#or at least one of the more known ones anyway

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (12)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x ot6, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 7.0k

—  Warnings: Abandonment, Depression, Themes of grief, Anxiety, Worry, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Things get worse before they get better

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(The Pack, Mostly After)

He was only supposed to be gone for a few days.

To his packmates, it had felt a little like Yoongi was just distracted. They’d turn to him and find him looking at his phone or staring absentmindedly at the bright hot sun, or one of them sleeping in the nest. Or one of them brushing their teeth. “What is it?” they’d ask, and “nothing” he’d reply.

But it’s not nothing, because the next morning, Yoongi gets on a train. And then he’s just gone.  

No one had thought anything of it when he’d provided an explanation for his sudden departure. Of course, they were okay with him going. Of course, Yoongi had to go. For his family, he said. An emergency. Someone was dying. Someone was hurt and Yoongi needed to say goodbye.

(Family means different things for different people and goodbyes can be said in many different ways.)

Familial packs are rare things in general. Too many families have too many packmates and too many pups that some slip through the cracks (like with Namjoon, who hardly bothers going home every few years.). But besides Jungkook and Namjoon- Yoongi is the only one with anything passable for a familial pack.

The best lies are one part lie and two parts truths. Yes, Yoongi's grandfather is dead and telling them that didn't feel like a lie. But on the other hand, saying "I'll be back in 2 weeks, maybe 3 at the most," tasted like acid on his tongue. 

It’s not a lie when Yoongi looks at Jin and pouts, and blinks back tears, while he drags one of his sweatshirts up and down his throat. For Jungkook, a heavily scented item of clothing just in case his seizures get too bad while he’s gone. Even though the omega has his whole closet too.

But even if he wants to cry as he drinks in Jin getting ready for work. Fingers skimming over his meticulously organized slacks and ties, savoring his hands, his breath, his every movement. Yoongi doesn’t let himself.

Tears aren’t expected of him, it would give him away.

Instead of telling Jin or crying he says, “I’m gonna miss you.” Jin pauses, turns around to where Yoongi sits in the nest and kisses the frown off of his lips.

“I’ll drive you to the train, are you all packed? Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“I’m sure.”

Maybe looking back on it, Seokjin would recognize the heaviness in his gaze as something that wasn’t caused by an impending simple few weeks absence. The pack is used to having their nest absent of at least one packmate (Jimin has business trips sometimes, whenever his clients necessitate it). And sure, it’s going to suck to have him gone, but they’ll be alright. 

(They won't be, and Yoongi knows this and leaves anyway because he doesn't have a choice.) 

“I’ll call you if it's any longer, okay?” He’d kissed Seokjin so quickly. Seokjin would have pulled him in for longer if he’d known this was the last time he’d see the beta for so long. (Seokjin would have also probably tied the beta to the bed if he knew he was about to leave, but that's neither here nor there. It's not a true kink if it’s born out of desperation).

He calls Namjoon when he’s on the train. Namjoon can barely hear the betas voice over the noise in the emergency room. A three-car crash just came in and the emergency room is crowded with the scent of dying people. There is blood on the linoleum and the bottom of Namjoon’s shoes. But Namjoon picks up because he’d asked Yoongi to call him before he left.

If he had to place it, Namjoon’s not sure he could really tell the last time they’d kissed, his job keeps him away from the pack for days at a time. Coming home to sleep and shower and change and then go right back. Was it yesterday morning? Or over the three-day weekend? It had to have been sometime in between.

The static stretches between them, and Namjoon hears Yoongi’s warbly voice.

“Yoongi? I’m sorry baby but I can’t hear you?”  If Namjoon had known that it was the last time he’d hear Yoongi’s voice. He’d have gone to another room. He would have begged and bartered with the powers that be. Namjoon have run out of the hospital to drag Yoongi back if he’d only known. Would have chased down the train. Namjoon is selfish, he would have rather saved Yoongi than the people dying inside his hospital.

(Or Namjoon tells himself he would, but he knows he won’t. Yoongi isn’t dying, he’s just leaving, and that’s almost worse.)

He hears static, and then disconnects the call, sending him a quick text back where he tells him he’ll call on his break (if he even gets one today). Weeks later Namjoon will sob as he realizes he never got to say a proper goodbye.

But they hadn’t known. None of them had. In later months they’ll hold onto that and hate it. “If it was the last time, we were supposed to see him- we would have felt something Minnie” Taehyung would say, always the superstitious one in their little pack. Their little family.

But Yoongi has that. Something that isn’t them. Someone that isn’t them now. It’s hard to feel like that doesn’t change anything. But it does. It really does.

Yoongi had always been so cagey about his family and had never let slip too much. The pack collect the facts that they know. No names or numbers. No identities or clues. His parents are dead like Jin’s, but he’s got an older brother he doesn’t like. Yoongi hasn’t been home since the last family funeral, since he was 18. Was practically raised by his grandparents, still alive, now dead. Both or just one? There are questions here. Questions the pack does not have answers for.

There are no numbers to call when weeks pass without any word from their beta. Only a text here and there. Jimin leaves for a business trip and comes back more somber and quieter than ever. Yoongi stops responding to their messages after the second day. And then it’s radio silence.

The day Yoongi said he would return passes without the beta showing up at their door (with flowers and an apology) and they all know something has to be wrong. Irrevocably wrong. Yoongi used to say even if he was dying in a ditch somewhere he’d still claw his way towards them.

They leave dozens of calls and voicemails, pleading with long-form texts. Some that they regret and some that ring with truth.

Koo: (8:57pm): Please, can you just tell us if you’re okay? Hyung’s are worried.

Jinnie: (12:04am): I hate you for this, I swear to God Min Yoongi if you do not call us soon, I'm going to drag you back here by your ear.

Jinnie: (12:04am): don’t even bother coming home if it’s not with chocolates and flowers and a fucking unicorn or something

Jinnie: (12:04am): I swear to God if you don’t respond soon I’ll cut holes in your underwear

Jinnie (12:05am): and your socks,

Jinnie (12:05am): and ding your records.

Jinnie: (12:05am) Yoongi please. Just tell me if you’re alive.

That, they decided, was the only explanation for it. That he was hurt- or hurting somewhere. The only other possibility is that he left them- and that just isn’t something that they can reconcile. They’d always counted on one truth; that Yoongi loved them and now not even that seems true.

At first, every call to Yoongi’s phone goes to voicemail until the box is full and then it just beeps dolefully until the number gets disconnected on the third week. Jungkook doesn’t want to hear “This number is no longer connected to a cellular device” anymore. He just wants to hear the voice of his beta. Misses it. He tries to be strong for the others, but Jimin still catches him sniffing over his phone late at night, watching old videos of the 7 of them. The rest of the pack can’t bear to watch them.

Hoseok doesn’t even listen to music anymore. He spends his commute to the record store with his headphones left behind. Collecting dust on the bedside table. Unused and unwanted. Every song reminds him of Yoongi.

After the first month of silence, they have to address the possibility that Yoongi might not be coming back.

Maybe he was trying to let them down gently. Maybe Yoongi had found a new pack and moved on to them. Maybe he had decided that their pack was complete enough without him. Maybe being gone for his grandparents was just a lie- it had to be. If that was the truth- then why doesn't he just call.

It would be a simple thing, two minutes. Yes, I’m okay. Yes, I’m alive and unharmed thank you for asking. Yes, I’m leaving you. Sorry. You know how it is.

They’d be happy with that. Well not happy- but at least satisfied. Anything would be better than the silence.

One of Hoseok’s co-workers at the record store- the one that filled Yoongi’s position catches Hoseok crying in the bathroom during his break and he makes the mistake of confiding in the other alpha.

“What did you expect to happen? That he’d stay with you forever. He’s a beta Hoseok.” 

He’s a beta. Like that justifies it at all. Like secondary gender holds a candle to love. Hoseok doesn’t know what he’d do if he saw Yoongi again. if he’d fall into Yoongi’s arms and beg him to take him back or if he’d bite his head off. He bites of the head of his coworker and gets reprimanded for it, but it’s no use.

Namjoon makes him quit the job at the record store when Hoseok tells him about it. Comes home in something of a fugue state of rage. The kind where Hoseok is too upset to talk about it, but an anxious and distressed cloud follows him and sets everyone on edge. A cloud that Namjoon as pack alpha cannot allow to linger for long. Fragile and broken that they are.

Hoseok wants to hold onto the one place that was just his and Yoongi’s but it’s not really healthy for him anymore. Hoseok looks for Yoongi in the stacks of records, behind every rack of recording equipment. Always about to turn- about to comment on the weird album art or on one vinyl over the other, only to find the store empty. Yoongi’s name hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Their playlist still playing over the loudspeaker because Hoseok can’t shut it off. Yoongi’s love for him like an earworm that never fades. A song stuck in his head never ceases looping. Over and over again the best lines and the worst choruses. Hoseok can feel the base in his hands when nothing’s playing. The rhythm and beat all off. The melody missing. Like c-bat only worse.

So Namjoon encourages him to leave- Because Hoseok is having a rough time in general. He Stays up late listening to music when he can’t sleep. He can’t ever really sleep soundly anymore- a rough time- like I said. They all are. Some time off will be helpful for Hoseok.

And Jungkook too honestly.

Jungkook cries all the time, tears constantly dancing at the edge of his waterline, his dark brown eyes constantly wide and glassy. This time, it doesn’t have anything to do with the seizures coming back with a vengeance, although that happens too. He’s never had two in the same day before but 2 months after Yoongi leaves it happens.

He takes a few weeks off of work just until he gets a better handle on his diet and sleep schedule again. His clients at the gym and its owner are more than understanding. (it’s hard not to be, when Jungkook is one of their most popular personal trainers and his classes book out weeks in advance). But it’s hard to adjust when he can’t sleep- keeps reaching out for a scent that’s slowly fading from their bed. Slowly fading from their memories too.

Jungkook makes chocolate protein shakes but it’s not the same. After a little while- he asks Jin to buy him a different flavor.

Jungkook's seizures feel more like withdrawal symptoms, a barely susceptible tremor in his hands. Namjoon has seen his fair share of addicts at the hospital. And he can't help but recognize the same on-edge sense of hunger in Jungkook. But Namjoon can't fix this with love or medication.

Even when Jungkook's doctor tells the younger about a new medication that could help him. "Kookie” Namjoon had pleaded, looking at Jungkook like he’s more of a pup than an adult that can make medical decisions for himself. He’s pack alpha, Jungkook has to remind himself (though he’s never had to remind himself of that fact before Yoongi left) he’s just doing what he thinks is best for me. 

Even if it pisses him off when Namjoon treats him like a child. 

“I've seen these medications in action before, a lot of the time their side effects are worse than the seizures," the alpha had gripped Jungkook's sleeves in the cold hospital room, hands hitting the sensitive scent glands at his wrists to try, thumbs digging into them with a zing in an effort to comfort him.

“Please Jungkook, we can find a better way to handle this, you've got us." Jungkook doesn't say anything, but Namjoon can read his expression well enough. They might be able to support Jungkook in every possible way, but at the end of the day they can’t be who matters. They can’t stop the seizures before they come.

They're not Yoongi.

He just wants Yoongi back. To say ‘Koo’ in that soft special way when he walks in the door from work and sees Jungkook sitting at the kitchen table. The words said like a croon that make Jungkook fuzzy and Omegaspace soft. That makes him feel like melted chocolate (not unlike Yoongi’s scent). 

It starts to feel hollow when the others call him ‘Koo’ instead of ‘Kookie’. He yells at Tae about it. Koo was just for them- Just for Yoongi to call him. It doesn’t sound the same when they say it.

Koo- soft and sweet, the same way he’d said Minnie at the end of a long day too.

The Jimin of years ago would have scoffed and growled at being referred to as anything but his name. So used to having to posture to prove he was alpha enough for his mates. Sweet-smelling alphas almost always get treated that way. But Jimin was always the vanilla to Yoongi’s chocolate. But now Jimin craves it- the way the elder would bring him down to his lowest and most hidden instincts. The part of Jimin that was just a puppy- that wanted pets and kisses and everything in between- to be a good alpha for his beta. 

He hungers for those hidden moments when Yoongi’s dominant streak seemed a mile wide and Jimin didn’t have to be so tough for once. Didn’t have to be so watchful or on edge. “There you go baby- I knew you could be good for me.” Jimin wakes up more than once with those words ringing in his ears. Jimin is a dog without a master. A stray. Herding the others two and frow, snapping at anyone who comes close feels like too much. If Yoongi tamed his instincts, they run wild in his absence.

Jimin struggles not to close up for the others. They still need him. He knows that. But it’s hard not to feel like a rabid dog with his leg caught in a trap, gnawing off his own leg to survive when they’re all this sad. When his inner alpha is yelling at him to just do something. It’s hard to be in control of his emotions when he feels like he’s anything but. Jimin can’t fulfill his most basic instincts as an alpha and provide for his pack. Certainly, he couldn’t provide for Yoongi, at least not enough to get him to stay.

