#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.

[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-

[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 | almostfoxglove masterlist

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 - tag list & some mutuals <3

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

@burntheedges @la-eterna-enamorada29 @goodgirlwannabe @guiltyasdave @for-a-longlongtime

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal 

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @jolapeno 

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours 

@noisynightmarepoetry @clawdee

[ailithnight]

Okay, so, Brain Dead rejected soulmate AU but Danny is the one who rejected Tim.

Let's say in this world that there are many types of soul bonds.

You've got your standard and fairly common First Words and Skin Art.

Then you've got less common things like Shared Dreams, Colorblind Until You Meet, and Red String.

And then you've got the very rare Telepathic Bond and Empathic Bond.

Finally, there's the ultra rare, one in a million, Shared Pain* soul bonds. It helps that the flip side of this particular bond means Shared Comforts**, but still, it is not the kind of bond people hope for.

Naturally, Fenton luck dictates that this is what Danny (and by extension, his soulmate) gets stuck with.

And at first it's fine. Like, bumps and scrapes happen but it's no big deal. Then the bullying starts and Danny feels a bit guilty that his soulmate has to deal with it by proxy.

But, Danny learns how to minimize damage. And the way Danny can feel his soulmate gentle nursing the pains when he can't, indulging in extra comforts for the both of them, makes Danny think that maybe it's okay.

After all, if it was really to much, Danny's soulmate would have already rejected him.

And when Danny's soulmate starts getting a bit more roughed up when they're 13, naturally Danny returns the favor; never wishing to sever the bond, only wishing he could prevent the pain all together.

Then Danny turns 14.

Then Danny dies. But survives.

He cries that night, his soulmate desperately trying to push comfort through their bond while all Danny can think about is how he shouldn't have gone in that portal. He shouldn't have been so reckless. He should have PROTECTED them.

And to top it all off, suddenly he's not just Dash's personal punching bag. No, there's a whole host of ghostly rogues that like to come bother Danny. And maybe it was still okay when it was just ectopusses or Lunch Lady or Boxy.

But as more and more powerful ghosts come through, as the fights get harder and Danny takes more damage, the guilt over what he's subjecting his soulmate to eats at him.

And after Danny meets Vlad, the first enemy he faces that he really can't beat, he makes the decision. This isn't going to end. These fights, these pains...

Someday he's going to face an enemy that is going to grind him into the dirt. That's going to kill him again, probably slowly and unpleasantly, and Danny already subjected his soulmate to one death, he refuses to put him through another.

So Danny mentally reaches deep inside himself, real hands placing themselves above his heart.

Feeling around for the source of that gentle warmth his soulmate is pushing through their bond.

He finds it, grasping with imaginary hands while his real ones clench the fabric of his shirt.

Feels the way the warmth stutters. The sharp jolt of pain on his elbow as his soulmate probably knocks it when he realizes what Danny is doing.

Danny pays it no mind. He holds the bond between then tightly; tears welling up in his eyes as phantom arms wrap around himself, his soulmate's desperate plea for Danny not to do what he's about to.

Danny yanks, physical hands all but tearing the shirt off his chest as mental ones rip the bond from his and his soulmate's hearts.

The last pain they'll ever share comes crashing into him, the distinct Rejection scar crackling across his chest not unlike the Lichtenburg on his arm.

It hurts, but less than dying had.

Then the pain is gone. Or rather, that pain is gone.

The dull aches from the fight with Plasmius throb and a part Danny finds himself missing the soothing comforts his soulmate had provided him, emptiness filling the space they used to occupy.

But another part of Danny, the part that is more ghost than human, swells with pride knowing he has protected his soulmate from Danny's own inevitable fate.

As Danny inspects Rejection spidering out from his heart, a strange hollow giddiness settles in his stomach. It makes him giggle.

His brain notes that if Dash ever sees this, he'll assume he finally succeeded in making Danny's soulmate reject him.

