#think you are unstable so it’s just like I think the au needs to be a little fucked but I digress

[the-deranged-lunatic-askblog]

He is home, yes, but he got what he deserves

[dykedvonte]

What's your opinion on time travel mouthwashing au? If you have any

-💀

I think they are fascinating but a little bland for my taste. I think think the internal struggles of whoever got sent back are interesting as they adjust to being back before anything happened. It’s like seeing ghosts for them but it’s also a bit to easy in my mind.

I love me a what if scenario but a lot of what intrigues me about mouthwashing and fan works is how you process things that you can’t/didn’t stop from happening. A lot of it is the unknown and ambiguous nature of only following one set of eyes. Its real and it makes me wonder how many times my own perception clouded what was actually happening.

The game is about hindsight and how it’s such a useless thing even if you need it to look forward. The idea of one character being able to define everyone, even Jimothan, by their worst moments kinda gets rid of a lot of the themes in my mind and why a situation like this could even happen.

I won’t hate on a story, a lot of the ones I’ve seen are well written and fun, intriguing. But it’s just not an au I’m like 100% into, especially since I believe the characters still wouldn’t be as active as people depicted seeing that they’d think it was a crazy nightmare/terror or a like death dream.

[solxamber]

Sync or Sink || Vil Schoenheit

You, an overworked S-Class esper with the survival instincts of a damp sock, catch the eye of SSS-Class guide Vil Schoenheit. He decides you’re his personal fixer-upper project. Shockingly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

The world was already hanging on by a thread — economic collapse, melting ice caps, influencers starting cults via TikTok. It was a mess. You’d think that would be enough. You’d hope that would be enough. But no. Some ancient cosmic being — probably named something dramatic like Thar’zul the Chronovore — looked down at Earth and said, “You know what this needs? Fun.”

And by fun, it meant Gates.

Gates are like if cursed portals, radioactive sinkholes, and a haunted Etsy store had a baby. They pop up anywhere and everywhere: in libraries, parking garages, yoga studios, even in the middle of someone’s wedding ceremony. (“Do you take this—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”)

These glowing tears in the fabric of reality are basically open invitations to every monster, demon, and unholy abomination in the neighborhood. And if left unchecked, they break, releasing those nightmares into your already-taxed existence like a hellish game of whack-a-mole.

But don't worry! Humanity, against all odds, did not die out immediately.

Because the universe, in its infinite chaos, also gave rise to Espers. Special little guys. Think emotional time bombs with telekinetic temper tantrums and the ability to level buildings if they stub their toe too hard. Espers are the only ones who can suppress Gates and fight back the monsters. They're strong, fast, powerful—and also dangerously dramatic.

Like, “cries during dog food commercials” dramatic. “Blew up a vending machine because it ate their dollar” dramatic. If they don’t have someone helping them regulate their powers (and by extension, their feelings), they’re a walking nuclear disaster waiting to happen.

Which brings us to Guides.

Guides are born with the power to soothe, ground, and stabilize Espers before they turn into emotional IEDs. They go through rigorous training. They meditate. They are the human equivalent of “have you tried deep breathing?”—except instead of calming down toddlers, they’re keeping an Esper from melting the freeway with their grief-powered fireballs.

This entire survival system hinges on compatibility between Espers and Guides. Sounds romantic, right? It’s not. It’s mostly screaming, paperwork, and sometimes unspoken sexual tension.

So, to recap:

Gates = Bad.

Espers = Powerful but emotionally unstable.

Guides = The only thing standing between civilization and utter monster-induced ruin.

Together, Espers and Guides form the first — and only — line of defense between humanity and total monster-induced annihilation.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, this system hinges entirely on two people getting along.

Which, as anyone who's ever been in a group project can tell you, is a complete joke.

The Gate had been rough. You were bleeding, caked in monster goop, and running on exactly one granola bar, four energy drinks, and pure spite. Monsters just kept coming—one after another like it was a clearance sale on eldritch horror—and now your knees were shaking, your head was pounding, and you were 99% sure you were hallucinating the talking goat that told you to “go into the light.”

You stumbled out of the Gate zone, vision blurry. There were Guides waiting beyond the perimeter, crisp in their uniforms, radiant with that “I got 8 hours of sleep and drink water” glow. Unfortunately, most of them had already been snagged by the other Espers, who were quicker, cleaner, and not currently dripping ectoplasm from their sleeve.

You blinked. The only one left was… well, no. That couldn’t be right.

Standing a few feet away, untouched and oddly pristine, was a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine shoot titled "War-Torn But Make It Couture."

Tall, composed, and stunning in a way that made your brain short-circuit, he was clearly someone Important™. The other S-Ranks had actively avoided him, which should’ve been a clue. But your frontal lobe was melting. You didn’t have the bandwidth to care.

You wobbled forward like a dying Roomba, grabbed a handful of his sleek uniform, and mumbled, “Guide. That’s you, right?”

And then you slumped forward and face-planted directly onto his collarbone.

There was a pause.

“…Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, incredulously.

You groaned. “Yeah. You’re a Guide. You’ve got the badge.”

Another pause. Longer, this time.

He sounded… offended. And faintly intrigued.

“…You don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” you mumbled into his neck.

You didn’t see the expression on his face, but if your ears weren’t lying, he audibly gasped. Like someone had just told him dry shampoo was canceled. Like the very idea of not being recognized was a personal attack.

But instead of pushing you off, he slowly brought a hand up, fingers grazing your temple. You felt a wave of warmth radiate through your skull like a breath of fresh air had crawled into your ribcage.

It was… good. Too good.

A jolt of relief punched through your nervous system. Your heart rate settled. The Gate static stopped screaming in your ears. Your whole body sagged, weightless and calm, and you barely had time to mutter “holy shit you’re good at this” before your knees gave out completely.

You passed out in his arms.

And Vil Schoenheit—SSS-Rank Guide, national treasure, and walking perfection—stood there holding your limp, grime-covered, unconscious form with a complicated look on his face.

You came back to consciousness the way a phone boots up after being thrown into a wall. Slow, glitchy, and confused.

Something was warm under you. Something was very firm. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the strange sensation of not being in pain anymore. The Gate headache was gone. Your soul no longer felt like it had been sandpapered. You were, inexplicably, comfortable.

That’s when you realized: you were still wrapped around the fancy Guide like a human backpack.

Face: mashed against his shoulder. Legs: around his waist. Arms: locked in a desperate hug like a koala going through a rough breakup. And he… was just sitting there. On a recovery bench. Completely calm. Holding you like this was something that happened to him all the time.

“Oh,” you mumbled, sleep-dazed. “My bad.”

He tilted his head, glossy hair catching the light like it had a sponsorship deal with a shampoo brand. “Are you done?” he asked, voice sharp. “Or shall I assume you’ve permanently relocated to my clavicle?”

You peeled yourself off him with all the grace of wet laundry sliding off a countertop. “Thanks for, uh, not letting me die,” you offered, scratching your head.

He stared at you for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”

You blinked. “…A Guide?”

He inhaled. Visibly. Offended on a spiritual level. The look on his face could’ve soured milk. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Are you actively trying to offend me?”

“What? You’ve got the badge! That’s all I need, right?”

Vil Schoenheit—as he introduced himself—flicked you on the forehead. It was somehow both dismissive and full of judgment. “Recover. Properly.” he snapped, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. “You’re lucky I’m magnanimous.”

He swept out of the room like a disgruntled ballerina.

You blinked after him, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell was that about?”

A nurse walked in and immediately gasped like she'd just witnessed a royal birth. “Oh my Seven—was that Vil?!”

“Vil… who?” you asked, trying not to sound like an idiot.

She turned to you so fast her clipboard flew off the counter. “Vil Schoenheit. SSS Guide. He’s a legend. Do you have any idea how many Espers have tried to bond with him and been turned away in tears?”

You stared at the door where he’d just vanished. “No? He just kinda… guided me.”

The nurse screeched. “YOU JUST KINDA GOT GUIDED—are you INSANE? That man once made a Grade-SS Esper cry because they wore Crocs to an informal debriefing!”

You slowly sat back against the pillow, eyes wide.

“…I told him ‘oops sorry lol.’”

You were still internally combusting about the whole “Oops sorry lol” situation when you finally worked up the nerve to go to Vil’s office. Not to bond—you weren’t delusional—but at the very least, to apologize. Maybe offer him a thank-you fruit basket. Or one of those luxury hair masks. Something.

Espers were better paid than Guides. That wasn’t a flex—it was just how the system worked. You’d always thought it was kind of unfair, but now, standing outside his office, you suddenly felt even worse. Because if Vil was being underpaid to deal with Espers, plural, like you? He deserved hazard pay.

You raised a shaky fist and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

The door opened, and you were hit with the distinct scent of wealth, vintage cologne, and spiritual intimidation. The office looked like it belonged in a magazine titled Power & Passive Aggression: Interiors for the Elite. It had velvet chairs. A chandelier. And on the floor, sobbing, was an SS-ranked Esper.

“Please,” she was whispering, clutching Vil’s coat like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “Please, just once. I know I’m not SSS, but my compatibility score is so close—”

“I don’t guide based on some arbitrary number,” Vil said coolly, extracting himself with the same disdain you'd use to avoid stepping in gum. “I guide based on worth.”

You were already edging away when his eyes snapped up—and softened.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked, voice shifting so drastically in tone it gave you whiplash.

“I—uh. I just wanted to apologize. For, you know. The slumping. And the drool. And the calling you ‘a Guide’ like you’re not the Guide.” You laughed nervously. “Also. Uh. I can repay you?”

He stared at you like you’d offered to give him pocket lint.

Then, without even glancing at the SS Esper still on the floor, he waved a perfectly manicured hand and said, “Leave.”

She looked up, stunned. “W-what?”

“I said leave.” His voice sharpened like glass under velvet. “Now.”

You watched her scramble out in silence. Then Vil turned to you, posture relaxing like you were an entirely different species of Esper.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the velvet chair.

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your legs moved like they belonged to someone else.

“I didn’t come here to be guided,” you said quickly. “I just thought I’d offer some compensation since you took care of me back at the Gate, and—”

“Hush.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t guide you for compensation,” Vil said, moving closer, “and I certainly don’t require repayment.”

“But I—”

“Do not interrupt me,” he said smoothly, placing his hand just under your jaw and tilting your head with two fingers. “Close your eyes.”

You did.

And just like before, the storm in your chest went still.

He hadn’t even made full contact yet, and already your frayed nerves calmed, your aching muscles relaxed, and that hollow echo left by the Gate quieted.

You opened your mouth to speak again—because, honestly, who wouldn’t panic under that much raw focus—but his voice cut in before a single syllable escaped:

“Did I say you could talk?”

You shut your mouth.

Vil smiled. Like he’d just won something important, and wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.

“Good. You learn quickly.”

You staggered out of the Gate like a soldier crawling back from the front lines of a war no one believed in. Your clothes were singed, your limbs were shaking, your skin was buzzing with leftover energy that had nowhere to go, and your brain was running the Windows 95 shutdown noise on loop. You had fought monsters for the past hour with all the grace of a dying blender.

Everything hurt. Your body felt like it had been used as a battering ram. Your soul felt like it had been microwaved.

So when you saw the sweet, merciful glow of a Guide badge ahead in the crowd, your instincts took over. You staggered forward like a half-dead Roomba on its last cycle, locked onto the nearest beacon of safety.

The Guide in question had orange hair and the smug look of someone who thought they were God’s gift to humanity despite the fact they were clearly holding a vape pen and a clipboard.

You didn’t care.

You lurched toward him, arms outstretched like a cryptid emerging from the woods.

“BRO NO,” he yelped. “DUDE, I’M NOT CERTIFIED FOR THIS LEVEL OF TRAUMA—DON’T PUKE ON ME—”

But before your forehead could connect with his very punchable shoulder, a blur of movement swept in.

You were yanked back by the collar like an untrained dog trying to bolt into traffic.

“Absolutely not,” a cool, smooth voice said with the unmistakable tone of expensive disdain. “You are not grounding with him.”

You turned sluggishly to your new captor and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Vil. Hair perfect despite the apocalyptic weather conditions of a gate zone. Wearing a coat that probably cost more than your entire existence and looking at you like you were a particularly unfortunate stain on said coat.

You blinked at him. “Am I in trouble?” you mumbled.

Vil arched a brow. “You’re seconds away from slumping onto a Guide who once tried to ground an Esper by playing lo-fi beats through his AirPods. Yes, you’re in trouble.”

You were too tired to be offended.

He sighed, took your hand, and suddenly, bliss.

Like every nerve in your body was dunked in lavender oil and told to shut up. Your breathing evened out. Your vision cleared. Your bones climbed back into their sockets like, “Our bad, we’ll behave now.”

You let him guide you to a nearby bench, too dazed to do anything but follow the magical angel who had just saved you from the worst decision of your life.

Vil sat gracefully. You slumped next to him like a dying cactus in a thunderstorm.

“Post-gate recovery is non-negotiable,” he said, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly expire in public.

You closed your eyes and focused on the cool, steady rhythm of his guidance, and then—

A crinkle.

You opened one eye to see him pull a juice box from his bag. With a bendy straw.

He inserted the straw and handed it to you like you were a toddler who’d just had a very bad day at daycare.

You stared at the juice. Then at him. “Is this for me?”

“No,” he said dryly. “It’s for the other S-class Esper currently drooling on my coat.”

You blinked, deeply touched. You took a sip.

It was… heavenly.

You made a soft noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

And then—your eyes stung.

“No,” Vil said immediately, without looking at you. “Whatever emotional reaction you’re about to have—don’t.”

You sniffled. “But you brought me juice. Nobody’s brought me juice since I got classified. Everyone just shoves me into Gates and tells me not to die.”

He flicked your forehead. “If you die, I have to find another Esper whose personality doesn’t give me hives. That sounds exhausting.”

“Are you… saying you like me?”

“I’m saying your emotional resilience is marginally less pathetic than average,” he said, adjusting your posture so your head leaned more comfortably on his shoulder. “And I don’t hate your voice.”

You sipped your juice box, trembling like a Victorian child given a warm meal for the first time.

No one had treated you like this since you joined the system. You’d been weaponized, categorized, and told to sit still and kill things on command. You were a tool. A number. A sharp object.

But Vil wasn’t afraid of your sharp edges. He looked you in the eye and said, “That’s a guide badge you’re drooling on, potato. Not a chew toy.”

And then gave you juice.

You sniffled again.

“If you sob, I will end you,” he muttered, but his hand never let go of yours.

And you knew, deep in your wrecked little Esper heart, that you would fight a thousand more gates just to be guided by him again.

Even if he bullied you the entire time.

So apparently, post-gate recovery hadn’t just been juice boxes and emotionally confusing hand-holding.

No. It turned out you had to take something called a Routine Compatibility Check for “guidance efficiency optimization.”

You hadn’t known what any of that meant, but someone had shoved a clipboard at you and told you to “go sit in the glow room and don’t touch anything,” so there you were. Sitting in a sterile white room that smelled like hand sanitizer and despair. Waiting to meet your newly assigned “guidance match.”

A door creaked open.

You turned around—and in walked a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen direct sunlight since the invention of the lightbulb. His shoulders were hunched, hoodie too big, blue glowing hair all mussed like he’d lost a fight with a hairdryer. He had eyebags for days and the posture of a raccoon caught mid-fridge-raid.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

He looked at you harder—and visibly recoiled like you’d just bit him.

“…Uhhh,” he said, voice high and trembling. “You’re the S-class?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“Oh no.”

This man looked like he was seconds from writing “HELP” on the window with a dry erase marker. His hand was already twitching toward the panic button. He was mentally Googling “what to do when assigned a battle demon.”

You opened your mouth to say something reassuring—like, “Hey, I only explode on some guides,” or “I’ve never actually flattened a building during a meltdown”—

—but the door slammed open behind you.

“Absolutely not.”

You turned around.

Vil Schoenheit stood in the doorway like the wrath of God dressed in Gucci. Impeccable coat. Sunglasses indoors. Holding a coffee cup that you knew wasn’t from the office vending machine.

He eyed the situation—your tentative shuffle toward your new guide, the way the poor guy was gripping his ID badge like a rosary—and his lip curled like someone had just handed him expired tofu.

“I’m taking them,” Vil said flatly to the Guidance Office rep standing nearby. “This is non-negotiable.”

The rep blinked. “But, Mr. Schoenheit, the match—”

“—was laughable. They’re mine.”

Your poor assigned guide looked so relieved it was almost insulting.

“Thank the stars,” he mumbled, already gathering his things like you were a bomb that’d just been safely disarmed. “No offense, but I really don’t do well with… uh… physical contact or eye contact or conflict or—”

You were too stunned to reply as Vil grabbed you by the wrist, effortlessly pivoted on his heel, and strode out of the room with you in tow like a high fashion tornado.

You stumbled after him. “Okay, hi, hello? What was that?”

“I saw your assignment,” Vil said coolly. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let that continue.”

“But—I thought you weren’t accepting new matches?”

“I’m not.”

You blinked. “So…?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, slow and deliberate, like you weren’t quite connecting the dots fast enough.

“I didn’t consider you ‘new'.”

You shut your mouth because your brain was full of static. Something about the way he said that made your knees consider filing for divorce from the rest of your body.

He guided you all the way to the elevator, in silence, while you tried to process what had just happened.

You, apparently, had been claimed.

And worst of all?

You thought you might have liked it.

It all started with a noble quest. A simple dream.

You just wanted a hoodie.

Not a fancy one. Not a designer one. Not a limited edition “inspired by the blood of fashion victims” collection. No, no. You wanted one of those oversized, marshmallow-soft hoodies that whispered “lay down and give up, my liege” every time you put it on. The kind of hoodie that could absorb emotional damage.

So there you were. Financially stable (thanks, murder gates), emotionally unstable (thanks, murder gates), and elbows-deep in a display bin labeled “3 for 2: Emotional Support Wear”, when fate struck.

Or rather, sashayed past in four-inch heels and an aura of contempt.

Vil.

You froze. He looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. Every strand of hair in place. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Cheekbones that could slice open a space-time rift. And where was he going?

Straight into a boutique so fancy it looked like it would ask you for a résumé just to step inside.

Naturally, you turned the other way. This was not your world. You were not dressed for it. You were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a questionable graphic of a goose wielding a knife. You were simply a humble raccoon-person in search of softness.

But then—

“You.”

Oh no. Oh god. Oh no god.

You turned around slowly, hoodie clutched to your chest like a shield. Vil stood there with shopping bags and the expression of someone who’d just discovered a stray in his favorite restaurant.

“Come. I need hands.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I left mine at home. Can’t help you.”

He blinked. Then, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t hear nonsense, he handed you his bags and turned around, fully expecting you to follow.

And you did. Because unfortunately, curiosity was stronger than shame.

The next hour? Was… actually kind of amazing.

Vil didn’t shop. He conquered. He moved through stores like a well-dressed storm, flinging judgment at poor fabric choices and muttering dark things about asymmetrical hemlines. Store staff parted for him like he was royalty. Other customers wilted under the weight of his gaze.

You, meanwhile, trailed after him like a high-end goblin, carrying his many, many bags, dressed like a sleep-deprived college student who had just lost a fight with a laundry machine.

It was great.

You watched him try on outfits with the kind of reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. He was graceful. Efficient. Disgustingly photogenic. You felt like you were witnessing a documentary: “The Endangered Fashion Icon in His Natural Habitat.”

And then, miraculously, he let you live.

He suggested a coffee break and even let you pay—probably out of pity. You made a mental note to deduct it as a business expense under “accidental deity encounter.”

Sitting across from him, sipping overpriced lattes, you made a joke. Something dumb. Something about a pair of jeans you'd seen that looked like they'd been personally attacked by a cheese grater.

Vil laughed.

You were not prepared.

It was real. Warm. Shockingly cute. Like, “I’ve been guiding murder monsters all week and now suddenly I believe in joy again” kind of cute.

You stared. He looked at you. You looked away, sipping your drink very intently, trying not to say “please laugh again, it heals my soul.”

You didn't say it out loud.

But you thought it really hard.

You walked into Vil's office like a responsible little murder gremlin, fully prepared for your weekly check-up guidance session.

What you were not prepared for was the sheer atmospheric rage brewing inside.

Vil was pacing like a cat who'd just realized its favorite toy was in the hands of a toddler—absolutely done with life. He was muttering to himself under his breath, phrases like, “Espers with zero gratitude... how dare they ask for guidance without a thank-you,” and, “I swear if one more person thinks my time is free like it's some kind of community resource—

He saw you, exhaled the deepest sigh known to man, and pointed at the couch like he was casting a curse. Not a word of greeting. Just The Finger of Sit.

So you sat. For about three seconds.

Then, something in your little gremlin heart said: No. He is cranky. He is suffering. This is a job for Emotional Support Esper.

You got up, walked behind him, and—without a word—started massaging his shoulders.

Vil tensed like a cat about to fight god. Then slowly—slowly—melted into it.

“This isn’t part of your session,” he grumbled, but it lacked bite. His head tilted forward, giving you better access. “You’re not guiding me, you know.”

“I’m aware,” you said, digging your thumbs in just right. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t reply. Just… breathed. It was weirdly serene. You, massaging one of the most powerful and terrifying guides in the country. Him, finally looking like he wasn’t five seconds away from incinerating someone with nothing but his glare.

Eventually, you sat back down on the couch. And then—shock of all shocks—Vil slumped down next to you.

No dramatic speech. No biting commentary. Just one very exhausted, very overworked guide leaning on your shoulder like gravity had personally betrayed him.

“…Don’t say a word about this,” he murmured, eyes already closed. He reached for your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and held it tight.

You stayed there for a long time.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

You just sat with him in silence, wondering how the hell you’d gone from emotional demolition expert to comfort pillow. And, weirdly, feeling kind of honored.

You weren’t sure how you got home, but judging by the trail of blood, sludge, and crushed energy drink cans leading up the stairs, you had clearly made the journey using sheer spite and possibly a small miracle. Your legs moved on autopilot, powered by rage, trauma, and about four remaining brain cells—none of which were cooperating.

You’d just come back from a gate that had gone so poorly, it might as well have been cursed by the gods, the devs, and your second-grade math teacher. Breach. Casualties. Screaming.

There was definitely a moment where you almost flung a monster into a building and then screamed louder when you realized it was the emergency response building. Whoops.

It wasn’t even your assigned gate. It was a last-minute scramble. You and a handful of other S-rank espers were yanked in because the gate was behaving badly. Like, “snarling, vomiting monsters that defied physics” badly. And you—foolish, heroic, caffeine-soaked gremlin that you were—ran in first like someone had dared you.

You fought. You fought so hard you forgot your own name for about two hours. And still, people died. People always died. But this time, it felt like too many. You saw a little kid’s shoe and had a breakdown mid-punch. You tried to do everything, and your body just… stopped cooperating.

You didn’t even get guided afterward.

Vil wasn't at this gate. The other guides were all assigned or recovering themselves. Some were crying. A few had fainted from strain.

And you? You looked around, felt your knees give out a little, then just muttered “okay cool” and left like a ghost clocking out after a double shift at a haunted Wendy’s.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were so dissociated you forgot how doors worked. You stood outside yours for a full minute before realizing the knob turned left. You walked in, left your boots and weapon where they fell, and didn’t even consider locking the door behind you.

Let fate come. Let a gate burst into your living room. Let some criminal wander in and steal your furniture. That was Future You’s problem. Current You was Busy.

You peeled yourself out of your battle gear like a sad, oversized fruit roll-up, leaving it in a heap that would absolutely start growing mold by tomorrow. You wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for three solid minutes, and then closed it again. There was nothing in there but expired yogurt, an empty ketchup bottle, and the overwhelming sense of despair. Just like your soul.