Namjoon and Jin help. Namjoon who turns the lights down low for Jimin as much as Jungkook on the bad seizure bad days. When Jimin looks like he’s going to shake out of his own skin if something prickly touches him or if he’s asked to drink water that’s too cold. Jimin would rather cry until he’s so dehydrated he passes out. Sometimes he can’t even speak through it. But the pack alpha and omega don’t mind.  Jin sets out Jimin’s favorite pair of warn pajamas. Not just the right texture but the right color too, always black but with holes at the collar that Jungkook listlessly tucks his hands into. The holes where Jimin can feel his packmate's skin all sweet-sensitive and sensory.

They let him stay quiet and enjoy the feeling until he lets Namjoon pull him down for a scent mark. And the pack alpha rubs his chin against Jimin’s throat, his cheeks, everywhere spreading out his scent of coffee. Thick and comforting and alpha. Enough that everyone will be able to smell it on Jimin tomorrow when he’s away from the pack. A mark to stay away, a mark that shows Jimin isn’t a wild dog, isn’t a stray. That he belongs somewhere.

Jimin has to force himself to stay pliant. To let the pack alpha get at his throat when he’s like this- sensitive and vulnerable. His inner instincts are like a cornered dog, and the only person who he never nips at is Tae.

Jimin tries to believe it when Namjoon says, "There we go Minnie, let alpha make it all better. It’s going to be alright." when he finally lets out a choked grumble and his body goes slack. Like a marionette with its strings cut. The haze of alpha-space on the edge of his vision and the taste of his pack alpha’s scent on his tongue.

There is something intoxicating about the pack alpha; how much larger he is than Jimin and the way he drags him in and reminds him how to be soft after he’s spent the week bickering and getting angry over the small things. Jimin might spend his 9-5 protecting other people, but it's nice to let someone else do it for a change.

Jimin's Gunsmoke angry unhappy scent has always been one of the more pungent. Making Jimin relax helps all of them.

Through dinner, and the scenting, through even sleep. Namjoon’s phone sits on the table waiting for a phone call that never comes.

Their predicament isn’t exactly uncommon- most betas have a few packs that they stay with periodically. Maybe he finally got too frustrated with putting down roots. Maybe the restlessness finally overtook him, and he just wanted to branch out. Where they too stifling? Too needy? They couldn’t fault him for that- even if they are angry that he left without a word. 

He didn’t have to be mean about it is all. They were owed more than what they got. A shitty goodbye and unanswered calls.

As much as Jungkook tries to think through it, it just doesn't make any sense. Yoongi wouldn't do this to them. He would never leave them hanging unless he had to. But that anger becomes bargaining as the weeks become months.  

In the meantime, Taehyung puts his longing for Yoongi into words.

It’s been years since he wrote so much. Since before college before the inclination to create was burned out of him the pessimistic attitudes of his professors. According to them his works were always a little too grammatically incorrect and fanciful. A cross-section between poetry and prose, neither that nor this, and therefor ill-fitting in either category. Tae’s creativity is too intimate and vulnerable to survive an appraising eye for long. Like a flower with shallow roots. The things he writes are too close to his chest not to feel like wounds.

(Do you like the way I bleed? Should I make It more entertaining for you? Are you bored yet? Does it look pretty enough for you yet? Am I sweet enough to give you a tooth ache still?)

Back then, before the pack, he and Jimin had lived apart. And Tae learned to save the pieces of his sensitive heart and hide them in longhand love letters that they’d sent back and forth. Before Jimin had finally found a job and moved to the city with him.

Now Tae writes that longhand love letters for Yoongi- shoves them in between pages of books so that he doesn’t have to think about them. Compartmentalizing his hurt into sentences and paragraphs. No one loves me quite like you did he writes, red ink that might as well be his blood for how much it hurts to pen the words that Yoongi might never read. 

Isn’t it strange how we all love each other so differently Hyung? It used to feel like fabric- my strands pink, yours red, Jimin’s black. But you pulled out all your threads Hyung and we’re fraying. It can’t keep us warm like it used too.

And yet, that pain is still a paper cut compared to how much Taehyung hurts without Yoongi by his side.

These letters aren’t like the ones he wrote for Jimin all those years ago. No- those are saved and shared between the two of them when Jimin snaps at him and they fight (this happens more after the stress of Yoongi leaving and a very bad rut season- a perfect storm for their worst fight in years). They only open the shoebox that holds the love letters when he and Jimin need a reminder that the foundation of their love isn’t something that can be damaged by petty words, bad days.

Or even Yoongi’s absence.

Jimin has never abandoned him the way that Yoongi has; not when he wanted to go to an expensive school in the city away from their hometown. Leaving Jimin to work at the same martial arts studio as always. Not when they were so poor that they could only see each other when Jimin saved up enough money to take the train into the city. Once a month if they were lucky. 

In one of the first love letters Taehyung ever wrote, it goes; ‘I crave the easy look you give me when it’s the first time you’ve seen me in months. Where I am the earth and you the moon. And it feels dizzying like I am the thing you desire most, more than flowers want for sunshine, more than hunger wants for meat, Your tornado and your torrent. Under your eyes, I feel like a force of nature. Like luck or maybe like fate. Kissing you tastes like colors I don’t have words for.’

Losing Yoongi feels like that- disorienting, and Tae is unable to find a pattern in life without him. Sometimes he goes weeks without writing letters. Other times he writes Yoongi three times in the same day. On the backs of receipts and napkins. Stained with tears and oil from french-fries.

One night Namjoon finds Taehyung asleep at their dining room table, back hunched over some letters with a pen still in his hand. Tae wakes with a start when the pack alpha skims a hand down his back. Fingers carving lovingly down his spine. Waking him up softly to drag him back to the safety of the nest.

These days Namjoon doesn’t let any of them sleep in the spare room; too dangerous, to have the pack fractured further at nesting time. A kind sized bed smushed together with a queen that just barely fits all of them now full of empty spaces. The nest never feels full anymore. Tae knows just from the soft look in Namjoon’s eyes that he’s read some of the words. Maybe the ink has bled onto Taehyung’s cheek where it was pressed to the letter. 

Words like the tattoos on his soul, each of their names written over and over again. There is no more room left on Taehyung’s soul, no more room for another name and no room left for another person to make a home out of his heart- the same way Taehyung had found a home in Yoongi’s. 

(That’s a little bit of a lie- Tae just hasn’t met you yet). 

Taehyung’s worried about what Namjoon might have read, he doesn’t know if he could handle Namjoon trying to talk to him about his feelings right now. (It’s good that it was Namjoon who found him, if it were Jin- the omega would have probably stayed up late to psychoanalyze Tae’s emotions).

Taehyungs delicate hands splay across the page. Hiding it from view. ‘You were the knife to my cadaver. I understand that you had to leave, but what I don’t understand is why you had to take so much of me with you. If you weren’t planning on treasuring me, the least you could have done is leave me whole. Tossed me back into the ocean like a piece of sea glass that needs more polishing.’

Or even worse, the lines that aren’t as pretty but just as true.

‘If I ever see you again, I think I’ll start crying on sight. I don’t think we’ll ever really meet again. This body will never know your touch, your love again. Like stars never know wishes. Maybe we were just soulmates that met a lifetime too soon. Maybe in the next life, I will hold onto you better. Maybe at the pearly gates, you will be my only sweet regret. If you’re already dead, I’ll wish I was too. I wish I could hate you as much as I love you.’

Tae knows he’s better off having known Yoongi. However fleeting. 3 years wasn’t enough, a whole lifetime wouldn’t be enough. But that doesn’t mean he’s not fucking angry.

His hand crumples up one edge of a newspaper before Namjoon has the chance to see it. The words that Namjoon absolutely cannot see. The ones he doesn't let any of them read. I think it's a good thing that I never showed you that side of me, knowing how indelicate you were with leaving. At least you loved me once. This version of me. I guess I shouldn’t be so angry.

Afterall, I lied to you first.

Namjoon doesn't notice Tae throw out the tiny slip of paper and Tae knows from experience that it will go unnoticed and unturned over in the wastepaper basket.  

They look back and try to remember the last few months Yoongi was in their lives and think through what might have gone wrong. None of them can put their finger on it. Why did Yoongi leave and where did he go? Sometimes they’d settle for just knowing that he was alive and safe. Jungkook can't shake the feeling that something must have happened to Yoongi, something bad, for him to leave.

Four months pass without a word. Sometimes Seokjin wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, the taste of blood and rainwater on his tongue.

They all feel like they did before Yoongi collected them and made a home out of their house. Made people out of their fragile souls. Gave them purpose like hands search for hatchets and fire searches for fuel.

Maybe they should have expected this Seokjin thinks, lying awake in the nest at night, the nest absent of Namjoon and Jimin, on an overnight shift and a business trip a few cities over. Hobi near the edge of the nest, nose raised to the nighttime to scent any displeasure on the air. Seokjin has always been good at meditating his scent neutral. Controlling the pulse of his heart and the adrenaline in his body so as to not trigger a spike in his unhappy scent. As sensitive as all his alpha’s are- Jin is ever mindful. They all need their rest.

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” Jungkook asks. Awake. The younger omega’s hands soft and downy like feathers fluttering through Jin’s hands, treading between his fingers.  Both of them happy for some quality one-on-one cuddle time.

The youngest omega has always been so sweet, and that sweetness seems twofold underneath the light of the moon spilling through the window. Jungkook doesn’t cry so much anymore and neither does Jin, just once a week or so instead of every night.

In the darkness- Seokjin can pretend that Yoongi’s there. The memory of Yoongi haunts all of them in different ways, right now he’s a ghost in the corner of their room. 

If Yoongi were here, would he be asleep between the two of them? Would Jungkook pull the betas legs between his knees just to get a little closer? Hands playing on the half almost abs steady softness that Yoongi's always had for a tummy. The perfect medium between plush and hard. Would he toy with the softness while Seokjin tucked his face into Yoongi's neck? Would they each take one of his hands in the darkness? 

Yoongi's hands were always a sensitive part of him. And now- Seokjin grasps at the bedspread and pretends, just for a second. This far into the city there aren’t a lot of stars to see, outside the window the night sky is empty, but the moon is always there.

Seokjin gets through Yoongi’s presence by pretending he never left. By closing his eyes and remembering that for a little while, for a long while really, He had something really really good.

“I’m not sure Kookie, we’ll have to wait and see.”

Seokjin kisses the distressed curve of Jungkook’s jaw, smoothing away the listlessness as best he can with a hand down his neck, to his chest and lower. He and Jungkook made the nest earlier to curl up in, just the two of them. And yet- it doesn’t ease the pain in Seokjin’s heart. Doesn’t comfort either of them as much as it should. 

Items of Yoongi are put sparingly in the nest, they don’t smell like him anymore, it’s more out of routine than anything else. It’s been too long. They’ve given up preserving Yoongi’s scent for Jungkook’s seizures. Unlike those first few weeks when it still felt like he was all around and Seokjin only had to close his eyes and pretend that his life partner- the man he’d been with for almost 6 years- was still there.

No one aches over the loss more than Seokjin, and no one misses him more. The others do their best to comfort their oldest omega, to be home at certain times so that he doesn’t get too nervous. But it only takes a small break in their schedule to get Seokjin pacing back and forth in front of the door. Nearly brought to tears at the thought that they might not be coming home.

His anxious spirals take him to dark places. There is no limit to tragedies that could befall them, hit by a car, or a victim of a train derailment. Worst are the days when they get stuck in traffic, when they stumble through the door and into Jin’s arms. 

The eldest omega bursts into tears the second he sees them, the second he hears footsteps by the door. “You were late- I thought you were- I thought I was-” I thought I was alone again.

“I know my love, I’m so sorry- it was just an accident on the road, traffic- you know I’m safe- you know I never speed.”

Seokjin couldn’t handle losing them. Not a single packmate. It would destroy him and he knows it. He knows what this is, a common symptom in omegas after they lose a pup or a packmate. He learned about 'nest anxiety' when he was in university, but knowing what it is doesn't help him cure it in himself. Making a nest doesn't give him the same satisfying rush it used to. And won’t again until all his packmates are inside of it.

That’s impossible now, Seokjin’s anxiety has nowhere to go.

It’s a terrible breach of the pack contracts to want a keep to beta for your own. It goes against all social convention and all reason. Society has come to expect this, that beta’s will jump from pack to pack. But that doesn’t make it any easier to endure.  

Whatever way you cut it the facts of their situation are the same. They weren’t enough. The 6 of them didn’t give Yoongi enough love. And he had to go find it somewhere else.

Missing Yoongi has carved a hole out of Seokjin’s heart- a space where nothing can fit besides fond memories, placed there delicately. Like to remember them too frequently would dilute them and make the love feel less real in memory. The more Seokjin wants him back- the more he feels like it never happened at all. Like their love story was only a good dream.

They all feel like they did before Yoongi was there. Before he made a home out of their house, and a person out of their souls and wants. They feel like graves, shaky and unsettled. The fallow ground where once there was fruitful love. Greif settles into their routine like the winter.

The house isn’t full of music anymore. They come and go from the apartment marking the hours apart without comment. Hoseok and Jimin don’t go for drives anymore. There are no more Doughnuts to be done in Namjoon’s car. There is no more wildness in Namjoon’s body left, only exhaustion.