Danny giggles harder.

Not that Danny will correct him. Or his friends or his sister when they find out for that matter. They worry enough about him as is. They don't need to know just how far Danny is willing to go to protect the people he loves.

He's stifling laughter now, trying not to wake the neighbors.

Sitting alone on the roof of Fentonworks at 3 in the morning, Danny laughs until he sobs, then laughs and sobs until he can't breathe, then laughs and sobs and struggles to breathe until a light blue mist comes gasping past he lips.

His hysterics taper of and he lets the now familiar cold feeling of his ghost form spread across his body, pausing only for a second when he notices the new spiderwebbing across the chest of his hazmat suit, just a shade darker than the rest of the black material.

Oh well. It's not too noticeable and if some sees it he can just pretend it was always there. Just like he's going to pretend the emptiness in his heart was always there. Where it belongs.

~~~

Tim is at the Bat Computer desperately searching for any kind of clue who and where his soulmate is.

Of course, Tim had searched before, been searching basically since grade school when it became clear his soulmate was dealing with either bullying or an abusive home.

But Tim's efforts had tripled lately. Ever since that fateful day 4 months ago when he'd practically had a seizure in the middle of family dinner.

It had felt like he was dying, the echos of electric shocks up his arm and into his heart coming through his soul bonds. Followed soon after by the sense of something terrifying and foreign opening up in his chest and forcing its way into every molecule of his body.

Tim is pretty sure he screamed.

It was several minutes before the sensations ended and a strange coldness filled his being. For a minute, Tim was terrified his soulmate had died, until the cold retreated to a place just beside his heart and phantom hands could be felt trying to comfort and soothe.

At the time, Tim thought that would be that. Some kind of terrible accident. A story his soulmate would tell him when they finally found each other.

But that wasn't that.

It started with that strange coldness never leaving the space beside his heart. Then sometimes the coldness would spread, filling his whole body for brief periods of time. Then those periods of time started to come with some kind of pain. A scrape, a bruise, sore muscles.

The kind of injuries Tim got on patrol as Robin.

Which was something he'd not been allowed to do near as much since the aftermath of that dinner when Bruce had learned what kind soul bond Tim had.

"Tim, you can't keep throwing yourself into the line of fire. It's bad enough when you get hurt, but for your soulmate to have to suffer too?"

Stupid Bruce and his stupid rules. Tim and his soulmate had been fine before, thank you very much. And it wasn't Robin that got struck by lightning or something. Tim really isn't sure what kind of accident would result in the things he had felt that night, but electrocution is at least part of it.

But since then, Tim's soulmate had been getting more and more injuries at any and all hours of the day. If Tim had been worried before distressed now. Something had happened and now Tim's soulmate who was already dealing with something before now seemed to be in constant danger. Tim needs to find them, needs to help them, make them safe.

He doesn't look, doesn't take his eyes off the news articles on the screen as a presence appears behind him. No 2 presences. And the elevator dings bringing a third. But Tim keeps scanning articles, looking for some clue about a kid getting electrocuted and a town gaining a young vigilante shortly after.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, gravelly voice speaking in gentle tones. "It's almost 4am son." Tim doesn't respond. Bruce sighs and spins the chair around. Dick and Alfred are both there looking concerned and stern respectively. "It's bed time."

"My soulmate is in trouble. They're not safe. I need to find them. And you're worried about my bed time?"

"You need some sleep, Master Tim. You won't know you've found anything if you're to tired to see straight." Bruce nods and Dick puts on his best big brother face.

"Get some rest, Tim. We can keep looking later."

Tim opens his mouth to argue, but pauses at the strange tugging sensation in his heart. He briefly wonders what trouble his soulmate is in now before he realizes what the almost feeling of hands on his soul bond means.

He gasps and jerks in the chair, knocking his elbow on the arm rest and the warm blanket he'd cocooned himself in to send comfort back to his soulmate off his shoulders.

Even Alfred's expression turns concerned when Tim wraps his arms around himself, trying to convey along the soul bond his plea for his soul mate not to do this.

"Tim?" Tim isn't sure which family member speaks. Can't focus on it as his soulmate yanks on the bond, ripping it and the strange comfortable coldness out.