Your eyes landed on the couch. You made eye contact. It made eye contact back.

You didn’t go to your bed. The bed had too much hope. The couch? The couch knew. The couch had seen things. It was your emotional support furniture, and it beckoned you with lumpy cushions and the faint scent of Febreze and failure.

You collapsed into it with the grace of a dying walrus, grabbed the nearest throw blanket like a life raft, and curled up.

Your muscles throbbed. Your eyes were dry, too tired to cry. Your heart was heavy and hollow, a contradiction wrapped in fatigue.

You didn’t call the Guidance Office.

You didn’t reach for your communicator.

You didn’t even consider getting guided.

Because why would you?

You hadn’t earned it.

Guidance was for espers who did good. Who came back whole. Who saved people and feel okay about it.

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Least of all Vil—the most terrifyingly elegant guide in existence, whose soothing voice could calm a charging bull but whose judgmental stare could reduce you to ash on the spot. You could already imagine it:

“Potato, why didn’t you call?” And you’d go, “Because I sucked. And also I was busy eating my weight in sadness on my couch.”

So no. No guidance. No messages. No crying. Just you, your depression blanket, and your ever-growing collection of trauma under a mountain of emotional avoidance.

You passed out like that, too. Face-down, limbs sprawled, snoring gently, still wearing one sock and gripping the couch cushion like it owed you rent.

And in the hallway, your door remained unlocked.

Because honestly?

Let the monsters come.

You’d either sleep through it or invite them in for leftover yogurt and mutual despair.

You woke up feeling like a truck had hit you, reversed, parked on your spine, and left its high beams on just to be petty. Every bone in your body creaked like an abandoned haunted house. Your mouth tasted like regret and half a protein bar. Your blanket was half off the couch, half on the floor, and a mysterious corn chip was stuck to your elbow.

You blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Then your phone screamed.

100 missed calls.

37 texts.

All from: Vil Schoenheit.

Each message angrier than the last.

The final one simply said: “Pick. Up. Now.”

You did.

The moment the line connected, there was a beat of silence—then his voice, sharp and low like the edge of a knife:

“Address. Now.”

You mumbled something barely coherent, possibly your zip code, possibly the ingredients of a burrito. Either way, you texted him your location, dropped the phone on your chest, and passed out again like a Sims character who ignored every need bar until they collapsed.

The next time you woke up, it was to someone violently shaking you like they were trying to exorcise a demon.

“The door was wide open. Wide. Open. Are you out of your mind?! What if someone broke in?! What if something followed you?! What if—”

You cracked one eye open. Vil was kneeling beside your couch in full luxury casuals, flawless hair tied back in a silk ribbon, eyes blazing with a fury usually reserved for war crimes or off-season fashion.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” he snapped, voice wobbling between fury and panic.

You sat up slowly. Your limbs felt like wet noodles. You looked at him—actually looked at him—and saw the edges of worry in his perfect posture. You didn’t think. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his surprisingly warm, cologne-scented form like a soggy baby koala.

He froze.

Then he hugged you back, one arm sliding firmly around your waist, the other hand smoothing over your hair with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.

“You didn’t respond,” he murmured, voice much softer now, like he’d deflated the moment you touched him. “I was at a gate, and you—you should’ve called me. You idiot.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you croaked, still clinging. “I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t—”

THWACK.

He flicked you so hard on the forehead you saw colors. You yelped and recoiled, holding your skull like he’d smacked you with a frying pan.

“OW—what the hell, Vil?!”

“Use your brain,” he snapped. “You don’t have to earn guidance. You lived. You fought. You made it back. That’s enough.”

You stared at him, stunned and blinking. Your brain, which had been curled in a ball screaming failure failure failure, screeched to a halt. It didn’t know what to do with this information. It flailed.

“...but—”

“No.” He pressed two fingers to your temple. “Quiet.”

And just like that, warmth bloomed across your skin. Calm, grounding, steady. His presence wrapped around your rattled mind like a weighted blanket.

You hadn’t realized how loud your thoughts had been until everything went quiet.

You slumped forward again, forehead on his shoulder.

“…thank you,” you whispered.

He made a soft, exasperated noise and squeezed your hand.

“Next time,” he muttered, “if you don’t call me, I will drag you to a spa against your will and lock you in a bathhouse for six hours.”

Honestly?

That sounded kind of nice.

You nodded into his shoulder and let the warmth pull you under again.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment. There was no dramatic gasp, no heart-skipping beat, no rom-com soundtrack swelling in the background.

No. It happened while Vil was in the middle of passionately criticizing your instant ramen consumption.

“You don’t even check the sodium levels, do you? Of course not. Why would you? That would require basic self-preservation instincts, which you clearly lack,—are you even listening to me?”

You were, actually. Kind of. Mostly you were just watching the way his eyes flashed when he got worked up, how his voice lilted, how his hair caught the light like he had a personal filter on at all times. His hands moved a lot when he was mad—elegant, precise little gestures like he was conducting an orchestra of outrage.

And somewhere in the middle of him saying something about how your body was “not a landfill for factory-processed poison,” you thought:

Wow. He’s perfect.

There was a pause.

A silence that felt loud in your own brain.

Not because he noticed—no, he was still going. But you did. You noticed. And you felt your entire emotional infrastructure collapse like a badly built IKEA table.

You sat there, nodding along, eyes wide and empty like a man realizing he’d dropped his phone into lava. Because you knew exactly what this meant.

You were so, so screwed.

You didn’t even try to deny it. You were too tired for that. Too experienced in emotional disasters to think, “maybe it’s just a crush!”

Nah. You liked him. For real. In the "I’d wear sunscreen just to impress him" kind of way. In the "he could tell me I look homeless and I’d say thank you" kind of way.

So, you just accepted your fate.

You nodded solemnly while Vil insulted your meal plan and thought:

Well. I guess this is my life now. Time to emotionally implode in private.

You weren’t going to tell him. Absolutely not. The man had standards higher than Mount Everest. You were a gremlin in sweatpants. He guided you out of what had to be some misplaced sense of moral responsibility, not because he liked you.

So, your plan was simple: keep it quiet. Let the crush rot in your chest. Maybe it would fade. Maybe Vil would never find out. Maybe you’d survive.

…Maybe.

“Are you even paying attention?” Vil snapped, snapping his fingers in your face.

You jolted back to reality. “Yes! Yes. Sodium bad. Body temple. I got it.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I’m always weird,” you said quickly. “That’s my brand. Very consistent.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopeless.”

You watched him for a second longer and thought, God, I’m doomed.

And then you smiled and said, “Yeah. But at least I’m charming about it.”

He rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t deny it.

You were just trying to survive. That’s all.

Because being around Vil Schoenheit every other day, breathing the same air as him while he guided you while scolding you, was no longer tenable. Your heart was staging a full-blown coup against your sanity.

Every smirk he threw your way shaved years off your life. Every time he flicked your forehead for being “reckless” or “insufferable” or “a walking cautionary tale,” you internally swooned like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.

So, you did what any emotionally fragile raccoon-person would do when faced with unattainable love and regular exposure to flawless cheekbones: you fled.

To the Guidance Office.

You kept your voice steady when you asked for your previous guide’s contact. The poor intern looked like he’d rather explode than question you, especially once he realized who your current guide was.

Still, he handed over the transfer form and you sat down, heart racing, tapping your pen like a death drum. You were halfway through scribbling your tragic little freedom request when—

A shadow loomed.

Perfume wafted.

And the temperature dropped ten degrees.

You didn’t even have time to look up before the form was snatched from your hands with all the grace of a man committing a stylish crime.

“Up. Now.”

Vil’s voice was frost and fury and every hair on your body stood up like soldiers called to war.

You stumbled after him, too stunned to protest, as he marched you through the hallways with terrifying grace. You passed several people who were clearly wondering if they were witnessing a kidnapping, but no one dared interfere.

His office door slammed shut behind you, and he turned on you like a beautifully irate weather phenomenon.

Then—rip.

Your transfer form disintegrated in his hands.

“OUT,” he snapped, voice tight, angry. “If you’re going to be a complete and utter fool, then get out of my sight.”

You blinked. “What—why are you mad? I’m doing you a favor!”

“A favor?” he repeated, like you’d just spat in a glass of Château Margaux.

You held your ground, though you were 97% sure he could kill you with a single sigh. “You didn’t want to guide me in the first place! I’m—look, I’m making it easier for both of us. No more clingy potato energy. No more… emotional spirals. You can guide someone who isn’t a complete mess.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and then he—kissed you.

No warning. No build-up. Just lips crashing against yours like your poor little romantic delusions had summoned it from the abyss. His hands cupped your face, tilting it just right, and you—froze.

You opened your mouth to say something.

He kissed you again.

This time, slower. Angrier. Like he was trying to shove every word you weren’t letting him say directly into your bloodstream.

“I love you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away, chest heaving. “You stupid, overthinking potato.”

You blinked. “I—wait, what?”

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” he snapped, pacing. “You think I guide you because it’s convenient? You think I chose to rip you away from that quivering ball of social anxiety just to be charitable? I don’t have to guide anyone. I chose you.”

You were still stuck on the part where he said “I love you” and hadn’t immediately revoked it.

He pointed at you. “Sit down.”

You sat. Immediately.

He sat next to you, crossed one leg over the other, and glared. “We’re going to talk about this. Then you’re going to delete the idea of transferring from your thick, tragically underutilized brain. Understood?”

“…Yes?”

“Good. And drink some water. You look like you’re about to combust.”

You obeyed. Because frankly? You were.

“You’re serious?” you asked, voice a little cracked around the edges, sitting on his plush office chair like you were squatting in a throne you had absolutely no right to. “You love me?”

Vil stared at you with the exhausted patience of a man who had been in love with a rock for three years. “Yes. I’ve loved you for a while, and you—” he poked you in the forehead again, harder this time, “—have been blissfully, astoundingly oblivious.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, already sweating. “You’re very hard to read!”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “You’re just emotionally illiterate.”

“Give me one example.”

“Oh, one?” He tilted his head and actually laughed, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s start small, then. Remember the time I brought you a silk-lined weighted blanket because you said you liked ‘being squished by fabric’ and your apartment ‘felt like a haunted fridge?’”

You blinked. “I thought that was just you mocking me with luxury.”

“I custom-ordered it in your favorite color and personally dropped it off.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

“And what about the emergency juice box I carry around exclusively for you, because you tend to spiral into a puddle after difficult gates and refuse to ask for help?”

“…You said that was because I’m ‘emotionally six.’”

“That was a joke.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at you again. “What about when I held your hand during guidance and you told me, ‘This is wildly intimate,’ and I said, ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ and you laughed and said, ‘Ha ha good one,’ and proceeded to talk about raccoons for twenty minutes?”

Your face was hot. Like boiling kettle hot. You were being roasted over the open flames of your own idiocy.

Vil, now fully in his villain origin arc, stood up, arms crossed. “Or the time I made you lunch because you skipped breakfast three days in a row and you cried a little, and I wiped your tears, and you said, ‘You’d make such a good husband, wow,’ and then called me bro.”

“I was tired that day,” you whispered.

He paced. “I took a personal day to guide you after that one breach because you refused post-gate care. I showed up at your house! You were curled up like a soggy blanket and told me you didn’t deserve comfort, and I guided you anyway! I even brought snacks!”

You were holding your head in your hands now, processing. “Oh my god. I’m the clown. I’m the whole circus.”

Vil sighed and came to kneel beside you again, gentler now. He pulled your hands from your face and took them in his, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “I assumed you didn't like me. But this?” He smiled a little. “This is honestly worse.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter now, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want you to change guides. I want you to stay.”

You looked down at your joined hands. Then up at his face, soft and real and so, so stupidly beautiful.

“...Can I kiss you again?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

And he did. And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t freeze or black out or say anything about raccoons. You just held him closer and kissed him back, trying very hard not to think about how many brain cells you’d wasted missing the obvious.

(But you did apologize to him later. After the third kiss. And after asking if he’d consider writing a “Vil Schoenheit’s Guide to Realizing Your Guide is Flirting” manual for future dumbasses like yourself.)

The first time Vil met you was… unfortunate.

You'd collapsed on him like a sandbag flung from the heavens by a god with no taste.

He'd been called in to assist after a gate breach—nothing unusual, really, just a high-stress emergency with far too many untrained espers and not enough functioning brain cells among them. His job was to stabilize, guide, and keep anyone from combusting mentally or emotionally, preferably both. It was clinical, routine, and efficient.

Until you.

You stumbled out of the smoke and screaming with wild eyes and your uniform half-burnt, looking like you’d just gone twelve rounds with the concept of mortality. You locked eyes with him—briefly, like a bird recognizing glass mid-flight—and then passed out straight into his arms.

Correction: onto him.

He wasn’t sure how you managed to fall with such inconvenient geometry, but one moment he was standing, perfectly composed, and the next he had an unconscious stranger face-planting onto him, limbs sprawled like a freshly felled tree.

His first thought was: Excuse you?

His second: Do they not know who I am?

Honestly, the offense was justified. People didn’t usually touch Vil without permission, let alone treat him like a fainting couch. And yet when the medics arrived to assist, he waved them off with a sigh, brushing soot out of your hair and stabilizing your exhausted psyche with the practiced ease of someone too annoyed to be fazed. You were just another Esper, he told himself. Another mess to be cleaned up.

Then you woke up.

You blinked at him. Groggy. Confused. Soft in the eyes in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Sorry. My bad.”

No recognition. No fawning. No demands for priority guidance.

Just that—thanks—like he was your local neighborhood guide and not one of the most in-demand SSS-ranks in the country.

And that was when it happened: the first crack.

A hairline fracture in his perfectly sculpted composure. Something warm and startlingly gentle wedged itself in his chest. The faint, whispering thought: They’re not like the others.

He'd left soon after and that should've been the end of it.

But the next day, you came to his office. Not to request a partnership. Not to ask for more guidance sessions. Not even to praise his skill, as most did when they finally found out who he was.

No.

You walked in with a slightly bent energy drink and said, “Hi. Just wanted to thank you again. For yesterday. And, like, if you want anything—coffee, or uh, a meal, or maybe a really good nap on my couch—I can return the favor.”

He blinked. “You're offering me compensation?”

“Yeah,” you said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Also, you helped me not die. That deserves at least a smoothie.”

He stared at you. You stared back, unbothered and vaguely hopeful, like someone trying to barter with a raccoon they’d wronged in a past life.

And that’s when the thought struck him:

I wish more Espers were like this.

Earnest. Direct. Not wrapped in ego or desperation. You treated him like a person and not a tool or a celebrity. Like someone who deserved appreciation, not worship.

He didn’t say yes to your offer.

And later that evening, sipping the mango smoothie you left on his desk with a sticky note that said “Thanks again, Your Highness,” Vil caught himself smiling.

Disaster or not, you had… made an impression.

And for better or worse, that impression was starting to stick.

Soon, he found himself buying your favorite juice on the way to work.

He told himself it was to bribe you into being less reckless. That he just “happened” to know your favorite. That it was a coincidence.

He also started carrying headache meds. And bandaids. And snacks. And spare gloves because you kept losing yours and pretending you didn’t need them.

A week later, he spotted you in the hallway again. You were coming out of a gate looking like you’d been mugged by gravity and a brick. But what truly horrified Vil was not your appearance (which was a hate crime against fashion), but the fact that you were about to be guided by someone else.

Some junior Guide with too much gel in his hair and the audacity to step away from you.

Vil's soul left his body.

He didn’t even think. He stomped across the hallway, yanked you away like a cat stealing laundry, and declared, “Absolutely not.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Guiding you. Sit down. Shut up.”

“...Okay?”

He’d never been so professionally compromised. He gave you the most aggressive, possessive, emotionally repressed guiding session in history. It was like channeling affection through gritted teeth.

He was doomed.

Vil Schoenheit was a man of control. Precision. Elegance. He kept his calendar color-coded, his wardrobe steamed, and his guiding sessions timed to the minute.

So when he heard through the grapevine that you were about to be reassigned to another Guide—because of some nonsense about “compatibility tests” and “emotional interference” (rude)—he did not react well.

No, he did not pout.

He did not sulk.

He marched directly to the Guidance Office, pulled rank in that way that only Vil could—part charm, part cold-blooded menace—and made it very clear that you were off the market.

“This Esper is mine,” he said, crisp and cool like a glacier in a fur coat. “Officially. Put it in writing.”

The poor intern at the desk blinked up at him, then at the screen.

“Um… you mean, you want to—?”

“Yes. I want to take full responsibility for their guiding.”

“Sir, do you mean romantically—?”

“Professionally.” A beat. “For now.”

Vil was shopping for seasonal essentials, which of course required strategic planning, multiple fitting rooms, and approximately seventeen judgmental head tilts. He saw you wandering out of a soft-clothes store with a hoodie that looked like a blanket and a dream.

You saw him.

You tried to leave.

He grabbed your wrist.

“I need hands,” he said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

And then he handed you a bag and moved on like a model on a mission.

You carried his bags for hours. You offered no complaints, just commentary like, “That color makes your cheekbones illegal,” and “If I try that on I’ll look like a deflated beanbag.” You actually enjoyed yourself.

And then—then—when you ended up in a café and he reluctantly allowed you to buy his coffee, you sat there, sipping from your little cup, and made some stupid joke about luxury couture and cheese graters.

He laughed.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t polite or dismissive. It was the kind of laugh that knocked loose something in his ribcage. The kind that made him stare at you over the rim of his drink and realize, with full-body horror:

I’m doomed.

Because he liked you.

He really, really liked you.

Not in the “you’re tolerable and I guess I won’t smite you” way. In the “I want to wring your neck for not wearing gloves but also maybe hold your hand” way. The “I will destroy that junior Guide if he even looks at you again” way. The “please stop getting injured or I will cry and then deny it until the sun explodes” way.

And you had no idea.

You were still out here calling yourself “emotionally bulletproof” and stealing his granola bars like it was normal. Still calling him “Vilbo Baggins” and poking his forehead like you weren’t holding the shreds of his dignity in your little chaos-stained hands.

So yes. Vil was doomed.

And he couldn’t even blame you.

Because of all the Espers in the world, it had to be you—you with your messy hair and shiny eyes and stupid brave heart.

Fast-forward to a Tuesday. Or maybe Thursday. Vil had lost track. It had been a day full of Espers with no manners, no boundaries, and one who tried to touch his hair mid-guiding.

By the time you wandered into his office, he was one broken string away from full violin villainy.

And for once, you didn’t joke.

No "What’s up, Guidezilla?"

No "Did your skincare try to abandon you too?"

You just took one look at him, walked over, and—gently—placed your hands on his shoulders.

Vil froze.

You kneaded the tight muscles there with surprising skill. Still no words. Just the quiet press of your thumbs, the steady warmth of your touch. And when he exhaled—shaky, involuntary—you didn’t tease him for it.

You just said, softly, “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know.”

And that was when he broke a little.

Not obviously. But his posture slumped just slightly. His head tilted just enough to rest against your shoulder. Not even for a minute—maybe twenty seconds.

But it was enough.

Enough to make him realize: This is the safest I’ve felt all day.

And the fact that it was you—you, with your chaos and your grin and your glitter stickers stuck to your ID badge—that was terrifying. And comforting. And utterly, stupidly addicting.

He didn’t say thank you. Not out loud.

But later, when you weren’t looking, he moved your next few guiding sessions to the prime slot on his calendar. The one reserved for important things.

And in his fridge?

There was already more of your favorite juice.

He told himself it was just being thorough.

He was a liar.

It had started like any other deployment day. You and he had both been assigned to different gates, which wasn’t uncommon anymore. It was annoying—yes, he preferred to keep you in arm’s reach like a chaotic, overly affectionate pet raccoon—but manageable. You hadn’t called, hadn’t messaged, so he assumed it was fine. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you’d just fallen asleep.

But then he heard the reports.

Talk around the guidance center was that your gate had gone bad. A breach. Casualties. They'd barely managed to contain it. The kind of mission that rattled even the seasoned Espers.

Vil had frozen mid-conversation, a pen slipping from his hand and clattering onto his desk.

“Did they get guided after?” he asked, voice sharp.

The other Guide had shrugged. “Apparently not. Took off the moment debrief ended.”

And that was when the spiral started.

He called you. Once. Twice. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.

Pacing his office like a man possessed, he left increasingly deranged voicemails.

—"Pick up your phone, I swear to the God, if you are ghosting me because you’re feeling ‘emotionally crunchy’ again—"

—“If you're hurt, I need to know. If you're not hurt, I'm going to kill you myself.”

—“Potato, I’m serious. Answer the phone.”

When you finally picked up, sounding groggy and like someone had drop-kicked your soul, all you said was:

“…Vil?”

And that was enough.

“Address. Now.”

You sent him a dropped pin and then promptly passed out again.

He’d never gotten to your place so fast in his life. Nearly crashed into two pedestrians, scared a delivery driver into a full existential crisis, and parked in a tow zone without blinking.

The front door was unlocked.

He burst in like divine judgment, only to find you curled up on your couch like a sad, emotionally fried ferret.

“You left the door open. What if someone had—?! You didn’t even—! I called you a hundred times! Why didn’t you—!?”

You blinked up at him, slow and a little disoriented. “Vil?”

He was kneeling next to the couch before he realized it, shaking you like an overcaffeinated nurse trying to keep a patient conscious. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

Something in Vil's chest cracked with a soundless, incandescent rage. Not at you. Never at you.

At the situation. At himself. At the idiocy of a world where someone like you—who put yourself on the line for people who didn’t know your name—could think for one second you didn’t deserve comfort.

You sat up and hugged him before he could speak. And Vil, for all his pride and poise, let you.

He guided you right there on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you like he could anchor all your scattered pieces back into place with sheer force of will. His fingers were steady against your temple, his voice low and soothing.

You didn't fight it this time. Not really. You were too tired. Too raw.

But later, when you were dozing against him and he felt the weight of your breathing even out, he looked at you and thought:

If I ever lose them, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

And he realized, with an unflinching kind of horror, that this wasn’t just fondness anymore.

This was love. Stupid, all-consuming, feral love.

Oh, when Vil saw the transfer form in your hands—his potato, his utterly chaotic, absurdly self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated Esper—filling out a request to switch Guides?

He saw red. No, scratch that. He saw every shade of fury on the spectrum. He didn’t even remember walking; one moment he was across the hallway, the next he had the form in his fist and you in his office, the door slammed shut behind you with enough force to rattle the entire floor.

“What. Is. This.”

You blinked at him like a cat caught stealing food, caught between guilt and indifference. “A transfer form? I—uh. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a—” Vil looked genuinely scandalized. If he wore pearls, he would’ve clutched them. “Do you think I’m running a halfway house for wayward Espers?! I have been guiding you, carrying juice boxes for you, putting up with your ridiculous snacks, and you think this isn’t a big deal?!”

You stared at him, flustered and slightly confused. “I—I just thought maybe it’d be easier for both of us if I wasn’t—like—around all the time, you know? I’m not exactly low maintenance—”

Vil’s brain short-circuited.

He kissed you.

No thought. Just lips. Panic. Longing. Rage. Chapstick.

Your sentence died like a bug on a windshield.

Vil pulled back just long enough to snarl, “I love you, you stupid overthinking potato.”

You blinked.

“I—what—”

He kissed you again. You weren’t going to ruin this with words. Not today.

When he finally let you breathe, you looked dizzy. In love. Slightly offended. Vil understood.

“You’ve been in love with me?” you asked, voice very much in the ‘I missed every single sign like a blind NPC in a dating sim’ zone.