Seokjin doesn’t cook nearly as often, take out is just easier. Seokjin doesn’t comment that it’s the first snow of the year when it begins to fall. His body already frozen solid.

Jungkook’s seizures gets marked on the refrigerator. 12 in October. 17 in November. 22 in December. Yoongi’s flannel hangs on the hooks by the front door, and no one touches it.

Hoseok and Yoongi planted flowers in the window boxes on the balcony last spring. Because Hoseok asked him to help and Yoongi obediently held the tray and swept the dirt over the edge. When the same plants come up again in March Hoseok can’t even look at them. It gets a little bit better when he starts to notice them around the city, the other touches of spring. The fresh leaves on the edge of branches. The bulbs poking up through the earth. The flowers aren’t just a memory of Yoongi. Not anymore.

Every hint of yellow in the grey winter landscape feels like a soft reminder of healing. Grief can only last so long, like the season it has it’s cycles. Big and painful one moment. A soft lesson that fills you with bitterness the next. That the sound of Yoongi’s absence gets quieter and quieter as the months drag on and they come to terms with it.

Hoseok isn’t unemployed for long. He gets a job at a flower shop sort of across town, it’s sort of a commute and sort of on the edge of suburbia where the houses grow big and old and fancy, but it’s alright. It feels good to have a reason to go outside of the apartment again. A different place to haunt where memories of Yoongi do not follow him like a disembodied life.

Hoseok gets to make bouquets that make people smile. Roses and peonies, daisies and sunflowers. It doesn’t matter that distance separates them. Hoseok will always be the sunflower pointing in the direction of his sun. Everything will always remind Hoseok of Yoongi one way or another.

Hoseok lets himself smile when he feels the impulse and cry when he can’t handle it anymore. He knows to appreciate a good thing even though it’s gone. He’ll always have memories of Yoongi; how he was the kind of lover to make your interests his own. Yoongi was always the kind of person who’d do something with you just to make sure you didn’t have to enjoy it alone, the perfect company. 

Hoseok walks to work, always with one headphone in, the other headphone is meant for Yoongi. The same way they did when they worked at the record shop together. 

(He’d never know because he switched jobs, but on the rainy days when fog sinks into the city like a fresh sheet, there is a figure outside the windows of that record store looking in. The record store owner is just closing up the day. Locking the door when he lifts his head against the rain. “He quit.” is all he says, all he needs to say before the figure slinks away without a word. Returning to the rain and fog.)

Yoongi finds the flower shop, and Hoseok. The stolen moment when he lets himself look through the foggy windows at the unmistakable red head bobbing to unheard music. One headphone in like always, it makes Yoongi smile. He leaves before Hoseok can spot him looking in. A spare 10 feet away, but Hoseok would never know.

Yoongi is their ghost- and he haunts them in more ways than one.  

When Hoseok looks up from his phone, he finds a palm print pressed into the fog of the window. But when he goes outside to look- the streets are completely empty. He doesn't tell the others. Can’t- he won’t get their hopes up when it was probably just some creep looking in. Hoseok needs to stop seeing Yoongi everywhere he goes, really. He feels like he’s gonna go crazy if he doesn't stop daydreaming about the beta. 

They never move apartments. They can’t. What if Yoongi tries to find them again and he shows up at their door? What kind of packmates would they be if they went to a place where he couldn’t follow? Months pass and Namjoon wakes up on the 6-month anniversary of the last time he saw Yoongi and just feels off.

There is something wrong, but he couldn’t tell you what. He puts on his suit feeling like he’s wading through fog. He commutes to work, drops off Tae and Jungkook. Goes on his way. Forgetting to check his phone for Jin’s ‘got to work safe’ morning text. The rotation of patients swirls around him like dishes on a lazy Susan. The one common denominator in their pain and suffering and sickness is Namjoon.

On his way home, he passes the parking lot where he and Seokjin and Yoongi did donuts in the first night they met. It’s being ripped up to make room for more retail space. Namjoon remembers the way that night had smelled, chocolate and cream mixed with the smell of burning rubber and French fries. 

Namjoon’s hands tighten on the wheel and all he knows is that he’s crying too hard to drive home. He calls his pack so someone can come and pick him up because he can’t drive in this state. He stays like that. In the empty parking lot walled in by chain link fences until Jimin pulls him from the car so carefully. His body smaller than Namjoon’s as he lifts him under the arms but no less strong as he puppets Namjoon into his car without a word, where Jin is already waiting in the back seat.  Wiping away his tears that just don’t seem to end.

He cries so hard he bursts a blood vessel in his nose, staining the front of Jin's shirt with blood. Hoseok drives his car home.

At every red light, Jin meets Jimin’s eyes in the mirror. Silently reassuring him that everything will be okay even if they both know that's a lie. Things haven’t been alright since Yoongi’s left.  

Namjoon is a wreck. Absolutely destroyed. He cries all the way home, until Jungkook’s popped the buttons on his shirt, until Tae has washed the sad off of him. Until he’s cried himself hoarse and exhausted. Like he’s stored the last 6 months’ worth of misery and missing Yoongi and let them all out right now.

He needs a full week off work to get back to where he was before; a different one of his mates uses their sick days on a different day of the week so that Namjoon’s not alone at the apartment. They’re all healing at different speeds. It just took a second for it to hit the pack alpha and for him to know that they’d be okay. Namjoon made sure each of them were going to be okay before he broke and that has to count for something.

Namjoon craves Yoongi. Craves his hands. He remembers Yoongi’s fingers sliding down his palm, tracing the lines there when they used to watch Jimin and Hoseok dance in their crowded living room- everyone keeping their feet tucked into their seat to give them both more room. Yoongi pressed tight against his side.

Namjoon remembers holding Yoongi’s hand when they would walk through the neon streets at night, a bottle of soju that they would switch back and forth, from lips to hands, to another set of lips. Indirect kisses.

It takes him a while. But eventually, things start to feel a little bit normal. Not quite the way that they used to be. But not straight terrible either. Spring is coming again. The daffodils are just starting to come up. And Namjoon gets up in the morning, knowing that even if Yoongi never comes back, he’ll be okay. They’ll all be okay. They can manage like this. Really. They’re going to be fine.

And then after 7 months- at a random fucking grocery store at 2pm on a fucking random Tuesday in April- Jimin sees him.

He finds Yoongi.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

-In my mind, if bily where a movie, the scene where Yoongi is cleaning the blood from his footsteps and the scene where Namjoon is calling him would blend really seamlessly into each other.

- Ahhhh I realize this was the first time we get a bit of Jimin’s internal monologue <3 it’s a shame that it’s so sad. I’m happy that I was able to touch on his sensory issues a little bit earlier in the story in this version.

- You cannot believe the hatred I have for the words ‘you’re so sweet you’re giving me a toothache.’ Honestly any man or woman who says that needs to be taken out back and shot. I have very few things that trigger me worse than that.

- After all these years I still love the line ‘Afterall, I lied to you first’ it’s so fucking good.

[star-lights-up]

OKAY OKAY OKAY BUT: Cherik "The Martian" AU

So I'm rereading the martian today because i am sick again, so obviously I need hard science fiction to combat the existential dread, and my brain just kept latching onto dialogue bits and going "CHERIK! MAKE IT CHERIK"

My thoughts are:

Charles and Erik were friends at one point, maybe during college, maybe at the beginning of training, IDK, at some point they had a bit of a falling out. They're civil enough to still get put on the mission together but it's well known they don't get along.

Though there was that one night, where they were both kinda drunk, and they got together......... ("We can't do this again." Erik said, angrily, in the morning. Charles left without so much as glancing at him, let alone responding.)

There's a sandstorm on sol 6, and the team is trying to evacuate (probably the first class team because that's just easy. Hank = pilot. I bet you moira is the leader lady, lewis, military trained or whatever. And everyone else is there too, but i'm on my asthma medication so I can't think clearly, so they don't get specific roles)

The radio dish comes off, impales Charles, he blows backward while unconscious (lower gravity or some shit idk physics) and crashes into Erik, who then gets hit by more debris. The thing that impaled Charles also impaled his biotelemetry reader, and Erik's got crushed on impact/by the debris, so both of them read as dead to their crew members, who have to leave or else they die too.

Erik wakes up first, since he's not actively bleeding and his suit's not impaled and loosing air. The sandstorm is over, the HAB (think space station/tent) is intact (yay!), but the MAV (think small spaceship good for like, a round trip to and from a larger vessel) is gone (fuck).

He tries to wake Charles up, but ends up dragging him back to the HAB on his own. He takes out the antenna that impaled him and sews up and bandages the cut, while Charles is semi-conscious. It's painful for now, but he'll live. Erik's exhausted, so he goes back to his own bunk and falls asleep, kinda hoping this is all a nightmare.

It's not gone in the morning. He's still stuck on mars in a glorified tent with limited resources and his least favorite person on the team.

They talk to each other, Charles thanks him for helping him, and they decide that they're just going to have to work together to get off of mars alive.

Charles = botanist, erik is the engineer (basically gonna have them split the original main guy's braincell. They already share one anyway).

Potato farming

Along the way, they kinda sorta start becoming friends again. They're relying on each other to survive, they're the only people each other can talk to... They play chess on the computers and watch Moira's awful 70's television and listen to disco that she brought along with her. They farm potatoes and jerry rig rovers and then oops, they fell asleep in the same tiny bunk watching tv together. Oops, they hugged after the potatoes germinated. Oops, they kissed in celebration when they finally made contact with NASA again.

Just like that, they've fallen into a new rhythm. They still argue a lot, but now there's also a good amount of kissing and little fleeting touches while they work together and they put their bunks together and fall asleep in each other's arms ("Do you realize," Charles says one night, Erik curled against his chest, pressing slow kisses to his collarbone, "We're the only people to have made love on a planet other than Earth?" Erik snorts softly, "NASA's not going to be hearing about that, if I can help it." "You realize that the HAB's always recording us, yes? They'll get the footage when we get back to Earth." "...Right. Huh." Erik frowns, then shrugs, "Worth it." Charles laughs.)

Erik gets stuck inside the airlock when the HAB deflates and they loose all their potatoes. Charles is in the rover and, for a while, was convinced Erik was dead. Until he saw the airlock start to roll towards the HAB, and then he started steering the rover over.

After they got the HAB back up, NASA tells them they're sending a supply probe called "Iris." (Transmission goes like this: [08:31] JPL: Keep us posted on any mechanical or electric problems. By the way, the name of the probe we're sending is Iris. Named after the Greek goddess who traveled the heavens with the speed of wind. She's also the goddess of rainbows. [08:47] LEN/XAV: Gay probe coming to save us. Got it. Erik heads back to the HAB. "Hello, darling. How's Houston?" Charles says, not turning from his soil samples or whatever the fuck he's been doing for three days. "They're sending us a pride-themed probe full of granola bars." Erik answers, shoving off his EVA suit. Charles turns to give him a quizzical, are-you-joking kind of look, then bursts out laughing upon seeing Erik's dead serious face. "Well, it's certainly fitting," He says, walking up to Erik and wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.)

Anyways. Iris doesn't make it, shit keeps going wrong, BUT eventually their team catches wind of a plan -- a risky plan, but one that could save cherik. So, without houston's permission, they pilot their ship on a course back to mars. They'll do a flyby, and if Charles and Erik can get to the site of Ares 5 and the MAV for that mission, retrofit the MAV, make it to their team's ship without dying/miscalculating and shooting off into the depths of outer space, they can get to that ship and on a course back to earth by sol 549.

They spend a bunch of time retrofitting their rovers for the trip, and so begins the classic cherik roadtrip -- martian style!! (I just want to mention that there's like no space, so just picture them cuddled up for a good night's sleep on the front bench of the rover. there. cuteness among the science).

They flip at one point. I could add details but it's been a while of me writing this and my brain is slowly dying and i'm tired so. that's it.

They make it to ares 5, they retrofit the MAV, then they do The Riskiest Space Flight of All Time. Random shit goes wrong, everyone's improvising, it pretty much seems like they're done for...

They get back to the big ship. They're safe!! (well, as safe as you can be in space.) But they get a hot shower and full meals and much more comfortable bunks (in separate rooms, technically, but Erik refuses to leave Charles's side so they end up in one bunk that first night. Usually they'd try to be a bit more discreet, but what the fuck. They've been stuck on mars. They almost just died. They deserve to fall asleep in each other's arms.)

They are HEROS back on earth. They get married almost immediately -- it seems quick to a lot of people, but they're so trauma bonded that, like, it's necessary. they go to paris on their honeymoon and get lots of free stuff. They never go to space again lol (and gladly)

THE END (fucking finally, it's 12:00 am on the dot and i've been writing this for 45 minutes.)

EDIT: some art I did for this au

[fizzing-imagines]

Rush Hour | Eddie x Bartender! Reader

Notes: This is lowkey a vent, enjoy!

Words: 764

Warnings: Drinking

You were beyond swamped with orders. The tickets kept coming in, no break in sight. With the additional customers asking you to "Hurry up my order, I've got to leave soon." you couldn't help but roll your eyes whenever your back was turned to the customers. Sam, otherwise known as Drunk Sam, was your only entertainment in the midst of this as he told anyone who'd listen about his divorce. That humoured you to an extend where it was bearable.

