.

With the sharp pain of tumbling over Jax, who at that point, had been shielding Ragatha from the blow of Kinger’s knight, she coughed out groans at the burns of skidding across the cold tiles.

The moment of solidarity came and went in a blink.

No, not a blink… a howl.

That was the last thing Pomni remembered taking in by her own tuition – Gangle’s manic, pain-struck howl – the cry of a beast that had nothing left to lose.

A sheet of darkness eclipsed the bright, colourful surroundings and the girl almost felt relief.

But nothing followed, only numbness.

Physically, the jester’s last coherent moment was the unmistakable sensation of abnormally strong ribbons scurrying and slithering all over her body while porcelain melted itself to the skin of her face. A moment of panic flashed in her mind when she felt her mouth seal shut, unable to allow air for her to breathe, but the world faded away.

Her thoughts faded away and she didn’t bother fighting. She caved and allowed herself to become compliant.

Pomni was just… so tired.

The jester wasn’t sure if Gangle liked that or not, but she couldn’t care less at that point.

All was numb, all was dark, but the presence of Gangle was undeniable. Pomni was blind and her head felt empty, but the masked ribbon was there.

Just… there.

Once again, the jester was trapped within the amalgamation of her own mind that was melded and mixed with someone else’s. It was like whiplash, Kinger’s loud, panic-ridden, explosive thoughts, to Gangle’s hushed, muddled state of sheer numbness.

Worst of all, she wasn’t sure if it was only Gangle’s numbness, because she felt it too.

The jester’s epiphany should have terrified her, but she couldn’t feel anything… and she didn’t have the strength to search for any trace of her own self. She and Gangle was for all intents and purposes; one.

One pathetic amalgamation of hopelessness, dread and misery.

At least, not a lonely state to be in.

In the current moment, the jester and the masked ribbon were idly dormant in the depths of Pomni’s mindspace. Pomni was blind and wrapped in Gangle’s coils. The tight, restrictive grasp of the ribbons, holding her suspended in the cool inky blackness, seemed to cling to her out of desperation, rather than dominance. When the pang of ironic sympathy struck Pomni upon the realization, Gangle shivered around her, tightening her hold by a fraction, making the little jester believe that their emotions were intertwined too.

Everything that each of them felt would find its way to the other.

Within the silent darkness, thoughts surprisingly did not come easy – only in small stringy strands; as spontaneous and random trails that withered with moments of passing.

Where were they now? Did it matter?

Were they alone? Did they not prefer that?

How long had it been? Will it ever end?

Would the others come looking for them? Did they really need to?

When the jester paused, she finally realized that every question was met with another, similar to her own and yet not hers at all. An icy shudder crawled down the jester’s spine as she discovered that Gangle’s thoughts were mixed with her own.

There was a moment of existentialism in which Pomni tried to decipher just how much was shared and how much was private.

What was hers and what was Gangle’s?

To no one’s surprise, she was met with no answer – just the sinking feeling deep in her gut that resembled annoyance, which, no doubt, belonged to the masked ribbon, causing Pomni to huff as well. It took a second for more annoyance to sprout, but Pomni could not tell if it was her that was annoyed by her lack of privacy and Gangle’s disregard for it; or Gangle’s own rising annoyance at Pomni’s inexperience with the odd situation.

 Oh, sure, no worries! It was no trouble at all to get used to having your consciousness fused with a completely different person! Yeah, no, totally an average Tuesday!

It was a faint sense of smugness that simmered beneath the surface of the aloof presence all around her that had the little jester fuming quietly. As the silence stretched, she found herself feeling… relieved to have something to be mad about.

Something to feel with purpose.

Like her first raw encounters with Zooble.

In a mere second, it was like the air had frozen solid and Pomni had a moment to remember that her thoughts weren’t all her own anymore. She cursed herself for feeling the mess of guilt and frustration about reminiscing Gangle’s partner so fondly when the ribbon had a front row seat to all she thought and felt.

Wasn’t this a violation of some kind? No, screw the homicidal ribbon; she was allowed to miss her friend.

Her friend…?

Hush!

Despite the jester’s abrupt cut-off, she couldn’t help but let out a breath as her chest warmed and her heart melted as the image of Zooble entered her mind’s eye, followed by the yearning longing and crushing guilt of running away when the Zolo-being called after her.

No, nevermind, that was all Gangle’s mind.

You hush now!

