#he looked SO good in that suit- i'm actually tearing up looking at the reference pic

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

"Was... a waste of your time...?"

Unbelievable how a crumb of Jay has me acting

[bratphilia]

grasp (w. afton x reader)

request: "I don’t really have a coherent story (just some thots) but i’d kill for some sort of smuttyyy ficlet that has the reader who is very short as in 4 foot 10 and has petite features (just like me 😵‍💫) being picked up and slung over Matthew Lillard!William Afton’s shoulder 🥴🥴 Include reader being scared and trying to wriggle free??? (due to her seeing or knowing something she shouldn’t have about Raglan) and some name-calling like ‘little one’, ‘good girl’ & ‘atta girl’ 🤤 - 🧸"

note: hi nonniebear!! i'm sorry if this fic is a little rushed but i tried to stay true to what you requested! hope you enjoy and feel free to keep sending in more ideas :)

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: bondage, praise kink, fingering, squirting, begging

fuck. you're really in for it now. 

this yellowish, decaying rabbit stalks towards you, and there are four, sentient and bloodthirsty animatronics behind you. 

you're stuck. 

even worse, the rabbit came from the entrance, so if you were to try to make your escape that way there was a likelihood of you running into his knife.

"please," you find yourself pleading. "please don't kill me."

the rabbit laughs menacingly and bends down to your level. "how about this? i'll give you a head start." 

without any further questions you bolt through the maze of halls and towards the office. you crouch down in front of the vent the rabbit was referring to and unscrew the bolts barricading it. thank god you're small enough to fit in the vents. this might actually work.

then you hear unmistakeable, thumping footsteps coming towards you. 

it only hurries your actions. your heart rate rapidly increases. the screws are so aged with rust that it's hard to—

the door opens with a loud thud. you scream at the noise, and again when you're being lifted off the ground. it's the yellow rabbit. 

it slings you over its shoulder with unmatched strength. you wail incoherent words and pleas as you pound the back of the suit with balled fists. 

"help me!" you scream out to no one. "somebody help!" 

the rabbit wordlessly carries you down the hall, to one of the locked doors you dared not to venture into during your shifts. it carried you down a couple stairs and then set you on a dentist-office-style chair. 

at this point tears are rolling down your face. eyes are shut in fear of looking your captor in the eyes. uncontrollable sobs escape your mouth, praying that these aren't your final moments. then the rabbit wraps both hands (paws?) around your wrists and holds them to the arm handles so that restraints can bolt around them. 

"oh, save it," he says, clearly annoyed with your crying. "i've heard it all before, you don't deserve to die, and all that."

your eyes shoot open. the rabbit's voice no longer sounds robotic and you realize you actually recognize it. 

in a very dramatic fashion, it's steve raglan. your career counsellor, a.k.a the man who got you this job in the first place. 

he almost looks ridiculous in the rabbit suit, which admittedly doesn't add much to his already sizeable frame, but you can't find the humor in the situation in which you could be seconds away from dying in. 

"why?" you find yourself asking, suddenly more curious than hysteric. "why give me this job if you were just going to kill me in the end?" 

"because you got a little too close to the truth, and for some reason, those brats up there were unable to take care of the job themselves," he snarls resentfully. he must be referencing the animatronics. it makes sense now— the kids in the drawings with the yellow rabbit on the wall. 

"it was you. you killed those kids."

steve gives you a horrible smile. one that almost makes you weak, with that dimple you recognize from many conversations in his office. "you finally figured it out."

he walks behind you, shuffling around in the suit, and you crane your neck around to see him taking it off. he's wearing a white tee and dark purple slacks. he's not particularly muscular, but not thin either. it's a build specific to middle aged men. you hate to admit it, but your face flushes when you notice how large his hands are. 

he catches you looking at him and smiles, cocking his head curiously. "see something you like, little night guard?" instantly you whip your head back around. your head is at a moral war with itself, with you being disappointed in yourself that you were actually checking out a child serial killer. 

but steve doesn't leave it alone. once he abandons the suit, he swiftly strides over you. he places both hands on your restraints, caging you in. you shrink into yourself. 

"i think," he says lowly, "i might have a different use for you, little one. one that we can both enjoy." 

you swallow, not saying anything. steve reaches a hand up to slide down your face then cup your jaw. his hands are cold to the touch and it sends shivers down your spine. 

you find your voice. "don't touch me."

"don't touch you? are you sure?" he says cockily and you can only glare at him in response. 

"what if i just..." he trails off, sliding the hands on his face down your neck, your chest, abdomen, and eventually your core. he presses his hand there hard, making you jolt upwards and whimper. "so you don't want me to touch you, is what i'm hearing?"

fuck. this undeniably hot serial killer has you at his disposal and you can't help but feel turned on. if you're going to die, and your chances really aren't looking good for you, maybe you should just...

"please," you murmur, closing your legs so they trap his hand there.

"please, what?"

you swallow. "please fuck me." 

"'atta girl." he grins from ear to ear. "y'know, all that begging you did earlier really did a number on me, but i must say i love this change of heart."

steve starts to undo the buttons of your slacks and begins to pull them down, leaving you bare in your underwear. it's at this point you realize how wet you are, and you try to relieve the tension in your core by squeezing your thighs together but he grabs your legs and presses them to your stomach. you're just so malleable to him.

he tugs off your panties and discards them mindlessly. "look at that," he marvels at your bare skin, "so pretty, little one."

you squirm against the restraints a little. at this point the anticipation will kill you faster than he will. you wish he would just touch you already, but you had to admit all his praises were only adding to your arousal.

steve decides to sit a little further down the chair and wordlessly plunges a finger inside your pussy. he goes deliberately slow, clearly gaging your reaction. "fuck," you mutter, and it takes all your strength to not buck your hips into his movements.

"you need this, don't you, sweet girl?" he muses, stopping the thrusting of his fingers, but still keeping them inside. "tell me."

"please, please, please..." tears coat your lashes from all the teasing. "'need it so bad."

he gives you a kind smile, one you haven't seen since you were back in his office. "good girls get what they ask for. "

steve slides in a second finger and begins to pump faster. it's an improvement but you find yourself needing more. you buck your hips up hoping he would get the message and he simply laughs lowly as he adds a third finger into the mix.

his pace gets progressively faster over time to your delight. the noises coming from your center is absolutely obscene. you can feel your juices dripping down onto the seat.

"ah — ah!" you cry out, feeling your orgasm nearing. "i'm coming — please, slow down—"

you squeeze your eyes shut. all the sudden the chair is abnormally wetter than you would have expected and— oh.

your face burns bright red. "i-i'm sorry..."

he's shocked, mouth agape and eyes slightly widened. then a wolfish grin spreads across his face. "don't you dare apologize, little one, let's try that again."

[doctorcatastrophe]

Movie Night with Kento Nanami

Friday night is movie night 🎉

It becomes something that both of you look forward to 

Kento letting you choose the movie because he doesn't really care what you end up watching, as long as you get some time to relax together

You end up choosing cheesy rom-coms because you KNOW he loves them (even if he scoffs and rolls his eyes whenever you tease him about it)

I'm talking pretty woman-bridget jones-love actually type beat

He's a groundhog day, you've got mail, breakfast at tiffany's sort of man and you're a sucker for anything with 2000's J Lo

Working together to make a list of all the classics that you want to watch

Methodically working your way through the list and feeling accomplished every time you get to tick off one of the films 

Rewatching all your favs after those really tough weeks that have the life seeping out of Kento or have you tearing out your hair 

Needless to say, the two of you would be a power couple when it comes to movie trivia (so get ready for sore loser, pouty crybaby Gojo)

Pajamas, blankets, pillows and SNACKS- so many cosy things because you both deserve it 

He loves watching your face light up whenever the happy ending comes around or the couple finally gets together

It just makes his heart warm y’know

By the end of whatever movie you're watching, you're leaning against him, practically in his lap cause there's no better way to end movie night than cuddling up with the man of your dreams 

His arms wrapped around you loosely and you snuggle deeper into his side

He's just so warm (argh!)

The credits roll and you yawn, glancing up at your lover whose eyes are closed, a smile on his lips

A small, soft, rare smile that you would have died a thousand times to see 

For a second you think he's asleep, until he opens his tired brown eyes

Either him dragging you to bed or you dragging him, depending on whoever is more exhausted (likely him) 

Your eyes slide over the names rolling across the screen, not really taking any of it in before you turn to the dark room around you. The darkness is comforting, made so by the warmth of the body beside you and the slow, steady sound of breathing that comes from it. You can tell Kento is treading the line of sleep and you briefly wonder whether waking him is the best course of action. He had come home more exhausted than usual. He tried to hide it, but you weren't blind to the way his broad shoulders sagged or the way dark shadows collected beneath his eyes. Even his suit had seemed lifeless, like the stress of the day had worn out the straight iron-pressed lines and drained the colour from the fabric. You had asked him if movie night was a good idea,  pointing out how he was practically swaying on his feet. He immediately turned to give you a confused look, but his eyes softened when he noticed how concerned you were.

“I’m fine sweetheart.” 

“You don't look fine Ken.” You sighed, reaching up to trace the dark lines etched into his face. As his hands came up to place themselves over yours, you suggested moving it to tomorrow night instead. 

“We are not skipping movie night. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” He shook his head and you knew better than to argue with your stubborn boyfriend, so you settled on giving him a playful flick on the nose.

“As you wish Buttercup.” Your teeth clamp down on your lip as he chuckled gently,  humouring the reference with a smile. 

“I guess I know what we’re watching tonight then.” 

Ultimately deciding that sleeping on the couch would not be good for his already fragile and overworked body, you press a hand to the side of Kento’s face, dragging your thumb over his defined cheekbone. His eyes flicker open, head nuzzling into the warmth that your hand offers.

“Finished already?” His voice is barely above a whisper and the softness of it has you mentally keening. You only hum in response, reaching up to run your hands through his hair. The gesture has him melting against you, arms wrapping tight around your body to bring you closer to him. 

“Bed?” You whisper against his chest, just loud enough for him to hear. His fingers entwine themselves in your hair as he breathes in your scent. 

“Bed.” He confirms, but makes no effort to move. You laugh under your breath and peel the blankets off of you both, pulling yourself off the couch and away from Kento whose brow furrows in complaint. He sighs, having lost the warmth of you and no longer surrounded by your embrace, but you offer your hands to help him stand and Kento takes them gratefully. In the fragile light cast by the tv, shadows gather along the sharp lines of his face but you can make out his eyes, the warm brown reduced to a glossy black in the darkness. You stare up at him as he leans down and you smile when his lips meet your own. Shivers run down your spine as his fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently to make you gasp. He deepens the kiss and hums before pulling away to mumble something against your lips but you’re so warm and so tired and so happy that you don't hear him and let out a faint, “Huh?”. When you open your eyes, he's staring at you, a lazy lopsided smile gracing his tired face.

“You taste like popcorn.”

[hom3landr]

bonfire night! sounds so cozy 🥹🥹

Gonna warn right out of the gate that I teared up writing this one. Jury is out on whether or not it counts as cozy

I Bet On Losing Dogs

CW references to animal abuse

I bet on losing dogs

I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place

By the ring

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down

I'll be there on their side

I'm losing by their side

- Mitski

He shouldn’t have done that. He really shouldn’t have done that.

Fuck

Despite the fact that the thud of the slamming door had long faded, it felt like he could still hear it thundering in his ears. So he’d lost his temper? So what? You were just being so fucking chipper about the whole thing. Trying to involve him in the “spirit of the season.” It made him want to choke with suppressed rage. All his fucking life he’d dreamed of having a domestic life to come home to. He’d dreamed of the white picket fence and building jack o’ lanterns with his kids, even before he knew he could have them. But even in his most self indulgent fantasies, he was still him. He had the suit and the strength. He was Homelander.

Now he had chance at domesticity but he definitely didn’t feel like it was worth the trade. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He should have been able to mindlessly split the wood for the fire with nothing but his bare hands. But no, he had to bear the shame of you watching him struggle with the ax for ages before he managed one uneven split. He had to swallow down the bile when you offered to chop the wood instead. He should have been able to bring you any supplies you needed in the blink of an eye. Instead, he watched you pull out of the driveway in the blinding rain, to pick up the marshmallows you’d accidentally left off of your shopping list. You never complained because for you it was normal. He was supposed to give you better than normal.

So yeah, when you’d practically forced all this indignity on him, he was going to snap. He wasn’t going to be magically fixed because he tried a fucking s’more for the first time. He wasn’t going to wake up a new man because he mangled a pumpkin. All this insistence on providing this life he hadn’t been able to live felt more like a slap in the face than a kindness. He was never going to be good enough like this. None of this fucking mattered when he was forced to realize that the most isolated he’d ever felt from humanity, was when he got the chance to truly be part of it.

He hadn’t laid a hand on you, but the ruthlessly cruel things he said likely hurt just as much. If he was forced to feel inadequate every day, it had seemed more than fair to make you feel lesser as well. He wanted you to bleed so his own dripping wounds would no longer be the focus. It wasn’t until the tears came and the door slammed that he realized what he’d done. He used to have his powers to ensure that people couldn’t just get away with leaving him. But you could abandon him in the cold and he’d be forced to stay behind knowing that he did it to himself. He couldn’t hide anymore.

His attention was tugged away from his thoughts by the soft sound of pawsteps in dirt. He might not have super hearing any more but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still attentive to noise. Sometimes he almost fooled you into thinking he kept his hearing simply from how much he was still able to pick up.

His eyes stung from the smoke as he watched the grumpy dog slowly make itself a place to rest by his boot. The dog looked like he’d spent his entire life in hell and from what you’d mentioned about his past, it sounded like he actually had. He’d been locked in a cage since puppyhood. Homelander could relate.

It was a Shiba Inu, lifted from a raid on a nearby puppy mill and quickly deemed unadoptable due to aggression. He’d never be fit for a home and it wasn’t even his fault. How was the feral thing supposed to go from near complete isolation to getting bombarded with human attention without getting a little bitey? Goodness knows Homelander hadn’t. He supposed that he wasn’t exactly adoptable either.

Homelander took a closer look at the grizzled pup curled up beside him. The dog's ear was still tagged from the puppy mill. He was nippy and rude and you’d had to fight to save him when the pound wanted to put him down. According to the vet, the dog had an unprecedented number of bite reports from shelter staff. Homelander wondered how many “bite reports” had been in his file. After what he just said to you, he mentally added another one to the tally.

The dog seemed to sense the attention and fixed Homelander with a glare. He scoffed but his heart went out to the mangy thing. He reached out to give him a pat and was rewarded with a low warning growl. He removed his hand, respecting a boundary he’d never had the chance to have.

“Guess we’re both a couple of bad dogs. They were gonna put me down too”

His chest ached as he remembered.

They’d put him back in the bad room. After all those years he hadn’t escaped it.

All he could hear were voices in his past ringing around in his head.

“The thing about cross-breeding dogs, you get the right genes, you can get a perfect creation. But it doesn’t matter how perfect they are. It’s not enough.”

“You cannot be bad”

“Just bad product”

“You’re my greatest failure”

“Gaping pit of insecurity”

“From the start, I hated you”

“You’re a fucking disappointment.”

He laughed mirthlessly, which caused the dog to lift his head in surprise. Damn thing didn’t even have a name yet. He knew he was losing it if he was getting worked up over a fucking dog.