Graduation week just sucked. So many people came to Hawkins and wanted to catch up at your bar. Plus, two coworkers called in sick so there was barely any help behind the bar except one of the waitresses sometimes pouring a beer.

"Two Martinis.", you said to the two extremely drunk and extremely annoying women sitting at your bar. "Finally.", they commented without even looking at you. You would've loved to empty the glasses over their heads, but since this was service industry-you that wasn't an option.

While you were pouring two Lone Star cans into a glass each, a group sat down at your bar. Not any more, you thought. Regardless, you turned to them with your fake smile. Your boyfriend Eddie and his bandmates greeted you, although all of them were nothing less than tipsy already. "Hey, pretty bartender.", Eddie flirted with a grin. Going home with a drunk boyfriend after all this? Honestly, you didn't know if you could deal with that.

"Hey, pretty boyfriend.", you said back with a small smile. "The usual?" They all nodded in agreement. "Might take a bit, I'm slammed with orders." Regardless of how much they drank previously, they were all understanding.

To your luck, a waitress helped you to finish orders before taking them out. It eased the situation a lot, so much that you could finally go outside for a smoke. Like a puppy, your boyfriend followed behind you. "Hey, baby.", he mumbled while hugging you from behind. You leaned your head back against his chest while taking a drag of your cigarettes. "You smell like beer."

"You smell like smoke."

"Fair.", you chuckled. Eddie kissed the top of your head and squeezed you once. "You look stressed, baby." A small groan left your throat while you closed your eyes. "The rush is dying down, it'll be fine." His scent was so calming, despite the hints of alcohol in it. "I know something to make you feel better at home.", he mumbled into your ear before placing a kiss right behind it.

This wasn't the first time he suggested this after drinking, and it wouldn't be the last time either. But your reply would always remain the same: "I not gonna have sex with you when you're drunk, but we can make out and cuddle." That answer always pleased him, and you knew by the way he hummed into your neck.

When Eddie saw that your cigarette was burned down, so he took it from your hands and put it out for you. "I gotta get back in.", you said before leaning in for a kiss. "Love you lots." He kissed you back and grinned like an idiot afterwards. "Love you too."

As predicted, the rush died down and you were able to close at 3am. Eddie's bandmates were picked up by Jeff's boyfriend and he waited at a table while you were counting the money you made that night with Bev. At least he was sobering up with the pizza you made him and a glass of water. "That's 120$ in tips for you", Bev said as she handed you a wad of cash. "God, that's amazing!", you said with a wide grin while taking the money. "You were saving for Eddie's birthday anyways, weren't you? Seems like a good addition." You shushed her, not wanting Eddie to hear it. He's been talking about a certain guitar he wanted for a while now, and you were saving up to get it for his birthday. "I've pretty much got it all, but he can't know." She gave you an understanding nod before dismissing you.

You drove home with Eddie. Luckily, he was pretty sobered up by now and didn't need the usual guidance you gave when he was drunk.

All you did was strip your clothes off, except for your panties, and plop into bed. Your boyfriend followed soon after, cuddled up to you and started kissing your neck.

"What was that about making out?", he mumbled as his hands started squeezing your boobs.

"20 minutes.", you replied before your lips found his.

[mik4elas]

GOODBYE I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THEY'RE SO SWEET UEUEUEU

Anways- here's some things I noticed throughout the 6th episode (MAJOR SPOILER WARNING):

Cheng Xiaoshi's WeChat background is a photo of him with Xia Fei they're so cute omg...

This line... oh my god. Lu Guang's eyes reflecting his hands, paralleling the way that Lu Guang saw his hands bloody with Cheng Xiaoshi's in the past timeline, when Vein had killed him- CHILLS. The soft, confident smile, knowing how his actions and words will effect the future- oh my god

Before the whole debacle with Cheng Xiaoshi's mother calling out Xiao Weiying (which is Vein's Chinese name according to the wiki?) there's two very quick, split second frames that almost feels like it's Lu Guang influencing what was happening, since the moment Vein doubles over, we see Lu Guang's hand forming a fist

There's also this frame where Cheng Xiaoshi's mom's eyes turn blue (we can assume that Lu Guang is somewhat in control here?) and Vein seems to immediately recognize what was happening.

This definitely shows how Lu Guang had influence in the scenario unfolding, yet I'm not completely convinced he's the one who ended up "killing" Vein. Lu Guang certainly seems to have more powers than just time travel at this point.

It's interesting how IMMEDIATELY after this scene, we're shown a scene of Liu Xiao's clapping hands, in front of a dead body (even though it's in a movie). We've now seen at least four (?) characters who utilize that to activate their powers- Lu Guang, Cheng Xiaoshi, Cheng Xiaoshi's mother and Li Tianxi and Li Tiancheng's holding hands for their powers to activate. I might be stretching a bit for this, but Vein's death- and resurrection at the end of the story- (which genuinely made me jump when his eyes snapped open), were definitely influenced by Liu Xiao.

This is further supported by this (↓) line in the image below. Liu Xiao is most likely having Vein's death influence Xia Fei's behavior going forward, especially since we see his response to Vein's death, talking about how he's going to find the answer on his death, no matter how ludicrous. I remember thinking about how innocent Xia Fei was, for somebody who was considered an antagonist of the Yingdu chapter but... I think I see why he's going to be now.

I also wanna touch on this line that Lu Guang speaks of, stating that this is the last time. I feel like this is sort of confirmation that this probably wasn't the first time Lu Guang has tried travelling back in time to save Cheng Xiaoshi. Not super important, just wanted to note that.

Lastly... this is Liu Xiao's hand. Near undeniably. No other character is known to wear rings or black clothing- which corroborates my theory that Liu Xiao had a hand in Vein's "death".

Anyways, thank you for reading my rambles!!

Look at the cuties :(

[waywardmillennial]

SPOILERS FOR PH 7x04

there will be MAJOR spoilers under the cut -- so DO NOT click through if you don't want to see Lore spoilers for the Watcher TV episode from Jan 31, 2025!

okay, if you're buckled up then let's crack in!

After several episodes where the Professor and Ryan have been taking Phorgedytol regularly (given to them by Elmer Walter Williams) Ryan convinces the Professor to skip their dose at the end of 7x04 and they start to remember what happened at the end of season six

and that's when we learn the sad news that Estranged Producer Shane Madej (EPSM) died during the season six wrap party

beautiful memorial video here from @trashworldblog - RIP to a real one

now in the trailer and previous episodes we see EPSM walking down this alleyway but here we also see that he stops and turns to face his unknown assailant - so he knows who did this! (I think this will be important - more on this in a minute)

we see Ryan and the Professor both stunned at what they remember

then we pan over to the memorial for Shane and there are lots of easter eggs that I wanted to point out

first, lmao at Shane's lanky body needing a second urn - and also Boo Buddy!

in the next shot, there's a note from someone (Shawn?) that says "I don't really know what you did at Watcher anyway but we'll miss you. PS [your mom] follows me on IG"

and Lizzie's pink note that reads "To my fellow long white Midwestern Producer. I will never phorget u. ♡ Lizzie" and she spelled forget with the "ph"

OMG! "PH" masks the true name of Phorgedytol (instead of Forget-it-all) but also PH is Puppet History!

(ahem, sorry for that random train of thought interruption - where were we?)

also scattered in the notes are at least two references to Shane owing people money with, "Shane I can't believe that you never paid me back for that In-N-Out WTF Sam" (not 100% on the name) and another that says "This man still owes me $20… with condolences"

and a note with a drawing of the Spirit Box from Ghost Files that reads "You can still star in Ghost Files if you want (but as a ghost)"

(I definitely feel like the Spirit Box will make an appearance again soon)

and I really wanted to point out the note that's presumably from Ryan that says "Haunt me bitch" signed with a heart (!) and the note in front of the newspaper article that reads "Do Not Haunt Ryan"

another note that could also be from Ryan reads "No for real please haunt me. I -"

(and I'm probably glad the end of this note is cut-off or I'd launch myself out a window -- if Ryan was this sad about EPSM and he made himself forget it -- I am crying in the club T_T)

finally we get a look at this newspaper article dated Saturday, August 12, 2023, one day after the PH season six finale, which aired on August 11, 2023

I've transcribed the article below as best I could:

Estranged Puppet History Producer Murdered in the Street Like Dog Los Angeles, CA - In a shocking and tragic turn of events, Shane Madej, the estranged producer of the popular web series Puppet History, was found dead in an alleyway late Saturday night following the show's sixth season wrap party. The discovery has sent shockwaves through Hollywood, with fans and industry insiders reeling from the sudden and mysterious loss of the lanky ghost hunter. A Night of Celebration Turns to Tragedy The evening started out in high spirits as cast, crews, and friends of Puppet History gathered to celebrate the completion of another successful season --2nd column-- remain murky, and the Los Angeles Police Department has yet to release any official statements regarding potential suspects or motives. The investigation is ongoing, and the case has quickly become one of Hollywood's most talked-about unsolved mysteries. Madej's death has rattled the entertainment industry, where he was known not only for his work on Puppet History but also for his contributions to other popular culture at large, such as [hidden] BuzzFeed video "Dogs Watch Television for the First Time.

(it's so funny the article refers to him as a lanky ghost hunter and how this is the most unsolved mystery and that meme dog photo that looks like him hahahaha)

the episode ends with Ryan calling Dorothy Ruth to discover she married Elmer and the Professor wishing they could talk to EPSM, but he's dead, and Ryan says "hypothetically, what if we could"

[ROLL CREDITS]

theory: I think the Spirit Box is going to make an appearance (even better if they used Boo Buddy after all Shane has bullied him imo) to try to contact EPSM, and they'll find out he's in Purgatory with all the puppets that have been sent there and they'll finally be able to rescue them!

I do feel like Elmer has to be behind Shane's murder, even if he's not the one who pulled the trigger, but I don't quite know his motive? we've only been shown he wants to marry Dorothy Ruth but how does that involve EPSM?

and Elmer was really only dosing the Professor and Ryan with Phorgedytol, and maybe some of the other Watcher staff? but Shane's murder was in the news and being investigated by the police?? unless Elmer was really trying to cover it up by pushing the pills on all of Los Angeles and that's why they have the billboards all over town ...

fyi, there was a new billboard spotted in the PH s7 poster that Watcher put on IG yesterday that reads "Phorgedytol - Make Brain go 'MMMMBZZT!'"

maybe the PH buzzer sound?

that's all I have for now! thanks for reading and drop your thoughts and comments in the notes below!

[sheiireen]

a short dkbk fic... 'Inhibitions' tags: post431 / one-sided izuocha / drunk boy(s) / misunderstanding / angst

“I'm going ahead!” Katsuki shouted to Izuku, who was still in the middle of undressing himself. He heard the splash of Katsuki jumping into the hot water.

After a quick shower, Izuku joined him.

“This feels really good...”

A few days ago Izuku would have never guessed that he'd be the lucky person Katsuki would invite to an onsen retreat vacation from his agency. The best part was that it was a private onsen, so it was just the two of them! It's been a while since they both hung out alone. They've either been with their classmates or with Izuku's students when Katsuki joined their classes as a co-teacher. Izuku was really happy that they could finally spend more time together. Submerged in the heat of the onsen, they stared at the stars for a while before Izuku decided to speak.

“How are you feeling?” Izuku asked Katsuki. He noticed the furrowed eyebrows and swam a little closer.

“Don't worry about anything work related, Kacchan. They'll be fine for a few days!”

“You're one to talk...” Katsuki bit back.

He wasn't wrong. Izuku brought some papers to correct until Monday, but that was different from hero work! Apparently Katsuki overworked himself to the point he collapsed at the agency, hence the forced vacation. Izuku had noticed the dark circles under Katsuki's eyes the past week and he hoped he would feel better after this trip. Izuku wanted him to smile and relax more.

After the first signs of dizziness they decided to go back into their room. They changed into their yutakas and Izuku flopped onto the futon. “It's so comfortable!”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. “I still can't believe they gave us the honeymoon suite. And there is no one here I can complain to!”

Izuku chuckled. “Come on, it's not that bad.”

Katsuki glared at him.

“Besides...it would be just like the old times, when we had sleepovers watching All Might movies.”

“You have no idea...” Katsuki said quietly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Katsuki walked up to the cabinet and checked out the drinks. It was filled with all sorts of alcohol. “Woah. Don't they have any water?” He complained.

“There's a vending machine in the lobby.” Izuku stood up and took out some coins from his purse. “Do you only want water? Anything else?” “Just water is fine.”

When Izuku came back, he brought two huge bottles of water. He suggested trying some of the alcohol, since Katsuki was usually the driver and didn't get to drink much when they were outside. Katsuki wasn't happy with the idea, until Izuku challenged him - a challenge to find out who could drink more. The winner would get a wish granted.

“So you're backing off, Kacchan?”

“I never said I'd back off.”

Izuku should have known that Katsuki was a light drinker. After their fourth drink, his cheeks were already adorned in a pretty pink, while Izuku was only tipsy.

“One more!” Katsuki slurred.