Tim cries out, three sets of hands immediately moving in to comfort him. Sight and sound turn to static as Rejection burns across his chest not unlike the electrocution had crawled up his arm four months ago.

Then the pain vanishes.

And Tim looks up at Bruce, knows he's got tears rolling down his face, searching pitifully for a father's comfort.

"They Rejected me."

Bruce startles, but quickly stoops down to wrap Tim in a hug and Dick lays a comforting hand on Tim's head and Alfred retreats probably to make something comforting and Tim cries at the emptiness where the bond should be and the now too warm spot beside his heart.

And yet, deep in his mind where gears are still turning, Tim resolves to still find his soulmate, even without the bond, if only to ask them why.

.

This was supposed to be a prompt, maybe a premise, but I got carried away.

So now y'all can have this piece of pain I have no intention of continuing. Enjoy!

And since I don't plan on continuing, if some else wants to run with it, have at and have fun!

*Shared Pain in this AU just means soulmates feel the pain, not that they recieve the injuries. So if a soulmate breaks an arm, the other will feel the break, but their arm will be physically fine.

**Shared Comforts meaning that soulmates also share good feelings. So if one person is all wrapped up comfy cozy in a nice thick blanket, the other also feels that warmth. But like with the pain, it's a phantom feeling. Won't keep the soulmate not bundled up from hypothermia.

[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.)

・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・・

Join the taglist here

general taglist: @satelliteky @harryonce @unhnnn @whoreforhrry @giitterysuits

@harrrrystylesslut @watermelon-medicine @ashmary @freedomfireflies @naj-paj

@samanthamattingly4 @ambivalenza55 @ivegotthecinema @deftonesangel @slelling3

@sunny-afternooon @silkgrove @nuggetdean @aprlmuse @lillefroe

@triski73 @babegoals @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

[ham1lton]

you said u read ao3 fics! what are your f1 recs?

ahhh!!!!! this is the best question you could have ever asked me like ever i love you so much. i’ve been dying to talk abt this for a hot minute. i opened myself up to any sort of ship mostly because i cared more abt the fic quality then the ship you know? kinda glad i did it because my fav ones are not necessarily ships i am a fan of. it’s really long so i put it under a read more!!

okay so number one has to be the fic that was my first fav f1 fic. this is steal the air out of my lungs (make me feel it). now this has a lot of elements that i love. guy who’s in his own head vs other guy who’s also in his own head but pretends he isn’t. also idk why but i’m always a sucker for a good medical au and this one fucking delivers!!! another maxiel fic i read was three rounds and a sound which has coffee shop owner daniel w/ stressed out student max. a lot of introspection but it’s also unfolding while the romance is. idk i just love this. it’s so good. last maxiel fic is come on, star boy which is a alt universe where daniel is the american guy he always wanted to be and max is the new transfer to his small town’s football team. it isn’t just incredibly written but everyone feels so real and vivid. i can visually see this in my mind everytime i read it. i listened to a lot of ethel cain while reading so that helped. i love this so much and the brocedes in the background?? you’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves youuu 🗣️

i’m not really a landoscar girl, i’m gonna be honest. however, where i am going is right where i am, is just incredible. alt universe where the drivers live on a street version of stars hollow? brocedes that influence everything even though they’re long over? charles being insane over max? pierre hating on esteban every second that is possible (i was laughing every time he would just cuss his ass out unprovoked) and annoying george being their street’s version of gilmore girls’ taylor?? what more do u need in ur life?? also oscar in this fic is just my dream man. i think a croissant from him would fix me. actually i read a lot of this author’s landoscar fics and they’re so cute i was sending kudos as much as i can. like already home! just want to bite them both and put them in my pocket. they’re so obviously in love i want to shake them down and scream and smoosh them together. lawyer!oscar i love you. check out their profile!! incredible writer :)))

i’m also not a galex truther but the two of us, in sympathy is so cute!! rich boy!george with broke junior doctor!alex. george attempting to court alex and just absolutely failing. i love it. they’re such a mess i need them in my life. also this loscar future fic is so intense but incredible. i’m really bad at describing but i binged it on my train home and i was really glad i did - i promised to forget you now.