Homelander reached out again, letting the dog sniff his fingers first. It was a handsome dog underneath all the wear and tear. Your tender attention had some some of its fur growing in again. You risked your life every time you applied the medicine for its mange but you never hesitated. Just like you’d never hesitated to take care of him.

The dog didn’t growl and Homelander pushed his luck and carefully stroked the dog’s forehead. Miraculously, the dog stayed calm. The only response was a half-hearted wag of its tail. So he tried again and got the same response. Homelander didn’t know if it was because the dog was too drowsy from the fire to care or if it somehow sensed a kindred spirit. He avoided the tender patches that were still in the process of healing.

“I don’t think you’re a bad dog.” Homelander whispered, words tight in his throat. Unwanted tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he continued petting. “You’re just scared.”

The old Shiba closed its eyes.

The sound of the door had his head whipping around towards the cabin. Your head was held high as you marched down towards the fire with a plate loaded high with goodies. Your jaw was set and you had that firm look in your eye that you always got when he was being difficult. You were still angry, that much was very clear. But you hadn’t left him.

You sat on the log beside him, body drawn tight, back ramrod straight. The plate balanced in your lap was piled with chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. It was the s’mores that you’d been so excited to share with him before he’d lashed out. You’d just wanted to help him feel better.

He knew he should apologize but the words caught in his throat. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, even if the old dog no longer existed.

“I love you,” is what he said instead.

You sighed heavily, fingers clenching and unclenching as you gripped the rim of the plate.

A tense silence filled the air as he waited for your response.

“If something I’m doing is causing you any kind of distress, you have to tell me. I thought you’d like it. I wouldn’t have suggested making them otherwise.” You didn’t look at him as you talked, wanting to make sure you said your peace before emotions took over. You knew you’d crumble if you saw his sad eyes now. “I know things are hard right now. I don’t want to diminish that. But I’m not the enemy here.”

He stayed quiet, focused on petting the dog to calm the urge to get defensive. He wanted you to hurry up and get to the part where you said you loved him back. You must still love him if you hadn’t left.

When he didn't respond, you finally turned to look at him but your eyes grew wide with shock when you saw the dog. It had shifted to rest its head on Homelander’s knee for better petting access and if you hadn’t seen what the dog was capable of, you’d have mistaken it for a normal house pet. Homelander swallowed thickly as you stared.

“He’s not a bad dog.” He stated, finally breaking the silence. Your gaze flitted between back and forth between the two of them as though you couldn’t make yourself believe what you were seeing.

“I know he isn’t” You replied, voice heavy with surprise and confusion. You reached out to lay your hand over Homelander’s free one. You didn’t know what his point was but you could always tell when he needed help saying something.

“He gets overwhelmed and lashes out but he doesn’t mean it.” Homelander’s voice cracked. “He’s very sorry.”

Your eyes glistened wetly in the firelight as understanding dawned on you.

“I know.” you whispered shakily. You squeezed his hand tighter.

“He appreciates everything you do for him. Please don’t take him back.” A tear escaped the corner of his eye only to end up caught in the rough scraggle of scruff that he hadn’t had the energy to shave. He tried to turn his head so you wouldn’t see but his voice would have given it away regardless.

Something in you shattered and you pulled him into a hug as tight as you could manage, carefully placing the plate to the side. You could count on one hand the number of times that you’d seen Homelander cry but he was sobbing into your chest the moment he felt your arms around him. His shoulders heaved and it was all you could do to keep your composure so you could comfort him.

The Shiba whimpered as though in sympathy and rested a paw on Homelander’s thigh.

“Don’t worry, he’s found his forever home with us. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll fight for him every time.” You pressed fervent kisses to his temple as he shook in your arms. You both knew you weren’t talking about the dog anymore.

Homelander didn’t know how long he clung to you but his tears gradually began to ease and his head throbbed from the force of his sorrow. He thought he would hate it but there was something cathartic about having his hurt mirrored physically. It made it feel real. It made it feel valid. You held him firmly but tenderly, strong in a way he could never be, strong in a way that Vogelbaum would have never been able to understand.

“I’m going to take care of you both but I need you to trust me.” You made him look you in the eyes. He nodded, sniffling just a bit. He did trust you. It was himself that he didn’t trust.

You reached out to give the dog a pet too but quickly drew your hand back at the flash of teeth.

Homelander winced sheepishly.

“C’mon Champ, you’re embarrassing me.” He chastised the dog as it cocked its head. “After all those nice things I just said about you. Did you even look at your talking points?”

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh as he gave the dog his signature point, something the Shiba was thoroughly unimpressed by. For a split second he sounded like himself again. Something about this angry dog reached him in a way you couldn’t and you would forever be grateful to your past self for taking it in.

The two of you never ate the s’mores but Homelander had no problem sacrificing the marshmallows into the ravenous jaws of his new buddy.

“We should put some names in a hat and have him pick one” He grinned as another marshmallow disappeared. “He deserves to choose his own name.”

For the first time, he sounded excited for the future.

[splitster]

answering more asks!!

featuring pom wraith, pingo, ocs?!, and older art check it out (three's some art 💖)↓↓

THANK you!! ohhh i do have old pikmin ocs... i actually revamped my old captain a while back, i can share him:

i had a whole crew of pikmin ocs who were a part of the S.S. Harmony, they were gonna be SUCH a nuisance to everyone they ran into...

i thought about making a rescue corps oc for fun. hrmm! maybe...

AHHH thank you!! i've seen a shocking number tags and asks from people saying that I'm apparently the reason they like Dingo now? and i have to say that is so mind boggling to me, because when i first played Pikmin 4 I didn't care about him at all!! he was a nothing sandwich to me... but then i drew him a few times... and started thinking... and then things went downhill and now i REALLY like him...

(referring to this post) i think dingo is better when he's withered

(referring to this comic) I HEAR YOU... I HEAR YOU... but if any tear at all would cause oxygen poisoning, i wouldn't be able to draw them all battered and cool :(

i imagine that there's a seal around the neck in case there's a breach in the suit's lining. so as long as their backpack (life-support) works and is connected to their helmets, then they can breathe✨

(referring to this post) Olimar would be horrified because he knows Louie, and if he sees that note there's only one thing it could mean! his coworker tried to eat pom!! if pom hasn't been outed as wraith and Olimar is questioning her, she'd just say Louie bit her and then refuse to answer any follow up questions 💖

Shepherd would be... concerned. she might think they have a weird fling going on and louie's talking about a kiss? she probably wouldn't realize Louie quite literally means he ate something from pom. oops!

that's a really good question... I'll be honest, with a lot of the "when and how did x happen" questions, there's not an official timeline or anything; the pom wraith au is sort of an umbrella with a bunch of different stories and what-ifs underneath it. although there was one story where louie does find out her secret!

louie and pom end up bridging their differences (with the help of olimar), and become good friends while pom is continuing the rescue effort. then there's a very unfortunate incident where pom and louie are away from the base and they're attacked... pom has to reveal herself to defend them and she accidentally hurts louie :(

its fine though, louie doesn't care what pom is. they're both freaks in his mind and that's all that really matters. he does end up having to defend pom from olimar (who's been made vindictive through his trauma with the plasm wraith) sometime later!! here's some older art:

sure

me too! they do NOT get along... louie's kinda pissed at her for chasing him around on PNF404 and beating him in dandori battles when he just wants to stay there and vibe. pom meanwhile doesn't understand him, he pisses her off too! she likes olimar a lot, and as an outsider it looks like louie doesn't appreciate the friendship olimar offers him. to someone who's trying to understand and participate in this whole friendship business, she thinks he's ungrateful and weird. they do not get along!! at the beginning at least...

AHHHH!!! THANK YOU!!! WAHH...🥺💖💖 i'm very glad you enjoy my silly little art style!! i want to make things very squishy so i appreciate that 💖

i don't think that man is going to live!

wait actually if you eat enough maybe you just turn into a wraith. that'd be scary! hopefully olimar's there to stop him

that's a fun thought! he would probably be able to sense that something is off about her. but he'd also probably just think "she's weird like me." honestly, the whole wraith thing doesn't really matter much to him -- the only thing it changes is that pom can now offer her tendrils as a skewer for his cooking at any time and location!

i think i'm gonna call her rose wraith!! and ohh, i didn't know that... i was just gonna call her rose wraith since she has a rose head. i'm creative i promise

(referring to this post i think) AHHH hehe... honestly, when Pom first learns about Dingo's fear of blood, she only tries to keep him from it because it's really annoying dealing with your coworker when they faint. he's like a sack of potatoes when he's knocked out. but yes, as they become actual friends pom will (subtly) do her best to keep blood away from dingo. it's fortunate she doesn't have any!

she might not get phobias, but she understands what its like to have a crippling fear, so she's empathetic!

THANK you. he has sunglasses. he's pretty cool

AHH THANK YOU... i like them a lot... 👉👈

let the marching pikmin give you the energy you need to practice🫡

[fandomxpreferences]

Just a Boy and His Ceramic Bird

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader

TW:none

Summary: You and Bradley share a special tradition.

Word Count:1.2k

The tradition started as something funny, a little inside joke between you and Bradley when you first moved in together. You bought the little porch goose at a thrift shop on a whim, mostly to get a laugh out of Bradley. 

But over the past couple of years, its become a staple of your home. Through several moves and a couple hurricanes when he was stationed in sunny Florida, the goose has stuck around. It's the first thing you pack and unpack when you relocate, along with all the fun outfits you've collected for it. 

No one ever really noticed it before, that is until he was stationed in San Diego permanently. As your house became the hot spot for get-togethers, the jabs from the team became more frequent. They always teased that having a statue of a goose wearing silly clothes is an old lady thing, and Bradley let it roll off in good nature. 

It became a running joke amongst the aviators, even resorting to them having a poll to see what it should be named. They landed on Tonka, some long-winded story behind how they came up with it. Apparently, they had gotten on the topic of geese honking, which led to Jake saying something about Honky Tonk, and thus Tonka was born. 

You and Bradley just refer to it lovingly as Goose. 

See, what the squad doesn't know is that the little ceramic animal earned a special place in Bradley's heart. It became a symbol of his father, an ever-present memorial to the dearly departed man. 

So you and Bradley keep it clean and change out its little costumes. You have everything from a fourth of July outfit to a flight suit, and swapping them out has become an act of closure. 

You notice Bradley tense under your arm when Jake makes another snide remark.

"I'm just saying that having a lawn statue designed for 80-year-old women is very on-brand for Rooster." He remarks, and your stomach lurches. 

Before your sweet boyfriend can say anything, you chime in.

"Actually, it's mine." 

That little statement is all it took for them to hone in on you, now the center of the relentless teasing. You don't mind one bit, though. It's a small price to pay for Bradley to enjoy his little secret in peace. 

That night after everyone leaves, Bradley pulls you into a tight hug. 

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that." 

You shake your head and place a gentle kiss just below his ear, the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon bringing you comfort. 

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to. They don't need to know the truth, that's our little thing." 

Bradley doesn't know how he got so lucky. At first, he felt stupid about the whole thing, but from the very beginning, you were adamant that it wasn't as silly as he thought. You insisted that if it made him feel better and was important to him, it's important to you too. 

It was you who started the habit of fist bumping the figurine on your way in the door and blowing it a kiss when you leave. He knew then and there that you're the one. 

A few weeks go by, and as the anniversary of Goose's death approaches, you switch it into its little flight suit, complete with a helmet and nametag. 

It's not until Phoenix really looks at the outfit that the puzzle pieces come together. She has a secret meeting with the rest of the group and fills them in. 

The next time they're over, you and Bradley are entirely taken by surprise. She hands you a gift bag, and you take it hesitantly, unsure of the special occasion. The second you remove the tissue paper, tears coat your lash line. 

It's a little pair of aviators, and you look up at her as Bradley takes them from you. 

"Are you pregnant?" You ask, and horror covers her features. 

"Oh god, no. They're for Goose. I figured out why you keep that thing around when I remembered that it was his dad's callsign."

She laughs as you pull her into a tight embrace, and Bradley just stands there stunned. 

"Well, go put them on him!" She exclaims, giving you a light shove toward the front door. 

You slip them over the statue's eyes, and your heart melts. It's so perfect, and you know Bradley loves them. 

That evening he cries when he goes outside to look, overcome with raw emotion. It feels so trivial, yet he can feel his dad in the air around him. 

At Christmas, you're not surprised to receive some accessories for goose and let out a loud laugh at the Hawaiian shirt bob had made. 

What does surprise you is Jake's gift. Bradley opens the large box and halts when he sees what's inside. You peek over to see what it is, and your eyes shoot up to look at the blonde pilot. 

He looks sheepish as he rubs the base of his neck, and you wait for an explanation. 

"I know the one you have is kind of like having your dad around, so I figured it's only right you have your mom too. They should be together."

You jump to your feet and all but tackle the man in a hug, caught off guard by the sentiment. 

"Who knew Jake Seresin was such a thoughtful sap." You tease, but no one misses the slight sniffle as you sit back down next to Bradley. 

He mumbles out a small thanks before everyone resumes exchanging gifts. A little bit later, Jake gets another beer in the kitchen, and Bradley follows him. 

"Hey," He says, and Jake turns to look at him. 

"I just want to thank you properly. It sounds dumb, but having that little goose is like having a piece of my dad. Now having one for my mom too.." He trails off, and Jake claps him on the shoulder. 

"I get it, man. I'm glad you like it." 

Bradley shakes his head and exhales before continuing. 

"Really, Jake. It means the world. I can't tell you how special it is to me. I know we give each other a hard time, but you're a good guy."

Jake can tell Bradley is getting worked up and gives him a short hug before pulling back.

"Come on, bird boy. Can't have you getting soft on me." He teases, and Bradley laughs. 

Leave it to Jake to provide comedic relief during a heartfelt moment. 

The two of them return to the living room, and you give your boyfriend a knowing smile as he sits down. Your hand squeezes his, and he kisses your temple, a silent exchange of love and appreciation for each other. 

This is everything you could ever want, a found family laughing in your living room and your man by your side. It's just you and your little goose family against the world.

@drakelover78  @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana  @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world  @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @rosiahills22 @gspenc @chair-things @benhardysdrumstick @cookielovesbook-akie @dempy @wellshit6

[charliesgoodboy]

Diavolo x Himbo Reader

A/N: if you read this no matter your age you are consenting yourself to read NSFW content, will not be my fault if you get disgusted, or traumetized.

Himbo: a well built man who is though not so intelligent, so you will be refered to as stupid pretty much this whole fic

Today was something a bit different.

The usual is that you would wake up about three hours early, clean the house, maybe go outside for some groceries, and then cook breakfeast.

It wouldn't be wrong to call you a lovely house husband, you actually thought the name was quite cute and that it kind of suited you- which it did.

But aside from that you werent very smart, you didn't even know that your body would attract others when you did leave the house, which did piss off Diavolo a lot.

But it just never even came to mind at all.

Anyways as I said today was a bit different, because you wanted to do a little something for Diavolo, you honestly looked this all up on the internet anyway.

But that didn't really get you in the position you thought it would.

'Cause here you were, propped up onto the wide like kitchen table with Diavolo fucking you stupid.

"Fuck..ya wanted this huh?? Didn't know you would ever think like this considering what a dumb little boy you are, but thats what I'm hear for darling." The degration towards you just made you moan louder in response.

Never trust the internet. Noted.

But what really mattered to you is that he felt good, though you couldn't barely think let alone get a sentence outta you.

"Didn't know I'd wake up to you in a slutty outfit, in nothing but an apron, shit.." Diavolo grits his teeth at your position cursing under his breath, seeing you in such a thing.