“Oh finally,” Vil groaned. “Yes. For ages. Do you think I just carry juice boxes for anyone? I had to go to a wholesaler to find your weird imported apple-lychee thing. I do not do that for strangers.”

You looked like the Earth had tilted sideways. “Oh my god. I thought you were just—like that.”

“‘Like that?!’” he cried. “I forced you to carry my shopping bags through an entire mall and called it a bonding experience! I let you pay for my coffee! I let you touch me when I was emotionally unbalanced! Me!”

“Oh my god,” you said again, very softly. “I am Stupid.”

Vil sighed like he was asking the universe for strength. “Yes. But you’re mine now. So unless you want to see what a real tantrum looks like, stop trying to fill out transfer forms like we’re in some tragic rom-com and just stay.”

You looked at him for a moment, soft and stunned and still processing the part where he said “I love you” more than once.

Then you reached for him, and he let you pull him into a hug, and despite everything—despite the rage, the confusion, the two destroyed pens on his desk and the emotional whiplash—you smiled into his shoulder like you couldn’t quite believe your luck.

Vil closed his eyes.

And all he could think was:

If I have to live in this ridiculous, broken world... let it be with you.

You didn’t expect it to come up like this.

You were lying on Vil’s fancy designer couch, head on his lap, while he scrolled through his tablet like he wasn’t also playing with your hair and ruining your heart. It was a quiet kind of peace, the kind you didn’t get often, the kind you didn’t want to jinx.

Which is exactly why he jinxed it.

“I want to permanently bond,” he said, tone casual in the way a gun cocking across the room is casual.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked down at you like you were the idiot for not reading his mind faster.

“I don’t want to guide anyone else,” he said. “You’re mine.”

Your heart made a sound like a microwave short-circuiting.

“You’re sure?” you asked, because you had to—because you needed him to say it again, to look you in the eye and confirm this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment emotion, or drama, or guilt, or—

Vil gave you a glare so sharp it could slice through reinforced glass. You didn’t even need to hear him speak. The look alone said: If you ask that again I will end you and then raise you from the ashes just to scold you properly.

So naturally, you pulled him closer.

He kissed you like you’d insulted him and he was trying to forgive you with his entire mouth. And then he pushed you down onto the couch with all the grace and pent-up need of someone who’d waited far too long to do this.

There was nothing dramatic about the bond itself—it was warmth, deep and golden, spreading between your minds like a whispered promise. Familiar, grounding, and so right it made you dizzy. You felt him in a way that no one else could ever match—his feelings humming beneath your skin, threaded through your heartbeat, echoing in your thoughts.

It felt like falling and landing and being caught all at once.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just pressed his forehead against yours and held you close, letting the bond settle between your chests like a vow.

Then, quietly:

“Finally.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah,” you said, hugging him tighter. “Finally.”

Life was still mildly cursed. You weren’t about to tempt fate by saying otherwise. The gates still opened at the worst times, your body still ached in places that didn’t make sense, and someone still managed to microwave metal in the guidance office kitchen every single week.

But—

You had Vil. And that made it survivable.

He had finally, finally reprogrammed you out of your self-destructive nonsense, though it had been a war. You were talking metaphorical trench warfare. It took a thousand forehead flicks, an aggressively color-coded sleep schedule, and a terrifying PowerPoint presentation titled “If You Die, I Will Be Very Upset (And Also Kill You) – A Visual Threat.”

And in return, you had managed to make Vil Schoenheit loosen up. The man who once flinched at the idea of touching door handles with his bare hands now shared hoodies with you and let you kiss him with gate-dust still in your hair.

It was progress.

So when the door to your shared home clicked shut behind you both after another long day, you let out a sigh and slumped like a corpse released from its mortal coil. Vil caught you by the collar before you hit the floor like “absolutely not, we are not breaking furniture today.”

You peeled off your jacket, dropped your bag, and turned to him, still stuck in your boots. “Is it bad I want to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes,” he replied instantly. “Go shower, you reeking gremlin. I’ll order dinner.”

You blinked. “Will it be salad?”

“No. I’m ordering dumplings.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachieving nutrient-balanced microgreens–”

Vil shoved you gently toward the bathroom. “Shoo. I’ll be waiting here with your emotional support carbs when you’re done.”

And that was it.

You went to shower, and he ordered dinner. And maybe life was cursed and weird and exhausting—but it had given you Vil. And now, the worst thing he threatened you with was hydration reminders and forehead kisses.

Honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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[tinfoil-jones]

Tate Pines AU 

(aka Tater McGucket is an oops baby Fiddlestan kid)

Note: LONG POST. This is me hyper fixating on a brain worm because the Gravity Falls Fandom roared back to life. This is probably misspelled in a lot of areas, and not the clearest or most concise post because this is me rambling at 2 in the morning. Also the characters are maybe OOC. Also, this is written without accents because I'm not from the Midwest or southern United States.

In this AU/Scenario, Stan is a transgender man, and 'encountered' Fiddleford during his vagabond years. It was a heavily drunk/high one-night-stand, so they never properly met or even knew each others names. This happens after Ford graduating Backupsmore University, and for this scenario to work let’s say that Fiddleford went to BMU for his undergraduate program, but then went to the local university in Palo Alto for his graduate studies.

Years later, just like in the OG show Fiddleford is Stanford's research partner in Gravity Falls, and married to Emma-May Dixon; but they don't have any children together at this time, and they got together *after* his encounter with Stan. So this isn't an affair baby scenario.

Tatum "Tate" Pines is 5 years old, living on the road with his dad, currently staying in a motel but they're about to move into a real apartment for the first time ever because Tate needs to start school soon. Stan is still a drifter and a con man, but he recently came upon a large sum of money because Tate accurately guessed the lottery number for the state they were currently in.

Stan still receives a postcard from Gravity Falls that says "Please Come", and is allegedly sent from his estranged Twin who he hasn't seen in almost 12 years. But this is roughly a few months before it would have happened in-canon.

Given Stan's disownment, no one knows that he even has a son, not even Ma Pines. Not like he'd want them to know. Having his own son and loving him unconditionally made him realize that his own dad Filbrick was a monster, who he didn't need to prove himself to. But he still wants to reconcile with Ford, so he decides to go just like in canon.

This post card, however, wasn't sent by Ford. It was sent by Fiddleford, who was watching Ford spiral in real time and hoped that if anyone could convince Ford that he was acting crazy and unstable, it was his twin brother.

While Stanford doesn't greet Stanley with a crossbow like in the original because this is before the portal test with Fiddleford, he's definitely shocked to not just see Stanley there, but Stanley with a tiny gap-toothed child in tow.

Stan doesn't know that Ford wasn't expecting them, and excitedly introduces Ford to his nephew.

Ford: Stanley, are you sure this child is yours? Stan: ...Ford, did you forget we're not identical twins?  Ford: ...Oh! Oh my, Stanley... Stan: *thinking* 'I don't know if I'm touched that you don't see me as anything other than a man... or insulted that you forgot something so fundamental about me'

Flabbergasted, Ford lets them both in; Fiddleford is welding something downstairs so he doesn't see or hear any of this. Ford plants Tate on the couch in front of the TV and practically drags Stan to the kitchen to talk to him privately; he's too surprised by Stan having a child to question why they were there in the first place.

Ford: Is there a... another parent..? Stan: ...It's just me and Tate. Always has been. Ford: How did...? Stan: I didn't plan a pregnancy... but I had no money for T-shots for months on end, and without the T, everything down stairs went to factory default.  Ford: Do you know who it is? The father- I mean, the other father? Stan: Not exactly, some southern guy, don't think I ever got his name. Ford: What happened? Stan: Funny you should ask. (FLASHBACK) Fiddleford, high out of his mind: -and that's how I won a golden fiddle. Stan, drunk out of his mind: That's crazy, dude. *grabs him aggressively by the shirt collar to pull him close* Now shut up and fuck me until I can't walk. Fiddleford, horny out of his mind: Hoo-whee, well don't you diddly-darn mind if'n I do. (END) Ford: Stanley? Stan: Hmm? Ford: Are you okay? You just said 'its funny that you ask', and then stared off into space for 10 seconds. Stan: Let's just say I never touched tequila ever again.

Eventually, Fiddleford does come upstairs when he notices Ford didn't come back downstairs, and see's the brothers in the kitchen just as Ford asks Stan why he even came here.

Fiddleford admits it was him who sent the postcard, that someone needed to 'talk some sense' into Ford, and then introduces himself to Stan.

While Stan isn't perplexed by Fiddleford because he was too drunk to remember a face- Fiddleford, who has very good memory, immediately knows he met Stan somewhere, he just can't quite place where, when, or why.

Ford does show Stan the portal, saying it's his life's work and he'll need to test it soon, and casually asks Stan if he wants to stay and help. Before Fiddleford can protest that's a bad idea and Ford should just stop, Stan agrees because he wants to reconnect (and also keep a roof over Tate's head, what were the chances they'd win another lottery?), it did hurt his feelings that Stanford hadn't reached out out to him after all, but maybe they could work on that.

While Ford hasn't exactly forgiven Stanley for the science fair incident, he can't just let his brother, a single father be homeless with a five-year-old (Stan had to drop the lease with their intended apartment to come to Gravity Falls). And... well, Ford gets attached to Tate quite early:

Tate: ... *staring at him* Ford: Can I help you with something, Tatum? Tate: Uncle, is your name "Stanford"?  Ford: Yes, but if you prefer you can call me Uncle Ford. Tate: Oh. Okay. It's funny, Stanford is my middle name. *later* Stan: Kiddo, why has your uncle been sobbing in his room for the past thirty minutes? Tate: *shrugs*

Not realizing the gravity (hehe) of the situation, Stan gets settled in the house and helps Ford and Fiddleford where he can (usually just moving heavy objects or punching paranormal creatures, or forcing Ford to shower). He does notice that Ford seems a bit... unhinged, and weirdly obsessed with some new geometry based religion, but people change after college right?

He does get unnerved by Fords weird episodes where his personality seems to shift and he goes into town to act like an absolute menace. Stan can't help but think that isn't Ford; its been years since he saw him but damnit he knew his brother and whatever entity possessed him just to slap a cops belly, *that* was not Ford. But Ford always brushed him off when he tried to bring it up, and one time 'Ford' even coldly reminded Stan that he could remove Stanley and his son from the home at any time if he wasn't going to be useful.

During this time, Stan and Fiddleford get to know each other, they get along quite well actually; Fiddleford is fond of little Tatum, who along with Stan enjoys listening to him play the banjo. One could say, given Fords obsession with his current passion project and prioritizing work over his relationships, that Stan and Fiddleford become close. 

Fiddleford picks up, however... that little Tate is a genius. Although he's a quiet kid, he has an advanced vocabulary for his age. He's able to read and write at what must be a 2nd or 3rd grade level despite not even starting kindergarten yet, and... one time Fiddleford left an 8x8 cubiks cube unattended, and came back no more than five minutes later to see that Tate had already solved it. And Stan had told him that Tate has actively predicted lottery numbers before.

He brings it up with Stan, who admits that he already knows Tate is a genius, but he also knows what academic pressure and high expectations can do to someone (referring to Ford), and he just wants Tate to live life by his own terms, not let other people dictate that for him based on his IQ.

Fiddleford... also see's resemblances between himself and Tate. Sure, Tate has browner hair like Stan, but the wavier texture is just like his own. And while Stanley does have a prominent nose, it's not as prominent as Tates, which is much more similar to Fiddlefords. 

Fiddleford begins to ask Stan about his past, specifically bringing up that he believes they may have met before.

Fiddleford: Say, Stan, did we meet before you moved here? You're so familiar to me. Stan: I wonder where you could have possibly seen my face before? *glances at the lab* Fiddleford: No. I feel like we've met before - you ever been to Palo Alto? Stan: That city in Cali? Yeah. I'd say about six years ago. I was just passing by, resupplying, and selling weed to college students. Fiddleford: You were a weed dealer? Stan: Among other things, yeah. California's *the* place to go to for weed. I don't do it anymore. Fiddleford: Did you... ever visit the university there? Stan: A couple times. Hated going there because it reminded me of... well, I think you know. Why? Fiddleford: I did my graduate studies there, maybe I met you there? Stan: You think so? I only saw buyers, did you buy weed from me? Fiddleford: No... I had a dealer, but it wasn't you. Stan: Other than that, I did get invited to a frat party once. Think they were called "SigEp" or something. Fiddleford: That's 'Sigma Phi Epsilon'. That was the fraternity I belonged to. Did I see you at that party? Stan: Probably - oh man that party was crazy. I made so many bad decisions that night. Fiddleford: Stanley... how old did you say your son was? Stan: Five, why? Fiddleford: ... Fiddleford: Stanley... *reaches out* Stan: *jerks back, before pointing away* Hey look over there, a distraction! Fiddleford: What- *looks away* Stan: *jumps out the window and makes a run for it*

Stan does not entertain any further discussions with Fiddleford about his past, and goes out of his way to keep Tate with him and away from Fiddleford. Given his criminal past, he's afraid that if Fiddleford is correct, he could make legal actions to take Tate away from him.

Fiddleford eventually goes to Ford about his suspicions.

Fiddleford: Stanford I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to promise you'll stay calm. Stanford: *doesn't look up from microscope* Are you going to tell me you suspect you're Tatum's father because you slept with my brother around the time he would have been concieved? Fiddleford: ... Stanford: Because you are. Fiddleford: What in tar- Stanford: *tosses a file folder towards Fiddleford* I have all of our DNA on file - Fiddleford: You do???? Stanford: Of course I do! I store the DNA profile of everyone who's entered my residence, just in case there's a shifter afoot. Comparing yours and Stanley's DNA to Tatum's, there is only a 0.001% chance that he isn't your biological child. Fiddleford: ... *speechless* Stanford: Congratulations, according to science you're a father.

Fiddleford does eventually manage to talk to Stan about it, and clear the air between them. Stan is apprehensive because Fiddleford is married, but he's at least relieved that Tate happened before Fiddleford was in a relationship with Emma-May. Stan allows Fiddleford to spend more time with Tate (supervised), but they agree Tate doesn't need to know just yet what Fiddleford is to him.

Fiddleford also holds back on telling his wife about Tate, he'd prefer to tell her face-to-face.

But then the portal test happens and Fiddleford gets a glimpse of the horrors beyond the portal, which traumatizes him just like in the original. This doesn't convince him to leave, because Ford is becoming dangerous and Fiddleford is worried about what would happen if Stan and Tate were left alone with him. He invents the memory gun, but holds up on using it on himself.

The relationship Ford has with both Stan and Fiddleford  becomes more explosive. Stan and Fiddleford are both telling Ford that he's messing with forces beyond his control.

To get Fiddleford off of his back about the portals, Ford instead lashes out at him about something else.

Stanford: Fiddleford... you know you're my best friend right? Fiddleford: ...Of course. Stanford: Stanley and I don't have a good relationship... we haven't in a long time. *puts a hand on his shoulder* But don't you dare hurt my brother, or nephew. I don't care how strained things are between Stanley and myself, or how close you and I are... He's my brother, and I'll always protect him, even if it's from you. Fiddleford: Do you think I would try to steal Tatum, Stanford?! *Pushes him away* Also, if you're going to threaten me, you could at least not be such a hypocrite. Stanford: How dare- Fiddleford: You say you care about Stanley? That you'd protect him? He's been homeless for over a decade! You SAW him get kicked out of home when he was still a minor! He escaped three different prisons, had extremely shady black-market top-surgery, chewed his way out of the trunk of a car, and gave birth by himself in an alleyway! He had walking pneumonia for nearly a year straight and almost died from it because he had to choose between himself and Tate over who needed treatment more!  But you didn't know any of that, did you? Because you don't talk to him or try to reach out. You still avoid him. You still treat him like he's your enemy. You're still resentful about that damn science project.  You don't know him or what he went through. You didn't even want him here, I called him up here so maybe somebody could set you straight!  Working with this portal, messing with these forces beyond comprehension and control- the only threat to Stan and our son is you! Ford: Get the hell out of my lab- and stay the hell away from my twin.

But this 'Mystery Trio'-esque era of their lives has a Bad End:

After Ford gets sucked into the portal the same way as he did in the original, Stanley decides to take over his identity; Fiddleford helps him with everything up until Stan fakes his own death.

As Tate's biological (other) father, and Stan having recently altered Tate's birth certificate to add Fiddleford, the boy is given to Fiddleford right away following Stan's 'death' and not put into foster care or an orphanage. This window of time is also when Fiddleford establishes the Society of The Blind Eye, but he chooses a leader after he founds it rather than leading it himself.

When Stan makes it clear he's going to dedicate himself to fixing the portal and bringing Ford back, Fiddleford makes a drastic decision. 

Knowing what the portal obsession did to Stanford, Fiddleford doesn't want Tate to be around if- no, when, the same thing happens to Stan. 

He uses the memory gun on Stan to make him forget about their son entirely. He does the same thing to Tate to make him forget about Stanley, legally changes his name to Tater McGucket, and takes him back to California with him.

He makes this decision because in this scenario he never used the memory gun on himself, so the memory of what's on the other side of the portal still haunts him, making him more desperate and callous, especially with a child involved.

It breaks his heart that he did this, but he doesn't want Tate to be dragged into Pines drama. He takes the boy home and tells his wife that he was conceived before they were together (looking at Tate's age, he was born at least a year before they started dating), and uses the news clipping about Stan's death to explain how he got custody without any trouble, and Emma-May adopts Tate. Tates memory gaps are excused by his young age, and the trauma of losing a parent at such a young age, so Fiddleford and Emma-May decide not to tell him about Stanley.

Stan forgets about both Tate and Fiddleford, but he has this deep sense of loss and betrayal that he can't place. He figures over the years that maybe it's just some of his feelings about Ford having gone through the portal...

Decades later, and after a divorce, Fiddleford moves back to Gravity Falls, bringing Tate with him so Tate can start his Bait and Tackle Shop somewhere quiet. Fiddleford is there to check up on the Society of the Blind Eye, and also to check on Stanley because he feels guilty about what he did. Although he knows that this is Stanley pretending to be Stanford, he says nothing to anybody about it, it's the least he could do.

When Stan see's Fiddleford again - he doesn't know why, because he's 'never met the guy', but just looking at his face pisses him off. And every time Stan see's Fiddleford from then on, whether its across the street or at the shops or what have you, he is openly hostile towards him even if he can't adequately explain why he feels this way about Fiddleford. Also strangely attracted to him, particularly his banjo playing, but its overshadowed by his hostility.

Stan meets Tate shortly after the Tate and Backles Bait and Tackle shop is opened... and he doesn't know why, but this young man he's never met makes him feel sad. But also... Relieved? Elated? Proud?? He comes by often, sometimes not even buying (or stealing) anything, he just chats with Tate (and Backle to a lesser degree).

Tate himself feels strangely fond of this frequent flier customer. Like he's met a dear old friend. He is awfully confused why Stan will sometimes call him 'Tatum', seemingly without noticing, and why he never feels like correcting him. 

Fiddleford knows why, because he never erased his own memory, and he feels so guilty. But it's been 30 years, he can't say anything without ruining his relationship with Tate (which became strained after the divorce, which in this timeline happened maybe around Tate's late teen/early adult years). 

One way that this whole thing can be revealed is when Dipper and Mabel deal with The Blind Eye society, they find two memory tubes, one labelled "Tatum S. Pines" and another labeled "Stan Pines" take it with them because it has their last name, and Grunkle Stans name, on them.

They play the one labeled Stan Pines at first, and realize it's Tates early childhood memories of Stan.

When they play the one labeled "Tatum S. Pines" they see it's all of Grunkle Stans memories of Tate, leading up to his confrontation with Fiddleford.

(MEMORY) Stan, backing up: Wait, what is that thing? Fiddleford, what are you doing with that?! Fiddleford, pointing the memory gun at him: I'm sorry Stan, I truly am. But I can't let you drag our son into this... I do care for you, and I wish things could have been different. But you're just like him!  **BLAST** (END OF MEMORY)

This horrifies them, and they have a real moral conundrum of if they tell Stan and Tate, or if they keep it to themselves to keep the peace. 

They deserve to know... but it'd be so painful. And this would take place before "The Tale of Two Stans" so they don't even know what Fiddleford was talking about to justify stealing Tate, or who 'him' is.

Eventually, it's Wendy and Soos who confront McGucket and tell him that he better be honest with Stan and Tate, or they're going to do it for him. That he's a selfish coward who ripped someone's young child from their arms.

Or, an alternative scenario; Fiddleford never stored those memories in the first place, or at least didn't store them with the Society of the Blind Eye, and it's Ford who brings this all up to Stan. Ford was already through the portal when Fiddleford decided that parental abduction was totally okay if there was amnesia involved.

Ford: Are these Tatum's children? *motioning to Dipper and Mabel*. Stan: They're Shermie's grandkids, and - who? Ford: ...Tatum? Tatum Stanford Pines? Your son. Stan: ...I don't- I don't have a son. *tears gathers in the corner of his eyes, but he either doesn't notice, or chooses to not react* And if I did, I wouldn't give him your name as a middle. Ford: Yes you do, and yes you did. You introduced us right before the portal incident. I even DNA-sequenced him to confirm that his other father was Fiddleford. Stan: WHAT? And- who?? Ford: Here, look *pulls up his DNA files from ones of his secret safes in the lab and shows it to Stanley, which not only has the DNA results but also pictures of Stanley, Fiddleford, and Tate from the time* Honestly Stanley, how could you forget a child you car-.

Ford realizes something is wrong when it's clear that Stanley is distressed, but also confused, like having a son is legitimately a surprise to him. He's so shocked he has to lie down for a bit. His eyes keep leaking tears but he doesn't know why 'Fords cruel and oddly elaborate joke' is making him so upset, because 'clearly it's not true'.

When Ford hears Fiddleford lives in Gravity Falls, he seeks him out and demands answers.

At first, Fiddleford tries to play it off like maybe Ford was remembering things wrong - but with enough pressure, and a ray gun pointed at his chest, Fiddleford finally comes clean. About what he did. Why he did it.

Ford is still angry at Stan for getting him trapped in the Nightmare Realm Multiverse for 30 years; and then stealing his name, identity, and house, but that's still his twin brother. And what Fiddleford did was to him was horrendous, especially after Stanford had already warned him years ago to not to hurt Stan or Tate. This was a crime against the whole Pines family. 

So Ford beats him up. No, he doesn't kill or maim him, but he beats the living dog shit out of him until Fiddleford promises the glass tubes of Stan and Tate's memories in exchange for mercy.

Mabel, Dipper (and Soos/Wendy) are clearly confused (because they wouldn't have seen the memories in the "The Hall of the Forgotten"). Although, this whole revelation does bring Dipper closer to Stan, because Dipper had no idea he wasn't the only transgender person in the family.

Ford shows these memories to Stan first, who is going through all kinds of emotions especially after getting Ford back and their bitter reunion. This allows Ford and Stan to somewhat reconcile early; just like how Ford lost 30 years of his life to the portal, Stanley lost 30 years with his own son because of his conviction to fix it.

Ford also has to physically stop Stan from hunting down and murdering Fiddleford (who Stan only knew as McGucket up to this point) with his bare hands. Reminding him that it's more important that he reaches out to Tate.

But Stan is conflicted. He wants to be Tate's dad again but... Tate is in his mid-thirties, he doesn't need him like he did when he was 5. And Tate already has two loving parents, both of which don't have an extensive criminal record, and who provided him with a stable home, which Stan never did because they were homeless the whole time.

Does he really want to uproot Tate's life and/or peace of mind with a revelation this big?  

This goes all the way to Weirdmageddon, where everyone gathers in the Mystery Shack for security; faced with a possible end of the world, Stan takes Tate to the side, dragging Fiddleford with them, and tells him the truth. Fiddleford confirms it all, ashamed and apologetic. Finally, they give Tate his memory tube, which he watches.

