#this kind of falls in with my au actually

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

*strolls into tumblr and falls on my face pretending I haven't been missing for like a month I was out getting the milk hello maggots*

Doctor Who But I've Never Watched It 2.0

For those of you feeling deja vu YES I HAVE MADE POSTS ON DOCTOR WHO BEFORE OKAY but back then I was a young uneducated lad, just a fresh blossom unfucked by tumblr. Now I am surrounded by you lot and by god do y'all love Doctor Who. And I am Educated. My DW virginity is deflowered. All that.

SO HERE WE GO, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SHOW I'VE NEVER WATCHED:

The show started in 1963, and then was rebooted in 2005 and the showrunner was... Robert de Neiro? Idk all I know is he gives Pedro Pascal vibes. Like his name. His name is Robert.

There have been 15 Doctors so far. One is a lesbian and it is not Jodie Whittaker, it is actually the 12th doctor.

There's someone called the Master. I don't know what that means, or if it's some kind of BDSM thing, but he has intense sexual tension with the Doctor.

He's also emo and has bleached hair and is kinda babygirl. And is called Missy.

The Doctors all have intense trauma and the 15th Doctor kind of girlbossed it by leaving David Tennant intact when they binary-fissioned.

Donna is a person played by Catherine... Tate? Not Hepburn. And she knows less about Doctor Who than I do. And Donna is in a QPR with the David Doctors (there are two of them).

David Doctor loves Donna very much. And then he kills her. But doesn't kill her. And then they have dinner together with her husband and kid.

The original show had shitty effects. The new show does too, and everyone is happy about this.

Rose is someone the David Doctor is in love with and then she ends up with a human AU of him and he leaves and the fans are very divided and passionate about this.

The human AU is called Tentoo because y'all hate using W's. What the fuck is Tentoo. What is Nuwho. Why isn't it New and Two. Help me.

THERE IS SOMETHING CALLED THE TARDIS, IT IS BIGGER ON THE INSIDE, I HAVE HAD WEIRD DREAMS WHERE IT WAS A FUCKING AUTO-RICKSHAW WITH RIBBONS FOR SEATBELTS, AND IT IS BLUE AND NOT YELLOW BUT IT WAS YELLOW IN MY DREAM. Because of a Drarry fanfic that I misread.

The 15th doctor dances homoerotically with someone during the French Revolution.

The 9th doctor kinda vibes with like his head jiggling idk I've only seen one gif of him.

The 13th doctor keeps forgetting she's in a woman's body.

It is all very gay.

David Tennant's arms are too long.

The sexiest person is a head.

The Meep's pronouns are Meep. Meep is not friend. IF NOT FRIEND THEN WHY FRIEND SHAPED??????

A buttcheek skin talks or something yeah this is all I got.

have at it y'all @robinprinceofchaos @multidimensional-trashcan @wispedvellichor @queermarzipan thanks for the second hand brainrot

*sneaks away under the cover of night* i was never here

[revyn-moonfox]

Here are some German ones:

Wer im Glashaus sitzt, sollte nicht mit steinen werfen = who sits in a glasshouse, shouldn't throw with rocks

Wer anderen eine Grube gräbt fällt selbst hinein = who dicks a hole for other will fall in it themselfs

Du willst mir doch nen Bären aufbinden! = you want to bind a bear onto me

Es regnet wie aus Kübeln = it rains out of buckets

Es ist nicht alles Gold was glänzt = not everything that shines is Gold

Das geht auf keine Kuhhaut = that comes on no cowskin / that won't go onto any cowskin

Auch ein blindes Huhn findet mal ein Korn = even a blind chicken will find a grain

Das schlägt dem fass den Boden aus = that punches the bottom out of the barrel

Hier siehts aus wie Kraut und Rüben = It looks like cabbage and beets

Einem geschenkten Gaul schaut man nicht ins maul = Don't look into the muzzle of a gifted horse

Pech im Spiel, Glück in der Liebe = misfortune in the game, luck in love

Hätte, hätte, fahradkette = mayhabs, mayhabs, bicycle chain

Mal nicht gleich den teufel an die Wand = Don't paint the devil on the wall

"Das leben ist kein ponyhof" und "das leben ist kein zuckerschlecken" = "live is not a pony-farm" and "live is no sugar licking"

"... ist nicht das gelbe vom ei" = "...is not the yellow from the egg"

"In die Höhle des Löwen/Bären" = "Into the cave of the Lion/Bear"

"Ist die Katze aus dem Haus, Tanzen die Mäuse auf dem Tisch" = "If the cat is out of the house, the mice will dance on the table"

"Gebrannte kinder scheut das Feuer" = "burned Children are scared of fire"

"Er/sie hat den löffel abgegeben" = "they handed of the spoon"

"Er/sie schaut sich die raddisschen von unten an" = "they look at the radish from below"

"Reden ist silber, schweigen ist gold" = talking is silver, silence is gold"

"Zwei dumme ein Gedanke" = "Two idiots, one thought"

"Wenn zwei sich streiten, freut sich der dritte" = "if two are arguing, the third one is happy"

"Wer einmal lügt, dem glaubt man nicht" = "who lies once, will not be believed (again)"

"Steter tropfen höhlt den stein" = "constant droplets hollow the stone"

"Du sollst den tag nicht vor dem Abend loben" = "You're not supposed to praise the day, before the evening has come"

"Wer zuletzt lacht, lacht am besten" = "who laughs last, laughs the best"

"Das kannst du dir abschminken!" Is actually kind of hard to translate, because "abschminken" is removing make-up. Word for word this would be "That can you you remove make-up" which really makes absolutely no sence, whatsoever. "You can remove your make-up for that", doesn't quite capture the saying, even tho it's close. The saying basically means "no way" or "you can forget that!"

"Ich versteh nur bahnhof" = "I only understand trainstation"

"Da wird ja der Hund in der pfanne verrückt" = "the dig goes crazy in the pan"

"Ich glaub mein Schwein pfeift" = "I think my pig is whistling"

"Ich glaub ich spinne" = "I think I spider" or, actually "I think I spin" or "I think I weave" (basically means "I think I'm crazy" said when you perceive something you don't believe)

"Rom wurde nicht an einen Tag gebaut" = "Rome wasn't build in a day"

"Das hat Hand und Fuß" = "that has hand and leg"

"Der ist ja noch nicht mal ganz grün hinter den ohren" = "he isn't even quite green behind the ears"

"Früh übt sich wer ein meister werden will" = "early practice if you wanna be a master"

"Ich fress nen besen" = "I eat a broom"

"Ich glaub mich tritt ein pferd" = "I think a horse is kicking me"

"Da lachen ja die hühner" = "the chickens/hens laugh at that"

...

Well this was fun, but it's late.

I learned that German has a bunch of ways of saying that one thinks their going crazy or doesn't believe something.

Welp, goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite.

Please give me more Sayings in your native language

"My first language has a perfect saying for this, but it doesn't make sense in english :("

Say it anyway! You don't owe them perfect clarity. Be profoundly cryptic, speak in riddles, make them ponder what the fuck you meant by that. The anglos, like porridge, must sometimes be stirred, so they don't burn stuck on the bottom of the pot.

[diamonddaze01]

fleeing feelings

pairing: hvc x fem!reader | best friend!seungkwan genre: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, university au wc: 9.6k warnings: alcohol consumption (pls drink responsibly!!) a/n: for @k-vanity 's “falling for you” event! My prompts were London Fog (“You said what to who now?! Why?!”) and Pumpkin Spice Latte (“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?”) // enormous thank you to @cheolism for the most gorgeous banner // and thank you to my lovely betas @lovetaroandtaemin and @tusswrites

summary: so you might have told vernon you loved him while drunk – now all you have to do is avoid him. forever. 