"J-just for you...s-sweetheart.." Breathing out, you make Diavolo's head cock to the side with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"Just for me?? You must not be such a dumb little boy after all if you thought about me." He semi-joked.

It was a normal thing for you to be called stupid at times, but it did hurt you considering most people ment it in a non joking manner.

But fuck when Diavolo called you it, especially in bed it just made you melt, made you beileive it somewhat, made you feel good. Real good in fact you got a damn boner when he called you that.

Whether he was joking or not.

And he knew it.

He knew damn well you liked it, and he abused it, took advantage of it. He loves making you feel vaunerable.

You feel your head tug back a bit, looking at the corner of your eye, barely being able to see him due to the tears overflowing in your eyes.

His lips connect with yours, creating a sloppy like kiss, his tounge instantly entering your mouth, exploring your wet cavern with accasional bites to the lips making you moan into the kiss.

He breaks the kiss, still thrusting into you, and holding onto your hair a tad bit tighter and a string of saliva connecting between your lips.

"God dammit if only you could see yourself darlin', looking so pretty for me, and propped all up for me..fuck." Your fingers curl together at the edge of the table most definitally creating a scratch.

He leans down to your neck, biting it hard enough to have blood slightly spill out, licking over it to sooth it out.

He sucks other parts of your skin, some of his black-ish purple lipstick staining your skin.

Your breath hitches, as you feel your body jolt, like a tingling sensation going up your spine, it was like a simple graze over it but you wanted more.

That the spot.

"F-fuck! R-right t-there!" You yell out making him thrust in that exact spot, holding your hips tighter, both of you at your climax.

"C-cumming!" Instantly after you said that cum shoots out from your tip painting the table with white semen, while Diavolo's spreads inside your stomach, both of you catching your breath.

This is why you shouldn't always trust the internet. It was sure as hell worth it though.

[detachedfacade]

Steve had tried it before, the tinted chapstick and eyelash curler. He had liked it, a lot. Especially with his hair grown out, the blonde highlights an extra treat he had got for himself after he didn't get into college.

He had spent so long waiting for college, waiting for a way out of Hawkins, waiting for a place he could become a completely different person. Where he could experiment and feel pretty and kiss boys and figure it all out. Older queer people had always told him that's where the magic happens, college, when high school isn't there to stomp you down and you don't have to pretend anymore. But then he didn't get in.

But in his sadness, in his anger, in his spite for his father cutting him off, he thought fuck it. He'd actually bought a ton of makeup, and a coat that tied at the waist in the best way. But he didn't put on anything but the tinted chapstick until after he and Robin had become closer.

She had invited him as her prom date, he was sat on her bed, his regular two piece suit and tie, the same one he'd worn to his own prom. Boring really, but he blended in. His hair was shorter than it had been the previous summer, at his fathers insistence. He hated it.

Robin entered her room, the zipper on her dress undone and the strappy sleeves cascading down her shoulder. She stood in front of the mirror frowning. "My mother bought me this...I'm grateful but, its so pink and girly." she said. it was, Steve would have never picked it out for Robin, it was a simple cut but covered in baby pink sequins . He couldn't stop staring, the way it shimmered, the way it floated down her body.

"I think its a really pretty dress." he said, grasping his knees close to his chest, aware that his voice was beginning to wobble, as conflict grew in his mind.

"Maybe we should swap outfits then" Robin laughed. Obviously joking, as she continued attempting to pull up the zipper. But Steve's eyes didn't leave her, boring into her soul, and he didn't say a word or laugh. And so Robin added "You can. Try it on, I mean. I won't tell anyone."

Steve felt frozen. He wanted to, so very badly, but he felt himself refrain from admitting these desires, even from Robin. These desires he'd had since a young boy. These desires that were shaken out of him by life. These desires that lingered painfully still.

"Steve, I'm serious." Robin added, already pulling the dress off. She threw the dress on the bed beside him and said "Well I'm going to raid my mothers closet anyway, I'll be right back." she pulled a bathrobe around her body and left the room.

When she returned, Steve was standing in the mirror, the dress pulled on, fully zipped up and the straps sitting perfectly on his shoulders. He didn't even notice Robin come in, as he stared at the mirror, looking back at himself from over his shoulder, tiptoeing to see how it would look with heels, brushing his hair back with his hand and holding it as if it were in a pony tail.

"You look really good, Stevie." Robin finally said. Steve blushed looking down at his feet but then he remembered where he was, who he was with and he looked her in the eye and said.

"I like it...when you call me Stevie."

"Yeah?" Robin said. "Is...is Stevie...a girls name?"

All at once tears began to well in Stevie's eyes, "Yes." She said. "I am a girl."

Robin nodded slowly, taking it all in, and then all at once jumped across the room and pulled her best friend into a hug, letting Stevie's tears fall against her shoulder, staining her mothers dress. They didn't go to prom that night, they stayed home, doing eachothers make up and taking polaroids of each other in their prom dresses. Stevie kept one photo of herself in the inside of her closet door back home. Though she wasn't ready to tell the world, though she would still present male and have Robin refer to her as such in public, she knew her best friend knew who she was now. And the true version of herself grew stronger within herself, with every truth she got to speak aloud.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Domestic Marco and Sora on the brain, because they're so gross in love I'm going to be sick. Also they're both so cute with their son.

When Sora joins the crew, she takes to helping Marco make medicine first or sewing clothes back together because they're the White Beard fleet, they fight as much as they party. Marco is just thrilled to have someone actually want to listen and learn no matter the reason. Then when they start "dating" which is just doing what they've been doing but way more touchy and Marco will use whatever excuse he can to have Sora in his lap or hold her or whatever. When they ask Sanji for what is basically his blessing for them to be together, he's looking at them in all his like nine or ten year old glory like 'yeah, that's fine, I thought you already got married or something' which makes Marco laugh so hard he's wheezing as Sora explains that's not how relationships work necessarily and they'll talk about it more when he's older.

The first time Sanji refers to Marco as "dad" Marco puts him on his shoulders for the whole day after Sanji's embarrassment subsides and Marco assures him it's alright and he would love to be Sanji's dad if he'd let him. Sora calls White Beard 'Pops' and Sanji calls him 'Old Man' because truthfully they're in the family, have been since Marco's bird brain brought them to the fleet but they let them name them as family in their own time.

White Beard is always excited to have more people join the family. He tells Sanji stories and he's so loud and boisterous but he'll take Sanji so Sora and Marco and can just have some time together. Maybe they'll go to an island and go shopping or something. Sora is really good at keeping Marco's phoenix side in check but he will constantly play with her hair and everyone makes fun of him for it. Marco decides to become a pro at braiding so that he will have an excuse to play with her hair and have her in his lap.

The wedding happens on an island definitely not suited for the size of the bash they throw. Like it so fucking big. The ENTIRE fleet is all the subordinate captains and crews, it is a full week of drinking, eating, dancing, singing, and all the other debauchery that comes with being a pirate. It is the best excuse Marco has had to hold his wife, she's his wife now, he can't fucking believe she married him, he is on cloud nine if not fucking higher with how much luck he thinks he had to fucking land her. Sora in a similar boat of just absolutely over the moon that Marco loves her so fucking much and the fleet welcomed her and Sanji so easily that she has so many happy tears that week and obviously everyone knows the government is going to come after them, if not Germa so like they are balling that whole week, no indulgence is set to side really.

Shanks rolling up to talk about a possible alliance after that and meets Sora and Sanji who Marco has to like haul out of the galley to meet a fellow emperor. Marco is holding a twelve year old Sanji who is just struggling to get back to the galley and the Redhaired Pirates fucking lose it at the sight of Marco holding Sanji away from and introducing him like he is some sort of feral kitten and when he is set down Sanji fucking books it to the galley and yells for Thatch to get his dad. White Beard is chuckling at the show of his grandchild as he and Shanks go to talk and waves off any worry the visitors might have about him or Sora.

Marco probably still takes Sanji on his first mission when he's sixteen and Sanji gets that 100m Beri bounty and now he has take a verbal lashing from his wife and White Beard. Both of them demanding to know why he would take Sanji out. Marco says it's good learning and he needs to be prepared when he comes up because Thatch chose him as his successor, they're pirates and Sora has a sizable bounty already and has been on raids and such with them. Sanji is a pirate, he's been a brat of the fleet since he was eight, he has plans to find the All Blue and reign as a monster of the sea. Marco tells this all to Sora when they're in bed and she knows, she does, but she risked so much to save him and Marco just holds her.

Sora is a fearsome pirate in her own right, she doesn't hold a real rank in the fleet outside of Marco's wife, but her bounty does match the commanders and she's a remarkable swordsman. Her bounty is over a billion beri Marco has it in his office, next to Sanji's and the small photo of the three of them. Sora's locket has a photo of Sanji and Marco in it. They're so fucking gross in love. I adore them.

[whysamwhy123]

I don't normally do this but fuck it, I'm Unwell and need the distraction. Here's a random OrangeHook drabble/ficlet whatever that just oozed out of my brain in the last ten minutes. Enjoy? Maybe?

''Damn. Who's that?''

Orange's head turns as Hook takes a seat on the couch next to him. His eyes are fixed on the woman on screen. Orange doesn't blame him.

''Stacy Keibler.''

Orange had been in a nostalgic mood lately so he was watching a bunch of old episodes of Smackdown. He didn't think Hook was paying attention, but he guessed a woman like that is hard to ignore.

Hook hums, transfixed as Stacy makes her entrance, that slooooow way she'd go through the ropes while the cameras loving caressed those long legs of hers.

''I like her,'' Hook says, simply.

Orange lets a little huff of laughter out. ''You like blondes.''

Hook smiles. ''I'm a gentleman.''

Orange shakes his head emphatically. But the young man is too busy ogling Stacy to acknowledge it.

''That was a reference you probably don't get it,'' Hook says. ''You see, there's an old movie called Gentlemen Prefer -''

''I know what it's a reference to,'' Orange cuts him off. This kid, he swears.

Hook still cannot tear his eyes away from the beauty on the screen. Orange is having more fun watching Hook, the way his eyes slowly follow her whenever she's on screen, the way his shoulders lower whenever they cut away and then raise the second she's back. It's like he's watching himself back in his teenage years.

''Those legs,'' Hook astutely observes.

Orange gives him a look and this time, Hook actually glances over and catches it.

He smiles at him, ''What? Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about women like that?''

Orange snorts. ''Kid, I was checking out women while you were still in diapers.'' Orange looks back at the screen and yeah. Yeah. He absolutely cannot blame the kid for staring. ''Specifically that one.''

''Good to know we have even more in common,'' Hook says.

A vague memory occurs to Orange, something he's not entirely sure happened but if it did, it's another weird connection between the person beside him and the person on screen. ''I think your dad put the Taz-mission on her once?''

Hook laughs out loud. ''I'll bet. He was probably mad that she's taller than him.'' He paused briefly. ''Those legs.''

''You already said that.''

''It bares repeating. She a wrestler?''

''Kinda? More of a valet.''

Hook nods and his teeth start to worry his bottom lip for a second. It does something to Orange. Always does.

''I'm thinking I need a valet,'' Hook says.

Orange throws his hands up. ''Alright, you twisted my arm - I'll do it. Let me find a pair of booty shorts and I'll be good to go.''

It earns him another even louder laugh. It also earns him Hook's full attention, Keibler be damned.

''I know that was a joke, but...I'd like to see it.''

Orange cracks up, embarrassingly loud. ''You and no one else. But nah, I think you'd suit 'em better. You've got nicer legs than she does.''

Hook's reaction is priceless - a man torn between his desire to defend the honor of his new crush and his own ego demanding that he take the compliment and run with it. In the end, he settles for a smirk and a shrug. Orange returns the smirk.

There's a single beat, before Hook's on him, hands capturing his face, feverishly kissing him while grinding in his lap.

God bless Stacy Keibler.

[sansxfuckyou]

A poet without his words

(@sobredunia, your fanart spurred me on to actually put this idea onto paper, so know that you're responsible for this depiction of cruel gods, homosexual websites and a little bit of gore, and I have put world building into this fucker, I'm begging you to ask me about the worldbuilding please. Also, @godmodebeginswithlesbians and @max-the-hecker, it wouldn't feel right if I didn't subject you two to my insanity as well, and choosing Tumblrs sibling was way harder than it should've been, I have never stuffed so many shisty references into one fic)

"Twitter, don't go," Tumblr pleaded to his love as he tried to stand, only making eye contact with now cold eyes, once warm, those beautiful wings resting at the hip and ears closed up.

"Tumblr, what good will a poet be without any words," Twitter ushered softly as he turned from his partner, shoes clicking gently on marbled floor, his phrase sounded like a question, but Tumblr couldn't answer.

Yahooo stood tall above Tumblr, a blade in her hand, Tumblr knew exactly what was coming as he lay on the ground. His throat was raw, his vocal chords were torn, his tongue, the last thing he used to tell his tales was still perfect. And his mother had heard enough of it, his poems, beautiful with a darker lining upon first glance always rang true as cruel in her ears.

A hand gripped the back of Tumblrs neck, satin gloves soft despite the tight grip as he lifted to be at the height of the godess who took him in and taught him how to weaponize words. He never knew it would be his downfall until he started to cry for mercy, begging his mother to release him, saying he'll change his words, change his ways. Yahoo didn't care, didn't hear any of it as she plunged the holy blade under his tongue, severing veins as she cut it out into naught but a nub.

With a thud Tumblr hit the ground and he spat, a deep purple blood spilling from his lips as his tongue hit the floor in a puddle of violet that turned navy after exposure. He could only stare up at Yahoo who dismissed her holy blade and crouched down beside him as he cried silent tears, they slid down his face. She held his chin in her hands as she brought him to make eye contact, a soft smile graced her expression as that same purple blood continue to drip past Tumblrs lips, slowed now as his tongue healed over.

"Don't worry, it'll regrow, and next time, you won't make the same mistake twice," Yahoo said gently as she looked at her son, helping him up, as navy blood hit his purest of white dress shirts, it stained as red and never since washed out, "you are the closest I'll have to an heir, a useless one at that."

Tumblr only nodded in response, wiping tears from his face as he held his mothers hand, she led him away from the stained marble, away from the feathers Twitter left. He washed himself after his mother handed him a deep navy suit that matched his eyes, the water he bathed in smelt deeply of lavender with hints of ginger. A combination of smells that has soothed his frayed nerves since he was child, since he first found Twitter in a lavender patch and had a meal rich in ginger and onions with the demigods father Chrome.

Years passed as they stayed friends, turning to lovers even as Tumblrs twin 4chan said not trust him. When Tumblrs soon to be born demigod sister, MySpace, ended up naught but a loss and Yahoos mortal stood at her side while mourning the death of an unborn child, Twitter stood by Tumblr. For weeks as Tumblr mourned without 4chan, Twitter stood by his side and they kept each other uplifted through the pain of it all.

Happy memories couldn't last forever though, and that Tumblr was made aware of during a simple game of dodge ball with the rest of the demigods. He wasn't a demigod himself, but Yahoo gave him her blessing and took him from his deceased mortal parents to give him a better life, a poet to tell tales, but he played games instead. He played all sorts of game with his demigod twin 4chan, but he loved dodge ball the most of them all, he never stopped dodging and he was always the last one standing.