It was Pomni’s turn to be smug at Gangle’s fluster, which quickly got replaced by a sinking, longing sorrow as the heartbreaking scene of Zooble’s outstretched hands and glossy eyes flooded their minds; all while Kinger held them back from chasing after the ribbon that scurried away as she wielded the body of the newly possessed jester.

Pomni felt herself deflate at that, swallowing a lump back in her throat, unable to stop herself from feeling pity for the poor ribbonoid.

Damn it, Zooble would have a field day making fun of her for being such a softie.

They wouldn’t let her live it down for a while, for sure…

The air was lifted a little and the stray thought of Gangle made it hard for Pomni to suppress a chuckle.

Zooble would probably chew them out straight after for running off.

Probably, but it would be short lived.

Probably.

Silence…

It felt easier… there was a lingering warm tingle with every flash of brightly coloured shapes and funny limbs that managed to sneak its way into either of their minds. Pomni had to physically fight back a slither of awe at how adorable the ribbinoid’s involuntary reactions to thoughts of her partner were – and while the jester was met with a strike of flustered annoyance, there was no lingering resentment from Gangle.

It was going better…

There was still a while’s way to go.

But it was something, right?

Why even bother…?

Pomni couldn’t answer that; not even to herself.

Why did she even try? Up until now, since the first time she even interacted with Gangle, she had been shut down. Granted, her infatuation with the masked ribbon probably made her come on too strong, but she had not done or said anything since then to push any further. Gangle was the one to push her away before she could even approach to make amends. She never stood a chance to have any form of a relationship with the ribbon.

Why did she still try, despite everything?

Because… Right now, you are all I have to hold onto.

It hurt to admit, but it was the truth.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know how long it had been. There was no way out and no one else with her.

All she had, was the ribbons wrapped all around her and kept taut to restrain her – to blind her.

To keep her from falling into the unknown depths that she really didn’t want to fall prey to.

Pomni’s breath hitched as she felt the ribbons wrapped around her, dampen with tears she didn’t know she had. The long shiny tendrils rattled as she sobbed; and seemed to tighten around her by a fraction.

There was a swell in the saddened realization that Pomni felt, but she was sure it was no longer all her own emotions.

What came next, was what made the dam break.

You… need me...?

Yes. Yes, I need you.

It was quiet, but the air around the jester and the masked ribbon shifted to that of a heartbreaking epiphany, one with sorrow, longing, anger, loss and resolution.

Gangle clung to the jester, letting her ribbons slide and caress the suspended body, like she was taking in the jester for the first time.

Maybe she could convince herself that she didn’t need anyone, just like Kaufmo practically beat into her head… but that didn’t mean that no one needed her.

Somehow, it hurt to think of that for the first time.

It felt like relief, but it hurt just as much – a feeling she couldn’t wrap her head around.

But it didn’t feel… bad.

It took a while, but the air around the girls settled; and quiet sobs faded into an occasional hitched and shared breath as a cool porcelain forehead rested against the pale, soft skin of the jester’s, with the occasional shift causing Pomni’s ebony locks to tickle the ivory mask.

The ribbons blinding Pomni’s view, gradually gave way and allowed for her to gaze into the inky black pits that were Gangle’s eyes.

Moments felt like ages as time passed and the two calmed down – neither willing to let the other go. Events blurred together, but they ended up sitting back-to-back, leaning against each other, unwilling to break apart, but each needing time to themselves – well, as much as they could, considering that their consciousness were intertwined so intimately.

They kept one of each; hand and ribbon, securely wrapped together, unwilling to let go.

The silence stretched and it made the girls each run a digit over the other, to which the other would respond with a squeeze. Back and forth, this happened every once in a while, just to be sure that the other was still there. It was unspoken, but they understood. Pomni found herself not minding the touch of the sentient ribbons and porcelain mask, whereas any other’s touch would usually make her skin crawl. Of course, no longer alone with her own thoughts, a soft thrum of acknowledgement to that fact, did not go unnoticed from the little jester.

The quiet became normal, paired with the occasional caress or touch, but it made it much easier for thoughts to wander.

Pomni sighed, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere, but deciding to break to silence, speaking up this time, using her words rather than shared thoughts.

“Are you ok?”

What a silly question. Gangle just spiraled out of sanity, maiming and torturing a friend, holding her hostage as her other friends fought tooth and nail to free her – all while the masked ribbon laughed and preened at how easily she managed to stir everything into a chaotic mess.

By the flick of a mere feature, and a storm was unleashed, all because of the ragdoll.