“I...don't think that's a good idea, Kacchan.”

“Huh, you givin up, Izuku?” Izuku looked at the bottles and had a brilliant idea. “Ok, Kacchan. One more. The winner will be decided after the next round.”

Izuku hid the glasses and filled them with water instead of alcohol.

“Drink up.” Izuku felt a little bad for deceiving drunk Katsuki, but it was for his own good. He regretted suggesting this challenge anyway. It was dumb, and the only reason it happened was because he missed the challenges they used to have. Katsuki gulped down his glass while Izuku stopped midway. “I- I can't. I'm done.” Izuku lied.

Katsuki opened his eyes, at least as much as he could in his state and smirked. “I win!”

Izuku sighed, but smiled softly. “...I'll grant you any wish, Kacchan.”

“Any wish...?” Katsuki hesitated and kept his gaze away from Izuku for a moment before he moved closer. His red eyes sparkled when he clutched Izuku's yukata by his chest. “Will you grant any wish...?” He repeated. The sudden proximity flustered Izuku and he felt his cheeks flush with warmth.

“Kacchan...?” Red, glassy eyes were piercing through Izuku's green ones. He was frozen as he felt Katsuki's warm breath on his neck. Katsuki kept glancing at his lips. “Then...I want you...to kiss me.”

Izuku gulped. Kiss-?

It was Katsuki's wish, right? Izuku said he'd grant any wish, right?

Izuku slowly leaned in, but stopped midway when he registered Katsuki's unfocused eyes. This was wrong.

“Kacchan, I'm sorry.” He gently pushed Katsuki away by his shoulders.

“Can you ask me again tomorrow, please?” When you're sober, he mentally added. He spoke in a soft tone.

Katsuki looked at the floor, so Izuku couldn't see his eyes. He was quiet for a while, before he stood up and stumbled out of the room.

“Kacchan?” “'t was a mistake. I won't bother you again.”

“Where are you going?” Izuku followed him. Katsuki swayed as he walked down the stairs and Izuku caught him by his arm right before he fell.

“Kacchan. Please come back, you're clearly drunk!” He pleaded. That's when he saw the tears in Katsuki's eyes. A heavy feeling spread in Izuku's heart. He knew it was somehow his fault. He pulled Katsuki closer. “I'm sorry. Don't leave. Please?” Izuku strengthened his grip on Katsuki's arm. “Let's talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

It seemed like all strength had left Katsuki. He allowed Izuku to pull him back into the room. He was silent the whole time, even when he was tucked into bed. But there was a sadness on Katsuki's face that broke Izuku's heart and made him force away his own tears. Tomorrow. They'll talk about it tomorrow. He had so many questions, but he needed Katsuki to be sober for that.

When Katsuki woke up from a restless sleep, he found Izuku cuddled up to him. His arms were wrapped around Katsuki's torso – as if he wanted to make sure Katsuki wouldn't leave. His head was throbbing, how much did they drink last night? He tried to recall the drinking game and how it ended,when a message on his phone popped up. It was from Ochako.

“Hey, how is it going? Everything good? :3”

Katsuki sighed and threw his phone away.

Ochako had asked to meet him a week ago.

“What do you want, Round Face?”

“I want to confess to Deku.” Katsuki's heart skipped a beat. He bit his lips before he replied.

“Oh yeah? Good for you. Didn't need to tell me.”

Ochako pulled out an envelope. “This is an exclusive onsen holiday I was gifted by my agency. A very popular destination among couples. I wanted to ask Deku to go with me.”

Rub it in, Katsuki thought. He felt anger creep up. “Congrats.” He shrugged, but his voice came out sharper than he intended.

Ochako then slipped the envelope to Katsuki. “I need to know first.”

Katsuki just blinked at her.

“I can't confess to him if I don't know how he feels about you. And if I ask him he'll just deny it.” Her eyes were determined, while Katsuki was just confused. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I want you to take him there. If nothing happens, I'll confess to him.”

Katsuki scoffed. “So you're pressuring me into confessing?”

Ochako shrugged. “Or him. We will see.”

Another buzz brought Katsuki back from his thoughts. “Helloo?” Another text from Ochako.

He groaned. Fuck it all!

They had a quiet breakfast, but Katsuki could feel Izuku's eyes on him the whole time. “Are you feeling ok, Kacchan? Any headache?”

“I'm fine.”

Izuku rubbed his neck. “So...uhm...do you remember anything from last night?”

Katsuki put down his coffee before replying. “Not much. We had some drinks and then I remember waking up.”

“Oh...” Izuku's voice had a disappointed tone in it.

“If I said or did anything stupid, don't take it too seriously.” Katsuki stood up and started to clean the table.

They decided to go hiking. There was a mountain nearby that Katsuki had always wanted to climb. After two hours, they finally reached the top.

“Wow, look at the view!” Izuku said excitedly.

It was breathtaking. The sea of trees below was covered in all shades of red and orange and the stream from the river added to the peaceful atmosphere. Katsuki smiled.

When Izuku noticed, his smile grew. “This is amazing, Kacchan! Thanks for taking me here.” It wasn't me who was supposed to be here, Katsuki thought. He turned his face from Izuku when he felt a lump in his throat. Fuck. Whenever he tried to recall what happened last night all he remembered were fragments of disasters. Katsuki had tried to kiss Izuku and he pushed him away. That memory was engraved in his mind, the one thing that he'd never forget even if he tried to.

He rejected Katsuki.

“Hey Kacchan. Don't you think that this hill looks just like the one from All Might's Silver Era movie?”

Katsuki heard Izuku's footsteps walk towards a hill. “It looks exactly the same!” Izuku said happily. He positioned himself in a powerful stance as Katsuki's bit his lips.

No. Izuku raised both arms.

Don't. He bent his elbows and with a loud voice, he said “I AM HERE.”

Every movement slowed down for a moment. Even the wind danced around Izuku. He looked mesmerizing. Like the sunlight. Like a real hero. The words echoed in Katsuki's ears. 'I am here'. Who would have guessed that the brightest smile on Izuku's face would be what made Katsuki break down completely.

Liar.

He didn't even bother hiding the tears.

When Izuku noticed, he ran up to Katsuki. “Kacchan! What's wrong?!” “Let me go!” Katsuki shouted as he slapped Izuku's hand away.

“You have no right to say that.” Izuku was speechless.

Katsuki started to walk down, he didn't want to argue on the top of a mountain. Izuku was surprisingly quiet when he followed Katsuki's trail.

Walking down calmed him down. He was able to collect his thoughts and give himself time to prepare for what was next. He took a deep breath. Fuck it, he would let it all out now. Who cared anyway.

“You're really good at rejecting things, Izuku. I have to applaud you for that.”

“I haven't stopped being a hero, if that's what you mean, Kacchan?” His answer came out like a question. Katsuki almost felt sorry for him, because he genuinely seemed confused. Katsuki shook his head. “It's not the same. When I said I want to compete with you for the rest of our lives, I meant that. I still do.”

He stared at Izuku's wide, green eyes. Katsuki scoffed. “Yeah real shocker huh? Go ahead and tell me how childish I am, I don't care.”

“I don't think that. I would never think that.”

“Why did you leave then?” His voice cracked, betraying how hurt he was. He noticed some tears in Izuku's eyes. “I didn't know you felt that way, Kacchan. I'm sorry!” He moved one step forward and when Katsuki didn't move, he took it as permission to approach him. Izuku took Katsuki's hand before he went on.

“I didn't think you'd care that much, Kacchan. I can't promise you I'll go back as a full-time hero, but if that's your wish, then-”

“No. It's too late for that...and last night you-” he instantly shut his own mouth. Izuku just blinked at him, mouth open.

The silence that followed felt like an eternity.

“...You know, I haven't skipped any of my training program because sometimes I do think about doing more hero work.”

“Oh really?” Katsuki's sarcastic remark showed that he didn't believe him.

“Yeah. We can test it out here?” Izuku smiled. It was his signature smile that challenged Katsuki to a duel. A sign to make up. Katsuki made out a hint of insecurity in his voice, though.

“I don't know what you want to prove. You won't win against me anyway.” Katsuki swiped his last tears away.

“Winner gets a wish granted.” Izuku shouted before they started. After that, they did the dumbest challenges: Who could climb a tree the fastest, who could find the most beautiful flower in the next five minutes, who could lift the heaviest rock. In the end, they ended up with a tie. Even though the challenges weren't too hard, by the end they were lying on the grass, exhausted from all the running and yelling at each other about who won which part. It was the first time in a while Katsuki felt relaxed. Izuku chuckled, too. “This was fun.”

“I clearly won.”

“No, I did!”

They stared at each other and laughed. They lay in the grass for a while, watching the clouds pass by as the wind rustled their hair.

“...Hey, Kacchan?”

“Hm?” “Can we act like I won the challenge?” Izuku's voice was serious and Katsuki opened his eyes to see his expression. Izuku was lying on his side, eyes fixed on Katsuki. Normally, he wouldn't back down, even if it's for a stupid challenge, but the earnest gaze in Izuku's eyes made it hard to resist. Katsuki sighed in defeat. “Sure, nerd. It's your win. What's your wish?”

Izuku rose and put each of his arms around Katsuki's face.

“I want to kiss you.”

// The end. ----- A short epilogue:

Katsuki never replied to Ochako's texts. The first day, because he had nothing to say, the second day, because he was too embarrassed to tell her what they have done.

When he arrived at his apartment, Ochako was at his door.

“Soo, how did it go?”

Katsuki looked away. “...Sorry.” He couldn't hide his guilt. Why did love involve hurting others in the process? It sucked so much.

Katsuki expected tears, but Ochako smiled, letting a long breath out. “I see.”

“I'm glad. For both of you. Make sure he's happy, ok, Bakugou? I'll make you pay if you don't.”

Katsuki nodded.

“And you, please be happy, too, okay? You deserve it.” Ochako said. She had a genuine smile on her when she waved him goodbye.

When she was almost out of sight, she turned back. “By the way, if you ever collapse at work again, I'll have to force you to take a whole week off.”

Katsuki's eyes widened in realization. “Wha- Hey! Come back, Round Face!” When he made it down the stairs, she was gone already. Katsuki let out a stunned sigh and looked at the night sky. Next time he sees Ochako, he'll make sure she'll get the biggest and best thank you she's ever received in her life.

[tklpilled]

your sweet red rose

riddle likes to stick to a routine. it’s simpler that way, no surprises or unexpected turns. he knows exactly how things are supposed to be and he makes sure they stay that way. the other students are well aware of this; it's why they try to stay out of his way, although he thinks it's more out of fear of what he'll do to them, rather than actually caring about his schedule. he’s stuck to the same routine since freshman year, only tweaking it a bit once he became housewarden.

somehow, inexplicably, floyd leech has wormed his way into that strict routine.

it took some getting used to, of course. walking to his usual study corner in the library only to see the most annoying person he’s ever known wasn’t exactly pleasant, even less so when said annoying person began sneaking into his room, too. but part of what makes floyd so damn irritating is that riddle’s threats always seem to bounce off of him, and of course, he can’t do much more than threaten, considering floyd’s signature spell. so riddle is stuck with him. it isn’t consistent. floyd shows up whenever he wants. riddle has learned to stop caring so much, or else his blood pressure would constantly be skyrocketing.

riddle is in his bedroom, homework papers splayed across his bed as he works through them. floyd sits beside him, practically coiled around riddle’s body with his face nestled in the crook of his neck.

riddle doesn’t pay him any attention, now long used to his antics. at least, he doesn’t, up until there’s a warm and sharp feeling at his collarbone.

“no,” says riddle, poking floyd’s head with the tip of his pen. “you’re not biting me.”

floyd whines like a child, squeezing riddle tighter. “why not? it won’t hurt…”

“human bites can be very dangerous,” riddle says, still not looking up, “and i can’t imagine how that translates to someone like you, considering your teeth are sharper and you’re not fully human anyway. i need to be in top shape, you know.”

floyd grumbles, untangling himself from riddle’s body. “yeah, whatever.” he crawls down towards riddle’s legs, sitting on the bed next to them. he tilts his head, examining them curiously. “so weird…” he trails a finger down the back of riddle’s leg. “what's it like?”

“hm?”

“having legs.”

“...you have legs,” riddle points out, finally looking over at him.

floyd shrugs. “but they're different. they aren't as real as yours.” he runs a finger down the leg again. “so? tell me.”

goosebumps raise over riddle’s skin at the featherlight touch. “i’m really not sure what you're asking. they feel the same as yours, i’d assume. stop that.” the last part is accompanied with a tiny kick as floyd repeats the action for a third time.

“huh? goldfishie is ticklish?”

“what?” riddle stiffens up so subtly that it's barely noticeable. it wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone not watching him as closely as floyd is. “no. just stop it, i'm trying to focus.” he's trying to change the subject, but really, he knows it's useless. there's an unspoken rule when it comes to tickling, one that riddle despises; if an individual says they aren't ticklish, one must test it for themselves. plus, once something has caught floyd’s attention, there's no distracting him until he loses interest.

even so, he doesn't expect the feeling of knuckles pressing into both his sides at once. his body spasms, accidentally throwing his pen onto the floor and scattering his papers as he makes an embarrassingly loud noise. he whips his head around to glare at floyd, who simply grins back.