He caught the red orb flying at his face, and a vision washed over him like his mothers friend, Apollo said it might when he touched the forbidden object. Who in the fuck makes a dodge ball the forbidden object? He dropped it and made haste off the playing field into the forests he knew better than anyone else, and Twitter followed him, struck by worry. Questions were asked when he found Tumblr, crying, the t shaped pin in his hair coming loose a bit as he let out shaky sobs for answers, refusing to tell Twitter what he saw no matter how often he asked until now.

Until the prophecy came true.

Tumblr slowly pulled on his suit, fabric soft against skin and tie tight around his neck as he made his way back out to the dining hall where Yahoo, her mortal and her blinded son 4chan ate. Tumblr sat beside 4chan and started to eat, everything he ate was fire against the torn and ruined flesh of his tongue, but he still ate. After dinner, full of near silent whimpers of pain from Tumblr as Yahoo and the mortal conversed, 4chan confronted Tumblr, his blind state doing little to prevent seeing the pain.

But Tumblr couldn't answer in anyway that 4chan could respond to without his voice or his eyes. So Tumblr whined, guttural noises escaped his torn vocal chords and 4chan shushed him as Tumblr shook with agony.

In a years time Tumblr could speak again, he didn't like to speak though, as his tales came out worse then before. He opened his mouth to speak and all that came out was weaponizing stunned wasps and Papyrus haiku, nobody liked him anymore. He didn't play games with the demigods, he only sat in silent torture with 4chan, his only friend and sibling. They watched the news together, well, 4chan listened, and when they saw in their pondering orb that it was almost time for Twitter to ascend under the assistance of a rich immortal they flipped. Tumblr did actually, 4chan was unfazed, heavily aware of the fact that Twitter would ascend, given how powerful Twitters father was.

"That traitorous asshole! I'll strangle him to death with scrolls chronicling destiels journey! I'll drown him in a gallon of sweet tea and start world war tea!" Tumblr shouted jumping up from the beanbag the two sat on, his suit nearly tore at the seams due to being worn brittle through anger management sparring, because of said sparring he had to get a manscaped prosthetic, his forked tongue slid between his cuspids.

When he realized his outburst he rapidly brought hands up to cover his mouth, maybe that was what Yahoo meant, about not making the same mistake. He only ever had vulgar things to say, which was what ruined her reputation, so why would she want him to be able to speak at all anymore? He sunk back down to the beanbag, pushing against 4chan, who was a lot taller than him due to godly genetics running through his body, he patted down Tumblrs long hair that was held in a bun at the moment. The t shaped clip hadn't come out of his hair in years, it was stained and had a dint, but it was his trademark, his calling card if you will.

Then Yahoo came downstairs, Tumblr lived in the basement with 4chan, they had separate rooms, barely, their mother was overjoyed, she looked full of energy for the first time in forever. Her dress, as always, a deep purple, silk and full of folds, it trailed behind her giantess form, even fully grown Tumblr barely stood at her waist, although he was only five foot five. Her smile looked almost drunk as her hair, tied in a long braid, was flung over her shoulder.

"Tumblr! 4chan! Did you hear the good news?" Yahoo asked as she tried to regain her composure, Tumblr and 4chan both stood, 4chan an entire one and half feet taller than Tumblr, who often wore boots with thick soles to make up for lack of height.

"Depends on the good news, mother dearest," 4chan said, reaching up to scratch at where his bloodied gauze was, his eyes never stopped bleeding that purple to green to red after Yahoo gouged them out to make sure he would never see horrible things again.

"Twitter is going to ascend with a rich immortal to guide him," Yahoo said, Tumblrs entire body tensed and he gritted his teeth, Yahoo noticed and picked him up by the scruff of his suit and he hissed at her, "you need to let it go."

"Make me," Tumblr spat before Yahoo dropped him, 4chan breaking his fall before they both hit the ground.

"You two really need to get dressed for the occasion, you look like rats, not the cute ones Tumblr got for his fortieth birthday, he's lucky he has my blessing," Yahoo said as she turned to leave, her blessing being eternal youth, and with that, his mentality hasn't since aged a day past sixteen, when the blessing was put on him, Yahoo leaned back to glare at Tumblr, "and you both have to come."

"Well shit," was what Tumblr said, mind blank, 4chan was already on the move searching for his best scuzzy little fuck varsity jacket full of tears and covered in patches, he only wore it with sweatpants or ripped jeans, tonight was a ripped jeans night, "any outfit ideas."

"Remember your first poem, about the man of greed who wore all green?" 4chan asked, Tumblrs eyes widened, oh, oh that poem, he laughs in embarrassment whenever he reads it, he even made an outfit for it.

"Of course I remember the first and most twinkalicious twink of them all," Tumblr said, he wished he could mince words the way he once could, 4chan grinned at the phrasing.

"Wear that outfit or the skeleton of many names," 4chan suggested, and Tumblrs shudder was audible, "I'm yanking ya, just wear the green jacket for it, the one with tails, and some skanky dress underneath."

"4chan, I may be a whore sometimes, but like hell I'll get that dressed up for Twitters ascension," Tumblr said, gesturing vaguely with his arms as he unbuttoned his suits jacket and started looking for his relatively less skanky dress, "but it has been a while since I busted out old faithful."

"Exactly, now get to it bro, we'll wow them with our impossibly shitty fashion sense," 4chan said as he slid his varsity jacket over top his pepe the frog shirt, he was already wearing jeans, he threw Tumblr what he assumed was the right dress.

And it was, Tumblrs face heated up as he left to put it on, rushing to slide out of once luxurious cotton that now chafed. Sliding on the dress itself was easy, he made it himself after all, and he knew how to get around awkward stitches and cuts. A slit on the left rode up his thigh, stopping mere inches from the braided belt around his waist, the fabric on his chest loose, one layer underneath, he assumed it was based off of a binders basic idea. The layer underneath was white and could be seen through the somewhat thin silk of the dress, the skirt part was opaque but faded out from a navy blue, to a purplish orange tone and finally into a deep black with sparkles of effervescent stars.

He groaned as he looked at himself in the mirror before taking his hair out of its bun, a deep navy tone with a few darker strips that teased to be sky black. Then he started grip bobby pins, stylizing and clipping back bits until he looked a lot more like an actual demigod than a mortal with a blessing. The t shaped clip stayed as he added the faintest amount of that deep navy to his eyes, they matched his pupils beautifully. When he returned he found 4chan holding up that old Onceler coat, the Truffula tree pin still in place, and the wet beast fur cleaned off by 4chan who was smirking.

"Asshat, hand it over, I'm ready to twink it up," Tumblr said as he gripped his jacket, pulling it over bare arms, quarter length sleeves felt awkward, leaving him no choice but to reach for the gloves, the feeling made him shudder but seen enough he was good to go, decked out just fine, with his scuzzy older sibling, whose shrimp pin is falling off, Tumblr readjusted it.

And then they waited.

And Yahoo called for them, and they rushed upstairs, their mother giving wary glances at their shitty fashion choices. She gave little more than a shrug of her shoulders before leading them out to the metaphorical chariot. The ride to where Twitter was to ascend was full of silence, 4chan awkwardly scratching at his gauze and Tumblr awkwardly fiddling with the Truffula pin on his suit. When they arrived, Tumblr was already a little bit pissed off and he hadn't even seen Twitter in his modest demigod outfit, looking like a mortal.

Chatting and conversing was held, reunions were had, and at some point 4chan ended up diverging away from Tumblr to make small talk with Reddit. When that happened, Tumblr headed straight for the drink table, he got compliments on his outfit, and one insult on his prosthetic to which he replied with a sharp 'Best shave your balls before I fucking make you'. It ended up directed towards Pinterest who appeared shocked at Tumblrs choice of words even as that forked tongue ran across incisors and lay limp between cuspids.

Tumblr stood idly at the drink table, sipping thoughtfully at a cup of punch until Newgrounds decided to get up in his business. Trying to talk and chat cause they used to be amazing friends before Yahoo cursed Tumblr, they're still friends though. And Tumblr can't help but quirk a brow at almost scenemo getup Newgrounds is rocking, the excessive gold tones make it less than scene or emo though.

"Hey! Great to see ya here man, it's been forever," Newgrounds said, grinning as he reached for a cup to pour himself a cup of punch, ladling the liquid into the cup with ease.

"Yeah," Tumblr said, hoping that if he used little words he wouldn't snap at Newgrounds.

"Sooo, I heard that 4chan got his eyes kinda, popped right on out, is it true?" Newgrounds asked, and Tumblr felt sick, 4chans eyes weren't popped out, he wasn't there to see it happen in real time, instead he found 4chan sobbing purple blood that stained green, but after training under Apollo, the past was his to see, and 4chans eyes were for a fact gouged out brutally, maybe if they were popped out, then 4chan wouldn't always wear gauze and would stop bleeding as well.

"They got gouged out, brutally, with a cork opener that has remnants of the ocular nerve still attached, the flavor on a fine red wine is, to put in simple terms, quite fucking nice," Tumblr snapped, a hiss to his tone and he slapped his hands over his mouth, he wondered why people even put up with him when he was like this, he wondered what Twitter would've done if he was around to see Tumblr like this.

The expression on Newgrounds face was almost shocked at the tone and choice of words, but he knew that Tumblr had gotten fucked up and couldn't control it. So instead of freaking out and scoffing and leaving Tumblr alone, he just took a little bit longer to respond than he used to.

"Oh, right, damn, it's just been a while since I last saw him, that's all, sorry man," Newgrounds said, placing a gloved hand on Tumblrs shoulder, the latter of the two easing completely.

"Naw, its cool, 4chan is still sensitive on the topic though," Tumblr said, leaning against the table slowly, brushing down the front of his jacket, his dress was chafing at his waist due to the jacket over top of it, but he ignored that.

The murmurs of the crowds silenced and the lights above dimmed, drawing everyones attention to where Twitter stood on a small elevated piece of ground. Gods he looked just as beautiful as the day Tumblr met him, freckles, brown hair, those pairs of wings just as well kept as the day he left. Tumblrs chest constricted, but he ignored as he watched the rich immortal walked up to Twitter alongside Chrome, the proud father of the demigod who was grinning.

"Today, we welcome Twitter into godhood," Chrome said as the immortal held up a necklace, a pendant on it that seemed to writhe, but Tumblr wasn't sure as he hadn't gotten his eyes checked to see if his eyesight was fine, he was human after all, "Musk, the necklace."

"Gladly," the immortal spoke before Twitter leaned down, the necklace resting over his perfect collarbones and chains glistening.

And then, the pendant started to dig itself into Twitters skin, nobody was shocked at this turn, except for Tumblr. Tumblr had never seen an ascension, 4chan had, he saw Youtubes ascension, and Newgrounds saw Facebooks ascension. Although Facebook got booted from godhood recently for reasons she didn't understand, she still showed up though.

As Tumblr watched in horror as Twitter started to shake, collapsing to the ground, poison running through his veins, all of the gods and demigods unfazed. As he cried out, he realized that he wasn't cut out for this, and because of that, he would have to undergo a much worse method of ascension. The immortal got a nod from Chrome before placing the cuffs on Twitters wrists, and Tumblr was bolting, but he slowed when gazes came to him.

And then Twitter spoke, pleaded.

"Help me Tumblr, please," Twitter begged, his ears full of tears and no other god could turn him down when he had that look, except for Internet Explorer and occasionally Safari.

"Tell me this Twitter, when I was on the ground, begging for you to help me, did you save me from losing my tongue?" Tumblr asked, purposefully letting his fork tongue stay lilting from between his lips, a deep navy tone on them due to the lipstick he always wore.

He only got a shaking sob from Twitter as pain wracked his body and a vigorous pain laden shake of his head. He tried to stand, to meet Tumblrs eyes, but he couldn't manage anything more than forearm support.

"Please, I'll gift you a thousand realms, I'll bring you to godhood with me, I'll give you anything," Twitter begged, he was leaning closer and closer to passing out as the poison pulsed faster and faster.

"That depends if you can answer my question," Tumblr said, grinning as he did so, leaning in such a fashion the glint of his prosthetic was caught in the light, a hand gloved in thneed perched at his waist, "do you like the color of the sky?"

Twitter could only give a drunken grin, the first thing Tumblr ever asked him. A hundred years ago it felt when they first met, and Twitter, Twitter still remember the answer.

"Which one?"

A thud and Twitter was done, merely unconscious, but he looked dead despite the unsteady rise of his chest. Chrome lifted his son before handing him to the immortal, for training to become a god and the immortal took him away. The crowd of the party dispersed, leaving Tumblr and 4chan as the last people, Reddit lingered alongside Newgrounds at the drink table, why waste a good drink?

"4chan," Tumblr began as he turned away from the elevated ground where Twitters ascension took place, he got a nod from 4chan as a sign that he heard, "are all ascensions like that?"

"Ask Reddit, he was around for Youtubes ascension," 4chan replied with as they headed to the metaphorical chariot where Yahoo was awaiting them.

Then Tumblr asked a question 4chan didn't expect.

"Do you think Twitter will be okay?"

[sardonic-the-writer]

ok hear me out: reader in absolute shambles over charlie's sacrifice, locking themself away in one of the rooms in the wizard tower, and once the others finally convince them to come out because they have a "suprise", they're like "guys there is nothing here." and then someone hugs them from behind 🥲

BEEP YOU ABSOLUTE CHAD

They knew it was the apocalypse, but why did things have to be shitty?

You would be a fool to live in this world and not expect to watch blood be shed—from the living and undead alike. They just found it unfair how it was always the people around them.

First the scientists, then Wimphfred, and now?

Their best friend.

(Y/n) hadn't left their room for anything other than border patrol since Charlie had dimension hopped and never came back. They would be lying if they didn't say that they hadn't been looking for anything at all to take their anger out; preferably a certain goat man.

They had actually caught a glimpse of him once. Sitting atop a burning building, hand stuffed in his suit pockets as the other tossed an apple up in the air repeatedly.

His stare was more bitter than the smell of smoke.

By the time they had sprinted to the roof, he was gone. Only a half bitten apple left behind. Mocking them.

Everyone could tell that (Y/n) blamed themself for not being the one to finish off Tommy. For not defying Charlie's orders when he had demanded they stay at the base with the others.

It had always been them and Charlie untill the end.

"Hey."

The door to their make-shift bedroom cracked open. Light poured into the dim room, illuminating how the person laying on the bed barely moved a muscle at the intrusion.

Darrel (more commonly referred to as Florida Man) cautiously stepped his way into the room. He felt out of his element here. He preferred wrestling gators to comforting mourning friends.

"The wizard wanted me to come get you. We all want to show ya something."

(Y/n) slowly turned their head to look at him. No words were spoken as they stood up, each movement looking like it pained them beyond belief.

Ronald and the Wizard were both waiting in the main part of their collective base, the former donning a big smile while the Wizards lips were pulled in a permanent frown. It had been all but five seconds since they'd arrived before he rolled his eyes and scoffed with his raspy voice.

"You bitch ass kids, using your elders to get things. "Summon people from the dead!" you say. "Make your friend happy!" you say! I'll summon the dead when I'm good and ready. This is peer pressure I say. Stupid-"

He hobbled off while continuing to grumble, missing the way that (Y/n) had frozen.

Their limbs felt like lead, head swimming. Their heart had starred beating so fast that it seemed at any moment it would burst out of their chest.

Before anyone else could say anything, the feeling of a pair of hands wrapping around their torso made then freeze up.

Tears pricked at their eyes as Charlie spoke.

"Hey (Y/n)."