Because she was important. She was powerful. Gangle held the heart of the Oasis winding within her coils. Without her, they would be nothing. They needed Ragatha; that’s what he always used to say.

They couldn’t make it without her.

And now, finally, Gangle had someone who wouldn’t make it without her.

“Are you, ok?” Gangle’s soft, raw voice rung back, sounding much smaller and meeker than Pomni expected.

“I don’t know.” The jester answered truthfully, seeing no possible way of lying in this state, “I don’t think I ever was.”

“I don’t know anymore… I just know I used to feel better, I think.”

“Before I came, you mean?” Pomni asked, too tired to sound bitter.

“Before Kaufmo left.” The masked ribbon deliberately clarified, a hint of annoyance sparking up the air around her.

“Oh.” Pomni simply said, thinking that was the end of it, since Gangle seemed reluctant to share anyways.

To the jester’s surprise, however, it appeared that Pomni’s willingness to let the subject die, was all the ribbon needed to perceive it as an open mic.

“You’re pretty entitled to think that you have such a big influence on anything we do.” Gangle said numbly, as if she was talking about the weather, “You’re not one of us, you know? We were fine without you and I doubt that it would change very soon. So, don’t go breaking yourself into bits about ruining anything for us. You don’t matter enough to destroy anything we build up to be.”

Pomni furrowed her eyebrows after a moment of contemplation, taking in Gangle’s cold words, “…Is that supposed to insult me or comfort me?”

“However the shoe fits.” You’re amusing.

“Unbelievable…” I’m worthless.

“Listen to me.” Gangle said, brushing and sliding her ribbons along the little jester’s body, as if she was trying to soothe the girl, but only making her shiver with a small slither of unease hanging in the air, “I’m not calling you worthless. I’m saying that we didn’t find use in your worth yet. You’re not one of us yet, because we don’t know how you’re worth will play into ours. It’s not personal, but you could make us or break us.”

The jester paused, mulling it over. Gangle could feel the very space around them twist and contort with how loud Pomni was trying to think, offering awkwardly, “Do you want me to explain it again, or-?”

“I got it, I got it, geez.” Pomni’s annoyance was palpable, but her thumb brushed over the scarlet ribbons so gently, Gangle couldn’t help but squeeze back as the clown-girl explained herself, “I just don’t know how to feel about it, I think?”

“Oh, that’s what that was.” Gangle seemed to shrug dismissively, but it felt weird since Pomni was once again partially wrapped in the ribbon’s coils. She hated how comforting it was, all while essentially being told that she wasn’t useful to have around.

It must count as some kind of abuse, right?

Maybe, but things felt easier to face with someone holding onto her so desperately. That fact alone made Pomni see through Gangle’s deception she still managed, despite the girls sharing a mind.

“You are a two-faced liar.” The jester mumbled, squeezing the ribbon wrapped around her hand.

“Thanks, I haven’t noticed.” chimed Gangle dryly, looking over her shoulder to Pomni, making the brightly dressed girl bark a laugh.

“Ok, that one was unintentional, I swear.”

“Sure it was.”

“Oh, come on!” Pomni sighed, still smiling, leaning into Gangle’s cradling embrace, “It doesn’t matter how we look at it. I said it before and I’ll say it again; I need you. You’re all I have… and based on how we’re clinging to each other like scared kids, I believe it’s safe to say that you at least need someone else to hear you out at this moment, right?”

“You don’t get it.” Gangle says, mask now fully turned to Pomni, “I shouldn’t. I just shouldn’t. My role in this system… I should be able to stand on my own. Yes, Jax keeps me grounded, but that is as far as it goes.”

Pomni doesn’t understand what the sentient ribbon meant, speaking of her and Jax and “the system” along with the apparent role she played in it, but it was something. She’d listen like her life depended on it.

It may as well have.

“I’m supposed to oversee… everything and everyone…” Gangle continued as her reeling mind was whirring all around them, flashes of memories of everyone, including others that Pomni had only seen on the abandoned room’s doors, “I study them, I read them, and I connect with them. I sync up to them and I record it. All of it. Notes, pictures, codes – anything. A separate venture that’s still so intertwined that the group can’t go without it. I see… everything. ‘You’re not supposed to depend on anyone to just use your eyes’ he used to say. When push comes to shove, I’m supposed to hold my own.”

Pomni let the moment breathe, before quietly prying, “Who told you all that?”

Nothing was said, but Pomni saw it.

A flash – a memory – of the white complexion with clown features, wearing mostly bright yellow.

The face of Kaufmo.