The headache is real.

It feels like someone decided your skull was the perfect canvas for a jackhammer. Each throb sends waves of pain coursing through your brain, and even the soft hum of the world outside your window seems like an assault on your fragile state. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure your last memory was of collapsing into your bed after a night of regrettable decisions, you’d swear you were dying.

You blink up at the ceiling, groaning as sunlight streams through the blinds, slicing through the dim room like a guilty conscience. Your eyes ache at the brightness, and you throw a hand over your face in an attempt to shield yourself from the assault. The cold sheets are a welcome contrast to the fire that’s raging inside your head.

You wish for sleep, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you're greeted by an annoyingly chipper voice, too loud for a Sunday morning at 11 a.m.

"Morning!" Seungkwan chirps, a little too cheerfully for someone who clearly has no understanding of the term hangover. He's holding a glass of water, like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, and you can't help but squint at him through half-closed eyes. He’s got that same gleeful smile on his face, looking way too awake for someone who shares an apartment with someone who just wants to die right now.

"Seungkwan, please... It’s too early for your brand of happiness," you croak, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your throat feels like you swallowed sandpaper, and you barely have the strength to sit up.

"Well, it’s already late enough for me to help you feel better," he says with a grin that’s too wide to be genuine, handing you the glass of water and an aspirin like it’s some kind of miracle cure. "You don’t want to end up like last time, do you?"

You roll your eyes, trying to sit up but the world tilts dangerously. You clutch the glass like it might actually save you, your fingers trembling from the effort. "Last time?" you mutter, still a little too disoriented to make sense of anything. “I barely remember last night.”

Seungkwan’s grin stretches even wider. "Oh, last night was a memorable one," he says, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he’s got the best secret in the world.

You squint at him, struggling to keep your eyes open. "What do you mean by that?"

The moment it leaves your mouth, the memories come rushing back, one after another, like a broken dam finally giving way. You and Vernon had gone outside for some air, the cool night breeze refreshing against your skin. You remember the conversation turning quiet, the alcohol still buzzing in your veins, the way the breeze ruffled his hair, and then...

Oh god. Oh no.

You freeze, the blood draining from your face as your stomach drops. Your heart stutters in your chest as you try to piece it together. You had told Vernon you loved him. In your drunken haze, it had slipped out, but now? Now it feels like the kind of thing you would never, ever do if you weren’t so far gone on cheap whiskey and bad decisions.

You look at Seungkwan, your face crumpling in embarrassment. "I... I told Vernon... I told him I love him."

Seungkwan blinks at you, the shock clear on his face. For a second, it seems like he doesn’t even know how to respond. Then, his eyes widen comically, and a burst of laughter bursts from him. "You said what to who?!" He takes a step back, as if the sheer magnitude of your confession has physically knocked him off balance. "You confessed? To Vernon?" He cackles, his laugh loud and echoing in the quiet of your room.

You slump back against your pillow, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You wish the floor would just swallow you up. "I didn’t mean to! I was drunk—okay?" you mutter, your words barely making it out.

Seungkwan is practically vibrating with laughter. "Oh my god, you actually did it," he says between fits of giggles. "That’s so—wait, wait. What did Vernon say back?"

And that’s when the panic sets in. You stare blankly at Seungkwan, your brain spinning. You want to remember, you need to remember what he said back, but it’s a complete blank. The memory of his face, his expression, even his words—they’re gone. As if it never happened. You feel a new wave of nausea rising in your stomach.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to speak. "I don’t remember," you confess, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Seungkwan stops laughing, blinking at you like he’s just realized you might be serious. "What do you mean you don’t remember?" he asks, sounding more confused than before.

You press the heel of your hand to your forehead, trying to steady your dizzying thoughts. "I... I can’t remember what he said back. And that’s worse than not hearing anything at all."

Seungkwan’s face falters for a second, then the teasing glint returns in his eyes. "Well... you have to face him, right? He’s literally just down the hall," he points out, his voice softening as he sits on the edge of your bed. "And you’re gonna have to talk to him eventually. You can’t avoid him forever."

You frown, looking at him as if he's spoken a foreign language. "And why the hell not?"

Seungkwan leans in, his finger counting off the reasons like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life. "One: he’s our best friend. Two: he lives down the hall, not in another universe. And three..." He pauses, dramatically. "He’s your BEST FRIEND."

You groan, rolling over and burying your face into your pillow, desperate to block out the light, the noise, and Seungkwan’s well-meaning logic. "You already said that," you mumble into the fabric, wishing the pillow could swallow you whole.

"I’m emphasizing," Seungkwan replies, sitting back in a huff. "Emphasizing that he knows you like the back of his hand, stupid. He’s not gonna let you avoid him."

You moan into the pillow. "I can’t even think about facing him right now, Seungkwan. Not today."

"Tough. You’re facing him eventually, whether you like it or not," Seungkwan says, but his voice softens, his hand brushing your back comfortingly. "But hey, I’m your best friend. I’m here to support you through whatever happens."

You just grunt in response, curling back into the pillow like it might somehow shield you from reality. "Great. As long as you’re here to watch me suffer."

Seungkwan grins, his voice full of mischief. "That’s the plan."

You can feel the weight of your poor life choices pressing down on you as you sit in the overpriced, over-crowded coffee shop, nursing the lukewarm disaster that is your latte. It's one of those days where everything tastes like regret—coffee included. Your laptop screen blurs as you try to focus on your prelab. You're supposed to be working, supposed to be productive, but all you can do is mentally list everything that went wrong in your life in the past 48 hours.

The lab professor? Completely useless. Your grade? Already plummeting. And as for the whole Vernon situation? Yeah, let's not talk about that.

You can feel the throbbing pain in your temples as your mind drifts back to that night—the confession that slipped out of your mouth when you were way too drunk. The look on Vernon’s face... God, you're so embarrassed. If there was a hole to crawl into, you’d dive right in and never resurface.

Beside you, Seungkwan is breezing through his own prelab, the same one you’re supposed to be working on, but it seems like he’s in a completely different world. As usual. He taps away at his laptop, his fingers moving in a rhythm like he’s been here for hours—when in reality, he probably hasn’t even started yet. You scowl at your laptop as the blinking cursor mocks you for not getting anything done.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. "God, I hate this class. And I hate that professor," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "Why did I even sign up for this? Why is life like this?"

Seungkwan doesn’t look up from his screen, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Because you're a glutton for punishment. You're just mad because the only thing you're getting out of this lab is the overpriced coffee."

You huff, sloshing your latte around in its cup in a way that makes you wish you could just drown in it. "Yeah, well, I’m about to drown in this lab report if I don’t figure it out soon."

"Should’ve taken easier classes," Seungkwan snorts, and you shoot him a glare. He knows you better than anyone, and he knows you're not the type to shy away from a challenge. You don’t even have the energy to argue, so you let him win this one.

The door chimes as someone enters, and your focus breaks. You glance up, hoping it's just some random student walking in to grab their iced coffee, but no.

Of course not.

You hear that low, familiar voice, the one that makes your heart do a little flip. "Is this seat taken?"

No. No. Fuck.

There, standing by the table, looking like he belongs in some glossy magazine for college students who know how to look effortlessly cool, is Vernon. The guy you still haven’t figured out how to face after that monumental fuck-up of a confession two days ago. And now? Now he’s standing there, staring at you and Seungkwan with a hesitant smile, probably wondering if it’s safe to sit down or if you’re about to sprint out of here like a coward.