[kirk-says-wah]

Omg may I please!!! I beg of you have this request!!! James is the popular bad boy football player who secretly loves and is dating Kirk, who's in the drama club. I want it to be like a Greese thing with Sandy and Danny. James friends start teasing Kirk and making fun of him, and James has to go along with it and also makes fun of Kirk.

Omg I'm already crying cause I love my baby Kirk🥺

I'll let you decide the end of what you want to happen with James and Kirk. I like surprises from the writer.

Thank you for the ask! I hope you like it ✨

TW: homophobia

Kirk is actually in a good mood.

James had stayed over the night before, and they’d stayed up all night watching films and making out. It was perfect, because Kirk never thought this would happen.

Mostly because James tells everyone he’s not gay. Which makes it a little more complicated because their relationship has to stay secret in case it marrs James’s image. He’s the captain of the football team after all and Kirk is a nobody from drama club who still gets stuffed into the lockers for being weird.

He’s walking between classes, and he hasn’t caught a glance of James all day. It’s not really that odd because they only really share English together, but Kirk misses him insanely, and just a smile from his lover would suit him perfectly.

He’s a corridor away from his class when the collar of his shirt is grabbed from behind and he’s sent hurtling backwards, slamming into the lockers behind him, dropping all his books.

There’s a roar of laughter and he looks up to see the usual suspects, mostly Dave, sneering at him. What he doesn’t expect to see is James laughing. James is laughing at him.

That almost stings as much as the laughter chorusing around him.

“Where you going, huh?” Dave sneers when Kirk tries to walk away, a hand pressing Kirk’s chest into the lockers.

Kirk just looks up at James, silently pleading for this to stop, but James doesn’t say anything.

“Fucking fag,” Dave spits, knocking Kirk’s shoulders back into the steel behind him. “Who told you you could wear that?”

Kirk looks down to see what he’s referring to; his Black Sabbath tshirt.

Kirk swallows, he really isn’t in the mood for a fight so he just stays defiantly silent.

Dave huffs, gripping onto Kirk’s shirt tight enough that the seams starts to split over his shoulder.

“Pussies like you don’t get to listen to this kind of shit, do they James?”

The question thrown at the blonde catches Kirk off guard, and he looks over to James, feeling his tshirt tear in Dave’s grip.

But then his whole world caves in when James sneers.

“Fucking fairy.”

He can’t breathe.

Dave smirks. “Damn right.”

Dave let’s go then, leaving Kirk with his tshirt stretched out around the neck, hanging all loose and limp, destroyed.

“Wear something like this again and you’ll be meeting my fucking fist, understand me?” Dave says, driving the heel of his palm into Kirk’s shoulder, causing his back to smack against the lockers again.

“Loud and clear,” Kirk mumbles. He can’t meet any of their eyes anymore, and especially not James’s. He feels betrayed, like their relationship meant nothing.

Dave makes a satisfied noise, tugging harshly on one of Kirk’s curls before leaving. Kirk glances up quick enough to see James’s fleeting glance, and he looks like he’s saying sorry but Kirk doesn’t want to hear it.

No one’s ever manipulated him so cruelly before, and he spends the next hour trying to get himself together, desperately trying not to cry.

— —

He doesn’t speak to James after that, even when James blows up his phone with hundreds of calls and messages. There’s nothing James can possibly say to make this right.

But he’s still surprised that when as soon as James finds him, he’s dragged into an empty classroom.

“I’ve got class,” he tries but James just shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Kirk scoffs. “You don’t go around treating people like that, James. And you don’t fucking treat me like that.”

James just looks lost, all doe eyed, scuffing his feet on the floor.

“I’m done. We’re over,” Kirk declares, making a move to leave, but James blocks his way.

“No please. Just let me explain.”

Kirk lifts his eyebrows, gesturing him to go on.

James sighs. “I had to go along with it. Dave’s my friend. If I didn’t he’d think I’m a pussy.”

“Like me you mean?” Kirk bites, crossing his arms. “Or what was it you called me. A fucking fairy?”

“I’m sorry okay,” James says, voice getting louder but Kirk doesn’t back down.

“I’m not gonna let you pick on me to save face then still try and be with me. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair,” James says, quieter now, gently taking Kirk’s hand in his own. “But I’ll try harder. I want you. More than anything.”

“Then prove it,” Kirk says, lets his hand be squeezed softly.

“I will,” James says, and Kirk deflates. He feels like he might be a fool for staying with James but he trusts him.

He lets James pull him into a hug, and he sags forwards, pressing his cheek against James’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” James reiterates but Kirk just shakes his head.

“Stop telling me you’re sorry and do something about it.”

James just bobs his head, squeezing him tighter.

[sxturdaysun]

hi again koda !! inspired by ur last post , what r ur thoughts on each of inigo's feh units , art wise? id love to hear !! @catake

hi again clara!! :]

i !! love all of them !! they're all so so cute and he looks so pretty in all of them, i just wanna [grabs his face n kisses him so sweetly] <3

but!! just going down the line—

dancing duelist / laslow

i know it's literally just his fates design, but i really like it!! he looks very soft in it, in a way; something about it makes me want to squish his face and give him a little kiss on the nose. <3

i also love the little references that are in this one!! the dancing rings are a part of his regular fates design, too, but it's nice to be able to actually see them since you can't really in the regular game. less so about the art / design, but i just think it's super sweet that he wears such an obvious memento of olivia and then passes another onto soleil

my ABSOLUTE favorite detail of it is his sword, though. specifically in his low health sprite because—

it reads like a reference to his A support with owain in awakening and it KILLS me. they really gave him the "200 Girls' Names Carved Into The Metal" sword. he's such a loser, i love him

festival flower

[through tears] HE'S BUNNY,,,,

out of all of them, his bunny / spring alt is definitely my favorite, he's just!! SO cute!! and i really like the art style of this one, he looks very pretty in it <3

he wears the tall / thigh high boots in just about every outfit he's been put in, but i just. really like the boots they put him in for this alt. also the gloves. and the bunny ears <3

his entire outfit looks super good, though!! the colors are really soft and go well together; i think it suits him, especially with all the flowers they stuck on him. it's probably also really stereotypical of me to say, but i also just... think he looks very nice in a suit. or, something suit-adjacent. u///u

ALSO !!!!!!

HE BLEP !!!!!!!

indigo dancer

oh, i have So Many feelings about this one.

Lore Wise, it just. makes me so happy, y'know? because he's finally a dancer!! just like his mom!! just like he's always wanted to be!!

design wise, i think this one really suits him, too! there's something about it that just kinda feels natural, in a way; like, even though he's only ever dressed as your typical mercenary before, the dancer outfit doesn't look weird on him at all.

speaking of— i love that his dancer outfit is very reminiscent of olivia's while also feeling very Inigo. the white / dark blue / black color scheme looks really good on him! and so does the turtleneck part of his top, too. that. also looks very good on him. >///>

not only that, but also.

a,, arms,,,,

at the risk of sounding like a Touch Starved Victorian Maiden, i also just. really like seeing his arms. i think he should pick me up. or something. m-maybe.

in conclusion: each one is a 10/10 and i love them all very very much <3 i'm also begging on my hands and knees hoping for another inigo alt soon orz

[justcallmealt]

So, my work about Fau's distortion and how it happened. Also hint to how he got his e.g.o.

Warning: it's REALLY a lot of text

+ description of panic attack (not sure if it's graphical but still) and some little wounds

+ description of drowning, more graphical even it's just nightmares

+ Carmen appears what do you expect to go right?

+ Parahumans series reference. It's motto? "It goes worse!"

+ body horror, you were warned

And sorry if any of the canon characters will be ooc I'm bad at this (I'm good in char only to my OCs)

Kind of songfic, because if there's Alt, there's a song.

And please, don't hate any librarians till you read to the end, thank you

Sorry for some unreadable text, but it's important for the atmosphere

* - actually it's guan dao

** - I'm NOT using inches and American metric system

*** Fau's second name if you wonder

"What an curious little anomaly. And you're not here by accident, but on purpose. How interesting..." — The voice of that woman, Purple Tear, still echoed in Fausto's mind, reminding him that he didn't belong here, it wasn't his Earth Bet with such familiar, but at the same time distant parahumans and their superpowers.

Before attacks, Purple Tear looked at the librarians and their tacticians like a predator, ready to strike at the slightest mistake of the opponent, but at the same time something like a teacher, strict and cruel, but if you could survive this... He didn't know what to think. This tactic was almost reminiscent of his behavior on Earth Beth, when Fausto only had to rely on words and his Thinker power in few battles, but less so when Fausto didn't have to hide his powers in, well, a suit. It was also difficult to find colored glasses or glass here, but librarians could get "gifts" by suppressing guests, and when he found out about this, he was able to get several types of glasses: ordinary and black (although only one could be used in battles, not like his goggles, where the glasses were easy to change with one habitual movement of the hand and which were protected from the inside after the Shatterb...), using the fact that he was the last to wake up on the floor of the Social Sciences. Luckily Chesed was still an understanding and kind person (no longer that awful-looking boxbot and for good), he was able to gain experience, brush up his rusting skills a bit, and pick up some edge along the way. Although he lacked the familiar grip on the falchion*, that habitual hand-biting feeling at the slightest sign of panic. His armor was also missing, the pressure on the surprisingly pleasant, to the point of breaking, scales on the shirt below. Perhaps his armor was somehow different from the other, it seems that another set of Discord was worn by someone, if he is not mistaken, on the Hod floor, so he couldn't ask about this that time.

He usually wore glasses on his forehead, lowering them only immediately before receiving guests. The headaches weren't as severe or non-existent with moderate use, his habitual tactics weren't as conspicuous, perceived as trying to be cool (as in Winslow, where he had to pretend to be normal despite gangs that could, with one wrong look, destroy his life), if you take into account the fact that he was the youngest agent in the corporation, which Captain Devona or Sammer could joke about in a friendly way (or how he heard whispers from clerks behind him, discussing where he could get all these scars on his face and why he didn't work as a fixer with such skills at that age). He used to work with it so much before, making it almost second nature, hiding in plain sight to some extent.

With the deterioration of vision, there was a somewhat easier attitude. Because he tried not to use too much force and not get caught, the vision loss in his remaining eye had slowed down to a negligible level. If he was killed at the reception... A strange feeling, as if he had been before the Libr... It doesn't matter, some stupid feeling.

These thoughts always made Fausto's head ache. He hated this feeling. And how, after the resurrection, he did not remember anything after the defeat, except for a feeling of fear and something that he could not name. It was so different from being locked up with an abnomality in a book, being able to see what was happening, feeling everything as if in a dream, being aware of the information.

After Fausto, the Librarians in general, or even the Patrons were resurrected by the power of the Library, none of them showed any damage, which added a bit of honey to the tar. But intuition suggested that only he felt after the resurrections so strange that it was not something to talk about with others. The feeling of déjà vu and that he was missing something important that he could never find, not without someone else's help.

From Purple Tear, like other Color fixers like Red Mist or Blue Reverberation when he was scouting the situation in Library, there was an air of strength, power, so nostalgically reminiscent of the Earth Bet and the Triumvirate, only different in being not like that, more ... Supernatural.

Travel through dimensions, as she herself said. Not that the rest of the Library understood it as the Purple Tear herself, or at least him (not sure if it's correct, but hey, it's better than nothing), but on Earth Bet it was common knowledge.

The original Earth Aleph, the professor who created the door and made contact with the Earth Bet, twenty-two portals, hidden and guarded from the civilians, how they received some films, books or computer games from the Earth Aleph and so on. Such a familiar and once disgustingly boring part of recent history was now saddening. Fuck, what would have happened if he'd stayed there instead of accepting that forced offer? Could he live on another Earth provided he didn't approach the cape's business at all? Sometimes this questions still plagued him, when the loneliness became unbearable, when he was caught in small details only to end up unimportant because of his corrections or lies, or when his "luck" gave him a short break from all this encryption at every conversation. If only he was better...

The blue color that was everywhere on the Social Sciences floor was supposed to be soothing, but sometimes Fausto caught himself thinking that calmness was replaced by nostalgia for the coast of Brockton Bay, how he missed the bitter-salty smell from the Bay, not enough warm, wet and a little snowy weather in winters , no matter how terrible and rotten the city in which he was born was. There was less fear. Leviathan's attack still made him shudder sometimes in his sleep, waking up silently from nightmares where water was everywhere, he couldn't get out, his breath was not enough, when the reflex breath escaped only to bitter and icy water made him choke, the pressure of the thickness was unbearable , squeezing it and making it choke harder, making him feel like the chest is squeezing the organs, especially the lungs. The cold from the water was awful. Sometimes it was nightmares of flying shards of glass biting into his body, the pain was almost real. Sometimes his scars would throb and burn like a fire as a reminder. Sometimes it was just the color and texture of the floor space that made Fausto feel panic attacks. He could get distracted when reception of the guests happened, but their floor was used for this a little less than others, especially the floor of Languages under the auspices of Gebura.

Fausto took a deep breath, hoping no one heard what was said to him, that everyone took it for them and not specifically for him. The page he was equipped for the battle was unequipped and he could relax a little in his body and the form of the floor.

"Fau! Please wait for me!" — Familiar voice, his floor colleague, who came to the Lobotomy Corporation on day 50, not quite familiar as Fausto would like, but if he remembered correctly, his name was Adam. He had woken before him, but nonetheless seemed ordinary, if not seen in combat, where they weren't as different as wanting to survive.

"Of course. Did something happen?" Fausto slowed his pace, allowing his fellow librarian to catch up.

Adam looked out of breath, his usually beautifully styled purple bob was disheveled, and he himself was breathing rapidly.

"Didn't think you'd hear me at all, tall man," the violet haired smiled contagiously, causing Fausto to smirk slightly at the corner of his lips. Despite his age of twenty, he was tall compared to most of his colleagues.

"Why is this?" He asked politely, not really expecting an answer, and continued walking towards the stairs to either go down to the Hod or Malkuth floor, or go up and help someone on the upper floors if he was unlucky and noticed. Chesed didn't mind the behavior of the librarians as long as they were normal about it and helpful. Perhaps it seemed to Fausto, or Chesed realized that Fau sometimes felt uneasy in this environment.

"I can't keep up with your big steps with my small legs." Adam explained, gesticulating emotionally.

"Aren't you only a little shorter than me," Fausto narrowed his eyes, trying to determine the height of the interlocutor by eye, but did not succeed very much, "ten centimeters**?"

“Not all of us are given high growth. And in my opinion, it’s fifteen,” such an answer made Fausto raise an eyebrow, but in a second he realized that it was another, hidden with a prosthetic eye behind the hair and changed his expression.

Adam didn't answer, and they came to the stairs in almost awkward silence. But as soon as Fausto was convinced that none of the patron librarians was going to show up or go in his direction and was ready to go to the lower floors, Adam broke the silence.

"Where are you going? Isn't it interesting on our floor?" That question threw Fausto off balance.

"No, it's just..." He hesitated for a moment, torn with the urge not to reveal himself and to explain at least something so as not to arouse suspicion, before continuing with a weary sigh, "I just need to take a break from the blue. Not really good memories."

"Oh, sorry for asking that question in this case," Adam looked guilty, but Fausto just brushed it off, "And which floor are you going to? The Engineering floor?"

Garza*** just shook his head.

"No. I don't think I'll be able to look at purple in the next few hours after doing this with the Purple Tear and her teleportations."

"Is it because of what she told you at the reception?" - This phrase was said as if by accident, but caused an instant response.