For a moment Stan and Fiddleford have a moment of solidarity; Stan can see that Fiddleford really did want to spare Tate from whatever unknown-at-the-time fate had befallen Stanford because of the portal.

Fiddleford finally faces his past mistakes, and apologizes for what he did. That what he did was wrong, and he can never make it up to them, but if they survive this maybe he could try to make things right.

This is their last family moment between the three of them pre memory-wipe.

The mind wipe thing still happens. Gravity Falls is saved. Mabel and Dipper manage to jog Stan's memory but there's no way to make him remember Tate - the glass memory tubes have already been used, and Stan didn't keep any photos from his homeless era because he couldn't afford it most of the time, and when he could he always managed to get kicked out of whatever state they were in before the photos were done developing.

Once again, Ford comes in clutch. Throughout his last journal, just like how he made entries about Fiddleford, he also made entries about Stan and Tate, including detailed sketches. How Tate liked to get into high places, exasperating Stanley who was afraid of heights. How Stan would take him to the woods to follow the creeks because Tate was intrigued by waterways. How Tate said so few words but Stan always seemed to know exactly what he wanted or needed at any given time. How Tate only liked eating the green M&M's but Stan was fine with it because he got to eat the rest. 

Now while Stan's heartwarming memories of his son come back, so does his desire to break Fiddlefords neck. 

Fiddleford still buys the Northwest Mansion and converts it to "McGucket's Hootenanny Hut", but because the Pines families are the heroes of Gravity Falls, they (Ford) manage to convince the local government to put Fiddleford on house arrest for an indeterminate amount of time as punishment for 30-something years of parental abduction and alienation (also the whole starting a Cult thing). Fiddleford accepts this, and Tate still lives with him.

Post memory-wipe Stan still reconciles with both of them, and his relationship with Fiddleford is... weird, but not entirely bad. It's like they're dating, but with a lot of emotional distance. Like, Stan still tells Ford he wants to murder him... but also tells him to never, ever, check their texting history. 

Stan still goes to sail the world with Ford on the Stan O'War II. They do invite Tate, who declines because "He'd rather just live the simple life in Gravity Falls, and not get involved in whatever supernatural gobbledygook his dad and uncle are sure to get into".

And Stan is so proud of him... because just like he said thirty years, there's nothing he wanted more for Tate than to live his life by his own terms. He video chat's with him as often as he does with Dipper and Mabel. 

Tate ends up keeping McGucket as his last name, but he changes his first and middle back to what it was originally.

And that's the end of this tale, thanks for sticking with me. Here's a passage where Ford teases Stan while they're on their sea adventure;

Ford: It was so sweet of you to give your son my name. Stan: Poindexter, I swear to Moses. Ford: Even after a decade apart. Admit it, you missed me so much. Stan: *rolls his eyes* Of course I did. Stan: Stan: But the real reason that's his middle name is because he was conceived at Stanford University. Ford: I- Ford: I really didn't want to know or think about that.

The End... Go home.

[halflifebutawesome]

BEHOLD! FOR THE SECOND TIME, THE GBVRAI LINEUP! now with another weird old dude!

waves my hands around vaguely I wanted to make a nicer looking lineup and more coherent post actually explaining the au. I've now made 2 gbvrai lineups but never a plain old hlvrai lineup. Whatever.

There's a complete AU explanation and individual character profiles (?) under the cut! check it out! ASK ME ABOUT IT !!! SMILES!!!!!

The basic gist of this au is that the science team, are a group of ghost hunting paranormal researchers. The Ghostbusters. You mightve heard of them. This isn't a 1 for 1 au where certain characters take the role of others, it's more just. What if the science team existed in the Ghostbusters universe. They're just the Ghostbusters now.

On a particularly odd case, they bust a ghost that seems... off. It's sentient, it's talking back, and it's psychokinetic energy is off the charts.

Thinking nothing of it, they return to the firehouse and prep the trap for containment disposal. Gordon's the new guy, so he's the unlucky dude who's been assigned the job of disposing of the traps. All the while the ghost will NOT shut up. It's weirdly powerful and seems mostly unbothered. It's name is Benry, and he's a little freak.

the ghost containment unit has been unstable for a while, overfilled with ghosts, but they have to dispose of Benry somehow, so they go ahead with it.

In this AU I'm kind of combining the Resonance Cascade with the Manhattan Crossrip (the Manhattan crossrip is the big scary ghost event that happens at the end of GB1). Basically what happens is that Benrys weirdly powerful ghostly energy, combined with an unstable ghost containment unit, tears a big rip in the fabric between the ghost realm and ours, letting all sorts of ghouls and specters free.

Imagine the Resonance Cascade, with all the aliens getting out and ravaging Black Mesa, but it's a bunch of ghosts getting out and ravaging New York. Gordon and the rest of the team have to fight their way through the ghost filled streets of NYC, and close the crossrip.

Heres some closeups and more individual info/thoughts for the gang!!

GORDON FREEMAN! The new guy. Again, this is less a direct 1 for 1 swap au kind of deal, and more just putting these guys in situations. Gordon's HEV suit, tho, I wanna talk about.

In Ghostbusters canon, they DO have a weird fucked up hazard suit. It first appears in the TRGB episode "Xmas Marks The Spot", where Egon uses it to travel into the ghost realm. I know it makes another appearance in the comics, in a way that's more HEV-esque, but I never finished the comics so idk. It's real tho.

I imagine here that the ghost containment unit is more like the reactor in half life, where it's hazardous to be around for too long, probably bcos of like. I don't know. Concentrated psychokinetic energy. Sure. In any case he needs to wear the HEV to use the containment unit.

My design here is taking the chest piece, helmet, gloves and belts and modifying them to look a little more HEV-esque.

Bennyyyy. Benrey benry beny. He's a ghost, as far as they can tell. It would be more appropriate to call him an entity of sorts.

He's not a ghost simply for the fact that he wasn't ever human. He wasn't ever a living person that died. He's some pure, really powerful, concentrate entity/being that leaked through from the ghost realm. He looks like. A guy, for the most part, but he's a mimic. Something pretending to be human. He's been around for a while, and has settled into this form. He's mostly corporeal, but can phase in and out as he pleases (noclipping) Switching from corporeal/incorporeal when it's funny.

He met Tommy when they were both a lot younger, Benry being fresh out of the ghost realm, and have been bestfriends ever since. ☝️ my au my weirdly specific tommybenny dynamic. Dw about it

TOMMY & SUNKIST!!!! Tommy has grown up around ghosts his whole life, and is pretty in-tune with them. This is proven with his bond to Sunkist, who's decidedly not a real dog, and his longtime friendship with Benry.

I gave him the goggles cos. Tommy's my fave and Ray's my fave and I think they're fun. Also cos if it WAS a 1 to 1 swap I would def have Tommy as Ray. Anyway. He's been a part of the Ghostbusters since he was little, like I said he grew up with them and around them. He's really knowledgeable about ghost types and physics. He knows all the ghost rules.

Sunkist isn't like. His dead childhood dog cos that seems. Kind of sad. Instead she's kind of a church Grimm or hell hound. An entity taking the form of a big huge dog that Tommy befriended when he was a kid, and has now kind of bonded to him. She's pretty corporeal as far as ghosts go, and can interact w the physical environment pretty well.

DARNOLD ^^ my friend darnold. Darnolds not usually super involved in the actual ghostbusting, and prefers to stay behind. He's more of the research and tech kind of guy, he studies the readings and takes measurements.

He's interested in psychokinetic energy and ghost residue and all sorts of like. Ghost sciences. Why some people stay behind, why some people just seem to die and disappear, the properties of the ghost realm and the ghosts themselves. Corporeality and degradation of personhood the longer someone's been a ghost.

When the Resonance Crossrip happens, he opts to stay behind and observe the effects of the insane amounts of ghost energy on the corporeal world.

Hes also a transfer over from the ghost engineers! That's a fun thing for me. I love the ghost engineers idc frozen empire gave me everything I wanted

FORZEN. Forzen is... the same thing as Benry. A mimic, something taking the form of a normal ghost to blend in or hide in plain sight.

He came through with the Resonance Crossrip, but obviously like. He knew Benry before (we WERE bestfriends..). He's not as powerful, which is why he wasn't able to sneak through when Benry did. He's also not super corporeal. He can only interact with the physical world if he's exerting a LOT of energy. Prone to flickering in and out of vision.

Upon coming thru the Crossrip, he kind of just. Decided to hang around the firehouse. Didn't wanna go much further, for fear of being ghostbusted and sent back into the containment unit. The source is the last place they'd look for him!

Darnold, who's holed up in the firehouse, is more than delighted to meet a ghost who's sentient and willing to cooperate to do some tests and experimentation to get never before documented results. They bond and they're cutesit. ☝️ DARZEN WIN. hi splash 👋

Dr Coomer and Dr Bubby are two of the three original founders of the Ghostbusters! They've been around for a looooong time. They're also married obviously but that's like a given.

They helped found the Ghostbusters, having met in college while both were studying parapsychology. I imagine their like. Parapsychology -> Ghostbusters pipeline was very in line with how GB1 starts, where they used to work in an academic environment before getting kicked out and founding the GB.

They're also both. Psychic. Because frozen empire has once again given me everything. Coomers got some like. Idk something that lines up with his self awareness in HLVRAI, maybe prophecy? Vauge visions of the future? Bubby has pyrokinesis. Duh.

and... Mr. Coolatta..... Tommy's dad...he was one of the founders along w Coomer and Bubby and at some point he. Died. And is now a reeeally really powerful ghost. maybe from the exposure to ghost energy or smth?

Now hes got gman powers and just kinda hangs around. Pretty corporeal and solid and. Present. For lack of a better word. But he IS a dead guy. Used to be human.

This is why Tommy kind of grew up around ghosts and knows alot about them :) Mr Coolatta is pretty benevolent, and mostly just kind of spooky and fucked up.

And that's. About it? I believe?? PLEAAASE ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS I have so many thoughts. I've been working on this for like 2 months now. Lol.

[tetra28]

Baby Damian / Talia - Friend

List

Prev - Next

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¡Warning! To much text and nonsense

So, let’s talk about Talia. I know that in my first post for this series, I gave a brief introduction to her character, and a lot of people ended up labeling her as "The Good Mother Talia." But to me, she’s a much more complex character—both as an individual and as a mother.

(I know that most of her "bad mom" moments come from Grant Morrison’s run, and yeah, most people don’t really like how he wrote Talia. Personally, I think he had an interesting concept, but the execution wasn’t great.)

So here, I want to explore Talia as a mother who isn’t purely good or bad. In canon, she does love her son, but there are times when her personal goals end up taking priority over that love.

So, in this mini-saga of the AU, I decided to explore Talia a little more. I’m not sure if I’ll pull it off, but it’s a well-intentioned attempt.

Here, young Talia is a girl with strong beliefs—she believes in her father, in his mission, and in the goal of the League of Assassins. (Which, originally, was supposedly founded as an ec0-terr0rist group, but modern comics seem to ignore that. Honestly, I don’t think that shift is completely illogical, but like everything DC does, it’s poorly executed and possibly handled in a racist way—I can’t say for sure.)

Why don’t I think it’s illogical? I live in a country with 4rmed groups that claim to fight for freedom, for the people, against the state—yada, yada. Maybe, at first, they truly had those ideals and fought for them. But over time, as the conflict grew, as they needed more money to sustain their fight, and as they lost their values—because w4r, especially a bl0ody one, desensitizes you—they stopped fighting for their original cause. Now, they just fight to be the ones in power. I think that’s exactly what happened to the League of Assassins and the Al Ghul family.

(I need comics or fan comics that analyze this. I think it’s a super interesting topic, and if you know of any, drop some recommendations!)

Back to Talia—so, in this mini-AU, I’m exploring her character through the perspective of a childhood friend (inspired by the girl from Batman: Shadow War). The focus is on how Talia’s attitude shifts over time because, let’s be real, growing up in an ecoterrorist cult isn’t exactly healthy for anyone.

Especially if we consider that she was probably exposed to the Lazarus Pit multiple times. (Not sure if that’s canon, but in this AU, it definitely is.) Personally, I see the Lazarus Pit as something deeply tied to cruelty and radicalization. It doesn’t turn you into some mindless, animalistic being that attacks everything in sight, but I do think it strips away empathy, makes you emotionally unstable, more violent, and more willing to commit acts you once thought impossible—but now, you just don’t care anymore. (Like, you know… k!ll!!ng your own kid… ahhhhhhhh.)

So, that’s what I want to explore here.

I’m totally open to any ideas you guys have for this AU—especially about the Al Ghuls, because I want to dive even deeper into them later!

And if you could recommend some comics about the League of Assassins, I’d really appreciate it! Just something more recent—I live in Latinoamérica, and getting older comics is almost impossible.

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (16) - We are Alphas

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 16 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 6,822

Work count for Story: 130,009

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs, and the other loves everyone. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work because I almost died in August of 2024.

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This chapter does have pack dynamics, Alphas fronting, and discussions of the past. There are cuddles in this one, figured it was needed after the last chapter. FYI, I swear the Bangtan boys wrote this chapter, not me!

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

“Sit down, Taehyung-ah,” orders Namjoon just as the tiger hybrid is about to get up and follow you to your den. “You already have given her enough to deal with. Tailing after her could very well push her in a direction, and with how things are, we don’t know if it will be a good one or not.”

With a frustrated sigh and a pout, Taehyung says, “I wasn’t gonna do anything.” He then turns around and leans against the couch instead—his thoughts, along with everyone else's, spiral in several different directions. The internal loud silence that fills the living room reveals how flustered and perplexed the seven hybrids are. 

“Can someone please convince me that our ladymate didn’t just tell us, in a roundabout way, that she wanted to stay with Hyung and me this morning?” Jimin asks in a soft but desperate voice. His fluffy, striped tail switches between an excited swishing to a nervous flicking motion while he waits for someone to agree with him out loud. 

Unfortunately, his request is met with an even louder silence. Their thoughts, having agreed with Jimin’s, have played out more than what would be considered an unhealthy amount of possible outcomes from that particular situation. While this seems to be a step in the right-ish direction, the pack is still in what they consider unstable and uncharted territory. 

Well, to be honest, this whole situation was uncharted territory for the seven of them because their new mate was A—a female and B—a human. So much information has been gathered in such a short time that has to be processed and addressed, but how? When?

Those who went to the pack meeting with your Family pack haven’t had the chance to share what they learned with the rest of the bonded mates, which allows them to have a better understanding and even more desire to soothe, heal, and support you. However, it was agreed that they would wait until they could guarantee privacy from staff. 

As the silence continues in the living room with their minds occupied, their ears intently focus on you. They can’t hear anything from your den, which indicates that you, like them, are a bit off-center about this meeting, or so they hope. 

After what seems like an eternity, the soft padding of your footfalls finally indicates that you have reached some point in your thoughts that allows you to move and not be frozen. It allows a release of the tension surrounding the bonded mates. As the energy becomes less heightened, Jungkook crawls into Yoongi’s lap with a hand stroking Taehyung’s hair, seeking comfort. The soft exhales from some of them break the silence, along with the rustling of clothes as they relax into their seats. 

“I think,” hesitantly starts Hoseok. “I think we need to do a few things with her. We can’t just keep thinking that she is fully educated on hybrid customs and behaviors like our past playmates because she isn’t. She isn’t educated properly, nor is she a playmate.”

“I also think she needs to learn to love herself more,” frowns Hoseok, his eyes drilling holes into the carpet.

“You noticed that, too? I think her family did an excellent job of crushing any kind of self-awareness or self-love for herself,” Yoongi says with a hint of snarl in his voice. “As her Alphas and her mates, it’s our job to ensure that she not only understands how exquisite she is to us but she also needs to see it with her own eyes.”

Nodding, Hoseok adds, “I think I can help that. I mean with my self-image issues from before, I have a personal perspective on what it’s like to experience that kind of pressure, more or less. Also, maybe in time, I can use some of my shibari skills to help with not only her body image issues but her trust as well.”

A collective hum comes from the pack. It’s been several years since Hoseok fought his demons when it came to his looks. For Seokjin and Namjoon, when those pictures of their mate bound in a mask find their way back into circulation because Army does those ‘glow up’ or 'where they started’ comparison shots on TikTok or Instagram, the feeling of failing to support their mate as the leader and the oldest surfaces.

As Jimin sits more comfortably in Seokjin’s lap, he looks at his mates confidently before offering assistance, saying, “I could teach her about nesting, specifically what it means at the hybrid level with all the differences between a den nest and a pack nest, along with the boundaries and such?”

“That is a good idea, Jimin-ah, but you must be delicate about it because of her past,” warns Hoseok. “You can’t just burst in and take over. I don’t want us to treat her like a kit, but at the same time…”

“Her ideas and thought processes are similar to how you were when you first joined us because you were both raised with misinformation or misguidance on acceptable behaviors,” says Yoongi. “I am not sure why her mother’s side of the family would have even associated her ‘blanket forts’ with a nest, though. I guess it was just too close of a behavior.”

Looking at Jimin, Yoongi continues, “I think she can learn a lot from you and Kook-ah. However, I think that, based on how you were raised, you might connect with her better.”

Unlike Jungkook, Jimin doesn’t necessarily like to discuss his past because it is something that he would very much like to forget. It took him almost a year to share details with his bonded mates. Now, lost in his thoughts, Jimin wonders if he should be upfront and detailed about it with you or just allude to what happened.

Jungkook whines at the thought of being unable to connect with you on a deeper level, prompting Taehyung to push against the bunny hybrid’s hand in his hair, saying, “Don’t worry, Kookie. You already have a connection with Y/n that is stronger than the rest of us. I think you might even have a better connection than Yoongi-hyung does.”

Tilting his head up from Yoongi’s lap, Jungkook peers over the arm of the couch at Jimin and snarkily says, “Speaking of my level of connection with Y/n, apparently it isn’t strong enough to garner an invitation into her nest.”

All eyes look to Jimin with hints of jealousy and curiosity, but mostly envy. Putting on a sly smirk and leaning into the eldest’s hold, the memory of your body tangled with his is still fresh in his mind, causing his scent to spike with sweetness. Jimin curves his body against Jin in a way that he knows will get his mates going, but the soft nip from Seokjin on his shoulder makes Jimin roll his eyes and shake his head, saying, “She had a nightmare about her past and the nest.”

“I had decided to sit on guard outside her door because I wanted to be the first mate she saw when she woke up due to what happened when I stepped on Taehyungie’s tail and ruined your night, Namjoon-hyung,” the red panda explains. “I knew something was… wrong when she had gone to sleep on the window bench, not the nest I made for her.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to reassure the younger, but the slight shake of Seokjin’s head stops him, allowing Jimin to continue, “It hadn’t been long before I heard her softly crying and making pained noises as if she were being attacked. When she didn’t respond to me calling her by name, I entered her den and saw…”

Jimin pauses with a gulp. “I saw her in the tiny ball crying, clutching her stomach and whining. I literally had to shake her awake. She took a moment to realize where she was and who I was, but the next thing I knew, she was in my lap,” recalls Jimin. “She didn’t want to talk about it then but wanted the pack meeting to discuss everything with everyone.”

“While this is all and good to know, it doesn’t explain how you ended up sleeping with her,” flatly says Taehyung, who gets a smack to the back of the head by Yoongi. To which he whines, “well, it doesn’t.”

Giggling at the two, Jimin nods, replying, “You're right. When I asked her why she didn’t sleep in the nest when she returned, she answered that it was too perfect to sleep in. So, I carried, not without her complaining of her weight, over to her nest and put her inside.”

“She seemed still tense and expressed how we are so close that she doesn’t want to ruin anything. I explained that she wouldn't ruin anything because she wasn’t a typical playmate but she still didn’t relax in the nest. It worried me, so I… ah… well, I tested the bond,” Jimin says, trailing off. 

Shifting to look at Jimin better, Seokjin questions, “Jimin-ah, what did you do?”

“Please tell me you didn’t push yourself on her?” Hoseok asks darkly.

“No! I…” Jimin scoffs. “I asked her if I could join her in the nest. I even told her she could say no, but she didn’t. She relaxed almost immediately, even while keeping a respectful distance aside from holding her hand.”

“You didn’t look so respectfully distant when I found you together this morning,” pointed out the eldest.

“I will get to that,” Jimin rushes out with blush-tinted cheeks. “I shared a bit about our past with playmates. I figured it would help her not to feel so vulnerable with me so close, and it worked because when I went to leave, she asked me to stay. After a rather cute and telling discussion of sleeping arrangements, she had me sleep between her and the door for protection, under the blanket for warmth, and facing each other, but she didn’t give a reason.”

Tilting his head, Jimin continues, “I think it was mostly because she doesn’t want to over step but after today that may change. Anyway, she warned she moves alot in her sleep and I am pretty sure that is how we ended up so entangled.”

“She smelled interested when I joked about having to tie her down if she became a human tornado, Hobi-hyung,” Jimin says, wiggling his eyebrows.

With that, Hoseok grabs Jimin’s hand to head up to his den to discuss how to enact their part of the plan and check to see if Hoseok even brought his ropes with him on this trip—only pausing long enough to look to Namjoon for permission to leave the pack meeting. 

Taking in the more relaxed scents of his mates, aside from a spike of nerves and arousal from various makes, Namjoon thinks there isn’t much more that can be done right now. Standing, the Prime Alpha says, “Since Y/n left, I believe the pack meeting can conclude. I encourage everyone to reflect on what was discussed, and if you have a suggestion on how to help or have concerns about anything, you can always reach out to me.”

Seokjin heads to the kitchen to keep busy. Baking is one of the ways he can zone out to process things while still feeling like he hasn’t checked out of being a good mate. Some fresh cookies, non-chocolate, sound like a good idea and can be made on autopilot, or maybe making something for lunch would be good.  Opening the fridge, the eldest Alpha decides to make lunch and cookies while he deals with everything from finding Jimin in your bed to the topics of both meetings. 

Yoongi pulls Jungkook into his lap more, and the two cuddle into a ball. The attentive jaguar hybrid praises the youngest Alpha for being brave and sharing his past with their new mate. Jungkook blushes and buries his face into Yoongi’s neck with his little fluff of a cotton tail wiggling happily. It doesn’t take long for the two to fall into a light nap as they bask in each other’s warmth after the emotionally draining morning. 

Taehyung appears to be deep in thought. The influx of information has affected him more than he outwardly shows. His tail twitches out from under the couch in flicks as his thoughts bounce from one fact to another. He knows that hunting down the ex and the abysmal excuse of a family you have isn’t allowed, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining all the ways he could nor what he would do once he has his claws in them.

Namjoon watches Taehyung with concern etched on his face. After taking in his lack of movement and the warmth of his ebony scent, Namjoon doesn’t think the tiger will do anything, so he leaves him be– for now.  Even though Yoongi is focused on their youngest and napping, Namjoon trusts him to wake up and react if Taehyung’s scent changes. The Prime Alpha also trusts the others to help by reining the quick-tempered tiger in or seeking help if anything arises. With a soft sigh, Namjoon decides this might be a good time to discuss a few more personal things with you.

Making his way to your den, the wolf hybrid strains his hearing to try and pick up your heartbeat and breathing since your stressed-out scent is still lingering in the hall. He leans into his instincts as an apex predator and an Alpha to ensure you are, at least physically, in a good spot to take visitors. Unfortunately, it doesn't let him know if you are emotionally or mentally ready for it.

As he listens to your gentle, measured breaths and your calm, rhythmic heartbeats, Namjoon knocks on the door. The rapid footsteps approaching the door make the Alpha question if you had been expecting someone. When the door swings open, Namjoon offers a friendly smile and adopts what he hopes is an open posture to indicate that his visit has a positive purpose.