Seungkwan, the absolute bastard, beams at Vernon. "Oh no, it’s totally free," he says, too eager. He's so happy to make this as awkward as possible. You could almost feel the smugness radiating off him. "Come sit, Vernon. We could use the company!"

Your heart sinks into your stomach as Vernon takes the seat across from you, not missing the subtle shift in your posture. He looks at you with those eyes of his, eyes that are both too warm and too intense, and you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You can’t look at him. You can’t.

You force a smile, but it feels like you’re pushing your lips together with a crowbar. "Uh, yeah. Just working on it," you mumble, barely even aware of what you just said. Your brain is too busy doing its best to not short-circuit. You take another sip of your latte, hoping the caffeine will somehow pull you together. It doesn’t.

Seungkwan, the little devil, doesn’t help at all. He’s practically radiating glee, enjoying your discomfort far too much. "Yeah, Y/N here is just dying to finish her part of the report," he says, clearly trying to get a rise out of you. "But it's okay, she’s doing just fine! Aren’t you?" He shoots you a wink, but Vernon doesn’t catch it—thank God.

Your eyes flick to your screen, looking for any excuse to not talk to Vernon right now. You just need to not look at him. "Actually, I forgot something," you blurt out, standing up abruptly, not even thinking it through. "I just... I need to grab something. I’ll be back in a second."

You don’t wait for anyone to respond. You don’t even look at Vernon as you grab your bag and make a hasty retreat to the counter. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and your breath feels shallow. This was a terrible idea. Why did you invite him to work on the prelab in the first place? Was it because you wanted an excuse to spend time with him? To not feel so much?

You don’t know.

You leave the cafe altogether, your mind racing, and find yourself walking aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to cool off. The cold air outside stings your cheeks, but it’s a welcome distraction from the heat of embarrassment still flushing through your body.

You pull out your phone, needing something to take your mind off everything. It pings almost immediately with a message from Seungkwan:

Boo 🍊: so... how long are u gonna avoid him

You laugh weakly, but it’s more from disbelief than anything else. You text back quickly:

Y/N: i’m not avoiding him

Y/N: i’m just

Y/N: strategically distancing myself until i can look him in the eye without dying of shame

Boo 🍊: ur not gonna go back to the cafe because its too much?

Your phone dings again in quick succession. 

Boo 🍊: u realize ur only making it worse right

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip to suppress a groan. Oh god, Seungkwan, shut up.

Y/N: i’m already halfway across campus

Y/N: oh well, can’t exactly go back now

Boo 🍊: he looks like you kicked him in the nuts and then ran away btw

Boo 🍊: i’m keeping him company 

Boo 🍊: ur not getting away with this btw i’m never letting u live this down

You exhale loudly, already feeling the weight of your decision in the pit of your stomach. What did you think would happen? You’ve messed this up royally. Again.

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Boo 🍊: no u don’t !  you’ll see him again soon. probably tomorrow

Y/N: fuck you

Boo 🍊: love u too! don’t worry i’ll handle this 

Boo 🍊: good luck with that prelab see u at home <3 

You slump your shoulders in defeat, staring at the screen of your phone. There’s no getting out of this. You’ve somehow managed to make this even more awkward. Of course, Seungkwan would drag it out. You wouldn’t expect any less from him.

You drag yourself back into the apartment, the weight of your failed escape attempt still heavy on your shoulders. The door slams behind you, and you sigh deeply, almost as if trying to shake the embarrassment off your body. You kick your shoes off and leave them by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder like a dead weight. You’re so done with everything.

The apartment feels like it’s mocking you—seemingly quiet, except for the hum of Seungkwan’s obnoxiously loud voice floating from the living room. You hear the faint click of his phone screen as you shuffle toward the couch. You can practically feel him smirking at your impending doom even before you see him.

Sure enough, when you walk into the living room, he’s lounging on the couch, sprawled across it in his usual dramatic fashion. He’s scrolling through his phone, one leg thrown over the side, looking like he hasn’t had a care in the world since he woke up. 

You throw yourself onto the couch next to him, feeling the familiar softness of the cushions sink beneath you. The weight of the last few hours presses down on your chest. It’s so comfortable here, but you can’t fully relax. Not with him sitting right next to you, clearly enjoying the aftermath of your spectacular mess.

“Don’t even say it,” you groan, pushing yourself into the cushions like they might swallow you whole.

He doesn’t even glance up from his phone. Instead, he lets out a small, knowing laugh. “So... how’s the avoidance game going?”

You just close your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to disappear. “I’m never leaving my room again. Ever.”

Seungkwan bursts into laughter, the sound filling the small apartment and bouncing off the walls. It’s enough to make your skin crawl, but you can’t help but feel a bit of a tug at your own lips. He’s genuinely enjoying your misery, and you hate it. “I mean, it’s been two days, and you’ve already chickened out at the café. That’s a solid record.”

You groan dramatically, rolling your head back against the cushion. “I didn’t chicken out. I just... needed a moment to not make eye contact with him, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Seungkwan says, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s why you bolted out of there like a squirrel avoiding a hawk.”

You push his shoulder weakly, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Shut up, Boo. You have no idea how embarrassing it was.”

“Of course I do,” he says smugly, setting his phone down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “I was the one trying to hold a conversation with Vernon while you were having your little meltdown across campus.”

“Can we please not talk about it?” You bury your face in your hands, muffling your groan of embarrassment.

Seungkwan’s voice is dripping with amusement. “Well, you better figure it out soon. You invited him to our café session, and now you’re running away from your own mess. It’s hilarious.”

You sit up, rubbing your face in exasperation. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

Seungkwan shrugs, his grin still wickedly satisfied. “Well, it’s not like you have much of a choice. I mean, unless you’re planning to live in that room of yours forever?”

You lean back against the couch, the soft fabric cool against your skin. You feel the weight of your thoughts settle in again, and with it, the overwhelming desire to hide from the world. “I can’t,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gonna know I’m avoiding him on purpose.”

“Yeah, he’s not that dumb,” Seungkwan says, flipping through his phone lazily. “But you know what? You could avoid him for a while. You just need to avoid... everything you’re supposed to do, forever.”

You turn your head slowly to look at him. “That’s your solution? Run away?”

“Pretty much,” Seungkwan says, completely unfazed. “But you have to be more creative. Maybe pretend you’re dead? Or like you have the plague?”

You snort, despite yourself, the idea so absurd that it almost lightens the mood. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just start wearing a sign around my neck: Please, don’t talk to me. I’m a walking disaster.”

Seungkwan grins, his eyes lighting up mischievously. “Honestly, I think it’s a good look for you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re the worst.”

Seungkwan stretches out, his grin wide and smug. “Look, I saved you today, but don’t expect me to keep doing this forever. At some point, you’re on your own.” He reaches for his phone, ready to return to his lazy scrolling.

You sit up, the absurdity of the situation hitting you in waves. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out... eventually.”

Seungkwan gives you a side-eye. “Sure you will. But for now, enjoy the free ride, disaster queen.”

It’s just your luck that, of all people, Vernon is your lab partner today. The second your professor calls your name, you feel your stomach twist into knots. You swear your internal groan echoes in the hum of the fluorescent lights above you. Why him?

Across the lab, Vernon’s already tugging on his gloves, eyeing the instructions on the counter like he’s got his shit together. You can’t help but stare at him for a second, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the way he moves like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The thought of having to work with him makes you feel like you’ve been thrown into a pressure cooker, and you’re about to explode.

You try to focus, really, you do. But it’s impossible. Your brain keeps wandering back to him. His fucking hums. His stupid little smile. The way his dark eyes flicker up every now and then to make sure you’re still there. It’s like he knows exactly how much he’s fucking with your head, and the worst part? He’s probably not even trying.