Silence. Fausto could have sworn everything stopped for a second. The thought flashed through his head that he could not be mistaken here. If he's lucky, it'll just be written off as a joke or forgotten in a bunch of cases. But there were no distractions he could use. He mustn't make a mistake.

"What do you mean by that?" He gave Adam a thoughtful look, hiding his too-fast-beating heart and the unnatural immobility of some muscles under his usual tone and bored look.

Adam shrugged. His bright pink eyes peered into Fausto's reaction.

"She was focused on you for the first part of the battle. You have something similar, but I don't know what. And why did she call you an anomaly?"

Too close. Need to calm down. Pretend that she was mistaken and confuse the interlocutor, put him on false trails, chasing wild geese. What to do here? His body treacherously froze as he pondered the answer.

"She could have been lying. Besides, she hurt me quite badly in the beginning, why shouldn't she be focused on attacking? Unless..." He recalled how much the corporation employees loved rumors. This could be his chance and saving straw for his bluff, "Couldn't she have mistaken me for her son?"

Fausto feignedly widened his eyes, hoping that this trick would work. Adam frowned thoughtfully, forcing him to believe for a second...

"I don't think so. That's not what she was talking about and that's not what I meant. Your attack styles are somewhat similar, but..."

Something flickered at the edge of his vision. Fausto turned to see the two librarians from his floor. He didn't hear what Adam was explaining now. They followed him. And now they realized that he noticed them. As Adam, who suddenly fell silent, also noticed.

"What does all this surveillance mean?" Perhaps his tone was too dry, but he barely paid attention to it. The sharply pounding heart in the chest did not improve the situation, as did the distant pounding of blood in the ears.

“Fau, listen. We noticed that you have become less frequent on the floor with us and more and more distant. We just want to understand and help,” Acacia, one of those who followed him, began to explain, as if trying to calm him down, but she was interrupted Cosmo:

"What does it mean that you're an anomaly and not from here? What about your other oddities?" Her normally emotionless tone this time was full of suspicion, weighing on her emotions uncomfortably.

This means that his thoughts about this all this time were correct, and all his successful cases and avoidance of an answer were not forgotten. It forced previously frozen muscles into a fight-or-flight corporate readiness mode, no freeze that could lead to a fate worse than death.

"What's wrong with that? Do you rather believe the guest to be received and pry into my story that I don't want to remember because of all these injuries?! I have my own reasons!"

Anger mixed with fear. He began to see red, processing every movement of his colleagues as if instantly, waiting for the inevitable reaction, a blow.

"No, wait!"

"We just want to help!" - Two voices: Adam and Acacia tried to bring him to feelings, but Fausto focused only on Cosmo, entering into confrontation with her views. Adam moved away from him, noticing an overreaction to the approach, namely Fausto's tension. Cosmo remained unmoved.

"Maybe it was worth trying to discuss it with us instead of hiding?" Cosmo raised her voice, going on the offensive. Perhaps there was meaning in her words, but now Fausto did not hear it, absorbed only in his own mistakes.

"You want this?! For me to have another panic attack like Leviathan or Shatterbird attacks?! You want me to show all my cards?! No, fuck you. Just! Leave! Me! Alone!" He broke into a shout, oblivious to the curious looks of the librarians from the floors below, who had come to inquire about the source of the sound.

Silence. Realizing what he said, Fausto immediately came to his senses. No. No. Nonononononono. Now it's over. Now he... No, he wanted to live. He didn't want too many questions, or questions in general. But now it's all his fault. The pounding in his ears became unbearable. He failed. He failed. Damn it, he didn't make it. Everything seemed to stop. The pounding of the heart was replaced by white noise. Tense muscles reacted without his participation. The habitual reflex of childhood and adolescence eclipsed everything.

Run.

And he sped off.

***

Fausto did not know how long he had run. He followed his extraordinarily heightened intuition, skillfully dodging and hiding, taking advantage of every advantage of the situation in pursuit ("•_• Translation error?...). Perhaps he was not pursued, but his wildly pounding heart spoke of something else. To safety. Away from them. Where could he hide, even if only for a short time. How he wished he could turn back time and stop those words from escaping, instead telling another lie that others would gladly believe. But... Would there be any questions left for him?

Intuition suggested that here he could hide for a while, which he did. It looked like it was one of the upper floors, he wasn't sure which one, despite the colors, now looking a little faded.

But if he had said something else, would he have been safe? His excuses would have been remembered, and sooner or later this situation would have happened. No. Even in the Library, where Angela was the director, an android who broke the Head's taboo by her mere existence. No. Not safe. Nowhere. Nowhere nowhere nowhere nowhere nowhere.

Fuck, if he only knew how to keep his mouth shut, he wouldn't be in this situation right now. Or not, would be, but later.

Fausto wrapped his arms around himself as he slowly lowered himself down the wall. His forearms hurt from his own grip, and his body began to shake violently. These were the consequences, only of his actions and no one else's. So why was he so scared? Why couldn't he move more, again, instead being stuck in his own thoughts? Soon he would run out of hiding power, or run out of space, given the possibility of other librarians or even Angela joining the search. He will soon be found, he will have to run again, but he will not be able to leave the library, he was tied to this place after the collapse of the Wing L and the subsequent days of light until it became dark. No. What will happen to him now? These are not the words that he will be able to hide from, he will not be able to escape like in Brockton Bay.

Another spiral of thoughts was interrupted by someone's gentle voice:

-"Child, can you hear me?"-

"W-who are you?" - the voice could not stand something louder than a whisper, the throat, compressed from all these negative emotions, simply did not allow it.

-"Does it matter now? What do you want?"-

What did he desire? The only thought that raced through his head was safety. But fear didn't help. Trust this voice? Why should he?

"Who are you? Why should I trust you?" There was no one around, a quick glance around the area made that clear. Who was he talking to then?

-"Perhaps you've heard my name somewhere. I'm Carmen, child, and I know that you are Fausto, and you didn't come here of your own free will, and that you didn't want to feel any of that."-

A gentle voice, from which only kind red eyes appeared in Fau's head, caused another attack of fear. It was what he feared the most after being in the City. If anyone else found out about this, their life would be ruined given the possibilities. What will they do with it? If someone finds out about his superpower, what will happen to him? It certainly wouldn't be safe and put the Fau at risk. Only his consequences...

He didn't know anyone named Carmen, that name just didn't add up. Intuition didn't respond, and neither did his powers when putting on his goggles, showing no threads of emotion or action other than his tangled light blue, cold and wet. There was no one there, and yet he heard a voice. It didn't feel like a memory about his Trigger, which was confusing. The lungs involuntarily contracted, the feeling of squeezing made him think of panic attacks that had not occurred for a long time.

-"Child, it's okay not to know any aspect of our lives. Please don't be afraid to speak up, I'm not the type to give your secrets to others. And if you want, you can not share your secrets and fears, I won't judge. Isn't it Wouldn't you like to live without this fear?"-

Such words were reminiscent of Coil, but how could someone with such a kind voice have terrible intentions? The body felt like after an electric shock, involuntarily causing the compressed lungs to gulp air. Stranger's abilities. Of course, it wasn't just the abnormalities here or the capes of his world that had strange powers. He must not believe, he must not, he must...

-"Please, can you explain what you're talking about?"-

Did he speak out loud? No, panic must have gotten the better of him. But... What did he have to lose now, knowing he couldn't escape? He began to speak, listening to any rustle, his heart beating in his chest like a small bird caught in the dark capture of a predator, and fear made its way up from his chest, through his arms, to his numb fingertips in an icy wave. So little time before the inevitable. He remained a coward after all...

Why does it always have to be him? It's so unfair...

"Where I'm from... Some have superpowers. Different. Strangers affect how you perceive things. They can be dangerous, but they'll be like your best friends until your belly is ripped open and you're still smiling, not seeing the trick."

Fausto took a sharp and noisy gulp of air, catching his breath.

-"Why do you think I would do this? I can't influence the real world in full understanding, only guide others with advice. But the outcome should always be chosen by the person, not by me. Shouldn't your opinion in a conversation be on an equal footing with opinion of the interlocutor?"-

He would have chuckled at such a statement, but the rustle of other people's steps, along with the voices of others, made him frantically search for a place, hide and be silent, waiting for the slightest rustle of the soles of someone else's shoes, a hint of other sounds except his heartbeat and quiet, but hoarse breathing, to finally leave. He had been doing this for so long, since he was a child, and he doubted those skills would ever rust or go away, not with his appearance there, not with his secrets here.

As soon as he knew that everyone was gone, intuition prompted it, almost drowned out by the fluttering of his heart, Fausto continued.

"If everything was so simple, then there would not be much in my life. There would not be so many situations on the verge of life and death, there would not be my forced work for the Coil, the persecution of heroes if I was in the field of view after those robberies not according to my will, battles with the Endbringers," His throat closed sharply at the mere memory of the sound of a loaded gun pointed at his head, a conversation where he could not even defend his opinion and an unexpected rescue. It would not have been his work in the Lobotomy Corporation, there would not have been his fallen comrades-in-arms who did not wake up in the Library...

But the voice seemed to understand the direction of his thoughts.

-"Poor child. Wouldn't you like this to end? So that you can finally be safe, not haunted by a past you can't control? All these actions... It's not your fault, child, and you shouldn't blame yourself for not having choice or power to change something. Aren't you tired of running all your life? Maybe you want to forget about all these horrors?"-

Something in that kind voice pulled him, wished that this would finally end, that it would all fall into place. But Fausto himself... He didn't know. No more. If he had a chance to forget everything... What would he do? Would it be worth it? If he accepted it, what would be the price? What about others?

The voice answered patiently, without reducing its warmth, as if reminding of someone far away, but... About whom?

- "The decision and the price depends only on you and your judgment. If you do not want, then I will not judge or interfere. If you accept this ... It is not for me to judge your price, nor for me to condemn you. Take your time, child, I will wait until your choice."- The soft intonations of this voice somehow resembled a mother, not his, those he read about in deep childhood, which he dreamed about all this time, hiding from drunken anger, and after and "friends" of his mother, having learned his lesson with his blood and his broken nose.

Two possibilities hung in front of him: frightened and panicked, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But... Would it really be worth it? Just forget about it and be safe? And How? Was it even possible? His intuition was silent as he teetered between choices, feeling himself walking on a thread over an abyss.

Footsteps approached from both sides. In the echoing voices, he recognized Roland — patron librarian of the Keter floor, whom he had helped with sorting books once or twice. Fau's heart sank sharply, and it felt like it had missed a few beats. They talked about him.

"Mm, how did you manage to lose your friend? There aren't many places to hide. Or you could ask Angela instead of me." Roland's tired voice was spiced with curiosity and slowly approached his location.

No. No, no, no, there was nowhere to run from here, he couldn't do anything. Even if he resisted, it was most likely not just Roland. Indeed, the patron librarian of the Keter floor was answered by Adam's voice.

"He was surprisingly fast and zigzag like a drunken hare. I swear we didn't expect this, we just wanted to talk, but Fau was too fast. What if he's a spy for the Head and that's why he did it? What if he's just a misguided Arbiter or even Color? Perhaps we acted too directly and therefore scared him off and were too harsh? Angela... We were a little scared to ask her after what we did."

Adam's rantings were interrupted by the usually little emotional and firm voice of Cosmo:

"He hid too much and acted suspiciously. If he chose to run instead of answering, then he could act dangerously in the future and put us at risk. The conversation was necessary, sooner or later."

Roland answered, and Fau couldn't quite make out the tone.

"Mm, it's all understandable with the four of you. Could be softer."

Is this what they thought? Is that what they thought about him all the time, regardless of the fact that he worked longer than some back in the Corporation? Fausto ignored Roland's reply, removing his hands from his forearms and clenching his teeth and fists tightly, digging painfully into his skin with his nails until blood oozed out. On the other hand, they were also approaching his location, only their voices were not heard, but the steps, one person, echoed in space. There was nowhere to run. He has led himself into this trap.

-"Child, you don't deserve this. What they're talking about... It hurts you, doesn't it? It's not your fault."-

He just nodded silently, barely holding on to this emotion and the feeling of pain in his palms. The mixture of fear and anger was explosive: Fausto wanted to answer these accusations, hurt them with words and unleash all the accumulated barbs, even if he deserved it. On the other hand, fear wanted him to shrink into a ball, invisible, hide, wait until this storm passed by and then slip through any gap that opened, any gap and hide as far as possible, to any tiny place, curl up into a ball and not come out until he can physically react to any stimulus, until he is mistaken for dead.

"How much longer can he hide? We searched almost everything!" There was a familiar annoyance in that tone that made the fear triple in intensity. No, please, not that tone, what did he do to deserve that?

The whole body was reduced by immobility from the sharply surging memories of childhood. The ones where the bridge of his nose was broken and after the hospital he had to hide to the best of his childish strength. Please let this be just a nightmare. The chest heaved rapidly in frequent and superficial breaths, and the air again began to lack. W-would he never run away from that tone? Why does it always happen like this? Does this mean that it will again be painful and bad?

They entered the library room where he was hiding. Still far from him, but already noticed. No, please no. Fausto's gaze was fixed only on Cosmo. Her gaze, as always, expressed little emotion, but now it was dominated by only irritation. Not anger, but irritation. It wouldn't hurt as much if he just avoided the blows, but his body was numb again from the other eyes, completely immersed in memories, all the way down to Leviathan. Then his numbness saved him, but the sight of so many mangled corpses that just recently were still breathing and laughing... But this is not Leviathan, there is nowhere to hide.

Noticing his condition, Adam was about to say something, but was stopped by a slightly tense Roland. Fausto did not take his eyes off Cosmo, trying to step back, but only bumping into a wall. Trying to defuse the situation, Roland began:

"Ugh, listen. You don't have a problems, you just have to explain something in front of your friends, nothing more. You're not in any trouble, bud."

Friends? It didn't feel like friends. Even his so-called buddies in Winslow were nothing more than acquaintances with whom he seemed to be a normal and more or less cool guy, just so as not to slide into the place of a victim of bullying, no more, not to be like Taylor Hebert, who then turned out to be supervillain Skitter, exposed in Arcadia by two heroes. Here...

Knowing that this situation was hopeless, he silently whispered:

"Please help me to be safe, please."

A gentle voice answered, still warm, and with a kind of sadness that was elusive for him, but at the same time with almost maternal love:

-“Then follow the Light, Fausto. May you find what you desire, one way or the other."-

And he did it.

Everything has changed. He didn't hear Adam's subsequent sigh, didn't see Cosmo's and Roland's widening eyes. It's like... Faded. Then there was the crackling of glass.

***

Adam was shocked. They couldn't have made thi... No, they were the ones who had driven Fau into a state of panic, and now he towered in front of them like an ice statue. His decent height for most librarians from the Social Sciences floor has grown even higher. No, they really shouldn't have done it. They shouldn't have tried to open other people's scars, because now instead of their curiosity and awkward attempt to help, Adama and Cosmo met the consequences. If Acacia or the other librarians come here right now without equipment, there could be nasty deaths.

His conspiracy theories simply helped to brighten up time and cope with anxiety, he did not want to cause harm, especially this. He didn't want Fau to be afraid of them. Perhaps all of them should have noticed their colleague's anxiety when talking about the past and taken it into the plans instead of approaching the problem from the bad side. Oh Wings, they weren't even really watching, they just wanted to come one at a time and it so happened that Fau spotted them at the wrong time.