the reason i even got into f1 aka brocedes. this fic i think was one of the first i read. on the faultline which is just amazing. i can’t recommend it enough. read it if u can. another fav is a brocedes threesome with their toxic fucking each other via proxy aka new money, and it’s all cash. cute brocedes!! nico thinks lewis is his sworn enemy but everyone knows otherwise. roseberg’s vs haminkton. this was so cute and funny. cause why was nico saying lewis, the owner of a tattoo shop was stealing business from him… when he owns a florists… he’s so dramatic i want to tuck him in my pocket. this job will take my sole has the same premise but they’re both shoe shops which makes a lot more sense. i just love stupid rivalries and dramatic nico.

now back to my sweethearts, the lights of my life, the fires of my heart - sewis. all of these fics have past brocedes just for context. every tongue should confess talks about religion and queer identity in such a nuanced and delicate way? i adored this fic. transmotion which is another alt universe with fashion designer!lewis and footballer!sebastian both figuring out their careers, themselves and their relationship. maybe together we can get somewhere - this is an mpreg fic which usually isn’t for me but it’s about seb and lewis going on a road trip for an abortion and it’s so good. honestly the ending line of ‘it’s a good feeling, to know that sebastian’s outstretched hand is right there.’ it just stuck with me. i loved it. the numbering at bethlehem which is thee sewis fic to me. professor au?? this was made for me. like perfectly moulded. everything about this is art. i could do a full essay on this fic. just read it, it’s incredible. just amazing. sebastian as the child prodigy who has nowhere else to climb?? i love them both in this fic so much!!! tnab sewis get behind me!! i’m gonna protect u!!

okay i’m sorry this is so long. i just love art. i love writing. i just love the work these authors’ have spent putting together these masterpieces for free!! check them out!! leave kudos!! comment!! <3

[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?

[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]

[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.

[homestuck-fanauthor-coalition]

The Good, The Bad, and The Alternative (515450 words) by Madam_Melon_Meow, sarcasticcelery

Chapters: 39/? Fandom: Homestuck Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Nepeta Leijon/Equius Zahhak, Sollux Captor/Aradia Megido, Eridan Ampora & Feferi Peixes, Kanaya Maryam & Dave Strider, Rose Lalonde & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider & Dave Strider, Beta Kids & Beta Trolls, Jade Harley & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Dad Egbert & John Egbert, Kanaya Maryam/Vriska Serket, Eridan Ampora/Dave Strider Characters: John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Becquerel (Homestuck), Kanaya Maryam, Vriska Serket, Karkat Vantas, Terezi Pyrope, Aradia Megido, Tavros Nitram, Sollux Captor, Gamzee Makara, Eridan Ampora, Feferi Peixes, Nepeta Leijon, Equius Zahhak, Virgin Mother Grub (Homestuck), Vriska's Lusus, Gl'bgolyb (Homestuck), Dad Egbert, Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Aurthour (Homestuck), The Condesce (Homestuck), Serenity (Homestuck) Additional Tags: inspired by Kim Harrison’s The Hollows, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Humanstuck, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Human Lusii (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Demigods, Vampires, multi POV: all beta trolls & humans, The Horrorterrors (Homestuck), Non-Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Violence, Magic, Aged-Up Character(s), the kids and trolls range between 16 and 20, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vriska Serket has PTSD, Memory Loss, Scars, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Plot Twists, Unreliable Narrator, Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider Are Not Related, Skaianet Laboratories, beta guardians are not alpha kids and troll parents are not ancestors, monsterstuck, Break Up, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ship Tags Will Update As They Become Relevant, Good Person Gamzee Makara, Suicide Attempt by Proxy, Dissociation, Victim Blaming, Abusive Parents, sexually active teenagers, Underage Drinking Series: Part 1 of Monsterstuck: Suburban Catastrophe Summary: Three years ago, on John Egbert's birthday, the world ended. Three years ago, Jade Harley and Vriska Serket vanished alongside billions of others. Three years ago, the apocalypse arrived, transforming everything and revealing much that was hidden to those who remained. Three years ago, the meteors (mostly!) missed Houston, and that's where John's headed today. In Houston, Rose Lalonde searches for washed-up traces of magic, warily overseen by Kanaya and her old friend Dave. In Texas, the newly dubbed "alternatives" maintain a newfound alliance with the humans they saved--and a wary truce with the Hunter forces that once kept all these creatures of fable and fairytale a secret from the world of man. And here, in Houston, the world is about to change once again. An urban fantasy monsterstuck AU featuring the beta kids, beta trolls, and their guardians. Updates every other Weekend!