“Oh, Namjoon, I wasn’t,” you start to say, seemingly caught off guard that he is the one who came. “I mean, is everything okay? I know I kinda rushed out of there. I didn’t even close the pack meeting, I just more or less bolted which isn’t proper of me. I should know better, I mean, I do know better.”

“Y/n, Angel, everything is good. I think the meeting was a good idea and we covered a lot of… deep topics,” He answers, trying to reassure you. “May I enter your den?”

Jumping slightly and scooting out of the way, you gesture for him to enter, saying, “Of course, how rude of me. Sorry. Umm… you may sit where you wish, Alpha.”

“No need to be sorry. I just wanted to have some…” Namjoon’s voice trails off as he walks in and sees your Jimin-built nest on the bed. He can tell that it’s been used, which gives him a sense of pride because you must find their sense comforting and, hopefully, safe. He knew you slept in it, but seeing it hits differently.  Taking a slow, deep breath, he inhales the scents from the nest. The mixture is much richer since adding your sweetpea, almost as if it had been absent the whole time.

You leave the door slightly ajar and turn to face Namjoon. With a tilted head and raised eyebrow, you ask him, "Some?”

His eyes flick between you and the nest before he smiles. Walking to sit on the window bench, he continues his train of thought, “Some time to speak with you again, minus the flashing lights of the red carpet and the other packmates. That is, if it is okay with you?”

“Sure, I will always try to find time for our Prime Alpha,” you answer, missing the flash of forest green eyes at the subtle but unknowing claim you said. As you pull one of the pillows from the window bench to sit on the floor, Namjoon gently tugs on the other end, his eyes slightly narrowed as he gestures to the space beside him. Smiling shyly, you pause mid-squat and sit beside him on the window bench. 

Turning to face you, the Alpha looks at you in a way that makes you feel like he is looking through you. It is a look you have seen from Derek and Evie when they are trying to figure you out without actually asking you. His breathing is steady and deep, which tells you he is trying to catch how your emotions are by your scent. Luckily for you and him, your scent is soft sweetpea with the undertone of vanilla, showing that you are no longer flustered or anxious from the pack meeting.

“How are you feeling? After the pack meeting?” asks the Prime Alpha, his instincts leading him to ensure he understands your scent's basics. “Your scent seems to be almost neutral. I assume my being in your den is why there is a perfumed edge to your natural sweetpea.”

Sitting up straight, you shake your head, arguing, “No! I don’t have a problem with you being in my room… ah den. I mean, you are the Prime Alpha and it is your packhouse that I am in. So, you have every right to be able to come into this space.”

“Actually, no. That isn’t correct,” frowns Namjoon. “I will say this, and Jimin will get more into the depths of it later: your space is your space. At any time, if you want to be left alone or not to allow any of us to be allowed into your den you have that right.”

Holding your hand between his two larger hands, he looks at you with a serious but warm gaze. “This is every bit your packhouse as it is mine, Yoongi-hyungs, or any of us,” he says, stroking his thumb across your hand. “You have a voice as strong as any of us regarding your comfort, well-being, and needs.”

Your eyes widen at his statement and cause you to shift in your spot. Swallowing, you shyly smile and answer, “Umm… I sort of got that impression. I know myself well enough to remind myself this is all a temporary thing, but sometimes, with how you all talk, it’s like… I don’t know, Namjoon. It’s just different.”

He has to bite his tongue and try his hardest not to correct your perception of ‘this thing,’ which is very much not just a thing nor temporary. Namjoon wants to confirm that no shit it’s different because you are their mate. He decided it was best not to get into that issue right now with everything you have heard so far, but he is afraid that you won’t hear it from him in the right way if he told you it to begin with. He already botched this once; he doesn't want to do it again. After a moment, Namjoon redirects the conversation to one of the reasons why he came in. 

“I wanted to thank you for attending the Gala with me last night,” Namjoon says while looking at your still connected hands. “I also wanted to commend you on how well you handled the situation with the carpet. I should have been in better control of myself but, then again, I haven’t ever taken a… a playmate to an event alone before. That was a first for me.”

Your scent fluffs a bit sweeter as you smile at him. “Thank you, Prime Alpha. I had hoped I did the right thing. I didn’t realize how much my scent would affect you, or I would have tried to keep it calm or turn it off, not that I know how to do that,” you say with your smile faltering. “That was a first for me too, the LACMA Gala and the Alphaing out thing. I am just glad that Jennie-ssi and Jung Jae-ssi were there to show me where to go.”

The memory of Namjoon's koalaing to your back causes you to giggle, which makes said Alpha look at you with a raised eyebrow, and you can’t help but laugh more. “You, ah, got very clingy. You reminded me more of a Koala hybrid than a Wolf hybrid then,” you smile. “It was cute and calming.”

A faint blush colors Namjoon’s face as he pulls his hands out from holding yours. You, however, reach out and hold his hands in yours instead. His eyes are looking at you with a hint of shock and curiosity.

“Namjoon, Prime Alpha,” you start with a soft expression, hoping your scent conveys your sincerity. “I know we started on the wrong foot. Not just you and I, but the whole pack and I. How I became your playmate wasn’t ideal, but it was what you thought was best for your packmates at the time.”

Namjoon goes to jump in, only to have you cut him off and continue by saying, “I know Hoseok thinks you need to grovel and beg me for forgiveness, kinda like how Taehyung is doing, but as the Luna of my family pack, I understand why you did what you did, more or less.”

“No, Y/n,” quietly says Namjoon with a slightly pained look. “It was wrong of me. Utterly wrong of me.”

Now it was your turn to be cut off from trying to excuse him out of feeling guilty when Namjoon stood up and walked away. Without turning back to you, he says, “There is so much… I mean, there are things your family has taught you about hybrids that are a bit awry. I am sure that your family pack has tried to help teach you more things but then again, it’s hard to change something that someone has lived with their whole life.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, shifting in your seat. “I know about hybrid stuff. I don’t know about Alpha-specific things, but I can see if I can take a class for that. I am sure PMS will pay for it.”

Shaking his head, Namjoon turns to face you. He looked to the ceiling and ran his hand through his hair, stopping to scratch the back of his wolf ear before he answered, “You have a pack full of Alphas that are more than happy to teach you more accurately than any class will. Jimin-ah said he would enjoy teaching you the hybrid way of nests and boundaries. Hoseok has some ideas about other things, and I am sure the rest of us will find our things to show and teach you.”

“We,” Namjoon pauses, mumbling something about why words do not seem to work well around you before he looks at you and continues, “We don’t want to push you too far too fast, and I am worried we might. Please remember that you always have the right to stop anything we do. If any of us make you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to come to me, and if it’s me, you can talk with one of the hyungs, okay?”

You look at the floor with scrunched brows. “Why is that a recurring thing with you?” you ask, looking up at him with a very concerned look. “Every time we talk about something or do something, someone brings up that I can stop things and say no. Are you trying to make sure I know or are you all trying to remind yourselves that I can?”

Your accusatory tone and the point of your question take back Namjoon. It makes him pause and stare at you as your scent turns more into its perfumed side, meaning he has done nothing towards settling things with you and only makes you worry more. Rubbing his hand down his face, he lets out a low growl of frustration at himself.

Knock Knock

Namjoon spins around to your door, his growl deepening at the interruption before he sees Seokjin standing there. With a huff, Namjoon stops growling, and his shoulders sag at seeing the eldest mate. 

“I just wanted to let you know that lunch is ready,” Seokjin says with narrowed eyes and a slightly turned head as he takes in Namjoon’s reaction to a simple knock on the door. Looking past his Prime Alpha, he takes in your stiff posture, instinctively making him take a deeper breath. 

Namjoon’s leather smells like it has been left under the sun for too long, and it mixes with your perfumed sweetpea, but there remains the hint of the vanilla mate scent. Shaking his head, Seokjin steps inside your den to stand beside the wolf hybrid, who follows his movements with a pleading look. 

Putting his arms around Namjoon, Seokjin looks at you with a soft smile. “I take it the pack meeting didn’t stop in the living room?” he asks.

You roll your eyes in an almost agreeing movement, turning your head away from the two. Namjoon just lets out a soft whine and leans into the elder mate. “I see,” says Seokjin. “Well, there have been a lot of deep discussions and apparently unanswered questions or mixed feelings remain.”

“You got that right,” you mumble under your breath. Both hybrids hear it. Namjoon looks at Seokjin with wide eyes. His scent turns more into a burnt version. 

With a sigh, Seokjin maneuvers Namjoon to start heading out the door, instructing, “Joonie-ah, go and gather the pack for lunch. I am sure our muscle bunny has probably already started, but get the rest to settle in. Y/n and I will join in a few, but don’t wait.”

Opening his mouth to object, wanting to help resolve what he assumes is another fuck up on his part. Seokjin raises his eyebrow and holds up a finger, causing the Prime Alpha to close his mouth and quickly walk out of the room. His actions pull an amused hum from you, bringing the eldest hybrid’s attention back to you. 

Looking up, you look back down quickly, saying, “Sorry. Never thought I would see a Prime Alpha back down and leave without a word like that.”

“Oh,” giggles Seokjin with a wave of his hand. “Namjoon is the Prime Alpha but every once in a while he needs his Hyung to get him to listen. He really is a lap puppy under all that tough, leader persona.”

Noting that your scent hasn’t changed much, even with Namjoon leaving, Seokjin asks, “Are you alright, Y/n?”

Looking back at the eldest hybrid, you think for a moment. Are you okay? Technically, yes, you are, but you are also full of questions that keep zipping around while feeling lost but not at the same time. A tap on your forehead causes you to blink your eyes and quickly lean back when you see Seokjin just inches from your face. 

“I lost you for a bit,” comments Seokjin. “Are you hungry or do you think you can wait for a bit?”

“Umm, well, I am not starving,” you answer. “Why?”

“Good, come with me,” Seokjin said, grabbing your hand, pulling you to your feet and out the door. In a booming voice, he yells, “Jungkook, Yoongi! Nesting room, now!”

Hissing at him, you say, “Jin! They are eating, what are you doing?”

“Just be a good girl and come with me,” he smirks. The sound of chairs scraping and shouts of agreement come, but your brain is shorting out on two simple words– good girl.

You have been called many things before in your lifetime, but a good girl has never been one of them, at least not that you can remember. The tingles that it gave your brain decided to trickle down your back like a teasing caress, and that was something you weren’t expecting. Then again, after only being around these men for about a week now, you should be used to the unexpected. The question you will have to unpack later is, was it the name ‘good girl,’ was it how Seokjin said it, or was it because Seokjin said it that caused that reaction?

For Jin, your scent doesn’t give away your internal reaction to those words as much as your sudden lack of resistance does. Glancing over his shoulder as he leads you down the hall to the nesting room, he can see your eyes have fallen to your feet while your cheeks have become rosie.

Inside the nesting room, Seokjin sits you on the edge of the nest and kneels at your feet. After looking at your soles, he shakes his head, grabs a wet wipe from one of the drawers, and starts wiping off what you think might be grass and dirt from your walk outside this morning. Seokjin was muttering something about dirty feet and Taehyung having a heart attack if he knew as he cleaned you up.

While he is doing that, Yoongi walks in, followed by Jungkook, who is still holding a sandwich. Both seem to pause for a second before the perfumed sweetpea hits them. With a shared look, Jungkook quickly scarfed down the sandwich and ran to the kitchen to get everyone bottled water and the mango package they had the staff bring just for you. 

Without a word, Yoongi moved into the nest and rearranged the pillows and blankets. After smelling the hint of leather and the state of your scent, his goal was to lessen Namjoon’s presence in the nest while still keeping it there enough that you would start to associate it as something safe. Pulling Jimin’s, Taehyung’s, and Hoseok’s scents towards the middle, hoping to give you a subconscious signal that your mates are with you right now. 

You watched everything happening with a soft smile. It didn’t take much to recognize that they would try and use contact comfort to help you collect your thoughts or at least slow them down. Evie’s family would do this with you often, as contact comfort was one of the most helpful in settling the scents of packmates. The idea that their wordless agreements and understanding of the situation were so in sync when it came to something like this with you made your heart warm and your scent to fluff with vanilla and a hint of pear. 

Once Jungkook was back, your feet were cleaned, and the nest was remade. Yoongi curled up to the far back of the nest while Jungkook and Seokjin stood outside in front of you. 

Putting down his snacks, Jungkook looked at you with concern, asking, “Sweets, is everything okay? Your scent is kind of confusing.” He takes a deeper breath before continuing, “It’s like, you are not rejecting what happened, but worrying about it? Yet there is something else but I don’t know what it means.”

Before you can answer, Seokjin answers, “She and Joonie had a talk in her den. I think our handsome mate still hasn’t learned how to speak without putting his paw in his mouth around a certain lovely lady.”

Yoongi grumbles from behind you before he reaches out with a hand on your shoulder and gently pulls you back into the nest. “Namjoon-ah needs to stop trying to fix things without talking to one of us,” comments the jaguar. 

“There really wasn’t anything to fix, though,” you retorted as you scooted back and centered yourself in the nest. “I told him I understood why he made me your playmate and that he was just looking out for you guys, and you could have sworn I told him that I didn’t think hybrids existed.”

“Then, when he told me about the plan to have you lot teach me the ropes about Alphas and I guess what it means to be a hybrid, he reminded me yet again that I can say no,” You huff pulling off his bathroom, which is trying to strangle you as it catches on the nesting materials. “I mean, how many times does he or any of you need to say it? Like, I got it. No means no; it always has.”

“Dear, Namjoon was only trying to ensure or reinforce that boundaries aren’t a problem,” Seokjin reiterates, to which you huff and throw the robe out of the nest. All three hybrids pause, watching as if throwing it aside signifies something more important than merely removing it and stopping it from being in the way. 

“Oh yeah, reinforce for who? I asked him,” You start to sass. “If the reminders were actually for me or him.” That garners a low, skin-tingling growl from Yoongi; meanwhile, Seokjin and Jungkook look like you just said something unexpected. 

“Princess,” growls Yoongi. “We. Are. Alphas. We are not like those trashy, self-indulgent, egotistical, unethical humans who hold the unfortunate claim to being male because they possess the right chromosomes.”

Shifting you further onto your back and leaning over you so that he is inches from your face, upside down, Yoongi continues, “But that is all they are– male. They are not men; they will never be considered an Alpha. It would be wise for you to remember that you are surrounded by Alpha men. Understood, Princess?”

Internally, you are yelling at yourself for the rush of arousal that floods your system at his nonpermissive tone of voice and darkened expression. Your scent flaring with sweetness as your vanilla mate scent thickens like a syrup, signaling the two less dominant mates in the room know that they can relax.  

You start to nod and pause when Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly at your moments. Swallowing and licking your lip, you softly say, “Yes, Alpha.”

A smile softens his face at your reply. Slowly, Yoongi leans down, kisses your forehead softly, and mutters, “Good girl, Princess.”

There you go again, a tingle down your spine at the use of ‘good girl.’ Guess you now have your answer to the question. Apparently, the term caused a reaction because it has now happened to both Seokjin and Yoongi. God, you are gonna need to learn how to stop acting like a hormone-driven teenager around these “Alpha Men,” or you are gonna lose your job. Seriously, how do playmates do this day in and day out?

“Maybe they are just used to it? Not all of them can resist having some kind of attraction, or the partner rut contracts wouldn’t be a thing,” answers Jungkook, his ears standing tall and listening intently to everything.

You snap your head up, almost hitting Yoongi, and as you look at Jungkook with wide eyes, you ask, “Did… how much did I say out loud?”

Tilting his head, causing one ear to fold in half, with slight confusion, he slowly says, “How do playmates do this… day in and out? Did you not want an answer?”

You giggle softly and try to play it off, “I guess, I did. I just didn’t think I said it loud enough for you… umm… to hear.”

Jungkook smiles, happy to have answered your question with his exceptional hearing skills. “I can hear hushed things. It’s all part of being a prey hybrid. As a rabbit, I can hear something up to two miles away, but typically, the sound has to be in a higher pitch.”

You nod and lay back down, glancing up at Yoongi as he lies along the wall before looking at Seokjin. Seokjin and Yoongi snicker at your attempt but say nothing. 

Kneeling in the nest, Seokjin taps your leg, saying, “In your den, it seemed to me that you just need a moment to exist. Based on your actions, I also noticed that Yoongi and Kookie are your safe packmates in Bangtan.”

“I was thinking, you can take some time to lay in a proper nest with your two protectors and either relax, ask questions, explore your dynamic with them. Whatever you need right now,” offers Seokjin. “I will be here as well just to help facilitate, in case one of their Alphas front.”

“Oh, umm… Like a grounding session?” you ask to clarify. 

Seokjin smiles, agreeing, “Yes, a grounding session. Typically, as hybrids, we also scent the packmate that is the focus of the grounding session but that is entirely up to you.”

Jungkook inquisitively approaches the nest, asking, “Is it okay for me to come in? Can I lay at your back? Please?” His eyes look more like a doe than a bunny, which causes you to smile and nod because how could you deny such a simple request?

Excitedly, Jungkook hops into the nest and quickly gets in his spot behind you as you lean on your side, giving him space. While you spot Yoongi moving to take his place in front of you, you don’t notice Jungkook taking off his shirt. When Yoongi leans into your chest like a big kitten, nuzzling along the collarbones that peek out from your tank top sleepwear, you feel warm skin against your shoulders. You try to move away, but the weight of Yoongi on your chest and Jungkook’s arm wrapping around your waist stops you. 

Both of your protectors know they are pushing their actions a bit, but after the pack meeting, they are hopeful they can. At this point, all three hybrids can smell the spike perfume as they settle around you, but they wait to see what you will do. It takes only seconds for that perfume to dissipate and become more like the floral notes of jasmine. 

Yoongi instinctively purrs at the happy scent of you as it surrounds him, mixing with Jungkook’s snickerdoodle and hints of the pack from the nest. Jungkook’s cotton tail wiggles at the change in your scent—the feeling of finally having you in his arms where you belong adds to his elation. 

Seokjin, on the other hand, breathes a sigh of relief that you subconsciously or instinctively decided to accept their bolder moves. Not only is your personal scent showing your acceptance of their contact comfort, but the mate scent remains consistent and syrupy. Show each of them that your bond with the bunny and the jaguar has, in fact, grown. 

However, experiencing intimate contact with Jungkook can be slightly intimidating, especially with the entire pack home and two in the same room. It is unexpectedly reassuring once you take a moment to stop to remember the discussion from the pack meeting and then start feeling. The warmth of Jungkook’s body melding with your back is more pleasant than expected. The presence of a hybrid-sized heated weighted blanket, which Yoongi has become soothing, allows your mind to divert from the racing thoughts. 

Relaxing into their hold, you adjust to lean more against Jungkook, who happily accepts by pulling you closer at the waist. Your arm drapes over Yoongi and rests below his neck, between his shoulder blades. With a small break in his purring, Yoongi scoots closer since you moved away from him, causing your hand to slide up his neck and into the base of his hair. His furry ears twitch and almost flutter at the feeling as his purring increases. 

Taking that as a good sign, you slowly scratch at his scalp almost absentmindedly as you breathe in the spring rain of Yoongi’s petrichor and Jungkook’s sweet but spiced snickerdoodle. Your mind slowly becomes a buzz of peace and calmness you haven’t experienced in a long time. It’s not long till your soft snores are heard over Yoongi’s purring.

Seokjin finds his way around, where he knows his bonded mates can see him and catch their attention. Much to Seokjin’s prediction, he has the attention of a golden-yellow-eyed Alpha and a smokey grey-eyed Alpha. His tender and proud smile blooms at the younger Alpha’s comforting, caring, and protecting their ladymate. 

“Alpha Yoon, Alpha Kook,” Seokjin greets. “I will step out and let the pack know our Ladymate is being cared for and not to worry or bother the three of you. I will be in and out to check on you guys.”

Alpha Kook nods and pulls you closer to himself, wanting you to stay comfortable and warm. Alpha Yoon, however, looks at Seokjin like he wants to say something as his eyes narrow at the older bonded mate. 

“Yes, Alpha Yoon?” asks Seokjin, attempting to prompt him into speaking his mind. 

With a broken purr, Alpha Yoon demands, “Bring Tae. Must serve mate. Keep warm. Stay close.”

Seokjin’s eyes light with understanding. “That’s right, Alpha Yoon. Taehyung is in service to Y/n right now,” affirms Seokjin. “I will send him in next, but I will ensure he knows you two are in charge of this right now.”

After Alpha Yoon thinks about what Seokjin said, he nods and snuggles closer, prompting Seokjin to stand quietly and leave the nest in search of the pack—specifically, a tiger to send in and a wolf to have a serious discussion with. 

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[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of abuse, anxiety / paranoia, illegal acts mentioned, violence etc. words -> 3.3k

abstract -> fight or flight... what are you going to choose Hongjoong?

y/n's perspective

After a while, I returned to the apartment and made sure my face didn’t tell them I cried. 

I couldn’t let that tiger get to me… but he did. My mind wandered and overthinking everything. I was taught how to differentiate happy hybrids… but I couldn’t now.

His words couldn’t leave my head. 

“Are you thinking of adopting them?” I heard as I saw Yeosang behind me. No… I was wondering if you guys lied to me.

“I know you want to help them–” Did I? They weren’t my responsibility… and frankly, Hongjoong was scary. “–we talked and if you really want to help them, we understand.” he said and I wondered…

Did they want me to adopt them?

“San… he told me how he felt when you adopted me. If he said no, I would've been under her control still and I couldn’t wish that on any hybrid” he confessed and I nodded. 

“You don’t need to feel guilty–” I don't… but if you want me to adopt the tigers then I’d do anything for you three. “–we promise to try to get along,” he said and I noticed Wooyoung and San by the doorway of my room. 

“You’re a good person, without you we would’ve been suffering on our own”

“You do know this is dangerous, right?” Kun asked me as I signed. What was I doing? I couldn’t think straight. Everything was overwhelming… it felt like high school all over again, like almost a year ago when he left me. 

They were dangerous but not to them… to me. 

Seonghwa came out first. He helped me… he was kind but it was to get out of his own hell hole. He only fulfilled his side of the deal, nothing more… nothing less. 

“You? You’re adopting me?” he said with a smile. I didn’t know how to react but I smiled softly… he seemed happy… was he?

“You won't regret it! I… thank you for everything…” I turned him out when I saw the other tiger. He was in a red code protocol gear. “He’s still a code red. The only reason I'm agreeing is because of the training you have… I hope you know what you're doing” Kun said. I don't… I know nothing. I don’t know how to take care of someone… I don’t even know if my own hybrids trust me. If everything was a lie… and I was blissfully just ignorant. 

He looked at me with a smirk.  

I was just a writer… Why was I biting more than I could chew?

hongjoong's perspective

I don’t know how Seonghwa didn’t notice it. Maybe because of how happy he was… but she was scared of us, even him. What could’ve gotten to her head to adopt us when she’s so scared? 

We made it to her building where she was greeted and I could tell this building was expensive. Truly just another rich human with nothing else better to do. 

When the elevator opened it revealed an apartment with three hybrids. Now just how blind were they?

“My name is Seonghwa, I'm a white tiger hybrid” he introduced with a bow to show his politeness. “Hongjoong,” I said while bowing slightly only to get smacked on the back by Seonghwa. Silently scolding me for not making a good impression. 

Why were good impressions even needed? I doubt we’d stay here for long.

Seonghwa was an annoying happy virus. He immediately made friends with the fox hybrid named Wooyoung. The two often cooked together and Seonghwa was a victim to his teasing. I could tell the Doberman and Seonghwa clashed a bit with their personalities but tried to get along for the sake of the humans. 