But at that moment, he clearly saw Fau's fear in his not hidden under the bang eye, how he looked at only one point, as if into nowhere, concentrating in his thoughts ... What did they do? If he really distorted, does that mean the Fau won't be back and will be turned into a book forever? What will happen to their Floor? Can they be an effective team after what they've done? Then... If they had to fight and win, wouldn't the price be too high?

Now Fau towered over them, even when they were all at a distance, changes in his colleague were noticeable. What a second ago seemed like a crack on the bridge of the nose had grown and something came out from there, now, instead of the face, Fau now had a hexagonal crystal that turned from light blue to dark purple in especially shaded places. The crack remains. Fau's hair lengthened dramatically, its tousled ends floating, revealing first the scars on his colleague's face, and then the face-replacing crystal solid with finer cracks on the sides and bottom, replacing the scars on some visible scalp. The crack that they had heard earlier turned out to be scattered into hundreds of glass fragments of various shades of hands. On the shoulders now was something like a pile of broken fragments, growing in different directions right from under the skin, tearing through the T-shirt and soaking it with blood. These fragments either broke away from Fau's former hands and soared in the air, then settled back, forming a terrible likeness of a tree crown: transparent, light blue, dark blue, green, yellow, red, and even several orange and purple fragments of various shapes and sizes rustled in air, occasionally touching each other with an unpleasant sound. For some reason, the Fau's head ended up with goggles, like swimming goggles, but with deep dark blue shards of glass instead of normal lenses, too strange for a normal model, what were they even for?

They definitely shouldn't have pushed like that.

Cosmo, being more attentive, noticed something else: a red thread coming from the center of Fausto's chest, no, not red, dyed red. On the neck one could see a trace of compression by this thin and most likely sharp thread, and in some places the beige colors of the trachea and possibly bones could already be seen. The way the scars on visible skin grew grotesquely larger; how something separated from the eye socket a second before crystallization; how on his clothes a ball of threads became visible on his chest, the same red ones as on the neck, only more voluminous. And it seems that part of the glass from his hands began to merge into something, still floating in the air. Yes, it did not seem: part of the glass of the same colors began to form crystals, no, rather, figures similar to crystals. In the name of the Wings, what is all this supposed to mean? Why couldn't he use words and speak directly to them instead of squirming and dodging questions? Why couldn't everyone just answer honestly? It was so annoying...

Cosmo clenched her fists, preparing for battle and getting ready to equip the page. He will need to hammer in some common sense, as they did with Angela when she resonated with the Library on the lower floors, after which he will answer questions and there will be no more innuendo. She could only hope so. People couldn't just lie all the time, right? If they won't lie they won't hurt other feelings so much worse, right?

Roland tensed. It's... Seeing the Distortion phenomenon live was unpleasant. At one moment there was only one Fau, with an unpleasant crack on the face in the area of the most noticeable scar on the bridge of the nose, and a second later the sounds of changing alien flesh were heard and in front of them was Distortion. It was distortion—it wasn't like all the times Angela had resonated with the Library. There wasn't a whole floor shaking, there wasn't that cool whispering sensation in the back of his head, it just wasn't an instantaneous process. Yes, that would definitely be a problem, and Roland could only hope it wasn't his problem. Thank you, no, he's already fought enough without his self-imposed choice.

***Roland wondered if all these little librarians, along with the patron librarians, could be... Truly real people, not projections of dead people created from the Light by Angela. It almost made him feel sorry. Too bad it's not enough. His plan still needs to be carried out. Not now, but when he can... Roland won't stop. He knew it.***

***

Everyone prepared, if not for battle, then for readiness to escape and return with reinforcements. But... The distortion didn't attack. Fausto seemed to be unresponsive to anything. Perhaps it can be returned normally in another way?

The three looked at each other. Fausto still did not move, instead bowing his head to his chest, and remaining in that state. Cosmo wanted to come forward. Adam shook his head, wordlessly urging her not to do it so hastily. Cosmo seemed to agree with this, as far as the short and decisive nod could tell. Adam exhaled sharply and exchanged expressive glances with the others as he stepped forward, suppressing signs of hesitation. Now is not the time for his anxiety.

Fau reacted by raising his head sharply. The crystal surface was now looking straight at Adam, and he swore he could see his own reflection in that crystal. The Librarian stopped, and Fau didn't react.

"F-Fau, please tell us what we did wrong? I swear we didn't mean to put pressure on you like that, we didn't even want it to look like that to yo..."

His words were interrupted by a torrent of shrapnel that hit the spot where he had stood a second ago. Only his quick reaction saved Adam from serious injury. Fausto did not speak - he had no mouth. However, the words reverberated through everyone's heads, causing a slight throb in the back of the head and temples.

P҉l҉e҉a҉s҉e҉ ҉l҉e҉a҉v҉e҉.҉ ҉L҉e҉t҉ ҉m҉e҉ ҉s҉t҉a҉y҉ ҉w҉i҉t҉h҉ ҉t҉h҉e҉ ҉o҉t҉h҉e҉r҉s҉ ҉i҉n҉ ҉t҉h҉a҉t҉ ҉a҉t҉t҉a҉c҉k҉.

Fausto's "voice" seemed to echo from the surrounding space, both unnaturally high and startlingly low sounds were present in it, as if several people were speaking at the same time.

"What do you mean?" Roland tried to ask, but he and Cosmo had to dodge, although this time the pieces were moving... Faster?

L҉e҉a҉v҉e҉.҉.҉.҉ ҉L҉e҉t҉ ҉m҉e҉ ҉d҉i҉e҉ ҉i҉n҉ ҉t҉h҉a҉t҉ ҉a҉t҉t҉a҉c҉k҉.҉ ҉I҉t҉ ҉w҉o҉u҉l҉d҉ ҉b҉e҉ ҉b҉e҉t҉t҉e҉r҉ ҉i҉f҉ ҉I҉ ҉d҉i҉e҉d҉ ҉t҉h҉e҉r҉e҉ ҉a҉l҉o҉n҉e҉.

The tone was starting to hurt their heads. The three people looked at each other again. This seems to have affected Fau too much. It's like... He couldn't get out of the past.

Then... Roland nodded, stepping back... And getting no response. He quickly retired for reinforcements and possibly Angela.

Fausto made no move. He didn't even seem to be breathing, completely becoming a statue in his sorrow and memories. Only... Anyway, even in his inaction there was something wrong.

W҉h҉y҉ ҉d҉o҉n҉'҉t҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉l҉e҉a҉v҉e҉?҉ ҉E҉v҉e҉n҉ ҉i҉f҉ ҉I҉ ҉s҉u҉r҉v҉i҉v҉e҉,҉ ҉S҉l҉a҉u҉g҉h҉t҉e҉r҉h҉o҉u҉s҉e҉ ҉9҉ ҉w҉i҉l҉l҉ ҉b҉e҉ ҉h҉e҉r҉e҉ ҉s҉o҉o҉n҉.

The words of their former colleague made no sense. Both Adam and Cosmo braced themselves for another dodge when Adam asked the question:

"Wh-what do you mean?"

Predictably, another attack followed. And immediately after it, the second, stronger one, from which Cosmo, who did not expect such quick actions in her direction, could not evade. A splinter cut her cheek almost to the bone, she briefly gasped, reflexively backed away towards the exit. Fa... The Distortion laughed bitterly, causing the two's heads to throb in pain. But there was a note of pain in that laughter that they couldn't understand. Distortion's laughter was like the soft tinkle of glass: pleasant, but if you listened to it too long, it would suck you in painfully, forever immersing someone's gaze in a continuous mirror.

Y҉o҉u҉ ҉d҉o҉ ҉n҉o҉t҉ ҉k҉n҉o҉w҉?҉ ҉E҉v҉e҉r҉y҉o҉n҉e҉ ҉k҉n҉o҉w҉s҉ ҉b҉e҉c҉a҉u҉s҉e҉ ҉i҉t҉'҉s҉.҉.҉.҉ ҉W҉h҉o҉ ҉c҉a҉r҉e҉s҉.҉ ҉T҉h҉e҉y҉ ҉w҉o҉n҉'҉t҉ ҉s҉p҉a҉r҉e҉ ҉a҉n҉y҉o҉n҉e҉ ҉a҉n҉y҉w҉a҉y҉.҉ ҉L҉e҉a҉v҉e҉ ҉m҉e҉ ҉b҉e҉f҉o҉r҉e҉ ҉i҉t҉'҉s҉ ҉t҉o҉o҉ ҉l҉a҉t҉e҉.҉ ҉N҉o҉,҉ ҉i҉t҉'҉s҉ ҉l҉a҉t҉e҉.҉ ҉Y҉o҉u҉ ҉d҉o҉n҉'҉t҉ ҉d҉e҉s҉e҉r҉v҉e҉ ҉t҉h҉i҉s҉.

The way that Distortion spoke of it... It seemed to be unaware of what it was saying, lost in its own grief.

Adam, ready for new attacks, again asked what Fau was talking about, but there was no attack. As there was no answer. Fau froze again, only the hair fluttering in the non-existent wind proved that he hadn't become the full statue he had been before.

L҉e҉a҉v҉e҉.

One single word before something red oozed from the cracks in the crystal. Not blood, no, they were very familiar with blood. This liquid... It differed in appearance, although it was red. There was no characteristic odor, the liquid quickly rolled through the crystal before a light, too light for blood, drop fell onto the Distortion T-shirt.

An unfamiliar voice was heard, soft and enchanting, not like any person in the Library, or a person in general, could have:

"What's wrong, Fausto?"

What was that voice? Who said it? Who was it anyway?

The unfamiliar voice was neutral, but soft and gentle, reminiscent of a lost home. There were no notes by which it would be possible to determine whether this voice belonged to a man or a woman.

Cosmo reflexively turned her head towards the source of the sound, only to see an unfamiliar face: dark-skinned, with strange markings on both cheeks under the eyes, with white hair gathered in a low and long ponytail. The stranger's eyes were closed and there was a soft half smile on their face. The stranger stood behind her, not close enough to attack, and who knew what the human was up to. The stranger wore strange clothes, even by the standards of the City. Everything from a white and silver shirt with a long hem and wide sleeves at the ends, fastened with two top buttons and pants with a strange flare to what seemed absurdly massive black lace-up boots with high soles compared to the stranger’s height, it seemed strange. All this appealed to some primitive feelings inside Cosmo, the remnants of the genes of the ancestors of people screamed about danger. Only Adam did not seem to feel this sensation of trembling and small goosebumps crawling along the spine and small hairs standing on the back of the head, chills on the skin, the same whispers in the head as when trying to talk with F ... Distortion, but talking about what kind of a predator is watching you. And whether you survive depends only on the decision of this sentient predator. It could even be a Color unknown to both of them, such an aura did not come just like that. But it was different from the aura of Purple Tear or Red Mist... How were they supposed to deal with two problems with just the two of them? If only Adam had noticed this and stopped staring at the stranger's belly like that, and stopped looking at those six pack abs, if he was looking in that direction at all and not into the void, they were actually on the brink of battle.

The fragments flew past her and Adam only to attack the stranger, but they dodged: too fluid movement, which is more typical of either dancers ... Or people who have dedicated their lives to combat and weapons. The second option was really dangerous. How could a guest appear in the library without an invitation? And what in the name of Wings did he want here? She would have bristled, but the stranger's actions weren't hostile, and weren't even directed at her and Adam. The stranger only focused on the distortion and ignored them. Or so she thought.

F-fuck, why can't she move?! It will definitely cost her dearly, won't it? Come on, move at least a finger, break out of this hypnotized state before... Before... Even if the stranger's movements were like a strange dance. She is stronger than that, there is always logic on Cosmo's side, and she rarely betrayed her in contrast to the feelings and actions of other people, leaving her alone in tears. So why can't she move?

***

Adam seemed to be fascinated. Something in him was drawn to this stranger, this warm, homely aura, but Adam knew that this aura was not directed at him. Something in the form of this human was too graceful, as a large cat can be graceful, stretching in a warm place. Something about the stranger seemed unsuitable for the City, heavenly. Adam just couldn't find the right word for this feeling. Where could this person come from? What did they want to do with the Fau?

As soon as the swarm of shards flew past the evading stranger, Adam realized what was wrong: there was no wind in the room, but the hair and long hems of the stranger's shirt seemed to float in the air. Or was his vision simply deceiving him? But Fau's hair was also floating. Was it related to his distorted colleague?

The stranger chuckled at the attack: Adam could have sworn the chuckle was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard in his life, so sincere and echoing off the bookshelf walls. Adam shook his head. Something wasn't right.

"I guess you're out of sorts, aren't you? It's okay if you don't want to talk," half smile in keeping with the soft and almost... Parental? the tone of a stranger could surely make any person stop being angry. But... Fau barely reacted physically, remaining still and sending more fragments towards the stranger, this time splitting the glass and attacking the white-haired one from different directions in succession, who still dodged with amazing ease.

Part of the glass began to fuse into something... He didn't know what it was supposed to be, but this forming thing looked like it was Fau's full height now, which already looked creepy. Hah, he was not so frightened by the abnos of the HE and sometimes WAW levels as now he was frightened by the silent and distorted Fau.

The white-haired human avoided the attack again and again. It was like some kind of dance, not an evasion of possible death. Something on the verge of life and death, more poignant than what he could describe in all his years of life or a day working in the Lobotomy Corporation. Were all high rank spotters that strong? Was this stranger even a fixer?

Adam didn't know if Cosmo felt the same way, but he couldn't move, mesmerized by the stranger's dance-like movements. Fau was in no hurry to attack him or Cosmo while they were both frozen like that. Was Cosmo also motionless like him? Adam glanced briefly at his colleague, only to find her in the same frozen state as himself. It might be the worst decision of Adam's life, but he really didn't want to break that illusion, even with the possibility that because of their inaction, they might be killed here, even if it was only temporary.

G҉o҉ ҉a҉w҉a҉y҉.

Fau's words didn't seem to have the same effect on the stranger as they did on them. The white-haired one tilted their head to the side, playfully saying:

"Why? Is this what suits you? Do you really want this?"

Fau didn't respond. No sound could be heard, only the hair of distortion hovering as his only movement. But finally the pieces formed this something. Resembling a white porcelain hand with a light blue pattern at the top and turning into claws made of rich dark blue and transparent glass, sharp even for a fleeting glance, this hand was definitely dangerous. Only the stranger did not react to this. It seemed that the white-haired did not even feel a drop of danger from the Distortion, on the contrary, with each dodge, the stranger... Approached?

The "hand" of the distortion twitched upwards, fingers soared into the air to pull on something invisible for a moment, and now the two librarians could see many threads of various colors, for which the distortion was trying to pull, focusing on a single target.

Viridian green thread, a rope woven of dark blue and silver, scraps of bright orange with red spots, black twine with a strange tar-like liquid, pink silk fabric, golden threads, a chain of silver, as if burned and severely torn at the visible end - all of them were visible from the stranger's chest. But what did they mean? Sharp fingers tugged at the chain, pulling the white-haired one closer and sending a swarm of fragments at the target.

W҉h҉a҉t҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉.҉.҉?҉ ҉H҉o҉w҉?

Perhaps in the emotionless voice of the Distortion sounded ... Fear? The distortion took a step back, slumping against the wall again, reflexively shrugging its shoulders. The stranger who noticed this clearly did something, otherwise there was no explanation why the stuck fragments were released and now hovered around the body of the Distortion again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." “Why did the stranger even apologize to the distortion?” What would it even give?!

Suddenly, the white-haired waved their hand and said something. Only no words were heard. As well as it was not audible the answer of the Distortion. Oh Wings. This will definitely be a problem.