“d-don't do that!” riddle scolds, sitting up so he can begin to reorganise his papers. he rubs at his side to try and get rid of the lingering tingles.

“but i wanna tickle you.”

huh?! riddle freezes, feeling the familiar sensation of his face turning pink, but this time not induced by rage. he turns to look at floyd, the room growing suddenly warm. “you—! i don't want you to!”

floyd pouts. “why not?”

“b-because…!” riddle stumbles over his words. “i'm busy right now!”

“you're busy?” echoes floyd, curling back around riddle's body as he lays back down. “so i can tickle you when you're done?”

damn it. riddle squeezes the pen in his hand, pointedly looking at his paper and nowhere else. “...fine.” he regrets the words even before they leave his mouth, and floyd’s look of pure excitement does nothing to help.

as it turns out, riddle should have let floyd do what he wanted to begin with. because now he’s teasing him, just centimetres away from touching him, and it might just be worse than the tickling itself.

“you’re gettin’ all twitchy around here,” floyd says, mostly to himself, his hand hovering around riddle’s midsection. “this a bad spot?” he giggles, wiggling his fingers in the air as he approaches and stops just before touching riddle’s side. “azul’s real ticklish here too, you know. and jade—” he moves towards riddle’s neck, and the housewarden scrunches up his shoulders even though there’s nothing actually there, “right here. i wanna see how you compare to them.”

riddle doesn’t respond to any of it, though he can feel his face burning as he tries desperately to focus. it’s getting hard to remember the answers when there’s nothing but ticklish thoughts running through his mind.

it takes a few minutes longer to finish than it should.

riddle is tempted to keep going; keep writing down something, even just random scribbles, anything that will postpone his demise. at the same time, though, the anticipation is killing him. he thinks the tickling would be more bearable than this.

so he sets his pen down, sighs, and turns to look at floyd. he tries to ignore the burning under his skin.

“...i’m done.”

floyd’s reflexes are terrifyingly fast. riddle blinks and suddenly he’s face-up on his bed, floyd settled happily atop his hips. he giggles as he looks down.

“goldfishie’s cute when he blushes.”

riddle grumbles, covering his face with his hands. “just hurry and get this over with!”

he doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about his plea before floyd’s sharp nails are scribbling all over; his neck, his stomach, his sides, and riddle is suddenly laughing harder than he remembers ever laughing before. which, quite honestly, isn’t a high bar to rise above, given that he hasn’t had much to laugh about at all throughout his life—but still.

“stop, stohohop!” he cries, head thrown back as his hands find their way to floyd’s wrists. he’s always been incredibly ticklish, and floyd is one of the last people he ever wanted to find out—but now that it’s happened, he doesn’t hate it as much as he wants to.

and he does want to hate it. this is so…unbecoming of him; as a housewarden, as valedictorian, as a subject of the queen, but…as he laughs, he feels lighter than he has in years.

floyd’s eyes are practically sparkling. “i’ve never heard ya laugh so much before!” he exclaims, scratching at riddle’s lower ribs and making him cackle, so free, so undignified. it’s too out of place.

riddle hiccups between laughs, fits of giggles spilling out uncontrollably. “ihihi—i demand you stohop thihis!” he wants to cringe at how wobbly his voice sounds.

“eh?” floyd pouts, not letting up on his attack for even a moment. “but goldfishie promised i could tickle him…are you going back on that?” as if to reprimand, he tickles a little harder, veering on the edge of painful and way too ticklish. “that’s gotta go against one of your dumb rules.”

in a normal situation, this is the part where riddle would begin to scold; the queen’s rules, however foolish they may sound, are all important and to be respected. if he could, he would; but right now, he lacks the ability to speak more than a few words without crumbling to giggles once again.

“where's goldfishie most ticklish, huh?” floyd asks, skittering his fingers up and down riddle's sides. “‘cause it looks like you're just ticklish everywhere. what about here?” he reaches to pinch above riddle’s kneecaps, and riddle squeals and kicks and laughs and not much more, because there’s not much more he can do.

“i-i don’t knohohow!” riddle confesses, hands pressed over his face to hide and muffle himself. he’s been tickled before, but only briefly. he had no way of knowing how bad it would be.

floyd barks out a laugh at this, the sound intertwining with riddle’s for a second. “you don’t know? does that mean i get to tickle you ‘til i find it?” he flashes a sharp, dangerous grin, crawling under riddle’s arms.

“no, it does nohot!” yelps riddle, arms shooting down to protect himself. “st-stop it, i cahan’t take it! plehehease!”

he’s not normally the type to beg, but this entire situation is making him desperate and his nerves feel more alight with each touch. he tries to grab at floyd’s wrists, to push him away, hoping he’ll get bored and focus on literally anything else. being floyd’s victim isn’t anything he’s not used to, but this is new and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to handle it.

it’s not long before his grip slackens, lashes growing damp as his strength is all but sapped out of him.

it takes a while to realise that the tickling has stopped.

he blinks his eyes open, deep and heavy breaths making his chest rise and fall, interrupted by stray residual laughs. he looks up, mismatched eyes meeting his. floyd’s hands are off of him now, but he’s still situated atop riddle’s thighs, not letting him move.

floyd giggles. “you’re real fun to play with.”

riddle can almost feel the heat rushing to his already warm face. “d-don’t tell a soul about this,” he hisses, “not a single person.”

“hm? ‘course i won’t.” floyd pokes riddle’s stomach one last time, as if the ensuing squeak is the punctuation at the end of his sentence. “teasing goldfishie is my job.”

[frozenjokes]

the devil fosters kittens and hires exorbitantly expensive prostitution

ao3 link - this fic is rated mature on ao3. please mind the ao3 tags

Grian stood hunched over the door knob, grip tight enough to crack the handle, shaking, veins bulging. This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening. Left alone for months- Why now?

Mumbo’s fingers were curled over Grian’s shoulder, grabbing him, shaking him, he was speaking, yelling, but it was long before the words came into focus.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? Grian!”

Did he see it? Did Mumbo understand when Grian turned his head, looked up, did he know Grian’s fear? Had he ever seen Grian this way, petrified, moved to action by fear deeper than instinct, locked in horrible, hopeless infatuation. Grian could not name the feeling; to say romantic felt shallow, not enough, his obsession rooted further in Mumbo’s potential, his creativity, his prowess, the unrelenting love he had to give for the world in which they lived; did no one understand just how much was at stake here? Devastating could not scratch the surface of this loss, Grian could not let Mumbo be surrendered to his heritage, not when it was so clear that every person touched by Mumbo’s light was better for it.

Grian was better for it. Mumbo made him better.

“I’m afraid,” he said, and of course it was true. Because this was a battle Grian was not sure he could win. For all his willpower, he could not make Mumbo reject the call to blood. For all his longing to cover Mumbo’s eyes, take it all away, and bear it himself, this was not Grian’s burden to carry. Mumbo had to make the choice. No amount of setting him up for success could save him from the wrong path.

Grian did not want to kill him. He didn’t believe Mumbo was beyond saving, not yet, but he- he wouldn’t let Mumbo become a puppet, either. If anyone was going to snuff the light, there would be no unnecessary pain. Mumbo was a good man, and that legacy would be preserved.

“I- I know you don’t like the assassination business coming home, Grian,” Mumbo tried, and he was really trying, his own frustrations aside. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to come home to that, but it really wasn’t what it looked like. Cub wasn’t- I was trying to make him leave, I didn’t want him here either, and I promise I have no idea how he found our address, but he was- I don’t know, intoxicated? He was saying all sorts of crazy shit, he was really distressed, and I think I offended him and I couldn’t just send him away. I.. Maybe I should have done it anyway. I kind of panicked. He was genuinely hurt, I think so at least. He asked me to cut his hair and I- I panicked, like I said I just.. did it. I still don’t really know what he wanted, but he wasn’t here to hurt me or you. I really believe that.”

Grian didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe it for a second, not when Cub’s will was tied intrinsically to Scar’s, whether Cub was aware of it or not. Cub was a victim, but not anyone that could be saved, not anymore. The fact that he was here at all was- it was-

But Mumbo didn’t know. There was no way he could have known, and maybe the worst part was that Mumbo was only acting so unapologetically himself, Grian had nothing to blame him for. He took in a stranger. Cut his hair.

If this had not been an act, if a victim was still in there, then this was just another life Mumbo had touched, a life far more unfortunate than his own.

“I’m sorry,” Grian breathed, air coming scarce from his lungs, “I didn’t know. You did a good thing.”

Mumbo released a long breath, one Grian suspected he’d been holding in the lengthy pause between his own words and Grian’s answer. “Is he still there?”

Grian tensed, hand sweating on the handle, but after a few moments hesitation he pulled the door back regardless, just a crack. No one was there. He did not have to report; Mumbo saw it too. Grian closed the door.

“There’s something else I need to tell you. To explain this. I should have told you a lot sooner, but you were really hurt, and the amnesia was so bad for weeks, even with treatment and I-“

“Grian, what is it?” Mumbo’s brow was tight, and Grian pursed his lips in recognition.

“There was another man at the hospital, he came to pick Cub up, insisted he introduce himself to you, do you remember? It’s alright if you don’t.”

Mumbo thought for a moment, but seemed to recognize quickly there was no point. “I don’t really remember anything until a few weeks later.”

“I know,” Grian mumbled, if for no other reason but to acknowledge. Those were.. a really frightening first few days, better in the following weeks, but even now, Mumbo still struggled with his short term memory, and it’s likely he’d carry that for the rest of his life. It hurt, fuck it hurt, that Grian couldn’t prevent an injury so severe so young. It wasn’t fair, not fair to Mumbo, but it took all of Grian’s strength just to keep Mumbo from chasing this horrific assassin fixation. At least five concussions put a stop to that.. for now.

“Well, when I was waiting for you, the man who came for Cub was next to me, and apparently Cub had texted him, told him everything, and he was- I don’t even know if he was angry, but he must have a part in the hits Cub is assigned, because he kept threatening me, threatening you, and I was afraid to move, I thought he might just shoot me right there, I don’t know, I was so scared and he was so quiet, I couldn’t do anything. It’s been such a long time, I just assumed things had blown over, but.. I just freaked out, seeing Cub. I’m still- I’m really freaking out, Mumbo.”

Mumbo blinked a few times in rapid succession, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, fuck. Oh my god, Grian, you should have told me- I’m not mad, I- of course not-“ Mumbo stopped, pulling Grian away from the door and into a firm hug. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know. You did a good thing, Mumbo.”

“I’ll keep a better eye. I promise. I didn’t.. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I wish- I wanted this to be separate, but I know that’s.. stupid.”

A heavy sadness weighed on Grian’s chest, and he pushed his head into Mumbo’s shoulder, zeroing his focus on his friend’s still-beating heart. “You were upfront with me. I knew what I was getting into.” And he did. God, Mumbo had no idea the extent of it.

“I know,” Mumbo mumbled, resting his chin on Grian’s head. “Guess I just want it all.”

“We’ll get through it, Mumbo. We’ll make it through.” Grian hoped he managed to push an ounce of confidence through, though no facade could keep himself from wavering. Really, he wasn’t fooling anyone. Mumbo knew Grian’s misery as well as his own.

///

Cub thought the couch was a good addition to the cat room in the clownvent; sure, all the fostered kittens were just going to destroy it, but now Cub could experience his depression spiral in new and improved comfort, while Scar went about seeing how many four week old kittens he could stack on Cub’s back. Previous record was twelve, and Scar had set himself up for success by feeding the little bastards before putting them to bed on top of Cub, really coaxing them into sleep after a nice meal. So far, Scar had managed nine; there were fourteen current fosters at the clownvent, so the record was well within reach.

Scar crossed his legs, readjusting the kitten he was bottle feeding in his lap. It didn’t seem to mind at all, much more focused on the bottle it was affixed to and kneading into Scar’s pants.

“You know, the orphans at this age can be such a pain in the ass, especially when there’s this many, but when they’re all grown up, I find myself missing it, you know? I mean look at their itty bitty ears, Cub, they’re so damn cute I just can’t even stand it. Even when it’s the middle of the night and I have a bottle-baby shift and I’m ready to end it all. Good thing Skizz has a thing for clowns, or I think we’d all give up taking in the little ones who can’t eat yet. It gets to you! These little cretins have been a delight though, a delight. Are you sure you don’t want to feed the next one? It’s healing, it really is. You don’t even need two hands, they just sit here like angels!”

“No thanks,” Cub mumbled, turning back to lay face down into the pillow. He kinda wanted to roll over, but then Scar would lose progress on his stacking endeavors. And suddenly, like a divine reminder floating down from the heavens, Cub remembered he did not care.

Scar’s screech was immaculate, the kitten avalanche even better, all nine of them tumbling off him with startled mews and flailing paws. He felt the pinpricks of a set of claws through his shirt, and leaned back to grab it, pulling the startled kitten back into the cave of his body against the back couch cushions. It squirmed a little, alarmed, but by now these things had been manhandled to hell and back, and being scooped up by massive human paws was just a matter of life. It settled on Cub’s new cast, purring.