No one noticed just how… unstable she was becoming. 

I was starting to think my words of her hybrids faking everything got to her head. None of this could be true. She had to have had an incentive for them to act like they loved her. They actually treated her like a mate.

Even then… all of them were blind. She was spacing out and smiling softly and nodding to pretend she was listening to them. Every time she did this and caught my eyes she looked nervous… scared. I felt proud to have done such a strong response to her. 

It's only been three days… but that panther. Something about him made me feel uneasy. He wasn’t easy to approach like the fox or as easy to converse as the Doberman. Seonghwa has tried and he’d only stare menacingly and give uninterested responses.

He started to see what was happening to the human and how she recoiled in his touch. Almost like she was scared of him. Despite that… I overheard the other day that he’ll give her space.

That she might be overwhelmed by too many hybrids around especially since we were from the circus. He didn’t know I was a red code nor Seonghwa had the potential to be one as well. 

I was going to my room when I passed hers… she was in her room. Pacing back and forth mumbling under her breath. I peeked in to see papers scattered around her. She had a pen and was scribbling but she was clearly frustrated. 

Maybe I’ll check that out later. 

y/n’s perspective

I was confused about everything… I wanted to find comfort in them but I couldn’t. And Seonghwa has been nothing but the sweetest hybrid telling me how thankful he is that I adopted him let alone both him and… Hongjoong. He promised that Hongjoong would come around. He got along well with Wooyoung and helped clean and cook… he even enjoyed watching San and Wooyoung play on the TV and shared a love for fashion like Yeosang. 

Everything was… great.

Poor San… he’s been avoiding me. I know it's because I flinched that one time he waved his hand in my face to pull me away from my thoughts. Was I scared of San?

I found myself in the hallway and he attacked me. The broken vase was no longer on the floor, Nothing was on that top shelf anymore. The blood… the sounds of Johnny and his paramedic team. That was almost a year ago now. Why… Why was that flooding my mind now?

I went to my room and turned the lights scaring myself in the process to see Hongjoong sitting on my desk chair. He held up my story… circus.

“Did my performance inspire you?” he said in a mocking voice. I was frozen… “Why are you so scared? I’ll admit, I understand why they like this place so much~” he said, only adding to my pool of thoughts that I couldn't swim out of. 

“The food, the luxury, your submission,” he said as he stood up and I took steps backward. “It's all amusing,” he said and I wondered if that's what they thought. 

“You, however, have been scattered. Did you finally realize the true nature of hybrids? How they like each other's presence but not yours?” he said and I didn’t want to believe it.

San… he told me how much he hated me in the beginning. Why would he change… is it because he didn’t want to live in the kennel? Was it the same for Wooyoung? And Yeosang didn't… want to be with her anymore so what's the difference here?

“This pathetic piece of work is just that! Pathetic” he said as I saw him put both hands on it getting ready to rip it. My only draft… my months of work. I don’t know why my body moved on its own. But it did… and my fingers grazed it as Hongjoong grabbed my wrist and pulled away the packet of paper with his other hand. 

“Let me guess. You were gonna grab the piece of paper out of my hands? Just to what? Punish me? How would you do it? I don’t think you have whips… you don’t look like you'd be into that. Maybe… lock me in the closet? Sleep outside? Or… no food for a week?” he asked as he kept on listing punishments. I couldn’t listen anymore as his grip got tighter the more harmful punishments he listed. His claws dig deep into my wrist. I didn’t mean to cry… I tried to stay strong. They liked the tigers here… I was just collateral. 

“Are you even paying attention–” he asked as he now gripped the back of my neck plunging his claws into my skin. “–you humans don’t care what happens. We’re toys, entertainment, fun to you! Just because you can pay your way in life… just because I was born this way I’m the one made into a slave!?” he yelled as I was now questioning… Was the double vision because of my tears? Or because of the blood I was losing?

“Why do you get all the fun?” he asked and I didn't know with what strength I said it but I gave him a way out. 

“Then why don’t you run?”

hongjoong’s perspective

Run? That… it was an option now, wasn’t it? I could pretend to be a human… go to those illegal surgeries to try my best to look human. 

Why didn’t I think of that before? She wouldn’t be missing the money… wait.

Why wasn’t she moving? I let her go only to hear a thud of her falling down. Why was there so much blood? I tried to shake her awake but nothing worked. I checked for her pulse but I felt nothing?

Did I kill her?

How was I gonna explain that to the four hybrids in the living room?

As much as I tried messing with her head… I knew those three cared about her as stupidly as I thought it would be. Seonghwa… even liked the idea of living a pampered life. While trying to heal his wounds with humans starting with the girl who was bleeding out on her bedroom floor. 

Now was my chance… I could get her information. I could get money and leave. I could… live the life I want. But… It didn't change what I did. My hands are stained with my blood– “What did you do?” I heard as I saw Seonghwa standing by the door. He looked at my bloodied hands and then at her. 

He slammed the door shut but didn’t lock it. 

“Seonghwa, I know what I did was wrong, okay! Just help me find her wallet and maybe even her docu–” “Hongjoong I don’t want to run away and try to get the money for those ridiculous black market surgeries. What did you do?! Why?! She was a good person– Is she even alive?!” he said clearly panicked. He tried feeling for a pulse when he scrambled up to open the door and yell– 

“Call 119!” he said. He turned back to look at me with fear in his eyes… “I told you Hongjoong to stop. You misjudged her… what makes you think you’d survive living as a human? Get a job working with the species you hate! You're an idiot and you might've killed–" "Killed?” I heard as I saw the fox hybrid and panther by the doorway. They looked at her body…

Wooyoung started crying… he immediately went to wipe her face of tears and blood to try to wake her up. Whilst I was tackled to the ground with hands wrapped around my throat… I couldn't breathe and I struggled against him. Why was he so strong?!

He didn’t say anything but I could see the rage in his eyes. He was an animal… he showed pure anger, and bloodlust in his eyes as I started feeling faint. 

“Let go of him!” I could hear Seonghwa’s voice trying to reason. “She’s alive!” the fox yelled, making the panther look at him and loosen his grip, making me cough out and pant for air. 

“Her pulse is there! She’s still alive, we just need the paramedics to get here!” the fox reasoned as I saw the pair look over her dying body. Seonghwa stared at them… what did I do?

A few minutes passed by while we all tried to process everything when we heard people speak in codes. 

I saw a tall man in a uniform that seemed like a nurse. He looked at all of us and then her body. 

He held a radio– “Kun, in her bedroom, four other hybrids have been located” he said as he slowly went to approach her. Realistically… paramedics don’t go towards the body until the threat has been handled but Sna and Wooyoung looked at him hopefully to help her. Wooyoung moved out of the way while San stayed by her side holding her hand. He looked for a pulse. 

He pulled out the radio again– “Faint pulse, get a crash cart ready” he said while now feeling around her wounds.

“Contain all hybrids with a code black status” I heard as I saw the hybrid behavior analysis. He was in charge of me… of seeing if I could ever… live a happy hybrid life. 

“You can help her right!?” Wooyoung said and he could only nod as he took out a syringe and surprised Wooyoung by tranquilizing him.

“Please… help her,” he said last as looked at the other two and me to decide. “San, I need to take her, '' the nurse said and the panther seemed unresponsive, which the specialist decided to go for next, not seeing too much resistance as he started to lose consciousness. “Don’t leave me,” he muttered lastly. 

The nurse took her and before we could react I felt a prick on my neck. I saw the doorway blurrily reveal the doctor from that place. 

“All hybrids have been captured and will be analyzed as a code black” 

The next time I opened my eyes I heard banging and yelling. 

Yells demanded if the human was okay. Where was I? I sat up to see I was on the floor… the kennel? I looked beside me at Seonghwa. The only thing separating us was glass. 

“You're lucky! I should've killed you when I had the chance!!” I heard as I saw the panther. He was in chains and muzzled. Why did he have such intense equipment? It's when I realized… So was I?

Seonghwa didn’t have it. Before I could say anything I noticed a change of smell and the noise of a door opening. 

“These are the hybrids under behavior analysis…” I heard as I saw two unknown staff members with the doctor. “Hyung, there's no way that–” “You can follow the orders I give you and fulfill your request or I'll have someone more experienced do this job” he threatened. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood or cared about the situation. 

“Is she okay?” I heard… that was the fox. “You five, are under analysis. However, no further action will occur once we get permission from your owner–” “She’s alive?!” They interrupted him. He looked to his side to look at me… she wasn’t.

“Or when she gets announced dead” he finished creating an eerie feeling in the air. “Depending on what she has discussed with lawyers in her revised will, I have permission to act accordingly based on your past records and current situation,” he said as he left. The two staff members stayed however to do checkups… her hybrids begged for anything relating to her. 

I noticed San's cage opened. I couldn't see the other two but San did behave for them. “Did she… ever tell you what was bothering her this week?” he asked and I felt my heart stop. They still didn’t know?

“What's been wrong with her this week?” the employee asked. “She’s been… writing more than usual and spacing out,” he asked and the staff sighed. 

“You’ve known her for years… what could’ve bothered–" "Anything really… once something gets into her head, she’s insistent. It must’ve really bothered her if you noticed it. Usually she’s better at hiding it,” he said and I started feeling something eat me up. Was it guilt?

“She’ll be okay,” he said and San didn’t seem to believe him. “She’s dead isn’t she… or dying?” he asked and the face he made seemed to clarify any questions.

They were waiting for her status… but I could see on their faces that they were already mourning their friend… this feels like a dream– no a nightmare.

I noticed my door open. They were the most cautious with me… I felt like I couldn’t breathe. What did I do?!

“Unresponsive Kun.” — “Hongjoong?” I heard the only friend I've ever had say worried for me. Would he still be worried for me if she died? If he knew I tormented her?

“The orange tiger is going into isolation”

seonghwa’s perspective

It was a dream. I got a sense of freedom… I knew that she was scared of Hongjoong and in association was scared of me. But I saw how she flinched away from San. 

I learned that he was her first hybrid… and she became scared of him. Something that Hongjoong said to her. He got into her head… and now here we were awaiting our death sentence.

I know the other three might get another chance but us? We're from the circus… we're gonna die here without feeling how love feels like… we were so close… to feel loved. 

“It's all you tiger’s fault” Yeosang said and I knew we didn’t get along well. I tried my best to get along with them… and they tried their best for my sake. “I shouldn’t have convinced her to help you” he muttered and that made sense. “She adopted us because you suggested it?” I asked and he scoffed. 

“She came back the day of your interviews spacing out and in her head… I assumed she wanted to adopt you two out of pity like she did with me” Yeosang said and San scoffed.

“She didn’t adopt you out of pity… she wanted a better life for you,” he said and I chuckled softly. “She… she didn’t want to adopt us. Not after what Hongjoong told her that day. It makes sense now…” I said and they looked at me like I was crazy. 

“The day of the interview, Hongjoong was a red-coded hybrid. So she brought me with her to help calm him down. But instead, he got into her head… and she ran. He mentioned something about hybrids pretending to love their owners to survive and that we’d do anything to survive. That one day if you wanted to kill her” I explained and I saw how distraught they looked. Wooyoung now had tears running down his cheek and Yeosang hid himself in the corner whilst San… he only stared at his hands. 

“So this is it? She’ll die thinking  what we felt for her was fake?” Wooyoung asked and San tried getting out of his restraints. 

“What are you doing… there's no point in fighting it” Yeosang scolded the panther but San was hysterical. “I’ll never live it down… that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. None of you were there… not when I almost did kill her. She… she wouldn’t have believed that stupid tiger if it wasn’t for what I did! And… and—” he broke down crying. “–she should’ve left me in that stupid adoption center” he finished with his voice cracking. 

The room was filled with silence and even I felt tears blurry my vision. 

San continued to hysterically get out of his restraints when the doctor came in again. “San?” they waited to see and San did not respond instead his cries were painful. He was also injured fighting in the restraints. 

“San, panther hybrid prepare a code purple room” 

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please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 30/12✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@pandorainabox ha chiesto: Hope this isn't a dumb question,but do you plan to/already are posting the bio parents ah anywhere where it can be viewed all in one piece? With the between posts in tumblr,it gets confusing and I still don't quite know how to navigate it so I was curious if I could binge read it anywhere all in one clean read? (I constantly want to re-read it lmao,it brings me so much joy,its so damn cute!!) Anyway apologies for the random question!! I love your work,you're doing so good and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful rest of your day/night! Thank you so much for taking your time to read and respond if you do so!! 💚💚🌙

i mean… I THINK the masterpost is the easiest way to read it for now (and once you read one chapter you press “NEXT” at the end of it.)

if I would put it, let’s say, on Webtoon (which I can’t) it kind of would be the same thing. A list if chapters, when you click on one it opens the chapter with the 10-20 panels and then you click the “next” to go to the next one.

i don’t think putting all chapters from one part would be nice since it would be a super duper long list of panels (and the page would take a lot to load with so many medias) and one Part of the comic contains multiple arcs.

i’m open to suggestions though!

@robinpika ha chiesto: I was just wondering why is wukong kaiju form unstable? What inspired you to go that route

it was an headcanon of my of why we never see it in the show, even though it is present in JTTW AND war forms are… well normal in LMK, so I figured he must have a reason why he didn’t use it, considering it could have spare them a lot of trouble giving its power.

@imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: I can't find the option to ask anonymously oof— Enyway this is Tumblr and that's what I'm here for. Ever made a design for a Red son and MK kid? From your AU I mean (ignoring every nature law for a second). Also, where did you got that name for MK from? Is something from Jurney to the west? Mainly thanks to your AU I am going to try and read that book (has more them a 1000 pages :') )

we all subconsciously agreed that the spicynoodle lovechild is Kai from lego ninjago and MK real name is his name in the chinese dub.

@avencaeheng ha chiesto: Can you reccomend any websites to watch lmk? 🙏

You can find MOST of the episodes on youtube. BUT you need also the specials to understand the story. If I link you a site in 2 weeks it will be down. The best is that you join the Lego Monkie Kid Fanspace discord. They have links to see the show and they update them every once in a while.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Another silly headcanon <3 Since MK unlocked he’s monkey form he started teething like a baby monkey but… adult. I don’t know how baby monkey teethe but when dogs teethe they get a lot more bite-y and the bites hurt a lot more than before teething. I can imagineMK getting a lot more bitey with things, like chewing food longer then needed be and maybe when he’s play fighting with the baby monkeys he bites one and it chirps and Wukong is like: ! One of my children is in need! And he discovers MK is teething and does something idk yet. After having given my evidence… Do you think this would happen? Does MK have fangs in his human form like how some people draw him?

hi! I guess he did have a period in which he had a little teething.

no, his human form doesn’t have fangs, because his human form is just a kind of glamour/shapeshift. In the AU the monkey form became his normal form (since it always has been his original form to begin with)

toomanylegos ha chiesto: Hey, I just want to say I absolutely adore your ShadowPeach comic and the beautiful art with it. I went through nasal surgery on the 19th, and seeing an update from you really helped soothe my nerves about it, so thank you! I can't wait to see more updates throughout my recovery :D burry-penguin ha chiesto: As a spicynoodle shipper I love your work sm and what ur doing for this community KEEPING US FEED FOR DAYSSS!! 🔥🍜 🔥🍜 You’re so amazing and keep doing what you’re doing because you’re a damn good story teller and artist. You’ll go so far someday! You’ve helped put a smile on my face on my best and worst days just from seeing each new update and going absolutely fuckin feral over it and I thank you for that 🫶 imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: Not really a ask. I would just like to say I inhaled your AU comic like a vacum cleaner in less them a day, also big fan of the art style. Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm recovering from a toxic relationship and the shadowpeach bio parents au is helping me think through everything ,, The love these monkies show me how relationships are supposed to make you feel good... thank u

turtlewearingclothes ha chiesto: Howdy! I just wanted to say thank you for making your amazing comic, and being the reason I got into Lego Monkie Kid. I've heard of the show, but I never watched it. Then I came across your comic like, 2-3 weeks ago? And after binging it, I decided to watch the show, and now I'm obsessed lol. Thank you!

AWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE!!!♥️♥️♥️

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: Hey so I recently binged your LMK comic because I absolutely fell in love with your ISAT x COTL comic and knew anything you made would be amazing. I’ve never seen LMK though so I’m sure I lost some of the context (it was still so good though, I’m really rooting for everything to work out for the characters!) But I decided to give the actual series a try because of the comic! And here was where I planned on writing you a message after a few episodes to thank you for getting me into a new series, but… I’m on episode one. I only watched the intro. Dude. IM ABSOLUTELY HOOKED. THE ANIMATION! THE STYLE! THE CHARACTERS! I’m so so excited to watch more (which I’m gonna do now!) but thank you so much for bringing this series to my attention!!!

ahaha welcome to the club!, now you can enjoy both comics!

@therivergirl ha chiesto: I remember back in the beggining of eclipse arc you mentioned that Mac feels insecure about his body being part of the reason he's hesitant to take of his clothes even in front of Wukong and it being part of the reason (aside from basic decency) that Wukong looked away. And now in this part Mac appears butt-naked to help Wukong out, adding yet another layer of vulnerability...gah! (Maybe I should finally watch LMK because I feel I would be doubly obsessed with this comic then...)

For Mac being exposed was the last of his issues considering that what he was seeing was Wukong at his lowest and most naked. Now excuse me while I cry.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: You probably know Chang’E’s story from LMK, but did you know there is a second version of her story that I like better? In the second version Chang’E and her husband(I forgot his name), are getting used to living as mortals after being kicked out of heaven. But someone hears of the immortal elixir they have and try to steel it while Chang’E’s husband is out hunting. After getting beat up a bit she decides to drink the elixir so the robber couldn’t get it. But she instead went to the moon so she could be closer to her lover. Her husband dies because he’s still mortal, and Chang’E is left be herself. I have silly little headcanon the day MK and the others went to the moon was her and her husband’s anniversary 🙃 Bye <3

AH. OK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think that wukong and macaque act like cats?

as in they would purr? I moslty think Wukong wants to cuddle and stroke his head on Mac neck like a cat, while Mac is that one cat that sometime is annoyed when people touch him but eventually let them do it.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ✨Hear me out :3✨ MK can hear the past. He heard the fight of of prentice and held his eye like he was getting hurt by Wukong and not Macaque. So now picture this: MK has a vision again, his this time it is about how the monk used the circlet on him :3

AHAH. NOW HE CAN’T SEE TANG THE SAME WAY AGAIN. FUCK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: When I first found your comic in your TikTok account, I thought it was something very silly... How very VERY wrong I was.(As I get shot 57 times.) I hope you are taking very good care of yourself because when I downloaded Tumblr to keep myself updated to your comics(which was somewhere around 13-16 December probably) there are a LOT of panels. I enjoyed the newest and most recent parts of the shadowpeach bio parent au and can't wait for the next!!! Don't work yourself to the bone too much! Remember to take mental and physical breaks.

AGHDMHSMFYS THANK YOU!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Are there others who flirt with MK ? He looks good, is very powerful and has a sunshine personality. I bet there are others who are interested in him

I guess there haven’t been any for NOW.

Anonimo ha chiesto: After reading the post about swk's circlet, I srsly want him to look at mk and say "oh, hey we're matching!" ... "OH SHIT WHY ARE WE'RE MATCHING?!"

NOOOOOO!!

@delightfulcupquakequeen ha chiesto: Hey there!!! Been awhile sincenI've written an ask, just wanted to send love and being greatful that you are doig this amazing AU!!!! Appreciating ever pannel you make and gosh dammit hitting me right in the korokoro!!!! Keep being your fabulous self!!! Until next time!

THANK YOUUUUU

@l1br4rycrypt1d ha chiesto: Feel free to ignore this if it's spoilers for the comic, but are we gonna get to see the Gold Star of Venus? Just curious, since you reblogged the meme post that mentioned him during the takeover

There will be a small space for them as well, yes.

@kaothedemon ha chiesto: Fun fact, while I doubt Pigsy has all of Zhu Bajie's powers, his ancestor did have a kaiju form, which he could use if he ate a fuckton I'm sure it's not gonna appear in the story, but the idea of Heaven having to deal with 3 Kaiju dads (+ theoretically a sworn uncle) is extremely funny to me (picture courtesy of OSP's latest JTTW episode cause even when I read the book there weren't any illustrations of this)

I SAW THAT!! Man now they must add it to the show. Yeah I don't think he has ALL of Zhu Bajie's powers (I don't think he would ever want to have them) but it would be interesting if it was a high stake situation

@roseltelle ha chiesto: I think Macaque would actually enjoy working/ volunteering at the playhouse specifically doing shadow plays. But he does regular plays as well. His favorite days are when classes of children come in for field trips. Wukong often paints the backdrops, scenery, and other items for plays. They both enjoy their hobbies.

Awwwww yeah I think Macaque would totally love that.

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: Can you imagine Wukong just being out of it after he distracted the celestials for too long in his war form?

I think that as soon as he sees Macaque again he immediately switch back and become behaved again.

@peach-fury ha chiesto: I think I know the answer but theoretically... Who's war form/kajiu is stronger Wukongs or Macaque's and how would it go? I don't know it started as a thought. Now I can't stop laughing.

Wukong's is stronger.

blbllblblblll ha chiesto: do you know the pronunciation of xiaotian? ive been stuck on how to say his name for so long 😭

I know that the "Qi" is pronunced "Chi" and I think "xiao" is pronunced the same as you would read it, while I THINK the "t" in "tian" is more of a mix between a t and a c/k? I aint chinese and the way I pronounce things or read them is probably different from u cause I'm italian.

eerieqloss ha chiesto: Okay question, is Wukong's war form bigger/taller than MK's?

it's taller.

@elliboom ha chiesto: I was wondering, will Erlang Shen ever appear in the Shadowpeach parent series? (And questa domanda la scrivo in italiano giusto per levarmi un’altra curiosità in futuro, preferisci che le domande vengono scritte solo in inglese o vanno bene anche in italiano? So che non ci sono molti italiani ad essere fan di LMK e JTTW, posso capire la scelta di scriverli solo in inglese per rispetto e far capire ai altri fan, e generalmente per scrivere le domande uso google translate, perché faccio pena con la grammatica inglese, mi scuso se in futuro farò domande con qualche errore 🥲🥲)

Si apparirà. Manda pure in italiano shalla ahah.

[themorningsunshine]

Apple pies

Pie eyed over you - Chapter 4

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist                        Series Masterlist

Previous Part

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Some talk of weapons, and a scene where the reader feels she is being followed

Word count - 3.7k

A/n - Took me 2 years, but the chapter is finally here. I am extremely sorry for extending my break this much. I am not sure if anyone is still interested in this story, but I really wanted to get back to writing, so here it is :)

The elevator doors slid open with a whisper, revealing the cold marble floor of the mob tower’s top level. Bucky stepped out, dark coat swinging behind him.

Steve stood near the railing with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Sam paced beside him, checking his watch for the third time in two minutes. Both of them turned at the sound of approaching footsteps — heavy, measured, familiar.

“Dude, where the hell were you?” Sam was the first person to speak, stepping beside Bucky as they walked to the conference room.

“Good morning to you too, Sam.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but his lips were tucked slightly upward. There was a certain softness to his expression, a skip in his step.

Sam squinted his eyes. “There’s something on his face, Steve.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, looking at his reflection in the marble of the walls. “What?”

Steve elbowed Sam lightly. “You’re smiling, Buck.”

Sam interrupted, “No, no. That’s not possible. There has to be some other explanation. I bet on – He’s dying.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again. “Shut up. Can’t a man just have a good day?”