A Bunsen burner hisses in the background, and the sound almost makes you flinch, like it's too loud in the otherwise quiet lab. You try to focus on the beaker in front of you. Try to just get through this. But it’s hard when all you can feel is the weight of his gaze on you.

“Got it, Y/N?” Vernon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s leaning against the counter now, watching you with a lazy grin, like he knows what he's doing to you.

Your face flushes involuntarily, and you shoot him a tight smile, hoping to play it cool. “Yeah, got it,” you mumble, though your mind is a jumbled mess. Your hand shakes slightly as you pick up the pipette, and you swear he notices, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s even worse. You hate how easy it is for him to get under your skin.

It’s bad enough that you’re stuck with him, but now you’ve got to get through an hour-long experiment without combusting. The tension is palpable, and it’s making you want to crawl out of your skin.

But then, just as you’re about to lose it, you spot Seungkwan strutting back from the fume hood. You swear you can feel the relief hit your chest like a tidal wave. Perfect.

Seungkwan doesn’t seem to notice you until you’re already walking toward him, your feet moving on their own accord, desperate to make the switch. When he looks up, his gaze flickers over you, and that smirk creeps onto his lips. The one you know too well. The one that says, I’m going to fuck with you now.

“What’s up, Y/N?” he asks, popping his gum. “Need help with the chemical equations? Or is it more of a personal emergency?”

You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I need to switch lab partners, Seungkwan. Like, now.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Really? What’s wrong? Does Vernon’s inability to mix chemicals properly scare you, or are you just that tired of looking at his face?”

You grimace, frustration bubbling in your chest. God, why’s he gotta make it worse? “No, it’s just… I can’t focus with him staring at me every five seconds.”

Seungkwan’s smirk widens, and you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Oh, so that’s what it is, huh? You’re not focused because Vernon keeps looking at you like you’re his personal chemistry experiment?”

Your heart rate spikes. Fuck off, Seungkwan. “Shut up, I’m being serious,” you mutter, but you can hear the hitch in your voice, and it makes you want to punch yourself in the face.

Seungkwan doesn’t let up, leaning in closer with that same cocky grin, looking far too pleased with himself. “Is that why you’ve been staring at him for the last five minutes, then?” he teases, and you swear you can hear the little giggle in his voice. “I didn’t realize we were doing that kind of experiment today.”

Your blood goes hot. “Stop it!” you hiss, but you can’t keep the embarrassed flush from spreading across your face. “I just need you to switch with me, Seungkwan. That’s it.”

Seungkwan chuckles lowly, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Oh, okay. So you want me to switch with you just because you can’t handle the heat, huh?” He taps his chin, like he’s thinking about it, but it’s obvious he’s already decided.

“Fine,” you say, voice low but firm. “But only if you actually want me to send that video of you drunkenly crying about chickens to the entire friend group. You remember that one, right? The one where you were saying, ‘Those chickens are my babies, I love them so much’?”

Seungkwan’s eyes widen, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of panic. You almost smile, but you hold it in. Gotcha.

“No,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to backpedal. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” you reply smoothly, crossing your arms. You can feel the smug grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “So, how about it? You switch with me, or I make everyone’s day a little more interesting?”

Seungkwan looks around the room, clearly considering his options. He’s not stupid enough to let that video go public. “Okay, okay, fine. You win, Y/N. But you owe me for this one, big time.”

You give him a sweet smile. “Deal.”

Seungkwan walks over to Vernon, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Vernon, buddy, looks like you’re stuck with me as your partner today.”

You barely suppress a laugh as Vernon’s head jerks up in surprise. “Wait, what? Really?”

You take that as your cue and grab your stuff, moving toward Chan’s station. You’re feeling lighter already, knowing the rest of this class won’t be nearly as awkward. Chan’s a great guy—easygoing, level-headed, and most importantly, not Vernon. 

You set your bag down on the counter and look over at Chan, who’s already elbow-deep in his notes, completely unaware of the chaos you just caused. “Hey, Chan,” you say, forcing a cheerful tone despite everything. “Looks like we’re partners now.”

He looks up with a bright smile, oblivious to the fact that he’s been dragged into your mess. “Oh, hey, Y/N! Sounds good to me.” He’s so sweet and always so positive, but… well, the thing is, Chan could not for the life of him keep track of chemical reactions if his life depended on it. This could be the worst decision you’ve made today.

You sit down, a little defeated, as you adjust your gloves and open the instructions. You’re partnered with Chan now, but nothing feels quite right. As sweet as he is, chemistry might as well be a foreign language to him. You glance back over at Vernon’s lab station, which, of course, is conveniently located just a few feet away. You can hear the familiar sound of Vernon and Seungkwan’s voices drifting toward you, but you’re so not ready to face them just yet.

You feel your chest tighten as you try to ignore it, but then Vernon speaks again. “I don’t bite, Y/N,” he teases, his voice cutting through the air like a soft command. It’s casual, playful even, but it does nothing to stop the heat that floods your face.

You swallow hard, praying the blush on your cheeks isn’t visible. This is not the moment. Not the perfect moment to have him distract you. Your pulse picks up at the sound of his voice again, and you can almost feel his gaze on you. You don’t look back, but you know he’s probably waiting for a response.

“Y/N?” Chan says softly, his voice pulling you out of your mental spiral. “Are you okay?”

You quickly look away, feeling that familiar heat creeping up your neck. “I’m fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m fine.”

Your stomach flips as an idea strikes you—fake sick. You’ve done it before, and it’s a perfect way to buy yourself some time away from Vernon, maybe even the entire day.

Just get through this, and then you can run away forever.

Your body starts to tremble slightly as you put a hand to your forehead, doing your best to sound miserable. “Ugh, I don’t feel so good...”

Chan immediately rushes to your side, concern flashing across his face, and you can hear Seungkwan's snort of disbelief. Vernon looks at you with a furrowed brow, clearly not buying it. But he’s too polite to say anything. “You sure? You look kinda green.”

That’s your cue. You make a dramatic move, leaning over the lab counter, your hands gripping it as if you're about to collapse. Your stomach gives another exaggerated roll as you close your eyes. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” you say in a voice that’s so over the top, it sounds like it came straight out of a soap opera.

You expect Vernon to panic, maybe grab your arm to steady you, but instead, he just stares at you, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Really?” he asks slowly, clearly unconvinced. "Or is it that you want to run away again?"

Oh my god. You freeze, horrified that Vernon might actually be onto you. You try to hide your terror behind your palm, rubbing your eyes like you’re just too tired to keep up the act. “No! No... I’m definitely sick,” you say with a cough for added effect.

But Vernon isn’t having it. He places his hands on his hips, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “You’re not even trying to hide it. Just admit you’re avoiding me. What’s the deal?”

You panic, fully aware that your ridiculous performance isn’t going to fool him for long. You grab your bag off the back of the chair with a look of pure desperation. “No, no! I just—uh, I need to go to the bathroom! I’ll be right back, promise!”

Before Chan can protest, you push past him, stumbling out of the lab with as much speed as your shaking legs can muster. You burst out into the hallway, nearly running into a group of students on their way to their next class. Too close. You force your breathing to steady as you walk briskly, acting like you haven’t just staged the most obvious escape ever.

You round the corner, ducking into the nearest restroom. You push open the door, locking it behind you, leaning against the cool tile wall as you try to gather yourself. What is wrong with you?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Seungkwan, of course.

Boo 🍊: i was joking when i said u should get the plague idiot

Boo 🍊: ur the worst actor i’ve ever seen

Y/N: i had to ok

Y/N: this is a nightmare.

Your phone buzzes again almost immediately. 