~~~~

Written by the founder and her fiance (aka our other admin), we are once again boosting this fic to you all! If you are a fan of fantasy stories, if you think rosemary deserves a divorce arc, or if you're a big fan of Vriska being handled with nuance, you should check this out! their blog is @thegoodthebadthealternative

[irys955]

Axl Bangboo! AxxBoo???

So in this AU, the Maverick Hunters are a Gov organization, who were all reploids working in deep deep deep hollow, maybe on the moon's hollow so they were not known to normal citizen. Anyways, the trio were on mission, Axl was hit and woke up in a Bangboo body, then he came to the proxy asking for help looking for his parents (X and Zero who else?)

[mayashesfly]

Thinking about The Proxy AU and its offshoots...

While I first made this AU with the idea of an empty robot with nothing else, thus the tag for "Hollowed Proxy AU" Now that I'm attached to the dynamic of Proxy and Kitty as well as the plethora of possibilities Sentient Proxy provides, "Sentient Proxy AU" as a tag is starting to become rather redundant. Though Proxy does start off as being rather blank until it starts to slowly become its own person.

Meanwhile, unfortunately "The Redeemed and Fallen Proxy AU" scenario isn't canon in my mind. Vox is sadly not accidentally redeemed and still alive in Heaven in The Canon Proxy AU.

It personally just doesn't fit my vision for this AU and there's no logical way I can convince my autistic mind that Vox could've been redeemed with the actions he had made prior to his permanent death into nonexistence.

Vox did not become a better person for sacrificing himself to save Alastor when that's something he would've always done.

For all the evil that he has commited and the rot that coats his soul, he still has that small kernel of goodness he reserves for those he loves and cares about. His family.

But that single act doesn't repent for all the evil he has made when that was something he would've always done.

He didn't change for the better- and thus, he did not redeem himself.

A part of the story of The Proxy AU would be handling that grief, and the eventuality of having to fully face that grief.

(Even though I cannot promise I can fully touch on that in my posts/writings since I doubt I have the energy to write an actual fanfic)

To have Vox actually/secretly be alive in Canon Proxy AU defeats that purpose.

But just because he's gone doesn't mean that he's forgotten nor has fully faded into nonexistence.

When there's still people around that carry the memories of him, even beyond the void.

[malue-505]

Slenderman Proxy Organization

(Like my first Proxy post, the info below are my headcanons! I am open for suggestions regarding changing the name for the Curators, I’ve cycled through name changes for them for a while. The Units, Branches and Fleets aren’t in any particular order, it’s just how I’ve always ordered them since I made these headcanons. I recommend going to my first Slenderman Proxy post after this one since you’ll have more context of what Branches are and what the SICs do. Anyone is allowed to use this for their AU as long as they credit me! Sorry in advance if there’s any typos I’ve missed or if things are worded weirdly.