“He is our leader.” Gangle quickly barked as if defending herself, “Every group needs a leader, and he was the reason we made it this far. This is the group that had survived the longest. He’s a good leader.”

“Gangle…” Pomni gently said, voice quiet and concerned, “You keep saying he IS.”

Gangle grew quiet, grumbling something about forced habits, “You know what I meant.”

“No. I don’t… And I don’t think you do either.”

 “Of course I do!” Gangle hissed, despite her ribbon’s gentle caress over Pomni’s knuckles, letting the jester return the sentiment with an affectionate squeeze. “He’s… He’s gone.”

Oh god, he’s gone… he’s really gone…

He is. I’m so sorry.

“It feels so unreal” the ribbon finally admitted quietly, “He always spoke like he and I would be the last ones standing.”

“Did it disappoint you when he gave up?” Pomni’s question was soft and careful.

“I don’t know…” a heavy sigh escaped Gangle, “If it was either of us to go next, I always figured that I would be the first to lose it. I NEVER thought it would be him… A part of me is jealous of how easily he turned his back on us. All the preaching of ‘sticking through it together’ and ‘being there for one another, regardless of what we feel inside…’ Well, he made it feel like it meant nothing to him to begin with. He left us in this sinking ship with no regard for anyone but himself.

“What I’m getting at… is I feel guilty. And I feel jealous. I wish I could just let loose and let go like he did. He just GAVE UP. And I’m left to clean up the mess! I’m angry… he left me!”

Pomni remained silent, letting Gangle speak, letting her gloved thumb caress the ribbon wrapped around her hand in silent support.

I’m listening. I’m right here. I won’t leave.

“Do you know what makes it ALL even better?” the ribbonoid’s voice mumbled a sarcastic whisper, “Sometimes… Sometimes I’m glad he’s gone.”

A beat of silence follows and Pomni felt the weight of Gangle’s words finally sink in as the masked ribbon admitted numbly, “Maybe that just proves that I deserved it.”

Abstraction.

“No.” Came Pomni’s voice, quiet, but certain. “No one deserved this. No one deserved ANY of this.”

“You make it sound so simple… what if we were punished to be here for something we did in the real world?”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Pomni said decisively, “We are all in the same boat. We are all one bad day away from losing our minds. Whether we want to admit it or not, we all need each other.”

Gangle’s silence stretched for a minute.

“I want to need you, Pomni…” the ribbon let her limbs and body wrap around the jester in a twisted, organized mess, “I want you to need me.”

“I already told you; I need you.” The clown-girl whispered, barely recognizing her own voice as the euphoria of another’s desire for her to just be there, sweetly sunk its talons into Pomni’s mind.

These feelings are dangerous. Is it more of a risk than to be alone?

Neither of them knew. All they knew was that they became increasingly desperate to cling to each other. The hold of the ribbons was gentle, but desperate; and Pomni couldn’t bring herself to mind. Her fingers trailed along the scarlet tendrils, enchanted by the strange beauty of them.

Why couldn’t she let this infatuation rest? Why was Gangle the common factor that always seemed to hold her mind hostage?

“Nothing else matters right now.” Gangle said with a strange, misplaced reverence, “You are mine… and I won’t let anything take you from me. Please, let me have you; and I promise I will never let you go again.”

Oh god, this should be wrong. This should be very, very wrong.

But Pomni’s desire to have Gangle’s unyielding devotion was intoxicating. It was all she yearned for since she had gotten trapped in The Amazing Digital Circus.

She should say no. She should stand on her own two feet.

But god… the loneliness dragged her down. She was tired of fighting alone. Heaven knows how long it had been with no one else coming for either of them.

If she said yes, they would at least have each other, right?

A promise – a deal; One or none. One or none.

And so, it was decided with all their previous morals disregarded and the desperation for companionship as their sole motivator in their tangled mess of limbs and ribbons.

Not even death would do them part.

Part 4: (Previous) Oasis: TADC AU list Masterlist

End note:

Finally... this arc is finish. I mean, it only took me LITERAL YEARS to complete. But the first arc of this story is done. Despite many things I look back on and cringe at - be it the grammatical errors I missed or the plot holes and inconsistencies that haunt my dreams; I did it. And I'm so proud that I stuck to it.

This story is not over. As usual, I can't promise a regular updating schedule and I can't promise it will all be good. But what I can promise is that I want to finish this story and the Arcs to come.

May you have a lovely day and live life to the fullest.

Tot wedersiens, my edelstene.