Boo 🍊: ur so obvious it’s kinda gross

Boo 🍊: chan’s gonna fail this lab for u. also. U NEED TO TALK TO VERNON AT SOME POINT

Y/N: not today!

It’s Friday night. One week since that confession. And honestly? All you want right now is a shot of shitty tequila, a cheap beer, and some damn good music to drown out the past seven days. You’re tired of thinking about it. You’re tired of pretending like last weekend never happened.

The second you and Seungkwan step through the door of Mingyu’s house, you're hit with a wave of noise. It’s too loud, the bass too heavy, but somehow, that’s exactly what you need. The house is packed, the kind of party that screams “let’s fuck up everything in the best way possible.” You spot Mingyu behind the kitchen counter, already wearing that signature smirk of his, mixing drinks for whoever’s brave enough to stand in line. But then—of course—your night has to take a turn.

Vernon.

He’s sprawled out on the couch, head bopping to some random SoundCloud rap, looking way too at ease in his flannel and backwards cap. Fucking perfect. You mentally groan. You’d hoped for at least a few hours of peace tonight, but apparently, that’s not in the cards.

Seungkwan nudges you, elbow digging into your side. “Well, well, well,” he says with that knowing grin. “Guess your worst nightmare is here.”

You shove him back, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make it worse.”

“Too late,” Seungkwan chirps. “Now, let’s get some tequila in your system.”

You head straight for the kitchen, not bothering with small talk. The music is too loud, the room too warm, and your head is already swimming with the thought of one thing: tequila. You pull the bottle off the shelf with the same speed as if it’s your lifeline, and without hesitation, you pour yourself a generous shot. No chaser. Just straight into your system.

Seungkwan eyes you carefully from the counter. “Careful,” he singsongs in your ear, his voice dripping with teasing. “That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

You shoot him a sideways glance, the corners of your lips twitching upward. “Shut up,” you mutter, then down the tequila like it’s water. The burn sears down your throat, and the warmth spreads through your chest almost immediately.

You reach for another shot when—just your fucking luck—Vernon walks into the kitchen. His eyes land on you instantly, like he knew exactly where to find you. You want to swallow him whole—no, just pretend he's not even here– but you know that’s not going to happen.

“Wow, look who’s getting to the good stuff early,” Vernon says, voice as smooth as ever. His gaze flicks down to your hand around the bottle, and then right back up to your face, and something in his eyes makes you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Seungkwan shoots you a sideways look, his smirk turning even more mischievous. With a dramatic sigh, he pushes himself off the counter, clearly done with this conversation already. “Alright, well, have fun with that,” he says in a sing-songy voice, clearly aware of how uncomfortable this is getting. Then, he makes his exit, blowing you a mocking kiss from the doorway before disappearing into the living room.

You roll your eyes at his back, shooting him a silent curse with your eyes, but the moment Vernon steps forward, all that annoyance evaporates into something else entirely. Your focus is back on him, and that damn smirk on his face.

“Didn’t know tequila was your thing,” Vernon says casually, leaning against the counter next to you. You move to pour another shot, but Vernon steps closer, cornering you against the counter with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. The proximity is almost suffocating, and you feel your pulse spike in your neck, your heart pounding. You try not to make eye contact, your gaze fixed firmly on the bottle in your hand, as if it could somehow shield you from him.

Vernon’s smirk widens, and he leans in slightly. “Y’know, you need to look at me to make conversation,” he says, voice low and teasing.

Before you can even process what’s happening, his hand slides under your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and for a second, you forget to breathe. His eyes are almost burning into you, and you can’t look away—not that you want to.

For a second, you forget about everything. Your entire focus narrows to the guy standing in front of you, the guy who’s been fucking with your head for over a week now. You try to focus, try to snap yourself out of it, but damn—he looks good. Too good. That stupid backwards cap, the flannel shirt that’s just loose enough, the way his jawline sharpens under the dim kitchen light. You swallow, trying to keep your cool, but fuck, he’s too close. Too damn close. You want to push him away, but the closeness has your body freezing, every nerve on edge.

It’s the same feeling you had last week. And it’s happening again.

Fuck. No. This is not how it’s supposed to go.

Your mind races, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this. Then—like a miracle—Mingyu strolls by, not even realizing the chaos you’re trying to keep under control. You latch onto him like a lifeline.

“Mingyu! HI!” you shout, ducking under Vernon’s arm and making a beeline for him. You grip his arm with a little too much force, probably dragging him away from whatever conversation he was having with someone else. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but you don’t even give him a chance to ask why you’re acting like a madman.

“Long time no see! Let’s catch up!” you practically drag him out of the kitchen before Vernon can say anything, and Mingyu shoots a glance over his shoulder at you. He looks confused, but soon the music envelops you, and he happily throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you onto the dance floor.

The music is a blur of bass and off-key notes, but the tequila in your system helps dull everything, smooths out the jagged edges of your thoughts. Mingyu is practically yelling in your ear, his voice way too loud for the volume of the song, but you can’t help but laugh at his unrelenting enthusiasm. He’s screaming the lyrics to some cheesy pop song—something from five years ago that you can’t even remember the name of—but he’s grinning, and you can’t help but mirror his energy. For a moment, the heat of the room and the chaos of the party become distant, fading into the background, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you forget about Vernon. You forget about everything.

Mingyu pulls you into a ridiculous spin, and you laugh, the sound lost in the music. His arm tightens around your shoulders as he twirls you back into his chest, but just as you feel yourself getting lost in the rhythm, your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s Seungkwan.

You swipe the screen without thinking, still caught in the whirl of the dance floor.

Boo 🍊:  he’s staring at you

Your heart drops.

You freeze mid-spin, suddenly feeling too warm, too exposed, like you’re still back in that kitchen, caught between the tequila, the tension, and the pull of Vernon’s eyes. The phone screen flickers in your hand, but you don’t even need to read the message again to know what it means. You know Seungkwan’s been watching the two of you dance around each other, and you know who he is. Vernon’s watching you. He’s staring.

You glance over your shoulder instinctively, and there—across the room, leaning against the doorframe—is Vernon. That tantalizing smirk is still in place, like it’s carved into his face. His eyes are on you, not even trying to hide it, and that stupid look on his face says everything. The way he watches you makes your skin tingle, and the realization hits you harder than the tequila burn in your stomach.

“Yo, you good?” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling you back to the present. You swallow hard, still trying to shake the feeling of Vernon’s gaze on you. You force a smile and nod, but all you can think about is the way Vernon is watching you.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, grabbing his wrist, “I think I need a drink. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can protest, you make a beeline for the kitchen again, your feet moving quicker than you can process. You need space. You need air. The heat of the dance floor still clings to your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the suffocating feeling that’s starting to build in your chest. The tequila's starting to wear off, but your nerves are still shot, and you can’t get rid of the image of Vernon leaning against the doorframe, eyes fixed on you like he’s just waiting for you to make a move.

The kitchen’s quieter, the music a distant hum, and you’re almost grateful for the space, the absence of people. You grab the tequila bottle again, not caring if anyone’s watching. You pour yourself another shot, but before you can even bring it to your lips, you hear footsteps approaching. You don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“I think we should talk,” Vernon’s voice sounds closer than you expect. You try not to flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from stiffening. You move to step away, but then his hand is on the counter next to you, trapping you in place. You don’t want to look at him, not after everything that’s happened.

“I’m serious,” he adds, tone shifting just slightly. There’s a quiet edge to his voice, a softness you’ve never heard before, but it only makes you hesitate more.

You finally raise your gaze, and for the first time tonight, you meet his eyes. His smirk is still there, but there’s something else too—something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” you say, your voice lower than you intended.