Side Note: The Hollowed is only in the Scouts Branch and specifically only in Masky and Hoodie’s Fleets. The N/A spaces are there for SICs I haven’t yet casted/made into OCs.

Divisions

The organization as a whole is categorized the following way in this format in this post (in the future I’m planning on making a more dignified chart so bare with me):

Unit

Branch

Fleet

Units are the largest category, they determine the main theme/field of all the Branches and Fleets under it. Branches are even smaller categories leaving Fleets being the smallest division. The power that an SIC holds is usually restricted to only their own Fleet, however there are some Branches that only hold one Fleet.

Categorizing

Proxies are categorized by which Branch and Fleet they are working in based on either their raw abilities, what Slenderman seems as fit, or if a particular SIC takes an interest in them. SICs are categorized by which Fleet they command. Every Fleet needs an SIC to command it and there can only be 31 SICs and Fleet simultaneously, never less or more.

SICs do not work in multiple Units nor Branches because their high rank dictates that they must devote the vast majority of their time on their designated Branch and Fleet.

Slenderman usually chooses Proxies that handled a specific field in their human life, depending on which field determines which Fleet he sends them to. If a human doesn’t have a specific field, they usually get thrown into the Armed Unit, specifically the Scouts.

Special Roles & Groups

Enforcers: The only singular Proxy role that is not exclusive to a specific Fleet. Enforcers can be any Proxy that is a Sleeper or above in terms of rank and in any Unit, Branch or Fleet. Enforcers can enforce any Proxy (besides those above them) even if they do not confide within their own division of any kind.

Duel Specialists: This is a role assigned to a proxies who work in multiple Fleets, Branches and Units. Having this role indicates that a Proxy has multiple SICs they have to work for. The limit on how many Branches a Proxy may work under is 3. All Proxies, who are not SICs, can be Duel Specialists.

Shadow People: These are the Proxies from The Collective that are also members of the Influenced Species called “Shadow People.” Their behaviors and sessions often correlate and/or parallel those of the Scouts and the Technologists. Despite this, they have a very unique presence in the organization and don’t have an inherent SIC over their heads so to say.

Autonomous Organizations: This is a type of organization that has some degree of autonomy/control from the main organization. This includes organizations that Associates founded or took over and all the cults that the Cultists made/helped found. These organizations have mostly free-range to do what they want/what they need to do as obligations to the organization.

Training Fleets: This is a type of Fleet within the organization, not every Branch has a Training Fleet. What qualifies a Branch for a Training Fleet is usually the amount of Fleets inside a Branch, how populated it can get and how intricate the Branch’s subject is.

Proxy Lineages: The name is very self explanatory, this is when a family has history serving Slenderman’s organization. This can be one of the many factors as to why someone gets chosen as a Proxy. This is a type of lineage that exists not just in Slenderman’s organization but in other Factions that also practice Proxism.



History

The Units were inspired by the first 5 Proxies of Slenderman. Each Branch was a skill that each Proxy had, they were also the first ever SICs. Memorabilia and records of the first 5 Proxies are exclusively kept by the Historian and Curator Proxies.

About 100 years after starting his Proxy organization, Slenderman started to realize that a lot of Proxies in the Scouts Branch were slowly dying off due to not having a base of operations for shelter. He built his mansion in order for the Scout Proxies to have a place to stay while they regroup.

Over the years as human society industrialized and began to modernize more, the Scout Proxies had more places to stay and most began to eventually move out and build their own minor bases. Slenderman decided to not waste the big building and made it his own permanent residence making a few renovations to suit his liking. (More will be added overtime)

Armed Unit

Soldiers: Used for bigger and complex Proxy affairs such as being present on the front lines, providing extensive security, invading foreign territory, and wielding arms that are typically used for war. They are often called to be used as backup or to storm through certain battles.