Sam’s eves widened. “A goo - ? Steve. I am telling you, he cannot lead this meeting in this condition. We need to rush him to the hospital, or even the cemetery is fine with me.”

They stepped into the conference room where Stark had been waiting for 15 minutes. As soon as his eyes landed on Bucky, his grimace grew. “Barnes, you’re late. Some of us have other empires to run, you know.”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t argue back. “You’ll live, Stark.”

Bucky straightens up and claps his hands once. “So, let’s get to it.”

Tony picked up his tablet, presenting the screen to the whole room. “So, the Mark IV. Still think it’s too flashy?”

“I think it’s unstable,” Bucky said, sliding into the chair opposite. “I need reliability, not a light show.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “So, you want boring.”

“I want functional,” Bucky replied, voice calm. “If it fails, people die.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony grumbled, thumbing through settings. “I’ll strip it down, swap in a tri-core stabilizer. Loses some edge, but it won’t jam in a blizzard.”

“And the recoil sensors?”

“Upgraded. Thermal override. But you’ll lose two percent on range.”

Bucky gave a slow nod. “I can live with that.”

He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. His voice was still quiet, still measured. “But I want eyes on every shipment. No third-party drops. Your men hand it to mine. In person.”

Tony raised a brow. “So that’s what this mellow version of you is about— trust issues wrapped in a velvet bow.”

“Call it what you want,” Bucky said. “Non-negotiable.”

Tony leaned back and gave him a crooked grin. “Fine. But if this goes south, don’t come crying to me.”

“I don’t cry, Stark.”

“No,” Tony smirked. “But you used to break tables when you didn’t get your way.” He stood, offering a hand. “Progress.”

Bucky clasped it once, firmly.

Tony smirked. “Also, congratulations on taking down Pierce. It was about damn time.”

Bucky nodded. ”But we still haven’t caught that bastard. Escaped like a mouse.”

“I am sure you will.”

Across the room, Sam leaned toward Steve again. “Okay, what the hell? Bucky isn’t yelling, hasn’t clipped commands or threatened to break someone’s jaw or burn them alive in half an hour. Trust me, I am not complaining but what has gotten over him?”

Steve didn’t respond right away. Sam kept his voice low. “Maybe it’s not bad. You’ve seen him like this before?”

“Once,” Steve said, jaw tightening. “Before everything went to hell.”

Sam whispered slowly, “You think it’s her?”

Steve didn’t answer. He knew what Sam didn’t. Knew Bucky.

The meeting wrapped up with a handshake and a few nods. Tony left with a smirk, mumbling something about miracles and therapy. The room emptied slowly.

Bucky stayed behind, gathering the files. Calm. Almost serene. Steve didn’t move until the door clicked shut behind the last man.

Then: “You’re not even going to tell me what’s going on?”

Bucky didn’t look up. “Nothing’s going on, Steve.”

“You show up smiling, speaking in full sentences, not threatening to break anyone’s jaw—Sam practically started doing the sign of the cross.”

Bucky shrugged. “Can’t a guy have a good day?”

Steve walked closer, voice dropping. “It’s not just a good day. Something’s changed.” A pause.

Then Bucky met his eyes, and Steve saw it — the softness. The warmth. Something achingly human behind the cool blue.

“She’s good for you,” Steve said, softer now. “I see it. So does Sam.” He didn’t ask. He stated it.

That earned him a glance. “What are you getting at?”

Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You care about her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Steve turned to him fully. “But you’re not just smiling, Buck. You’re softening. Letting her in. That’s not something you do lightly.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, the moment of levity gone. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Steve asked, and his voice wasn’t accusing, just heavy. “Does she know who you are?”

Silence. “Buck.”

“No.” The word left his mouth quietly. “She doesn’t.”

Steve exhaled. “Then you are building a deep damn hole for yourself, Buck. Because this thing—whatever it is—it’s real. And she doesn’t know who you are.” Silence. “She doesn’t know what we do. The people we’ve hurt.”

“I know,” Bucky snapped, sharper than he intended. “You think I don’t lie awake thinking about that? You think I don’t see it every time I look at her? That every single time she smiles at me, or holds my hand, I feel like I am somehow tainting her with the blood on my hands? Every damn time she says my name with a softness I won’t be worthy of in any universe, I hate myself a little more.” He stopped, breath caught. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper, “because god damn it, how does someone like me get to even breathe the same air as someone like her?”

Steve’s voice softened, his heart aching for his best friend. “You need to tell her. Before someone else does.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, suddenly restless. “Because I finally have something that doesn’t feel like blood and ash. Something soft. And good. And real.” His voice cracked slightly. “She looks at me like I’m just… James. Not a monster. Not a mob boss. Just… James. And the moment I tell her truth, I lose that. I lose her. She would never want to see my face again, Steve. She will hate me.”

Steve takes a step forward, “You don’t know that.”

A broken expression flickered across Bucky’s face. “That’s the thing. I do. I have stood there and listened to her talking about how much she hates the mob. About how she despises them with everything she’s got. And even after that, I am such a fucking terrible person, I didn’t tell her truth. You know why? Because the moment I do so, everything comes crashing down. She will stop looking at me like someone worthy. Like someone anything more than a monster. Like someone she could love.” Bucky’s voice echoes in the hall room.

Steve had never seen his friend so scared, so vulnerable. He was seeking the light and he knew it, but he had to save his friend from the fire too. “She deserves to know the truth.”

“I know she does.”

Steve moved closer. “So tell her. Would you rather build something on a lie?”

“It’s not a lie—”

“It is if you’re hiding the worst part of yourself.” Bucky flinched. “I’m not saying you don’t deserve this,” Steve added gently. “God, Buck, if anyone deserves a shot at something good, it’s you. But you’re terrified she’ll walk away, and what then? You spiral? You burn down everything again?”

Bucky was quiet for a long time. Then, finally: “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Steve.” His voice was almost broken. “And I don’t know how to let go of that.”

Steve put a hand on his shoulder, his voice gentler now. “Then don’t.” He squeezed gently. “Just don’t wait too long. Because the truth always finds a way out. And if it comes from someone else… you won’t just lose her. You’ll lose yourself.”

Bucky looked away, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Steve. I’ve never had something I wanted to protect this badly.” “You don’t protect someone by lying to them,” Steve said quietly. “You protect them by giving them the choice.”

Bucky didn’t reply. He just stared out through the window, eyes far away, knuckles white. And Steve, watching him, didn’t say anything else. Because he knew that look—the look of a man dangling off the edge, holding on with bleeding fingers, too afraid to fall and too afraid to let go.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩

You step out of the grocery store just as the sun slips below the skyline. The sky is that in-between shade and the streetlights buzz to life with a flicker, casting long shadows that stretch across the pavement.

You hug the paper bag closer to your chest. It crinkles in your arms. Feels louder than it should in the quiet. The walk to the bakery isn’t long. Ten minutes, maybe less if you don’t stop.

Your phone is silent in your coat pocket. Still no message. Still no call.

You tried not to think about it. Tried not to let the silence weigh too much. Last night meant something. Right?

Your fingers gripped the paper bag tighter. You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, still remember the way he had looked at you—so gentle, so unguarded. But the doubt crept in, quiet and mean.

What if it hadn’t meant anything to him? What if you were just another soft place to land? You hate the way your chest tightens, how the silence starts to sound like a verdict. Maybe he woke up and realized it was a mistake. Maybe he left it behind like it was easy. You swallow the thought. It feels too sharp, like chewing on glass.

The city is quieter than usual. Not empty, just… muted. Like it’s holding its breath. A man across the street leans against a lamppost, smoke curling from the tip of his cigarette. He doesn’t look at you. Still, something prickles at the back of your neck. You ignore it. Tell yourself you’re being dramatic.

Another streetlamp flickered overhead. Buzz. Flicker. Dark. Light again.

You glance over your shoulder. Nothing there. And yet. There’s a feeling. Like breath on your collarbone. Like something just barely out of sight. You shake it off. Adjust your pace. Just a little faster.

Then— A sound. A footstep that doesn’t match your rhythm. You stop. Pretend to check your phone. You glance back. No one. But you feel it. That sensation. Of not being alone.

You pass the florist. Closed. Lights off. The reflection in the darkened window catching your eye. Someone was behind you. Far back. Walking slow.

You start walking again, quicker this time. Each step lands harder than the last. Your heartbeat starts to climb, matching the tempo of your feet. You pass a row of darkened windows. Your reflection moves with you. And then—a footstep. Not yours. Measured. Delibrate.

You don’t turn. You just know. Every hair on your arms stands on end. Your hands tremble, the grocery bag rustling like dry leaves. Your breath fogs in the air. You try to keep it even. Try to make it to the corner. One more street and you’ll see the bakery. The lights. The warmth. Another step behind you. Closer now.

Your mouth goes dry. You think you can hear your heartbeat—too fast, too loud—thudding in your ears like it might give you away. You grip your phone so tight your fingers ache. You don’t unlock it. Don’t text anyone. You don’t want to look down. You just want to get there.

You turn the corner. There it is. The bakery. Lit up like a beacon. You break into a near-run, not caring how it looks, not caring if you drop the stupid groceries. You don’t look back. You don’t want to see what’s behind you. Not yet.

You stumble the last few steps to the bakery. The bag crushes against your chest, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The warm glow from the bakery providing a moment of relief. Your heart hammering in your chest – But then you see him.

Just to the side of the door, half in shadow, half under the flickering bakery sign. James

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s looking at the ground like he’s arguing with himself.

“James” You call out, still out of breathe. He looks up immediately. His shoulders are tense, eyes sharp. Like he’s been waiting.

His gaze lands on you, narrowing with concern. He steps forward quickly, hand reaching out on instinct before halting just short of touching you. “Sweets, you okay?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—”

But your voice betrays you. It's thin. Unsteady.

His brows pull together. “What happened?”

You hesitate. “I think… I think someone was following me.”

“Where?” he asks, instantly alert. “Where exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “Back on Hemsworth. Maybe earlier. I didn’t see a face. Just—heard footsteps. It could’ve been nothing.”

James takes a few steps away, peering down the sidewalk. You know that look—like he’s slipping into some version of himself you haven’t met yet. “I’ll check—”

“No,” you say, reaching for his arm. “Don’t.” His eyes meet yours again, searching.

“There’s no one now. And if there was someone… they wouldn’t still be standing around waiting to be caught, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just studies you like he’s trying to read more than you’re willing to say. “Please,” you say, quieter. “I just want to go inside.”

After a beat, he nods. Gently takes the bag from your arms like it’s instinct. The touch makes something in your chest ache.

The doorbell jingles as you both step inside. Warmth spills over you. Bread and sugar and safety. But it doesn’t chase away the cold in your stomach.

James sets the bags on the counter, then hands you a glass of water. “You sure you are okay?” You slip slowly, trying to calm your trembling hands before nodding. “Yeah, yeah.”

You glance at him. He runs his hand through his hair, visibly torn. It looks like he is wrestling with something. You watch as his mouth opens slightly, like he’s going to say something – but doesn’t. And just like that, the fear creeps back in—but a different kind this time. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the part where he tells you it was a mistake. That last night was too much. Too soon.

Maybe he waited here not because he missed you—but because he needed to end it before it went further. You assume the worst—because it’s easier than hoping. You watch him battle something inside himself. Like it’s taking everything in him just to stay put.

So, you try to defuse the tension. You clear your throat. “So, I’ve been thinking about renovating the bakery.”

Bucky’s head snaps up at that. “Really? I thought you loved this place exactly how it is.”

You nod. “Yeah, but.. change is good, right?”

A smirk tugs at his lips, “Sweets, you once threatened to track down a customer and burn their house down because they moved a flower pot.”

“I - The pot is supposed to be by the window so it gets enough sunlight, everybody knows that.”

He lets out a laugh, and the sound steadies you a little.“Okay, but why the sudden change of heart?”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’ve saved up. Thanks to someone who keeps stuffing the tip jar every time they visit.” You point an accusatory finger at him.

He looks away, feigning innocence. “Could be anyone.”

“With hundred-dollar bills? Seriously?”

Bucky chuckles innocently.

Silence falls again, but this time, it’s heavier. That uneasy weight presses down again. James is still fighting something. Steve was right—if he wants this, and God, he’s never wanted anything more—he can’t build it on lies.

But the fear that the truth will destroy it—that you’ll walk away—that fear is choking him. Still, he tries. “Y/N,” he says, voice low. “I need to talk to you about something.”

One look at him, and you know it is killing him to get the words out. Why was it so difficult for him to break your heart? So, you make it easier for the both of you. “James, you don’t have to say it. I know.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. It couldn’t be, right?

You took a deep breathe before continuing, “I understand if last night didn’t mean anything. It was late. You had just come back after so long and were clearly in a rough space. I just want you to know, it’s okay. I’m okay. I mean, I know we didn’t say anything about what it was… I didn’t expect anything. It was late, we were both tired, and emotions were—high, and that happens sometimes, right?”

You let out a nervous laugh. It sounds awful. Tight. He takes a step toward you, eyes narrowing.

“Because I don’t want to make this weird,” you continue, forcing a smile that trembles at the edges. “We’re friends, right? And I hope that doesn’t change. I sincerely hope that. So if that’s where you’re at,” you rush on, “if you’re standing here because you want to say it was a mistake, or that we should just pretend it didn’t happen, or that you’re sorry—please, just say it. I can take it. I’d rather you just be honest than—than stand there looking like you’re trying to figure out how to break bad news.”

“Stop.” His voice is low. Firm. Not angry—urgent. You freeze.

He takes another step closer, and now he’s right in front of you. Close enough to feel the warmth rolling off him. Close enough that his voice drops even lower when he says— “Stop talking like that. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.” You blink, lips parting—but no words come out.

“It meant something to me,” he says. “It meant everything to me.”

Your heart stutters. “James…”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated—but not with you. With himself. With this moment. With whatever war’s been playing out behind his eyes since the second you arrived. “You think I’m trying to figure out how to walk away from you?” His eyes are on you now—unflinching. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to stay.”

He takes a breath. “I’m not good at this. I never have been. I screw things up. I keep things in. I second-guess the people I care about because… I never really let myself care before.” You can’t breathe. Not properly. “But last night?” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t get caught up. I didn’t lose control. I chose it. I chose you. Every second of it.”

Your chest is tight now, full of too much and not enough at once. He exhales, shaky. Runs a hand down his face. “You think I could just forget what happened? That I could hold you like that and not have it break something open in me?”

He reaches out—hesitant still, but when you don’t move away, his hand finds yours. “I could never think of it as a mistake,” he says. “You could never be a mistake.”

You look at him—really look at him—and your heart stumbles over the truth that’s been sitting in your chest for hours. “I was scared it mattered more to me than it did to you.” You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know when it happened,” you murmur. “Maybe it was the night you stayed after closing just to fix the jammed drawer, or when you started learning the names of all my regulars like it mattered to you. Or maybe it was way before that, when you started showing up like clockwork, always pretending it wasn’t on purpose.” You lift your eyes to his, voice gentler now. “So if you’re scared, you’re not alone. I’m terrified. Because you matter to me in ways I don’t know how to say without sounding like I’ve already given you too much of me.”

And his thumb brushes your knuckles like he’s grounding himself with the contact. You don’t say anything.

Because suddenly, standing there in the warm light of the bakery, your hands tangled together, everything feels…right.

James steps closer. And before you can even catch your breath, he kisses you—soft and warm and real. You smile into it, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him back like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

When you part, you laugh quietly. “What was that?”

His smile is so warm it could light up the world. Yours, especially. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day you pulled me under your ridiculously floral umbrella.”

You squint at him. “First of all, my umbrella is beautiful. Second--creepy much?”

Bucky wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, “You know you love it.”

And you do. He will never know just how much you love it. Love him. Standing there in the heart of the bakery, wrapped in his arms, your faces close enough to count the freckles on his nose—you love all of it.

But you don’t know the war raging inside his mind. The things he hasn’t said. And the truth he was still hiding had teeth—and it was already circling the edges of everything you’d just begun to build. You just didn’t know it. At least not yet.

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[glistenling]

Kinda long Twisted Glisten rant (positive)

Just some thoughts n headcanons of twisted glisten :3 This was a rant that i decided to clean up and post! Dont let anyone tell u that im not obsessed with this guy cause theyre lying to you also im shit at grammar mb

The concept of Twisted Glisten as a whole is so upsetting. The poor thing has to live the rest of his life completely unstable and unpredictable not knowing when he's going to become a horrible danger to everyone around. When he gets enraged and snaps out of it he has to live with the fact he probably hurt or even killed someone. He has to think about that, and it's especially bad because of the fact he's alone with no one to talk to or even have silent company with. It's just him and the monstrous versions of people he used to call friends paying him zero attention. When he does get company from untwisted toons, he's probably horrified the whole time; scared he's going to maim them at any moment without recollection or control over his actions.

The nature of how toons "deal" with him is horrifically cruel. It's horrible if you really think about it. They're just lying to him, making him fall into a false sense of security only to abandon him last minute. The toons don't want to hurt him. Though, they dont rlly have a choice in this. It's really the only way to guarantee the safety of the team, but he doesn't see it that way. When they look after him he thinks they're there for him. He believes that he's going to be okay. To then only realize, again and again, that they're not there for him. It makes him think they don't truly care about him, just themselves. Though, he'll fall for that over and over and over just for the slight sliver of a chance things will be different. He wants to believe that he won't be left alone with himself again, not knowing if and when he'll ever see anyone again. Crushing him mentally and emotionally more each time it happens.

When he gets aggressive in panic mode, it's because he knows he's being left to rot yet again. He's so distraught he completely loses control of himself, not able to cling to his consciousness. He's unable stop the ichor that is trying desperately to make him into a mindless animal. Though, when left alone, he gets violent because he is slowly convinced that they don't even care enough to comfort him on the floor. They couldn't even be bothered to play into the hopeless routine of giving him comfort only to strip it away almost as fast as they gave it to him. (Because comfort followed by immense hurt is better than no comfort, right?) That thought hurts and crushes him so bad he loses control, unable to hold himself together just a little longer in hopes someone will show up.

When certain toons [his friends] leave him at the end of a floor, it hurts him the most. Though it hurts him greatly when anyone abandons him, it's like a horrible punch in the gut to see someone that he cares for especially leaving him. This makes him feel insignificant, in a way. After the first time of this happening, when he saw them again, he unwillingly felt just a tad of resentment among his desperation. Though, it would never stop him from seeking out their love and comfort every single time. No matter how much that resentment grew over time, his need to be helped and comforted outweighed any of the negative things he thought about them when alone. They were mostly results of overthinking and isolation; he doesn't truly resent anyone for this.

In the idea of a type of recovery AU, if the twisteds were to be cured/fixed, how Glisten would be post-twisted events would be very interesting. It would greatly ruin his confidence and ability to put up his perfect persona. He'd push himself too far just to get that back, along with his confidence in general. He would have to fight against the fact that he was left to rot down there several times by the ones who say they love him. He'd have horrible abandonment issues and heavy distrust in anyone. Conflicted, he'd be unsure if he should cling to the nearest person or isolate himself because he thinks that they couldn't truly care about him because of how they treated him while he was "twisted". Or really, the way he interpreted their treatment, not really understanding how it was for the safety of everyone involved. Though, that fact doesn't change how much it scarred him.

Hope this wasnt too hard to read and make sense of Not the best at forming my thoughts into words. But ty for reading my word vomit >_<

[falsecookiewithinthepeople]

With your obsession of Belle, I would have think that you are trying to convince everyone to make a AU out of it!

OKAY FINE. FINE. I’LL DO IT. Maybe this will finally convince people to make more Beauty and the Beast AUs because I am LOSING my mind over the fact that no one is doing it right now. So here’s me, shouting into the void, flailing my hands, chucking prompts like cursed confetti, and TRYING TO FORCE YOU ALL TO CARE. There will be a part two once Hollysugar and Silentlily are released. UNTIL THEN. GET IN LOSERS, WE’RE DOING TRAGIC FAIRYTALES.

ShadowVanilla #1:

Look. Belle wears a gold/yellow gown. Adam (YES, the Beast has a NAME) wears a blue suit. IT’S FATE. It’s LITERALLY FATE. I am SHOCKED—no, offended—that there isn’t already an AU of this. Black Sapphire is obviously Lumière, Candy Apple is Cogsworth. Picture Black Sapphire singing Be Our Guest with ✨flair✨.

Pure Vanilla? Already a Disney princess. Shadow Milk? Already a beast with Issues™. It’s PERFECT. Dark Enchantress? Gaston. OBVIOUSLY. Maurice? It’s either Black Raisin (NO I’M NOT LETTING YOU FORGET ABOUT HER) or White Lily.

Now. Two scenes that NEED to be recreated or I will set something on fire:

That STAIRCASE SCENE. You know the one. Adam’s just standing there like a stunned golden retriever, blinking 400 times a second because BELLE IS PRETTY and Belle looks up at him like “Okay wait you’re kinda hot tho?”

The MIRROR SCENE. Belle: “I want to see my father.” Adam: gives her the mirror. She sees him sick and was like "Papa! Oh, no, he's sick, he may be dying! And he's all alone!". Adam, looking at the rose (or, idk, whatever emo thing you wanna use), is devastated but still LETS HER GO. AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH THAT HURTS HIM. ANGST! TRAGEDY! SACRIFICE! I AM UNWELL!!!!

WHY IS NO ONE DRAWING THIS??

BurningCheese #2:

Burning Spice is ALREADY the Beast. Anger issues? Check. Self-loathing? Check. Loud, hairy, suicidal? CHECK. Just slap the costume on him and it’s canon. The problem is Golden Cheese, because her personality is NOT Belle. Not even close. But whatever, that’s what AUs are for. Tweak it. Let her be soft! I don’t care! Just put her in the DRESS!!

Gaston? I got nothing without screwing up character integrity. But Maurice? Smoked Cheese. HE’S LITERALLY MET BURNING SPICE. CONNECTION = ESTABLISHED.

Now. Scenes I need recreated like I need air:

“Have dinner with me!” “No.” Adam gets MAD. Mrs. Potts is like “Try again sweetie.” So he goes, “Please?” Belle: “Still no.” Adam: “FINE. THEN GO AHEAD AND STARVE.”

The bird scene. The soft scene. Belle helps Beast feed birds. He’s clumsy and huge and terrifying and they all fly away But then she gently guides him and a bird eats from his palm.

Mysticcacao #3:

Okay. This one’s harder. Gotta use my delusions. BUT LISTEN. Dark Cacao in Belle’s peasant dress. Hair in a ponytail. YES. I’M SERIOUS. STAY WITH ME— Wha— DON'T LEAVE AND LISTEN!!

This ship fits the message more than the exact roles. “Inner beauty matters more than outer beauty.” YES. YESSS. Mystic Flour as Adam, but colder, more distant. Dark Cacao as Belle, but stoic and deadpan (which Belle kinda is already serious so BONUS POINTS).

Gaston? AFFOGATO. Because betrayal. Obviously. Maurice? Caramel Arrow because she was very loyal to Dark Cacao in the original.

AND I NEED THREE SCENES. YEAH THREE. DEAL WITH IT:

The “Something There” sequence.

The WOLF SCENE. Belle (Cacao) is in danger. Beast (Mystic) jumps in and gets wrecked.

The LIBRARY SCENE. Beast gives Belle an ENTIRE LIBRARY. AN ENTIRE LITERARY.

I’M NOT OKAY. I’M UNSTABLE. I’M DESPERATE. DO IT.

Anyway. If I don’t see at least one fanart of this… I’ll explode into a thousand glittery rage particles. Don’t test me.

Make the AUs. Do it for me. Do it for the narrative parallels. Do it for the FAN FICTION!!