Vernon’s eyes flicker for a moment, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face, but the moment’s gone too quickly. He chuckles lightly, not mocking, but with a sense of finality.

“Fair enough.” He straightens up, taking a step back, giving you a little more space, but still standing there. “But just so you know…” His voice softens again, the teasing replaced with something a little too sincere for your comfort. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Fuck. That’s it. You can’t be here anymore.

You spin on your heel, heading straight for Seungkwan, who’s been knee-deep in a Mario Kart championship with Soonyoung and Seokmin. The game is so intense that Seungkwan barely notices you storming up to him, too busy yelling at the screen as he tries to secure his victory.

“Time to go,” you say, your voice sharp enough that even Seungkwan can’t ignore it.

He looks up from his game, a little confused. “What? We just GOT HERE!”

“TIME TO GO, SEUNGKWAN,” you hiss, a little louder this time, unable to mask the frustration that’s bubbling up in your chest.

Seungkwan groans, annoyed that his Mario Kart dominance is being interrupted, but he stands up anyway, muttering something about the injustice of it all.

But then, like a fucking curse, Vernon appears in front of you, stepping into your path just as you try to make your exit. His presence feels almost too heavy in the moment, his gaze unrelenting as his lips curl into that same familiar smirk.

“Leaving so early?” he asks, voice laced with amusement, and his eyes lock on yours, steady and impossible to ignore. It makes your stomach flip, and you feel that heat in your cheeks you can’t seem to get rid of.

You avoid his gaze, turning your face just enough to escape the intensity of it. “Oh yeah, early morning,” you mumble, desperate to get out of there. “Lots of stuff to do, classes and all…”

Vernon tilts his head slightly, his smirk widening as if he can see right through your bullshit. “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he says, voice matter-of-fact, as if calling out your feeble excuse is somehow amusing to him.

Shit.

You try to force a smile through it, but it feels like it’s made of plastic, fake and thin. You avoid his gaze like it’s radioactive. “Yeah, uh… just, you know—okay, bye!” You nearly shove Seungkwan out the door before Vernon can say another word.

The second the door slams shut behind you, Seungkwan bursts out laughing, his voice loud in the quiet of the carpark.

“You’re such a mess,” he cackles, still trying to catch his breath. “Did you seriously try to pull the early morning classes excuse? Like, no one knows tomorrow’s Saturday?”

You shoot him a middle finger, too tired to even care. “Shut up, Seungkwan. Just drive.”

He laughs harder, but at least he doesn’t push it further. Seungkwan’s car engine roars to life, and as he drives off, the weight of the night slowly lifts from your shoulders. But in the back of your mind, you can still feel Vernon’s eyes on you, like they never really left.

Dinner a week later is nothing fancy—just some ramen you scrounged up after dragging yourself through another shit show of a week. The kitchen, warm and dimly lit by the overhead light, feels like a small refuge, and for a second, you’re fine with being here. The steam rising from your bowl swirls in the air, and you twirl the noodles absentmindedly, trying to ignore the weight of everything slowly settling over you.

Seungkwan’s sitting across from you, casually slurping his ramen, but there’s something in the way his eyes flicker up, a strange glint in them, that makes you pause. The silence stretches for a moment, the kind that feels like it’s waiting for something, and then, as if he can’t hold it in any longer, he drops the bomb.

“Vernon’s coming over later.”

You freeze, a piece of noodle hanging from your chopsticks, your eyes wide. “WHAT?” You nearly choke on the noodles, the shock making you forget to swallow. “Why the hell is he coming over? Are you—seriously?”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, lips curling into a grin that doesn’t match his feigned innocence. “Just to study,” he says, shrugging like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Our lab midterm is in a couple of days, and we can’t figure out the damn ratios for the prelab.”

Your mind stutters, trying to catch up with what he’s saying. Vernon, your uncomfortably charming classmate, is coming here. Of course he is. “Seungkwan, you know I—” You stop, frustrated, searching for words that aren’t quite coming. This is your house, your space, and you’re already struggling with the thought of being alone with him. The awkward tension from the last few days suddenly feels so much heavier now.

Seungkwan, not missing a beat, looks over at you with a teasing grin. “Haven’t you run away enough? It’s been, like, almost two weeks.” He’s got that smirk on his face again, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing all the right buttons to get you riled up.

You glare at him, trying to muster some kind of defense, but your words come out quieter than you expect. “I’m not running away,” you snap, though it’s weak. It’s been two weeks of exactly that. “I’m just—busy. You know, college stuff.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, and you feel your resolve crumble under his knowing look. “Yeah, sure. College stuff. That’s totally why you’ve been dodging Vernon for the past week. Can’t blame you though—guy’s got a way of making things... uncomfortable.” He chuckles at his own joke, but there’s an edge of teasing that cuts too close to the truth.

You groan, rubbing your face in frustration. “Stop making this worse.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Seungkwan shrugs, his grin widening. “Haven’t you thought about actually talking to him? It’s not like you’ve got that much time before he shows up.”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter, then, more to yourself, “I didn’t plan this. He didn’t plan this. This is... This is all just—” You stop yourself, shaking your head, your words trailing off.

Seungkwan chuckles again, but this time, it’s softer, almost like he’s giving you space to breathe. “Look, I’m just saying, maybe stop running away for once. You’ll figure it out.” He slaps you lightly on the back, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

But before you can even gather your thoughts, Seungkwan’s phone rings. He picks it up immediately, urgency lacing his voice, and you’re taken off guard.

“Seokmin?” He pauses, listening. “What? Is the fish… what? It can’t breathe??” He gasps, standing up quickly. “I’ll be right there, man, I swear! I’m coming now!”

He hangs up, looking at you, his face twisting into exaggerated concern. “Emergency. Seokmin’s fish is dying.”

You blink, disbelief painted on your face. “You’re fucking joking. You’re actually leaving me with Vernon? Alone?”

“Yup!” Seungkwan says, already halfway to the door. “You’re on your own, Y/N! Don’t burn the place down!” His laugh echoes as he bolts out, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring after him in utter disbelief.

Great. Just great.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. Your stomach does a flip, nerves bubbling in your chest. You almost consider pretending you’re not home, hiding in your bedroom until Vernon leaves. But that’s childish, and you can’t avoid this forever. With a sigh, you pull yourself to the door and open it, finding Vernon standing there, looking annoyingly comfortable with that goddamn grin on his face.

“Hi,” he says, voice teasing but warm. “So, Seungkwan tells me we’re doing some studying?”

You step aside to let him in. The last thing you want is to be rude, but the silence that follows as you both walk to the kitchen feels suffocating. You can practically feel the tension hanging in the air, thick with all the things you’ve been avoiding. His presence lingers, like it’s always been there, and yet it’s different now.

Vernon leans against the counter casually, and you busy yourself with rearranging things on the counter, anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t make yourself meet them. Every time you think about what happened, your heart races, and the words you said to him feel like a blur. But they’re always there, hovering on the edge of your thoughts.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence, his voice softer than before. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You freeze. The air in the room seems to tighten, and his words land with the weight of a trap you didn’t see coming.

“What?” You try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out rough, more strained than you intended. “Pshhhh nooooo.”

“You have.” Vernon pushes off the counter, stepping closer to you. His movements are deliberate, but there’s a softness in them as he closes the space. His eyes remain locked on yours, steady and searching, like he’s waiting for you to crack, to finally admit something. You can’t look away, your breath shallow, the pulse at your neck pounding hard. “And you can’t even look me in the eye. Did I do something wrong?”