Ms. General: Security provided by Soldiers

Sir Sergeant: Infantry

(N/A): Rescue Operations

(N/A): Soldier Trainers

Scouts: used for smaller and simpler proxy affairs such as assassinating targets, hunting, scouting areas, spying on enemy forces, housekeeping, and destroying evidence. This branch also includes members of The Collective but they aren’t a part of the Proxism command hierarchy, they only occasionally work alongside the Scouts as their own elite fleet.

Wyntre: Scout Trainers and thinning out weaker Proxies in the Armed Unit

Masky: Guerrilla Warfare and security provided by Scouts

Hoodie: Espionage, assassins, reconnaissance and destroys evidence

(N/A): Animal handlers, hunters, farmers, miners and nature preservers

Scientific Unit

Scientists: Used for scientific experiments that revolve around behavioral science, biology, and scientific phenomenons. This branch also includes, virologists, zoologists, biochemists, experimentalists, etc. They often conduct experiments on whatever Slenderman is curious on learning more about.

(N/A): Biology

Dr. Pericol: Chemistry

(N/A): Physics

(N/A): Psychology

(N/A): Scientist Trainers

Technologists: Used for accessing technology in various ways such as code breaking, lock picking and hacking. This branch includes technicians, hackers, and cryptanalysts. They are especially useful on missions for the Scouts.

(N/A): Software developers and tech support

(N/A): Espionage, hackers, coders, surveillance and strategists

Engineers: Usually used for fixing and creating new inventions and machinery. This branch includes inventors, builders, mechanics and welders. They are the ones that make technology and gadgets used by other branches.

(N/A): Inventors, factories, gadgets and manufacturers

(N/A): Architects, builders and constructions

Mathematicians: Usually used for calculating probabilities and distances. This branch includes actuaries, statisticians and operations research analysts. They’re usually used for calculating distances for the Scouts and Soldiers and probabilities for the Technologists and Scientists.

Mathew: Statisticians, mathematical theorists and strategists

Medical Unit

Primary Care: Handles common/everyday such as first aid, minor illnesses/diseases, broken bones, etc. They are usually the first responders to emergencies if it is under their specialities, which is usually the case.

(N/A): Nurses, physicians and doctors that focus on treating the patient as a whole

Secondary Care: Handle specific cases that usually Primary Care diagnoses. Proxies go here whenever they have an issue that Primary Care doesn’t have even knowledge about.

(N/A): Cardiologists, endocrinologists, oncologists and different types of counseling and therapy

Tertiary Care: Handles complex surgeries, severe specific treatments, and provides care for an extended period of time. They handle emergencies that are even more severe and specific.

(N/A): Specialized surgeons and complex procedures

Quaternary Care: This branch handles the most extreme and rare occurrences/emergencies in the entire Unit. It is also the only Branch in their Unit that conducts medical experiments due to how unusual quaternary care actually is.

(N/A): Experimental procedures and clinical trials for further research

Archived Unit

Historians: Used for keeping records of every Proxy’s existence and personal details, Proxy lineages, Proxy history and every recorded Proxy affair. This branch also includes the libraries and files in several of the other Units’ archives.

(N/A): Proxy organization events

(N/A): Individual Proxy information

Curators: Used for storing physical records like Proxy masks, old Proxy uniforms, and other valuable memorabilia. This branch is also responsable for transporting resources and managing warehouses.

(N/A): Warehouses, transporters and suppliers

(N/A): Exhibit organizers and memorabilia collectors

Morticians: Used for handling the dead bodies of Proxies, if the bodies survived, to put in their personal morgues. This branch may also hold funerals if the Proxy chooses to do so before their death.

Persephone: Undertakers, embalmers and funeral directors

Cultural Unit

Artists: Used for creating Slenderman’s likeness through many artistic and creative crafts such as drawings, paintings, sculptures and literature.