“Cuuuub! What have you done! They were sound asleep, you monster!”

“So sad..”

“You act like you have no control over yourself! Oohhhh you’re lucky I’ve got a kitten in my lap right now or I’d really be angry. This little monster is having the best meal of his life, and I will not take that away from him.”

“Capital punishment for whoever shat all over the wall. This is what they get.”

“Noooo! You didn’t even have to clean that up, you don’t get a say. I only sent you that picture because I have no idea how they managed it, I’m imagining kitten handstands and diarrhea explosions. They have done nothing wrong.”

“I have a fundamental problem with any shit from any creature being smeared on a perfectly good wall.”

“Well I have a fundamental problem with you!”

“Ditto.”

Scar paused, quiet enough that Cub could hear the kitten in his lap sucking the last dregs of milk from its bottle. “You don’t really mean that though, do you?”

Cub rolled his eyes. “With you being what you are, I never wouldn’t have guessed you to be sensitive.”

“Well I’m just saying, you having a fundamental problem with me would basically be the same as you having a fundamental problem with yourself, so.. checkmate!” Scar released the kitten he was feeding in favor for the next in line, and only noticed Cub craning his neck to Look at him belatedly. Scar’s whole expression dropped, a clear sign he’d gotten the memo, so Cub turned back around.

“Noooo! Cub! Noooooooo!” Suddenly there were a lot more kittens being piled on Cub’s side, crawling all over the place, which, to Scar’s credit, was mildly delightful. “Cub, you’ve always had this grand capacity to care about other people, and it’s a lovely look on you, really, but it makes you so, so sad!”

Cub felt Scar’s hand on his shoulder, and the touch was not unwelcome, but sometimes Cub wondered if this was only a result of their connection. Would he still crave Scar so wholly if he had never descended those stairs?

“It’s a curse, isn’t it. To be human. I wish I could take it away from you, but that’s life, isn’t it.. It’s been a rough couple months, I know, but my hope is that it’ll only be a few more before you’re raring to go again, right? I mean, retirement is an option as well, and maybe you’d thrive away from the action, but in my experience.. Well, you all don’t do so well. Try as I might, humans are just so temporary. I’d just hate to lose you like this. Maybe I’m speaking too soon- concussions are just nasty business! I’ve seen far too many never bounce back. You’ve got alright resistance to going stir crazy though, you might be alright.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me.” Cub couldn’t help but interrupt before he went on and on, he didn’t care, and he didn’t need Scar pretending he did either. “Why- I want to know what you are. What you’re doing here, where you come from. I want to go there.”

Scar was quiet, and Cub could feel the gears in his mind churning, wondering just how many times he could dance around this topic before he finally answered the damn questions.

“I don’t understand your fixation on specific, concrete, concepts. It’s a human impulse, I understand, but you have no need to hold on to it. You have blood to drink and skin to tear, your most important needs are met.”

“Where do you come from?”

“This has always been my home.”

“What are you!?”

Over Cub’s shoulder, he saw the shadow of a cocked head, “I’m Scar.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I’ve always been Scar. I don’t know what else to say. There are other scars, I know that to be true, but they are not me. A symptom of life.”

“If you actually cared, then why’d you let me break myself when you knew I’d escape. I hurt myself, when you could have just told me you wanted me to go to Mumbo’s fucking house and I would have done it. For you. Instead you fucked with my head. You made me go under the guise I had a choice.”

“Ah.” Scar considered Cub for a long moment, eyes boring into his back. Cub said nothing, only curling tighter around his kitten. “Well, I didn’t want you to gallivant off on my behalf. I wanted you to go on yours. It’s no fun being a puppet master, Cub, and you’re not a goon. I can be a guiding thought, but I don’t control where you go with it. Part of the appeal is watching what happens. So no, I did not know you would break your wrist to slip the chain. But I didn’t reinforce the locks on the door. And I did hope you’d act. I did not have to steer you very far, if it’s any reassurance. Just a few nights in your head, and your subconscious did the rest. You may have even gotten there alone with time, but I’m tired of waiting. Aren’t you? Besides, the worst of this break should heal in line with your concussions, you haven’t been set back.”

Scar did not hide himself, he never did, not even when Cub was waiting for him to deny what he’d done, poised to snap on his silver tongue and rip it clean off. Scar did not feel shame, or at the very least, Cub didn’t think so. He had less of a semblance of right and wrong and more of a feel for whether or not the thing he was planning on doing was going to piss all his friends off, which, had no impact on Scar’s decision making, only how he reacted to the clapback.

It still. Hurt. Somehow, after eight years of this, it still hurt.

“What’s your endgame. With Mumbo. How do you get your way.”

Scar readjusted, the chair creaking as he leaned back. As far as Scar was concerned, Cub’s outburst was over. The resistance was dealt with. Maybe he was right, too; it’s not like Cub was going to act against him, even now. Especially now.

Scar answered civilly.

“Mumbo is more put together than most. His anchor keeps a short leash, but that’s not necessarily the worst case. Mumbo is deprived. He takes what he wants despite outside influence, which is very good, but whatever charm is keeping him shackled is the biggest problem. That’s not an easy spell to upkeep mind you, and that Grian is weak. He’s tired. Doubt I’d even have to kill the body to break it, I can’t see how Grian has enough energy to maintain himself and control Mumbo as it is- but I don’t want to.”

Scar paused, waiting for input, validation. Cub gave him nothing.

“I want Mumbo to do it! Obviously! I want them both in the ring, and I want Mumbo to rip Grian’s head off his shoulders.” Scar sighed, long and forlorn, “Fuck, he’d have to really snap though, wouldn’t he. I mean, I could push anyone to the brink of madness and let them topple off the edge themselves, but I don’t know if I’m looking to house a berserker right now. Lately, I’ve really been enjoying the company of friends! But I’m not married to any happy ending. Personally, I’d fly to the sun and back to get my claws in that prude. We’ll see.”

“Maybe I want your claws in me instead.” Cub couldn’t help but lift his head, Scar’s eyes meeting his, piercing and smug.

“Can’t stand to hear me yapping so much about anyone else, hm? I see you.”

“You owe me this.”

Scar snorted a short laugh, lurching forward in the next movement, grabbing Cub’s cheek and chin and wrenching his neck painfully to one side. “Someone’s getting a little ahead of himself, isn’t he. I own you. Now I’m going to finish up with these cats, and we can get a move on.”

///

The water was beautiful and endless, dark and blue and infinitely peaceful. Sometimes Grian saw coral reefs, endless fish and color, sometimes he saw orcas or dolphins, sometimes he swam with penguins, blinded by schools of silver fish. He never felt scared here, even when his movements were sluggish, or he couldn’t quite see. He remembered being frustrated, absolutely, but never scared.

It was a little disconcerting when with each passing breath, Grian took in less air. It wasn’t quite noticeable at first, but there was a point where his lungs just weren’t quite full, where the oxygen wasn’t being stolen, just crushed away, little by little. Grian had never drowned before. He pondered that as he floated here, suspended in endless blue. He didn’t particularly want to. He still wasn’t afraid.

Not until he opened his mouth, and the water forced its way in.

Grian gagged, jerking violently into its force when he couldn’t go backward, he couldn’t escape, his eyes shot open, face to face with a looming, dark silhouette. Grian coughed and hacked as the force withdrew, he could have thrown up and wouldn’t have known, spittle and drool coating the hand that clamped over his mouth.

“Shh, shhh, you’re fine. You’re fine, you’re fine, Gri, take a moment won’t you? Breathe. Just breathe.”

Grian tried to scream, but the pressure on his chest was too much, the grip over his mouth too tight. He thrashed, and was not nearly strong enough. Too tired, too disoriented, too weak. This was it. Everything he’d worked for; over.

“Maybe this was my fault..” Scar mused, Grian recognized the thing above him now, his terror only multiplying, “I was just trying to see if I could spot you down there, y’know, I’ve never seen one of you inside your host until I cut you open, and, well, there’s only so many holes you could be hiding! Please calm down, you’re hurting my feelings.”

He hated the whimper that ripped through his sore throat, as well as the pain that followed. Scar’s shape was coming into clearer form as Grian’s eyes adjusted to the dark, strong, calm, and unworried. Mumbo was sleeping in the room across the hall. Had he heard? Grian wished he was here, he needed someone, anyone to take this away. Scar did not move. He never looked away, his attention wholly captured by Grian’s utter terror.

“Can I trust you to be quiet, now? I’d like to let you go, but I don’t want anyone walking in on us, right? You don’t need Mumbo to run to your aid, only for him to find an empty room. Gosh, he’d think you’re crazy!” Scar let him sit with that for a moment, then loosened his grip, a test, before letting Grian’s face go completely.

Grian wiped his mouth. Scar smiled, hard to see, but there, perfectly innocent. How was it he managed to look so kind?

“You are not welcome in this house. You- You stay away. There is nothing for you here.”

“You know, I just don’t agree!” Scar mused, his exclamation whispered. He rocked on Grian’s chest, but stopped when Grian wheezed, as if that had been unintentional. “Such a big bark for someone your size. Does it make you feel better? Like you have more control?”

“I know what you want. Taunt me all you like, but I won’t just roll over and let you take it.”

“I’d hope not!” Scar unfolded his legs, nearly kicking Grian in the face as he rolled off his chest, settling instead beside him and stretching in an exaggerated yawn. “But I think I could really surprise you, y’know. I don’t want you to be so scared, not when we’re just talking, hanging out. I’ve had a thousand Mumbos over my time, and I’ll have a thousand more. You, on the other hand.. Now if we’re talking about things I want..”

“I have terms. What are yours.”

Scar blinked, sitting up as if Grian had zapped him. “What? Seriously?”

“What are your terms.” Grian lurched up, throwing his weight over Scar to straddle his stomach, and pushing the rest of him back down.

“Oh my,” Scar wouldn’t stop blinking, like he wasn’t certain the man above him was real. “You know, this is not what I was talking about, but I’m not uninterested,” Scar hummed, his fingers beginning to trail Grian’s thighs until he slapped them away.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Scar shrank away, but Grian did not miss the small, astonished smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Since you’re so unwilling to tell me what you want, here’s what I’m after. You leave us alone. Forever. And you can have me any way you like. Any time you like, but never here.”

“My, my, you’re expensive, aren’t you? From where I’m sitting, it looks like you want me far too much to be making those high demands.”

Grian scoffed, and he might’ve spat in Scar’s face if he wasn’t so sure Scar would like it, “Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than imagining you waddling home with blue balls and your tail between your legs, rest assured, I’d see more stars than anyone else could punch out of me.”

Scar closed his eyes, relaxing against Grian’s bed with his chin ever so slightly inclined, “You’re not what I expected.”

“Can’t say I feel any differently. You can fidget all you want, I’ll only think you more desperate. Do you really get so little?”

“Not much like you.”

“Then let’s make this exchange final, why don’t we?”

Scar rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a month. No Scar, no anything.”

“A year.”

“Two months.”

“Six months is my final offer; suggest anything else, and I’ll leave you where you’re sat.”

“You drive a devilish bargain.”

“I’d choose my next words very carefully if I were you.”

“Go on, then. Just like this. But for six months I don’t expect this to be the only time I’ll be seeing you.”

Grian grabbed Scar’s face, fingers landing hard like a slap, thumb curling around his chin. Grian imagined it sinking inside, just as Scar had done to him, and ripping off his entire jaw. “Be good, and I’ll come find you.”

“I expect you’ll have me screaming.”

“With Mumbo in the next room over, you’d better not.”

“You sure he wouldn’t like to watch?”

“Shut up.” Grian wrenched Scar’s head to the side, his fantasies swirling visions of Scar limp, neck broken and bruised. “You won’t speak unless you’re prompted, and any noise you make will be choked out of you, understand?”

“Please.”

Grian withdrew his hand from Scar’s face only to rid himself of his own shirt, but he quite enjoyed the marks left by his nails. Here’s to many more.

[indulgentnine]

Velvette could not help but observe how Shi was, though she respected the actual good work he was doing. Something to pry at later especially if she was trying to sink her claws deeper into Gritt. Smoothly, she returns focus back down to the rockstar with that smile steady. “That so?” She says though it seemed she may have already known and put on that delightful poker face of hers only to come out when she needed to manipulate.

“Maybe we can arrange something to make you feel more comfortable, darling. I would rather not have my clients at risk as I’m aware he can be quite messy with my models,” she states honestly here, weaving in lies and truths both. Though she knew he might not come for Gritt, it was still a possibility, and she would rather not have her new investment ruined.

“You can bet your ass I’ll be coming to a concert. Show how some real partying is done, so just pass me over her number. I’ve been meaning to chat up with her a bit more anyway,” she says with genuine hype as it was rare for her to get out of the tower recently except on these short trips. It had been a while even more since she attended anything besides stuffy meetings and networking. She already knew of this one in particular especially since it was in Pride.

“You kidding? It’s so my scene,” she further adds, setting aside her now partially empty drink, not having finished it fully but enough to get a good drink in. “Better have the VIP seats warm for me, I’ll be bringing some good booze and might even share some backstage after your performance, love.” Already she’s tapping away at her phone, adjusting her schedule as she had planned on at least overseeing some of the upcoming concert, but attending it was a far better idea.