***

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again, okay?" Alt tried to ask the question as gently as possible. He might have to lower his guard this time. Not that there were many entities that could harm him. The pain wasn't so bad. The pain couldn't have been worse than the time he'd been burned alive by his own flame. This is Fausto and they couldn't hurt him. Not in this condition.

Fausto stepped forward slightly, but did not attack.

W҉h҉y҉ ҉d҉i҉d҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉d҉o҉ ҉i҉t҉?

Fausto's voice was different. Not in the sense that he looked like his Cie... Falso Cielo, no. In front of Alt was a soul almost torn apart, capable of breaking from any touch, and this voice for them, practically representing the Wind and freedom ... It was a silent plea for the slightest help. Therefore, they limited the hearing of the witnesses, leaving them like that, preventing them from leaving or provoking Fausto. He could have let them pass out from lack of oxygen, but... Perhaps they softened and allowed the witnesses to live an extra hour. But if they were dear to Fausto, what then?

Alt involuntarily began to hum, answering Fausto's question. They hoped that he could hear the echoes of the music.

"I don't want to hurt you."

I'm falling through the hourglass

And I don't think I'll ever take it back

So I throw stones at walls I'll never climb

Victim to the sand of time,

Falling through the horglass

The hourglass

They could speak words as much as he wanted, but sincerity was always only in the song. Let it always take time - Alt had plenty of that. Almost a millennium of existence has made it possible to rethink and understand so many things.

Cause that's what I can feel

P҉l҉e҉a҉s҉e҉ ҉d҉o҉n҉'҉t҉ ҉l҉i҉e҉.

"Why do you want it to be a lie?" It was a simple question, but it bled liquid over the crystal that hid Fausto's head. Perhaps it was better that Alt was blind, otherwise they would not have seen, with ordinary eyes, few could understand it, that this salty red water is the cry of a wounded entity, all the tears that were not cried and the severity of the pain.

Fausto trembled. Invisible to the human eye, before sending out more floating glass shards in the hope of defending himself. Those threads that Alt could not see, but could feel - they were tied to Fausto as well. He could almost feel the quickening breath of the Distortion as they dodged again and again without attacking. No. They could not harm this Fausto, more Sky than the one who saved him years ago and raised him in a lie. No. He was almost like the members of the Alt's Famiglia —an equally precious gift. They would have loved to take this Fausto and introduce him to others - the way the little Alfie being ignored by their relatives, the way he later adopted William, Alfie's boyfriend, with his story. How he accepted everyone, letting his loyalty take root in everyone, vowing to protect them to the best of his ability. He couldn't hurt any of his lovely chicks, no matter how threatening he seemed when meeting William.

I'm falling through the hourglass

And I don't think I'll make it back

So I throw stones at walls I'll never climb

Victim to the sand of time

I'm falling through the hourglass.

The hourglass.

Cause that's what I become

(What I become)

Now. Alt rushed forward with a sharp jerk, closing the distance between themselves and Fausto. But instead of attacking, they wrapped their arms around Distortion, letting go of their air defenses and feeling shrapnel pierce their back. It doesn't hurt that much, all their nerves are used to pain. They can heal it in less than half a minute.

"It's okay. I can't hurt you, Cielo." He could feel Fausto's trembling under his arms, they could almost feel the fear and his racing heart. - You're safe.

Salt water dripped onto his shirt. It doesn't matter, they can always wash or replace. Fausto did not respond to the hugs, so they slowly and gently, trying not to startle, stroked the distortion on the back, and then on the head. Again and again, not letting the hug loosen.

There was a door next to it. Intangible, but Alt could still feel the texture of wood soaked in salt and weathered by the ocean winds of Brockton Bay. Slowly, he got up and walked through that door, already knowing how to help.

Inside was a room that looked like a shelter for civilians. But instead of being peaceful, this room was flooded, and in some places floating corpses could be seen, obviously people who had been killed a little earlier. In the corner of the room, behind a pile of broken glass, curled up in a ball, was Fausto himself. He was wearing the civilian clothes he wore on the day of the attack, before things went awry. Fausto was sobbing—silently, barely breathing in and out—probably the first panic attack. A variety of threads twisted around him, but Alt could not see this, just as they could not see the environment, feeling only the icy sea water in their boots and bottom of the trousers.

Alt approached, slowly sitting down next to Fausto, trying not to touch the other at such a vulnerable moment.

"Fausto, please listen to me. I'll try to help you now. You don't mind if I touch you now, okay?"

Fausto barely moved, but he managed to give a barely perceptible nod. Alt gently placed one hand on Fausto's shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly. The white-haired one started stroking the other's shoulder in circles.

"Listen to me. Try to breathe with me, okay? Inhale and one and stop, two, three, and four - exhale" - all this was said in a soft tone. The grounding warmth from Alt's hand and the slow pace seemed to calm Fausto enough to make his breathing rhythm more steady, but that was still not all.

"Can you name five things you see?" Fausto hesitated, his eyes fixed on the floor, as he tried to answer. His voice was hoarse, like he'd swallowed water before, and the ensuing panic attack didn't make things any better.

"Water, my legs, floor, shirt, sleeve." Each word was followed by a pause and a convulsive uneven breath, followed by a ragged exhalation.

"Can you say four things you hear?"

"Rustle, the sound of water, k..." Fausto coughed, water spilled out of his mouth before he slowly continued, "knock, your voice."

"Good. Three things you feel?" Alt continued to stroke Fausto, gradually moving to his back, rubbing wide circles on the other's back and shoulders.

"C-cold, wet... Warm" Fausto seemed to almost cling to comfort, but there was still something that hindered him.

"Well done. Two things you can smell?"

Fausto seemed thoughtful before taking a deep breath to the best of his ability and trying to answer.

"Salt, blood" - the last word was more important than all the others.

"Good. Can you tell me what you taste now?" Fausto finally looked up from the flooded floor, only to meet Alt's slightly parted eyes. This unusual, strange and slightly frightening green color of the eyes hinted at the obvious inhuman origin of the white-haired one, but instead of danger, Fausto felt only an approaching wave of peace. He said nothing.

"It's okay, take your time. We've got plenty of it."

Fausto tried to move closer - not some conscious action, but something that told him to do it, and the body did it involuntarily. Or tried. Fausto almost fell, but barely held on, grabbing onto Alt.

"S-salt," the answer was too quiet, still hoarse and broken.

"Very well," Alt moved closer, gently hugging Fausto, who began to tremble. Tears began to roll down Fausto's face, but this time it was not a panic attack, but relief. - Everything is fine. Take your time

Fausto couldn't even nod as he leaned against the other and felt warm (does a human body have to be so hot? Especially in such cold water? His intuition was silent, so Fausto just tried to enjoy such a vulnerable moment while he could. As if there was no one. As if he really was safe.)

Alt stepped back for a second, standing up and pulling Fau with him. Strangely, compared to him, the white-haired one seemed so small, barely shoulder-length apart from the soles of his boots. But this aura of comfort, at home, still persisted.

Alt quickly found a dry place and it was so strange.

"Can you tell me why you did it? You were hurt by such actions" - Alt's soft tone, no pressure, just a silent promise of acceptance. Is it? Why was he like this? Was it all true?

"Why are you doing this?" Fau looked down, barely accepting all these pleasant emotions and trying to turn the topic of conversation to something else. Why?

"Doing what?" Alt sounded genuinely perplexed. Fau tried to get the point across.

"Why are you saving me over and over again?"

"I don't know." - Such an answer made Fau not understanding look at the interlocutor.

"Wh-what do you mean?!" Another bout of coughing interrupted his thoughts.

Alt shrugged.

"I don't know why I'm doing this anymore. Guess I've grown attached to you." “F-Fair enough, Fausto thought.

Fausto almost drooped, but instead began slowly, with breaks and pauses, to tell his thoughts, his actions and mistakes, expecting at each pause a reprimand or a verbal attack (blow), but none of this followed. When he finally finished, Alt was silent for a second, causing Fau to tense up.

"It's okay. I don't judge your actions. Please don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you, ever."

It was as if a rock fell from Fau's chest and split into millions and millions of dust and debris. Only Alt hasn't finished yet.

"It's okay. Sometimes there are good days, and sometimes there are just bad days. It's normal that you don't understand others and that others don't understand you. How about trying to solve the problem less hastily next time, okay?" No pressure, but he felt guilt." About the voice - is this really what you would like if you were given a little more time?"

Fau was slow to respond. Would oblivion be what he wanted? Would the loss of his memory of his entire life be worth it? If he had time, would he make this decision? Slowly, as if realizing his feelings, Fau shook his head in denial. It wouldn't be what he wanted. It wouldn't be worth it. He... He really wanted to be close to his team, open up without judgment, and above all, not be afraid.

Alt smiled softly.

"It's all right, Fausto."

Fau hesitated before answering hesitantly:

"Please call me Fau. I like it much more and it's more familiar."

Alt hesitated, cocking his head to the side and closing his eyes before smiling again.

"Okay, Fau."

After a while, while they were like that, in pleasant silence (and Fau really enjoyed this consolation, even if he would not tell anyone about it for the rest of his life), when the environment itself changed from shelter to something resembling the dry floor of the Library, Alt nodded before finally saying.

"That's good. Now let's go. You looked too much like a hybrid between Shatterbird and Simurgh."

Fausto's eyes widened sharply. No, he would never! He wouldn't be like those monsters!

When the crackling of glass was heard, it was accompanied by Alta's soft laughter. And Fausto opened his eyes. Well, eye.

***

Cosmo and Adam looked at the sight in disbelief. This stranger not only managed not to be wounded for most of the battle, and not to damage Dist... Fau, and force him to return. The curtain of silence was lifted and they heard the crackling of glass as all the crystals and all the shards shattered and the Fau returned to normal. The stranger seemed a little wounded, but all these wounds healed before their eyes. The white-haired one still held Fau in their arms.

"Huh, what a mess. Guess I'm glad I'm not the one to clean it up."

Fau didn't answer, instead enjoying the pats on his back and head. A playful smirk appeared on the stranger's face.

"By the way, I guess it's time for me to go. Good luck with the explanations there."

"Yes. I would demand an explanation." Angela appeared, along with Roland and several other librarians, looking annoyed.

It also made both Adam and Cosmo flinch sharply, not to mention the sharply pale Fau.

It seemed that their colleague, who returned to normal, wanted to mimic the white wall nearby, but he did not succeed. Angela's gaze pinned him right at the crime scene. And this crime was now his existence.

The white-haired stranger was no more, as if they had ceased to exist. Oh. They all seem to be in serious trouble. Oh shit. In the name of the Wings...

Fausto could hear the vanishing whispers from the periphery before turning completely pale at the sight of the Library Headmistress herself.

"If you hear that lady's voice again, tell her your opinion directly. Good luck."

Angela seemed to look more and more annoyed with every second. Fausto muttered, thinking he was quiet:

"I wish I had been hit by a bus then."

The remaining pair of eyes turned to him. Ah, oh.

[justplainwhump]

Hold On

( @whumpmasinjuly Day 6 // Ridley, Dany and B)

In the aftermath of a 'lesson' from Ridley, Dany struggles to hold on to herself.

Ridley and B belong to @hackles-up and are used with permission. This is set directly after the events in [Lost], and references this ['comfort' prompt fill].

[Dany Masterpost]

Content - aftermath of choking, aftermath of noncon, locked in a cage, intimate whumper, implied mutual noncon, manipulative whumper, creepy comfort, degrading and dehumanising language. Believe it or not, though, technically, this is about love.

My mind is drifting through an ocean of darkness. There's flashes of burning pain, the crashing weight of waves pulling me down, there's tides tugging at me, towards a black hole in the center of the sea, then back towards a distant blood red shoreline.

Nothing is real.

'You lost.' An echo of him whispers at me. 

Digs into my ribs.

Burns on my skin.

Claws at my insides.

Tightens around my throat.

I whimper.

The sound catches in my throat, weak and painful. It hurts. It hurts so much. I can't breathe. My hands fly up, fingertips brush against soft leather. The collar. My collar. Back on. Too tight. Pressing into aching bruises, cutting off my air.

"No," I want to whisper. I can't. My voice is gone. A pathetic croak is all the sound I can make.

Another spike of pain, drilling into my side.

"Look at me, bitch."

I blink. Force my eyes open. There's light, too much light, and in between a figure is looming over me.

I blink again, squint my eyes, until the blurry lines of Ridley's face take shape, far away, behind sturdy metal bars.

I'm in a cage. Laying on the floor of the narrow dog cage, in Ridley's splendid living room. 

Above me, Ridley smirks. He's in a suit, fingers busy adjusting his tie. His polished shoe is poking into my side between the bars.

"There she is. Good morning, princess. How did it feel? To die, at my Bee Bee's hands? I must say, I liked you a lot better, stripped of that annoying attitude."

I try to shift away from his foot on the cold cage floor. Pain rips through me, tearing right through my core. Horribly familiar. Worse than ever. 

A weak whine escapes from my throat.

Ridley hums contently. "Yeah. Fucked you raw. You'll be sore for a while. Might give you something to remember. That's what you're for, baby girl. Everyone knows it. I know it. You know it. Even the dog understands." Ridley pauses, adjusts the collar of his suit, while his gaze runs over my body. There's a smug grin on his lips. "You should know, I let him have a go at you, too, after I was done. He knows you're not his friend. You're not his savior. You're his master's fucktoy." He turns around and I follow his gaze to see B curled up at the other side of the living room, chained to the floor by his collar. Ridley clicks his tongue. "I actually had to step in. He fucked you hard enough to almost kill you a second time. You know him. Can't hold back when he's in the zone. What a vicious creature." He sighs. "Still, even when he messes with my property like that, I just can't bring it over me to put him down. I'm too soft on both of you, really."

I can't even sob. I roll to my side, turn my face away from Ridley, from B, from everything. My skin hurts, itches where it stretches under dried come. The blue dress I wore to the reception is torn to shreds.

"I'll have to get to the office now, baby girl. You'll stay in the cage for the day. Keep you safe from the dog, and your own dangerous attitude. And if you're good tonight, I'm even inclined to allow you back into my bed."

Something nudges through the bars. Not his foot again, but something soft. "There. Some comfort, while you recover. My dog hurt you so much. This one won't." 

I don't look up, almost surprised when Ridley doesn't insist that I do. Instead, I hear him leave with a whistle and a relaxed spring to his steps, followed by the soft closing of the elevator doors.

-

I can't tell how much time has passed. I've fallen into a fitful sleep, nightmares of teeth and pain and drowning. Something small is pressing into my back. Wincing, I pull it out from underneath me.

It's a stuffed animal. The plush dog Ridley has gifted me, with huge plastic puppy eyes and a broken ear. It's sticky, a smudge of blood staining its fur.

My hands curl into fists in the soft plush. I want to scream, yell, curse, but there's nothing left in me but a painful, garbled sob. 

Fuck you, I think, what I can't say out loud. Fuck you, Ridley Lordin. It won't work. You won't win. I'm more than what you want me to believe. B is more than what you want me to believe.

I press the stuffed dog against my chest. You won't win, Ridley.

I won't give up. I'll hold on. To B. To myself. We're more.

I turn my head to look through the bars. B is half awake, still feverish, his body shaken by violent shivers. 

I hug the plushie tightly.

"We're more." My voice is nothing but a faint croak. B can't hear me. 

It doesn't matter. 

I'll hold on for the two of us.

--

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