His voice is gentle, almost too gentle, and it makes your chest tighten. You shift uncomfortably, your arms folding across your body, a silent defense against the intensity of his gaze. The room feels smaller now, every inch of space filled with the heat between you. You feel trapped, your heart hammering in your chest, yet there's nowhere you'd rather be—and that's the problem.

“No, Vern, I just—” You stop, sucking in a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I said something I didn’t mean the other night.”

Vernon’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something in them—recognition, maybe? The way his lips part slightly, a mix of confusion and understanding. “You didn’t mean it?”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your stomach twists. You want to take them back, but instead, you find yourself retreating into yourself, avoiding his gaze. “I—what?”

“Did you mean it?” Vernon presses, and you swear you can feel his gaze like a weight on your skin. He’s not backing off, not letting this go.

You’re caught. You open your mouth, but no words come out, and the silence between you feels like it’s suffocating. You feel the heat rising to your face, your hands trembling by your sides.

“Mean what?” you finally manage, voice quieter than you’d like.

He steps even closer now, his body inches from yours, and his gaze doesn’t falter. His lips barely part as he speaks, the words lingering in the air between you. “Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N. You told me you loved me.”

The room spins, the ground beneath you feeling unsteady. You blink, your chest tightening as the memory of that night rushes back, sharp and overwhelming. Your hands move restlessly, clutching at the counter as if it’ll keep you from falling.

“But I was drunk—” You stumble over the words, desperate to explain, but his gaze doesn’t waver. His eyes are steady, unwavering, and you can’t escape them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” Vernon says softly, his voice firm, but there’s no anger in it—only a certainty that rattles you.

“I just didn’t mean to put you on the spot—” You try again, but this time, he stops you, his tone more reassuring than you expect.

“You didn’t,” he says quietly, his hand reaching out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You didn’t put me on the spot.”

“Okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain. You can’t tell if you’ve just misunderstood everything or if this moment has shifted entirely. You blink at him, still trying to catch up.

Vernon smiles then, a soft, almost affectionate smile, and the air between you shifts. The tension eases just a little, but it’s still thick, like something’s hanging in the balance. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“No…” you whisper, the words coming out almost too quietly, but Vernon just laughs.

“I said I loved you too, idiot.”

You freeze. The words crash into your chest, and you feel the ground tilt beneath you again. This time, it’s harder to recover from. “You—you WHAT?”

Vernon chuckles, his grin widening, and this time, it’s teasing, almost mischievous. “Come on,” he says, stepping closer. His chest is almost brushing yours now. “I love you too. Can you stop running away now?”

“I WASN’T!” you protest, but the words fall flat, not convincing even yourself. Your body is tense, but his proximity makes your heart race in a way you don’t quite understand.

“You were,” Vernon says, his smirk softening just enough to catch you off guard. You feel your knees go weak at the way his gaze softens, like he’s pulling you into something you’re not sure you’re ready for. “But it was kinda cute, y’know?”

Before you can even think of a response, he's right there, too close—like, uncomfortably close. His presence feels like it’s swallowing up all the space between you, and suddenly, you’re backed up against the counter, like he’s somehow managed to get you cornered without even trying. It’s all too familiar, too much like that night at the party. You can’t help but stiffen, but it’s not bad, just... intense.

You can feel the heat radiating off him now, like it’s pulling you in, and the way he’s leaning in just enough that you can’t help but tilt your head to meet his eyes—your heart starts hammering in your chest. Too close. Way too close. Your body wants to take a step back, but you don’t, mostly because you’re pretty sure you’re not even sure where to go from here.

And he knows it. You can see it in the way he’s standing, like he's completely unbothered, like it’s no big deal that he’s got you backed up into a corner. Your shoulders feel tense, but your feet just stay planted where they are, like they’ve been glued to the floor. His gaze locks with yours, and you can feel that pull, that thing that makes it hard to breathe—like your chest is getting tight and you’re not sure if you want to run or stay.

There’s this low buzz in the air between you two, and you don’t know how much of it is him or how much is just your heart freaking out. His breath is right there, close enough that you’re aware of the way it catches every time you look at him. And you can’t even tell if you’re annoyed at how close he’s gotten or if your mind is too distracted by how nice it feels to have him this near.

You’re trapped, but you’re not sure if you mind it. It’s like your chest is about to burst from the tension, or maybe it’s going to stop completely. Either way, you're not entirely sure which one you're hoping for.

“No more running,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady, eyes never leaving yours. There’s no doubt in his tone, no hesitation, like he’s already made up his mind. The space between you two feels charged now, the air thick with the unspoken.

“No more running,” you echo, the words slipping out before you can stop them, and for the first time, they feel right. You’re not sure why, but you believe it.

And then, Vernon leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is slow, soft at first, like he’s giving you space to catch up. His lips are warm and a little sweet, tasting faintly of mint from the gum he’s been chewing earlier. You inhale through your nose, catching the subtle scent of his cologne—fresh, with a hint of wood and citrus—that wraps around you like it’s always been there, like it’s familiar. Every part of him seems to make the world outside feel distant, unimportant. The tension, the uncertainty, the past few days—they don’t matter anymore. 

The pressure of his lips increases, more certain now, and the warmth of his mouth sends a flutter through you. You lean in, responding, your hand instinctively finding the chain around his neck, pulling him closer, as if you can’t quite get enough of him. It’s slow, deliberate, like he wants to savor it just as much as you do. For the first time in days, everything feels like it’s in its right place.

When he pulls back, it’s just enough to speak, his lips still lingering on yours. “Y’know,” he says with a playful grin, “We could’ve been doing this two weeks ago if you weren’t so emotionally constipated.”

You laugh, breathless, pulling him closer by his chain. The heat creeping up your neck is almost unbearable. “Shut up,” you protest, half-smiling. “You can’t blame a girl for what she says when she’s drunk.”

“I won’t,” he agrees with a smirk, kissing you again, this time a little more urgently. “But I can’t make any promises about Seungkwan.”

From the hallway, you hear Seungkwan’s unmistakable voice, a triumphant cheer echoing from the door.

[eddwardharrison]

Hello! :D

I also have a tsams fusion au blog, and I just wanna ask, how do you come up with such cool designs??

HELLOOO!!

Honestly, kind of hard to explain!

• All of the characters needed for the fusion bounce in my head for a long amount of time. Normally, I figure out the outcome of the fusion (affects it has on the character or new lore) before I fully figure out the design. The lore included really helps with making it for sure!

- The statue part of Statue In The Garden came from some briefly drafted lore I thought of while creating him.

- Sun + Nexus’ Fusion’s Thousand-Yard-Stare and painful expression and wounds are based on drafted angst lore that comes along with what was drawn!

- Nexus + Ruin’s fusion was heavily based on SU, while watching some Lapis + Jasper clips, Jasper mentioned how great it was fusing, that they could fly. That was the one BIG influence (though there’s many) that encouraged Ruin’s wing mutation!

- I really consider the relationship the counterparts already have as well, and how that would affect the fusion’s mindset and outcome.

• On one hand, I just kinda roll my brain-dice to figure out what attributes from each character I put on the fusion. For some characters, I’ve given them “mutation chances”.

- Eclipse fusions are more likely to have four arms

- Ruin fusions are more likely to have wings

- Along with that, there comes in the “Moon model” vs “Sun Model”, and then style choices. Sun model’s have the odd “one-eye mark” i draw on Sun’s, while Moon’s have the “half-n-half” face mark.

• Character personalities and reasons for fusion also impact the design! I always put heavy details in my designs.

- Paranoia, aka Negative Moon, aka Sun + Nexus has pink claw marks all around their body. This is a detail derived from Nexus’ powers in physical-touch-telepathy that he uses on Ruin, Moon, etc. It’s a sign of constant manipulation and use of this power, though it actively hurts them both.