Shi's eyes glanced to her for a moment, only to return on watch less than a second later. No fun and games for him it seemed. But it kept Gritt comfortable and safe.

"Yeah, it was comfy. Shi I think didn't sleep a wink, but he doesn't relax until I'm home. We're both not on good terms with Valentino." Gritt said, taking one more sip before he finished his drink.

He'd enjoyed that, drink though, setting the cup down on the table, "I got a concert coming in a few days, I can give you Opal's number. She can probably get you a ticket if you want to go, all the main sellers are sold out. My way of saying thanks for the fashion fun, and the drinks."

The imp was right, there was a concert booked at one of the largest venues in Pride. G-Force was a headliner, and tickets had sold fast. Unless Gritt knew you? You weren't getting in now. "Its fine if its not your kind of scene though, my music isn't for everybody. Think thats the amazing thing about music to be honest, theres so many different types because theres so many different people in the world. Different ones speak to different people."

[24-guy]

I love queer cinema.

[bunnyboy-juice]

my lovely mutuals and followers and circle of dykes. i am BEGGING YOU to stop reblogging that "NSAIDS while on spiro damages your liver" post. there have been MANY additions in the comments expanding on the risk factors of mixing these medications (and i HIGHLY recommend looking in the comments. @/boringkate assesses the risk beautifully in there, and many others are in the reblogs expanding on the interactions and risks as well). all those aside - the major risk of mixing NSAIDs and any diuretic (not limited to, but including ibuprofen snd spiro) is RENAL (KIDNEY) PROBLEMS!!! NOT LIVER!!! and the most frequent version ive seen to that post does Not do a good enough job clarifying that "renal function" is related to your kidneys, not your liver. there are some effects that will happen on the liver eventually of course, but the premise of the interactions is wrong in and of itself and this kind of misinformation is kind of dangerous to just take at face value/without curiousity

i encourage you to read the actual drugs.com summary on the interactions between NSAIDs and spiro that keeps being referenced in that post (more on this under the cut). it is a moderate interaction manageable with increased hydration (your kidneys love water!) and, if you're taking spiro under the supervision of a doctor, monitoring of your renal function via blood tests. and i understand feeling betrayed learning there are potential interactions between all NSAIDs and diuretics because these risks are often not clearly communicated by doctors themselves, but in the pharmacy and usually in that packet that comes with your meds that most people are more likely to toss than read - but please do not make sudden rapid changes to your healthcare plans or work yourself into a panic on ever taking a pain med ever again based on that post and PLEASE fact check things you read on the internet before spreading it as Health Facts, even if its just looking up what different words mean to understand more of what you're reading. i also really do encourage y'all to read on how kidneys work and this is a really nice overview

the risk of kidney problems mostly occurs if you are (1) taking regular doses of both medications (2) NOT drinking enough fluids (3) not communicating with your doctor about all the medications you are taking. if you are taking spiro as a treatment provided by a doctor and are worried about kidney problems after that post, by all means talk to them and ask about getting a blood test to check your kidneys function/health!! im not discouraging this!! your doctor likely isnt bringing this up in the first place though because (in my cursory glance over the sources) many of these studies cited even in the drugs.com article "specific" to ibuprofen and spiro are about a variety of diuretics interactions with a variety of NSAIDs. the ones that arent paywalled are also either acute case studies about elderly patients on diuretics (so who Already have kidney problems/elimination issues) who developed heart issues after diuretics treatement or observational studies specifically on men in good health ages 20-38 to specifically look at drug interactions in the body. in the more acute cases, with proper management/alternative medications almost every single case was reversible and resolvable. many of these medications in these papers also are ones I have not heard of or taken, so i did look up every single drug i didnt recognize by name references to confirm my initial assumption that the reason this is labeled a Moderate instead of low risk interaction is because All NSAIDS and diuretics have potential interactions (confirmed also that the major effect is that NSAIDS have the potential to reduce the efficacy of diuretics, which leads to fluid and salt retention, which can lead to other issues - namely heart issues in the most extreme cases) with variable effects based on specific combination of the drugs used, the patients specific health, and the dosage (not just the size of dose, but the timing as well).

as an aside: if you habitually are taking frequent (read: daily/scheduled, not a one off for a headache or other body pains) doses of OTC NSAIDs, Regardless of taking diuretics, you NEED to tell your doctor because even though its available over the counter (at least in the US) it is still a major medication in your life/relevant to your physiochemistry!! OTC medications are often overlooked by doctors and people alike because they are seen as ubiquitous and to many doctors OTC pain meds, like NSAIDS, are assumed be used in acute pain situations where the dosage is minimal/infrequent enough it will likely have little to no long term effect with other medications.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

"Jason was the happy robin" this, "jason was the angry robin" that. Let's all be fully honest here Jason was the lonely robin

[ricky-mortis]

Curtwen Week Day 6: Happy Ending

[somegrumpynerd]

Horror's nightmare

Horror doesn't think much on his past anymore, but his nightmares often resurface the guilt he's buried about the idea that he could have prevented it all somehow, even if it came at the cost of his own life.

Thankfully, Nightmare is here to make him a hot drink to calm his nerves and promise him a visit to his brother when the sun is up, because Papyrus will always be very glad to see his brother alive and visiting (and as sleepy as ever).

[formerprincewille]

Something that really sets Wille and Simon apart from other queer ships is that when we say their love language is physical touch, IT REALLY IS PHYSICAL TOUCH. And I’m not speaking of just sex. Over the course of the show, the amount of touching between them is astronomical. And that’s really something rarely seen in queer media. There may be moments here or there, but often times there’s a lack of physical contact unless it’s for “the plot”. Wille and Simon feel like a real couple in the way they’re always physically reaching out for each other.

[callipraxia]

Note: haven’t tasted any of these yet (though I did say “the heck with good sense” and order some samples; check back in about a week for proper reviews) and am just musing about what some of the components are and how they link to GF characters, at least in my mind. That established, here are Some Preliminary Notes, Just Based On General Knowledge Of Tea:

Mabel: I have no idea what a mix of spearmint, strawberry, and watermelon would taste like (I really like spearmint, but dislike strawberry and am indifferent to watermelon), but somehow, yep, I still feel comfortable saying this one just sounds right.

The Author: If that Assam is a good Assam, then I want this. I will note that I have drunk roasted mate before, but don’t know what it tastes like exactly; Stash used to have this salted caramel mate/black tea mix that was my daily favorite for my lidded work mug, back when we worked in an office. It’s also caffeinated, though I’m not sure that matters as much when it is blended with a black tea and particularly with Assam. Strong stuff, usually, Assam; I drink it a lot in the springtime because it’s one of the few substances that really helps with my awful spring allergies.

Dipper: I…don’t know that I’ve had passionfruit tea before, actually. The ‘passion’ bit certainly fits Dipper’s personality, anyway. Lemongrass is very nice. Sour apple is less my style, I like apples that are very firm and very sweet, but this also suits Dipper’s personality just on name alone, bless him.

Stan: On one hand, Lapsang Souchong is the famous “smoked” tea, and people who dislike it have been known to describe it as like walking into a casino with a mouth full of water. Personally, as someone who likes LS, I don’t think it’s much like that at all - but then, I grew up eating a lot of smoked meat (my father liked mixing in hickory with the charcoal for the fire in his grill), I still like a bite of smoked cheese, and my infernal sinus sensitivity has it where I can immediately differentiate wood smoke versus cigarette smoke (and occasionally, between brands of cigarette - I curse the day my grandmother switched from Salem Lights to Marlboros) vs cigar smoke. I set foot in the lobby of a casino precisely once in my life, then had to flee because of the overwhelming stink of cigarette smoke was making me sick even from a room’s width away….

Oh, wait, we weren’t here for my personal anecdotes and oddly specific knowledge bases, were we? I get sentimental sometimes, which ironically fits Stan as well as an association with a casino does, if that’s how you experience Lapsang. There are a lot of different experiences you can have with Lapsang, from smooth to very ‘prickly’ feeling, sour or sweet, the base can taste woody (which isn’t a bad thing in tea) or overpoweringly naturally fruity, in a dark forest fruits kind of way…complicated stuff, so also appropriate for Stan in that way. Caramel is a lovely sweet flavor, close enough to toffee that Lapsang and caramel could bring to mind both bacon and toffee, two of Stan’s favorite food items. It occurs to me that peanut isn’t really a note I’ve seen in tea…possibly adding a bit of some other nut might give a little nod in that direction, along with moving the caramel more toward toffee? I’d love to tinker with blending myself to see what I could end up with. Which I may actually be able to do - this looks like Adagio Teas, who at least used to have the ‘make your own blend’ option. I never tried it myself - or, in fact, any Adagio teas - but wow, this brings back memories, I can’t even recall when I last thought of Adagio, and had in fact had the vague impression that they weren’t open anymore, though good for them if they are.

I don’t know what a mambo is outside of a song about “mambo Italiano” that everybody sang like three lines of all the time when I was in elementary school (despite none of us speaking a word of Italian, unless you count ‘macaroni,’ and probably none of us even being able to find Italy on a map), but I suspect it’s here to prevent us from ending up with too darkly elegant of a cup - the base blend might hit multiple things Stan likes, but comes off a little more dark academia than any flavor of chaotic or animated. “Mambo” also may be Spanish, which would be a nice nod to Stan’s adventures in central and South America. Other ways one might accomplish that could be a touch of mate, or, if one really must, some coffee-flavor.

Ford: If I were to assign Ford a Lapsang souchong, it would be one of those raw-dark-fruits one I mentioned in Stan’s bit, ones where the smoke plays only a minor role. I think Ford would really like to be something like, say, Smoky Earl Grey from Fortnum’s, but I spent the past two years of my life writing a monograph on the subject of how this is a veneer, not his actual personality - there aren’t really any Fortnum’s people in Gravity Falls except perhaps Pacifica, and I think of her as more of one of those very…frilly-feeling French teas. But we’re discussing Ford…really, really good pu’erh can give you a sort of brain-sparkly feeling I can see working for Ford. Inadequate memory of what hazelberry tastes like to comment on that. Assam -

Assam, really, is plenty complicated on its own. Indian teas are especially characterized by whether they are first flush (the first round of leaves harvested) or second flush (the ones that grow in later). A nice Assam can have a lovely honey note, though the word most people use for Assams is “malty.” I don’t know what malt tastes like, though, so I don’t know about that. I can say that I can usually tell if I’m going to love or hate a given Assam at practically first sip, which, along with how Lapsang is very much a matter of taste, does reflect on how divisive the character is said to be in corners of the Internet that aren’t mine.

Stan W/O Lapsang: can’t see the description in the image, can’t comment on that one.

Bill Cipher: I can’t really imagine these tastes together, but I automatically want to revolt at lavender being included - I like lavender, you see. If I was going to make a Bill tea myself, I’d get a really lousy pu’erh - I vividly remember one I had one time that tasted like fish fried in over-used grease and which made me sick to my stomach if I drank too much of it even if I somehow drowned out the fish with enough of Harney’s Vanilla Black - and then throw all the tropical fruits in it, and then throw a red berry mix into it (I don’t like red berry blends, unless you count teas with cranberry flavor in, which your standard Four Red Fruits type of tea doesn’t usually have). This would probably taste bizarre, foul, and utterly confused, but it would be in character. Though really, if I was going to sum up Bill as a liquid, I’d probably go with a cocktail of antifreeze and bleach.

The Mystery Shack: I can’t remember off the top of my head if Pu’erh Dante is flavored or not, or if there’s anything extra to account for the ‘moonlight’ aspect of Earl Grey Moonlight, so I really can’t say much here, except that pu’erh and key lime could capture something of the sense of the place - bright and summery colliding with all this tangled mess of messy adult lives just beneath the surface. Can’t really imagine what that would actually taste like, though.

Mabel (Alt W/O Strawberry): “berry blast” is too vague for me to say anything without knowing what the berries in question are. I probably wouldn’t like it (see comments on Four Red Fruits blends), but it does match the idea of Mabel.

Ford W/O Lapsang: Fun fact: the tea typically called gunpowder green isn’t actually smoky at all. It’s named that because of the unique shape of its preparation, which make the leaves into little pellets that apparently resemble stuff you put into really old-fashioned guns. The best gunpowder I ever had tasted strongly of honey; the worst was a bitter mess that I couldn’t dump enough honey into to salvage it. Which is also kinda Ford-appropriate, in a way….

This tea’s primary interest lies in how it’s a blend of three out of the four/five most common tea ‘categories’ - no oolong or white tea, but green tea, black tea, and pu’erh? That’s an interesting combination. I’ve seen green and black blends before (Murchie’s of Canada particularly has a thing about mixing a little green tea into their black teas; results vary for me), though since you don’t make black and green tea at the same temperature, I must admit the idea has always kind of confused me. Never seen one with pu’erh in it before, though, so points for originality if nothing else.

@sovonight has Gravity Falls inspired tea!

Complete with their beautiful artwork on the packaging.

Get the tea here!