(N/A): Painting, sculpting and drawing

(N/A): Literature, hymns and performing arts

Cultists: Used for spreading Slenderman’s vanity and are the main cause of Slenderman’s popularity. They often found cults that cater to him and spread hymns and rites to further encourage beliefs.

(N/A): Cults for religious ceremonies for spreading belief and vanity

El Salvador: Cults for feeding Slenderman via cult followers’ bodies

Trivia

Every Proxy (major or minor) has a code name usually in the fashion of “The x,” some Proxy titles are their code name.

The Cultural Unit’s color is supposed to be golden yellow but tumblr didn’t have that color.

SICs wear a colored armband corresponding to their respective Unit, they may take off this armband during their own missions.

All Proxies have Slenderman’s symbol, marked by using his own blood, somewhere on their person.

SICs can have specific titles depending on their Branch such as SICs in the Soldier Branch are called “Commanding Officers” and SICs in the Scouts Branch are called “Scoutmasters.”

All Proxies gain some of Slenderman’s abilities over the course of 5 years, this will be explained in my next headcanon post.

Young children that have shown much progress in training for their chosen Branch may be fully Proxified early. As a general rule, when all Proxies reach their teen years, they have completed their training and are therefore fully Proxified.

The requirements that Slenderman looks for tend to vary a lot. It ranges on if the human has lived a horrible life leaving them vulnerable to the human simply being available at the right time. Other requirements can include: knowing a certain field/holding a particular occupation, having some kind of genetic advantage, being some kind of supernatural creature (that is controllable), etc.

Credits

Wyntre & Ms. General ©️ Chibi-Works

Masky & Hoodie ©️ Marble Hornets

The Collective ©️ TribeTwelve

Slenderman ©️ Victor Surge

Sir Sergeant, Persephone, Mathew & Dr. Pericol are my OCs

(My headcanon flag for Slenderman’s organization. Each tree represents a Unit, the Branches are the branches on trees and the Fleets are the leafs of the tree branches.)

[1800titz]

Potential…. apocalypse AU… maybe coming to patreon this week?

The wagging flame dances in the gloam of his eyes. Molten. Flinty with burnt orange— unwavering. Staid, despite his next words.

They’re blunt. Crude. Tit for tat, verbalized with the same indifference of handing cash over a counter—

(Nobody rides coattails, anymore, not in this world. Quid pro quo— a transactional proposition of his offer, days ago.)

“I think it’s about time you suck my cock.”

Her mouthful gets stuck to the back of her throat. Clogs her windpipe, on her gasp, until she’s coughing, twisted, spewing kidney beans onto the loam. Y/N wipes the back of her shuddering hand against her mouth, rheumy-eyed.

(And it’d be a shit denouement, wouldn’t it? Quietus, at the edge of a rotting world, choking on her food.)

His eyes list. The fork scrapes the bottom of the can— a portentous, hollowed click of metal on metal. “…Don’t you think?”

Her face spumes with heat, the back of her throat still raw, closing (on the words that bubble there, tangled).

Until, finally— “Sorry?”

“…Quid pro quo. I—“

Detached negotiation— a trade in the esse of …whatever she can offer, sloppy and slick. And that’s the pinnacle of mutualism, today, isn’t it? When mankind disintegrates and reverts, the raw remnants are what they are at the core; ironclad— animals.

“Feed you. Keep you warm. Give you a place to rest your head for the night. And you…”

There’s stardust in the glint of his teeth. Bared in the proxy of something friendly, when really, maybe, they just ache to snap and consume. The constellation of her purpose, unfulfilled, in the film over his heady eyes. Jet polynyas, blown. Mirrors for the fire when his voice croons in a honeyed char, treacle over embers—

And, that’s the thing, isn’t it? What her cosmos dealt to her— him, in the ashy nebula of existence.

“You give me the view of a pretty girl between my legs. A wet mouth on my cock.”