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Business Decisions

He's not who people might think he is.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Yoongi, Human!Reader, Unstable AU, set prior/during the Jungkook storyline, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, strangers to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, eventual smut

Length: 3k Words

-Masterlist

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Min Yoongi is, despite his looks and quiet nature, a very kind person. Or at least, that's what some very selected people will tell, if one was to ask them.  

His tail softly sways behind him as he keeps an eye on the main operational panel in front of him, while you watch. His cat-like ear snaps a bit irritated at something- when his eyes turn towards you, glaring. “can you.. stop staring?” He requests, and you nod, instead turning to look out the large window of the spaceship instead. You’re quiet, but not mute- having talked to him quite a bit before. Maybe you simply don’t speak much, or don’t put much value in.. smalltalk.  

That’s fine by him. He doesn’t either. 

He's found you- or rather, you found him- just hours earlier at an outpost, asking him to take you along to another location in exchange for a small amount of money. Where he went next you didn't care- you only needed a ride to get around, most likely used to this kind of life, since you'd obviously chosen him very specifically amongst all the other options at the bustling restaurant.

In hindsight, it made sense that you approached him despite his grim appearance- he was the shortest and least threatening looking species in that restaurant at the time, and was also one of the only one's there without any company at all. You're clearly smart about this whole process of finding a ride from one place to another-

otherwise, you wouldn't have lived like this for so long, having done this for years, according to you.

“There is.. Food over there. If you’re hungry.” He tells you, and you look over to spot the metal trunk in a corner, before you nod at him, not moving at all however. 

“I’m not.” You answer, though your stomach growls as if to disagree, making you clearly a bit ashamed of it, eyes widening at being betrayed by your own body like this. 

“Just eat. I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t want to give it to you.” He mumbles to himself, resuming his task of checking the ship’s systems again while you stay seated where he’d last told you to sit. You still won’t move, and he’s unsure why not- but he’s also aware that he shouldn’t get too invested in you. You’re gonna be dropped off next stop, and that’s gonna be it- which is for the best, because getting involved with humans is never a very good idea.  

And he’s also still on a mission to get his revenge- and secure his place in the foodchain, to be no longer seen as nothing but a docile little pet. A mission that might as well kill him- and if he can avoid pulling anyone down with him, he surely will. 

When he notices your eyes blinking longer and longer, he walks to fetch a sleeping bag from one of the other metal trunk in the corner, to offer it to you. “Sleep. It’ll still be a few more hours until we’ve reached the next outpost.” He says, and you take the sleeping bag from him with a thankful nod, before you spread it out right on the floor where you sit, to crawl into it and lay down. He has a suspicion what your way of earning money had been until now, but with your behavior so obvious, it’s very clear to him now.  

It makes him upset. The fact that you’ve been driven so far just to somehow survive.  

Either way, he stays awake to both keep himself safe just incase he’s misjudged you and your intentions, and to make sure the old and very small spaceship keeps it’s course as it sometimes tends to deviate over time due to the old navigation system. And yeah, maybe he also can’t help his instincts as well- 

Unintentionally guarding you while you sleep, eyes always checking up on you any time you move in your sleep.  

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Min Yoongi was born on Zoldos- a small, cold and relatively poor planet, which had been industrialized for ages. He remembers his father making toys out of junk he found while working at the metal factory each day, turning trash into small spaceships for Yoongi to play with.  

Most of his time however was spent with his mother, and the many children she’d foster over the years of his childhood- many of them he’d see as his sisters, as all of them would be girls given up by their families, since in his culture, they’re said to just be expensive and too much work to raise. Maybe this way of growing up, helping his mother with the young kids every day while she taught him everything he needed for his future, made him into the man he is today.  

His father had always been described as ‘unusually soft’ compared to what is usually expected and seen in his kind- Xaqal people tending to be combative, easily irritated, and quick to escalate situations into physical violence to defend themselves from others. But his father was already uninterested in any of the usual past-time activities his coworkers would indulge in, like underground fighting, or gambling- rather spending his free time home with his son, foster children and partner, which was unusual in itself. Usually, partners of his kind don’t stay together after their children learn how to walk- but Yoongi remembers that even when his mother passed, his father would continue to live at the same house, to find new homes for the remaining children, before he moved away as well once Yoongi decided to leave the planet.  

Yoongi is still in contact with his father, and doesn’t believe that he should’ve been raised any different than how he was. 

But his now rather soft and kind character comes with a price to pay- with most people on other planets not taking too kindly to him and his friendly nature at first. Friendships don’t pay your bills after all, so the first lesson the young man had to learn back then, was to toughen up, and start thinking of only yourself first and foremost. Getting attached to others was a risk to take, and would most likely end in a burden one might think of unnecessary.  

Even so, Yoongi has made friends along the way. From a very, very charismatic guy named Seokjin and his mother on Cryon, or the stoic and self-admitted younger ‘Asshole’ human-Bolku hybrid going by the name of Jungkook. But other than that, he keeps himself independent- away from others.  

However, for some reason, he’s now sitting with you on a bench on the outpost while his spaceship is being refueled, having bought you some warm food to eat, despite your active arguments against that. Maybe because you’re obviously in need of protection, or because you’re not a threat whatsoever- but he feels like he should at least make sure you’ll be okay on this outpost, before he’ll leave you here.  

Deep down, he knows it’s not the question if you end up getting into a situation where you’ll be killed- but more so, when.  

“What are... your capabilities?” Yoongi asks after a moment, watching your hands as they tear apart a piece of bread to dip it into your hot soup he bought. A warm and filling meal was a good idea to him, since it’ll keep you energized for longer than just a snack or fast food.  

You look up at him, caught off guard, as you swallow down, thinking.  

“Hm..” You hum as you think. “I.. Can read maps pretty well. And I’m good at cleaning.” You say. “But I could probably learn other things pretty quickly, if needed. It depends on the job I could get.” You explain, and Yoongi nods.  

“So if you had to learn about another species’ health and how to care for it, you could learn quickly?” He asks, and you nod.  

“If.. Given enough recourses to teach myself.” You mumble, continuing to eat. He’s getting the feeling you’ve not had a filling meal in a while with how eager you are to finish all of it.  

“I will not offer you monetary compensation.” He says, and at that, you look up again. “But instead a place to sleep, regular food, and.. Basic protection.” Yoongi explains to you, and at that, you instantly nod.  

“I can do anything!” You chirp, desperate- and he carefully pushes you back down by your shoulder, calming you down again. “Really-” 

“I believe you.” He nods. “But Be aware that I am not just some traveler.” He remarks, and you nod.  

“I understand.” You say. 

“Hm. If that’s the case-” He starts, looking over to a small shop that sells different electronics. “-I’ll get the necessary equipment to finalize our agreement. Stay here- and don’t talk to anyone.” He commands, and you nod, continuing to eat while he gets up to walk into the shop. 

Many of the people inside this shop are wearing the distinctive blinking tiny tracker around their necks- either from a simple leather collar, something more sleek like a silver hoop, or even one with a chain. It’s to be expected, as most of what is sold here is equipment for ‘personnel’, as it’s called across the galaxy, after the term ‘slave’ had been outlawed and categorized as a slur.  

Yoongi can feel the eyes on him, since the tall, green-skinned lady at the counter most likely waiting just like the rest of them for another person to follow him to buy equipment for him, as it’s normal for his kind- but the second he picks out a combination of a tracker, and EID tag, and a simple, silver collar that wouldn’t stain or sit too tight around your neck, people become interested.  

“Size is a bit small for you, kitty.” The alien woman giggles, scanning the items to add the price of everything together. “You know how to set the EID up?” She says, clicking at the end of her sentences a foreign tone, similar to an insect. 

“I know how it works.” He tells her, voice stable and monotone, something he taught himself to never give away any sign of his actual emotions. Because showing them will show weakness- and Yoongi needs to keep up an appearance of indifference at all times, just so people can never quite figure him out.  

People naturally fear the unknown, down the line, no matter the species.  

“Alright. Just out of curiosity though..” She says, clicking sounding again as she narrows her dark eyes at him while he pays. “...who the hell wants to be under the command of a Xaqal?” She says, some people in the small store giggling to themselves as if a joke had been told.  

“Someone who will live a fairly comfortable life from now on.” He simply answers, payment confirmed by her system, before he takes the bag of items, and leaves- gazes following him long after he exited the store.  

He’s relieved to still find you right where he left you, no one seemingly having tried to take you away, or worse yet- so he taps your shoulder to gain your attention, nodding towards his ship in the distance. “Let’s go. I need to set up your EID after we take off.” He says, and you nod, getting up to follow him.  

“Are- are you sure I’m a good choice?” You ask, walking after him like some lost pet, eager to keep up with his rather fast pace. For a Xaqal, he’s surprisingly tall- not quite as tall as some of the other human’s you’ve met, which normally are considered a shorter species, but also not as short as some of the Xaqals you’ve seen in the past.  

“Are you trying to sway my mind?” He wonders, opening the cargo door to his spaceship, before he climbs in- noticing how you don’t follow. So he walks back, and has to swallow down a laugh- because you clearly struggle to somehow pull yourself up on the iron steps, which are too high off the ground for you to properly reach with your legs. “...well, at least you won’t take up too much space on the ship.” He mumbles to himself, before he holds onto one of the metal handles on the sides, before he pulls you up by your arm so that you can make it onto the steps, able to finally climb inside.  

He’ll adjust the steps in the future. Maybe add one. Or rather three. 

Back in the main navigation center of the ship, where your sleeping bag is still laying in front of the front windows, you sit down right there, as if you’ve accepted this spot as your place to exist.  

The ship calms after it breaks orbit, softly flying through the empty space while Yoongi sets up the EID tag for you. The electronic identification device opens a new window on his control panel as he places it on the scanner he has, asking for him to input the necessary information- and he looks over at you, where you sit, looking out the window.  

“Once I set this up, it can’t just be undone.” He tells you, and you snap your head towards him, before you nod. “Alright.” He mumbles putting in his own information and ID number as your set ‘Employer’- scanning the chip placed onto the bone of his forearm, before he waves you over. “Put your arm here.” He tells you, and you do- though nothing is scanned at all, no matter how you twist or turn your arm. Yoongi’s brows furrow. “Where’s your ID-chip?” He asks, and you perk up, before you turn around, pointing somewhat to a spot on your back.  

“My spine- it should be between my shoulders.” You say.  

“Spine?” He mumbles, unsure. The spine is not a good spot to place an ID chip, no matter how small it is- it could still dislodge and get in between important nerves or even the vertabrae, causing damage that would be potentially fatal. “Why is it there?” He asks, picking up the scanner to run it over your back- a beep signalling that the chip had been found, and sucessfully read by the device.  

“As far as I know, most humans and Yon get it there, because its harder to get out.” You explain, having turned around to curiously watch Yoongi tap away all the info into your future identification. “Because, you know, Humans and Yon are popular Personnel. People would just chop their arms off and exchange it for a prosthetic later after they'd take them and put them up for sale. So to combat that, we get the chip on the spine instead.” You say, and Yoongi cringes to himself, realizing now why he sees so many humans and Yon people with a prosthetic.  

“I’ll research any risks to make sure you’re not doing any tasks that might end up immobilizing you.” He mumbles as he finishes up the settings, the red blinking light on the EID tag turning a steady green, signalling that it’s ready to be worn.  

“Oh, don’t worry. The chip is attached to the bone, so it doesn’t move.” You inform him, and that reassures him quite a bit, as he nods, and uses quite a lot of force to clip the tag onto the silver collar- metal snapping into place, making it hard to get it off again.  

“Alright. Come here.” He tells you, and you almost proudly stand straight, offering your neck to him as he clips the collar around you- electronic lock clicking shut, never to open again for anyone else but him. “Is that alright?” He asks, and you nod, while he tests- slipping two fingers between the metal and your neck, just to make sure it’s not too tight. “Alright.” 

“Alright.” You mirror, getting only a mild reaction from him.  

“I’ll order some books and electronic information devices for you to study. We’ll pick them up at the next outpost.” He informs you, and you nod, taking this as a signal that you’ve been dismissed- so you walk back to the sleeping bag, sitting down on it to look out the window again.  

“Can I.. sleep a bit?” You wonder, and Yoongi nods.  

“I don’t need you right now, so you can rest.” He accepts, and at that, you eagerly crawl into the sleeping bag again to sleep once more, giving him a moment to think about what he’d just done.  

He blames his instincts, the fact that his kind lives in groups and usually prefers company at all times. Maybe it’s the fact that he actually does need someone to be able to help take care of his health if a job went south. Or maybe, he just can’t shed the way he’s been raised, even though he’s not that kind person anymore. Even still, he feels odd, looking at you asleep in front of those large windows.  

Like he just got himself entangled into something a lot more complicated than he believes right now. 

[bluewolven]

i just had a big galaxy brain moment and im gonna share it with the world.

in early access art we see gale with bandages on his left hand/arm, and auntie ethel makes a jab at him in-game saying "i can smell the rot on you".

his orb also causes him physical pain. we see this in the current version, when hes unstable, he doubles over in pain with a hand on his chest, like hes having a heart attack.

how do you transfer this idea over to modern day settings, or no-magic settings? very simple. eczema.

eczema causes inflammation, swelling, and can be painful to the touch. it also can cause scabbing, peeling, and bleeding, resulting in some varieties of eczema needing to be bandaged. there is no complete cure, only management, and even with medication and treatment flare-ups can still happen.

many people with eczema also say they help manage their symptoms by following special diets and monitoring food/water intake, which if you think hard about it, could be similar to gale needing magic items to stabilize his orb (or more accurately, him just taking medicine/applying medicated creams to manage the eczema). so it all works out.

i share this knowledge freely with the world so you may absolutely use it for your own fics and aus. remember to be yourself and have fun, and most importantly: kiss your wizard.

[cr3stawrites]

A Dance to Remember

Bridgerton AU!Finnick Odair x Reader - not necessarily a part of the Aurora universe, but the nickname Aurora IS used, so.

Synopsis: Finnick Odair has just returned from an excursion from Rome, ready for a new social season. He just didn’t expect to fall in love immediately with a lady at the first ball he attended.

1260 words warnings: it's 1810s london society, fancy words to be used. finnick odair is in love xx, pure fluff really

part two

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

When Finnick Odair came back from his excursion from Rome for the newest social season, he didn’t think he’d fall in love. Less much from the first ball he attended for the season.

She was perfect, beautiful, one of the most beautiful ladies he had ever had the honor of seeing. And Finnick has had a lot of debutantes show interest in him the past few years — so he has seen his fair share of women in society.

But her?

No other debutantes or ladies could compare to the sight of her for him.

It was love at first sight for him, and she was stunning. He had heard of her family, and how financially unstable they were to lead that they had missed last year’s season for that reason. But he didn’t think that was something to judge the family for, look at the Featheringtons for Heaven’s sake.

But that was not the point. For Finnick felt like the whole world stopped when the pair met eyes and stared for a moment, despite her dancing with another gentleman. Finnick couldn’t help but smile as she turned back around.

At that moment, Finnick was very sure that he was in love, he watched her on the dance floor for the next dance, drinking his lemonade as she made conversation with another gentleman. But she looked rather bored when he spoke to her, something about reading and other homely skills.

When the song was over, Finnick was determined to dance with her — and he could also be her knight in shining armor from the dreadful conversation of this man. He walked over and gave her the smirk that he had perfected over the years.

Finnick tried to gauge a reaction from her, but so far, she seems interested, but not falling at the knees like most other debutantes or societal ladies did. It made him feel fuzzy on the inside, knowing someone wasn’t falling for him or trying so desperately to impress him.

“May I have your next dance my lady?” Finnick asked, smiling when she did and took his hand before curtsying before him.

“I would very much enjoy that, Mr. Odair.” She said, a smile on her face. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Kentington.”

With that, Finnick took her far, far away from the man she was dancing, towards the edge of the floor as the music started up again.

Her soft primrose colored dress went perfectly with his usual evening wear, and how she spun when he lifted his arm to do so, her dress swirled like a calm and sweet tornado.

“It’s nice to see someone that doesn’t step on my feet for once,” Finnick mused, smiling as she also smiled, even letting out a small chuckle at his words.

“Well, unlike my fellow ladies, I was taught that it wasn’t ladylike to step on a gentleman’s shoes…but I’ll occasionally step on one’s toes if they annoy me much.” She mused, grinning at Finnick.

Finnick couldn’t help but laugh, but he made sure it was quiet as he looked at her. “At least I know that I don’t annoy you so much that you feel the need to step on my toes.”

“Oh, never, Mr. Odair.”

Finnick had to hold back the need to blush, he wasn’t sure why that comment hit him particularly hard, but maybe it was just the sound of her voice, or how she said it, that made him want to blush.

Yet, as much as Finnick hated how quickly the song ended, she seemed to hate it as well.

“I am…quite danced out, I suppose.” She said, her smile returning as Finnick seemed to grin at an idea he had.

Finnick leaned in slightly, his breath on his cheek as he whispered; “I say we shall enjoy the night stars then.”

When he felt her nod, Finnick took her hand and gently guided her out to the balcony to the stars. It fell silent for a while, the two taking in the gardens in front of them and the starry sky above them.

Finnick quite liked this, the silence. The fact that she wasn’t trying to desperately make conversation with him. The silence was welcomed, the silence was shared.

It was perfect.

“I quite like the stars,” Finnick said, not looking away from the stars. “Do you?”

“I have an interest in Astrology, I say I quite enjoy them very much.” She replied, their quiet conversation replacing the wind blowing through them. “Not as much as I loved seeing an Aurora Borealis before.”

Finnick’s eyes widened with excitement as he turned his head to look at her. “You’ve seen—?”

She laughed. “Yes, in the countryside, last season. I didn’t get to attend last season, so being in the countryside, it was quite peaceful. I saw them one night while I was horse riding.”

Finnick looked amazed. “I bet it was beautiful.”

“It was. But it's not as beautiful as tonight.” She said, finally turning her head to meet his eyes. “I have met the most kindest gentleman tonight, and I do hope he gives me a call tomorrow.”

Finnick turned red, and he looked around.

“Me?” Finnick asked when he realized that there was no one around.

“You.” She chuckled, finding his behavior adorable. “If that so pleases you, Mr. Odair?”

Finnick nodded, his cheeks turning even more red as he grabbed her hand gently. “Yes, I would very much like to call on you tomorrow.” He said, looking joyous at the idea of seeing her tomorrow.

Her eyes gleamed with joy at his words. “Oh, that’s lovely! I’ll be eagerly awaiting.”

With that, she gave him another curtsy once again. “But I fear I must go now, Mr. Odair. I fear if someone spots us, we would end up on Lady Whistledown’s very next issue.” She said, looking slightly diminished.

Finnick looked diminished as well, a frown on his face as he held her hand. “Well, that’s a regret. But anything to protect my Aurora’s standing in society, I would not want her to be scorned just for a simple meeting.”

She blushed, her cheeks filled with a gorgeous pink tint as she took in his words. “Aurora? Is that a nickname you will call me?”

“I believe that it suits you well, my lady. Does it not?” Finnick mused, lifting their joined hands to his lips, where he pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

They stayed silent for a few moments as they met each other’s eyes, the pink tint on both of their cheeks grew as they seemed to assess each other. It just made Finnick all the more knowing that this was the girl he would be with, his love. His Aurora.

As Finnick put her hand down, and they reluctantly let go of their joined hands, she gave him one last small smile.

“Goodnight, Mr. Odair.” She whispered, giving him one last curtsy before turning to leave.

Finnick watched her leave, a lovesick smile on his face as the stars shone bright. And just barely, if you looked close enough — you could see the beginnings of an Aurora Borealis beginning to take its place in the night sky.

A transformation was coming, and it would shape Finnick Odair, a poor orphan boy who was then raised by an elderly older woman by the name of Mags Flanagan, for the better.

And Finnick Odair couldn’t wait for it to come, if it meant he had his Aurora by his side.

[merakiui]

PLEASE. please. if you would be so kind to give us some more stalker ex scara... the first time I saw it it just changed my brain chemistry, and I desperately need more </3

>:D thinking a lot about stalker ex Scara, but you get really drunk and he's the only one left to look after you......

(cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, alcohol/intoxication, toxic ex scara, modern college au, connected to the previous stalker ex scara concept)

Just,,, the fact that he's been so good and sweet ever since he casually slid himself into your friend group and you're not sure if you can trust him, yet here you are being completely, utterly, stupidly vulnerable in front of your very unstable ex. orz

Kuni's not one for parties; in fact, he'd much rather spend his precious time doing quiet, comfortable things with you (cuddling is so much healthier than drinking, after all! <3). Unfortunately, you allow your foolish friends to talk you into attending these brain-rotting parties so you can get drunk off your ass, and he can't let you attend them by yourself because there are too many risks. If you got too comfortable with Venti or Kazuha or even Tighnari while drunk, Kuni would never forgive you. >:( he's worked too hard cultivating this friendly image for himself, and he isn't going to let you or anyone else ruin it.

But right now everyone else is too inebriated to do much of anything, and he hasn't touched the drinks ever since he arrived, instead choosing to anchor himself to some forgotten corner of the room. He sulks and broods in silence, a scowl plastered to his face. He's just barely tolerating it for your sake. It's because he loves you that he's doing any of this. Soon you won't even need any of these troublesome friends. Soon you'll just have him, and he's all you really need. It was like that when you were growing up, after all. Even though, as painful as it is, you don't seem so codependent, so swept up in romance... You're so independent now, no longer the shy, fearful thing from the final few months of your relationship with him. He'd be impressed if he wasn't trying so hard to isolate you from each of your friends. It's a challenge when he's trying to tiptoe around Heizou's sharp, witty perception or Venti's proclivity for knowing everything about everyone despite no one knowing much about him.

But he endures. He's gone years without you; this is nothing.

If you were smarter, you'd know not to trust a word he says. That kind, soft smile he's perfected for this act is not to be believed, especially not when he's using it to assure your friends that he'll bring you home safe and sound. Heizou has his doubts because it's late and you can hardly walk a straight line, but he's tipsy just like the others and it's hard to deliberate like this. Besides, when has Kuni ever let the group down? :)

He takes you back to his dorm instead because Albedo's not home and he has the entire room to himself. While you meander clumsily over to his bed, kicking your shoes off and shucking your jacket in the process, he watches. You have no idea how much he depends on you, how much he admires you, so much so that it surpasses love and lust entirely. Without you, he's nothing. Or that's what he thinks because for the majority of his life he's felt empty and sub-human and so alone. But now you're here, and you can fill those empty spaces in his heart and give him a reason to keep living.

You don't seem particularly fazed when the bed dips under his weight. Rather, you blink sleepily up at him when he leans over you, gingerly reaching to help you out of your sweater. You're too drunk to protest or struggle, and you feel so dizzy every time you open your eyes. It's difficult to remain fully conscious when sleep is tugging at your body, pulling you under. You don't even realize he's fit his mouth on yours until his tongue is pushing past your lips. You manage to place your hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but you're so exhausted and tired. They fall to your sides, useless.

Kuni sits up and smiles at you. He says something about you being dumb and cute... or something about how your friends are fools. You don't really catch all of his obsessive murmurings when your attention is waning. Clothes are torn off; he kisses you a lot. You're not sure if you're reciprocating, but it certainly sounds that way when you're whining beneath him, arching against sodden sheets, your breaths coming in pants and huffs each time he ruts into you.

He doesn't have to worry about anything. Right now, it's just you and him in a corner of the world, locked away from everyone who might try to take you away from him. It's not like you'll remember much come morning. You don't need to anyway. It's better if you're lost and bewildered. That way he'll be able to craft a story to suit his fancy. You'll believe it. You'll have no choice, and Kuni knows how to tell very believable tales.