• I also figure out color palette’s to figure out what colors would go best with the character and it’s design, while staying true to the original counterparts.

There is honestly so much math and consideration that comes in and out of my brain while I make this fusions, and they cook in my head days before I actually draw them. Normally, I only actually cook the lore part before drawing, when I actually draw, the design just kinda falls along with it!

I’ve tried explaining my thought processes to friends before and they respond with

“The engima of Edd’s mind…”

and it makes me giggle

[awkward-fink]

Crime!AU TF 141

Your mobile phone rings at exactly 23:42 at night, it’s a Wednesday and the day at work had been more than exhausting, so the expletives you murmur as you are dragged out of your restful sleep are more than deserved in your eyes. Your phone is the only source of light around you, illuminating the small, dinky bedroom in a soft sheen of greenish white, making it look a bit bigger than it actually is.

Still cursing, one hand in front of your eyes, you blindly fish for your phone, fingers brushing against it at the third try. It’s a number, no name, no notice on your screen, just a number. But one that had burned itself into your head regardless. You stare at the still ringing phone, a heavy stone sitting in your stomach as you watch as the time turns into 23:43. You know you can’t just ignore this; you had tried it once and the consequences had been… unexpected.

You press the green button instead of the red one you dearly wish you could press. You don’t say your name, you don’t even have the time to do so, because as soon as the call connects an accented voice cheerfully starts to speak, voice happy and awake and loud. You wish you could reach through the phone to strangle him, but sadly such superpowers are beyond you. "Right, this is the reminder call fur Diner fur (D-)One! Yer order o' a dead fiery Pepperoni Pizza will be roond in aboot 20 minutes! The delivery driver’s already got their dosh. Thank ye fur stickin’ wi’ us!" The man booms through your phone, Scottish accent rolling through your hazy mind, summoning the picture of the smirking, mohawked man into your mind. You can just picture him and his stupid smirk and his flexing arms as he twirls the phone in hand, mischief in his eyes.

“Listen here, it is nea-“ – “BeepBeepBeep” – “… Oh, I hate this. I hate him. I hate his stupid smile; I hate his stupid boss and I hate this whole situation!”

You fall back into your bed, pulling your pillow over your face as you scream into the fluffiness you need to leave now, leave behind your rest and your bed and your dog, who is still snoring loudly at the end of your blankets.

20 minutes later on the dot you open the front door, watching as a small delivery car holds in front of your small bungalow and another of the Diner Crew folds himself out of the car, cap firmly sat on top of his head, his smile big as he loped up the short path towards you, his brown eyes warm as he looks you up and down, mustering your work jeans, your too big shirt and the hint of your mismatched socks. “Hey there, Hun. Another late-night delivery for my favorite, hardworking daycare teacher.” His voice is soft and warm like honey, and you can’t believe how pretty that man is. Effortless beauty, your mother would call it. So in contrast to yourself. “Thanks.” You smile tiredly at him, taking the steaming carton into your own hands. The darkskinned pretty man chuckles, tips his cap at you and lopes back towards the car.

You watch him go, going back inside only when his car turns the corner and is out of sight. Then you breath again, your brows furrowed as you close the door behind you. The Pizza looks delicious, like always, glistening garlic oil on top of the fatty pieces of Pepperoni thickly placed on your pizza. The problem was the other side of the cardboard, the thick red letters on the inside of the box.

O’Donnel Str. 47, yellow house, take three bags and lots of cleaner. Got out of hand. No alive. No police warned. Beware the cat. Ghost-job. “Fuck me. At least it wasn’t Soap this time.” You sigh, reaching for one slice of pizza and walking into your garage, picking out the supplies you would need for this job tonight. You hesitate before you put the whole box of cleaners in the back of your car.

“Fuck me.” You repeat, swallowing the last bite of the piece of pizza. “This I going to be a long night…”

--------------------------------------------

So I guess this is kind of a Crime!AU I got in my head? I wanted to write something about this and there is more lore to this in my head. But I dont know if people would even be interested in this? How would I even call this as a series? -- awkward Fink

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Calling High Fives Something Else

Summary: Relativity/Reunion Falls AU, Hijinks occur during a trip to Gravity Falls' pool.

Masterlist

...

Ford blames Bud Gleeful.  Mostly because it’s entirely his fault.

He totally understands Stan and Grauntie Mabel’s desire to go to the pool.  It’s too hot to think today.  But his whole “spend the entire summer wearing big gloves with two fingers shoved in the pinkie finger part” plan doesn’t really work if said gloves get wet.

So, Ford puts on the lightest clothes he brought with him, plus the gloves, and plans on finding a chair as firmly in the shade as he can get and drinking a bottle and a half of water every twenty minutes.

It’s fine.  He lives right next to a beach.  It’s not like he’s starving for swimming experiences.

Stan and Grauntie Mabel seem to think it’s a little weird, but they let it slide, and Ford spends the morning over on a chair with his notebook.  The ones firmly in the shade were taken, but he’s managed to find one partially in the shade, and he’s going over all the entries he’s made so far.

He’s been taking notes on the weird stuff he’s seen so far in Gravity Falls, but he doesn’t really feel like he has a good baseline.  He wishes he’d grown up here like Stanley.  Maybe he could ask him for a guide of some kind.

“Why hello, Stanley.  I thought we’ve established this is my chair.”

Ford looks up, because the voice is close enough that the person is clearly talking to him.

The kid in front of him narrows his eyes.  “You’re not Stanley.”

“Uh, no,” Ford says.  “Who are you?”

“I’m Bud,” the boy says, crossing his arms.  “The rightful owner of this chair.”

Ford blinks at him.  “But I got here first.  I’ve been here a while, actually.”

“That doesn’t matter.  The point is, Stanley and I have an agreement that I get this chair always.”

Ford looks around to see if there’s any other chairs that are more in the shade.  There aren’t.  “Well, I’m not Stanley,” he says slowly.  “You don’t have any kind of deal with me.”

Bud doesn’t seem to like that response.  Instead, he grabs at some necklace wrapped around his neck, and suddenly Ford feels himself climb out of the chair against his will.

“What the—” he starts, but before he can figure out what the heck is going on, he walks three feet forward and jumps into the deep end of the pool.

Ford swims quickly for the surface, and comes face-to-face with Bud, who’s looking over the side of the pool, while staying far enough back that Ford can’t pull him in.

“I told you, that’s my chair,” Bud says, and he walks back across the concrete and sits down in the chair.

Ford stares at him for another second, half stunned at the audacity, and half still trying to figure out how in the world he just made Ford walk over and jump in the pool.  He reaches for the wall to pull himself out, only for his gloves to slip right off the slick surface and send him tumbling back under the water.

When he surfaces again, Ford can hear Bud’s laughter, and his cheeks warm in embarrassment.  He gets his arms over the wall this time and pulls himself out using those instead, though his gloves are wet enough that they almost fall off, and wouldn’t that just be the icing on this cake.

“Can’t swim very well, can you?” Bud calls.

Ford grits his teeth and marches back over to stand right next to Bud.  “I can swim fine,” he snaps.  “Get out of my chair.”

“You’d swim a lot better without those stupid things on,” Bud says with a mocking smile.  He reaches for his necklace again, and wait— no—

But it’s too late, Ford’s moving against his own volition again, and before he can think to try something else, he feels himself pull the gloves off and hurl them back into the pool.

Bud starts laughing behind him, and Ford does the only thing he can think of— he grabs his shirt, bunches it up over his hands, and runs for the locker room.

He finds an empty shower stall, ducks inside it and yanks the curtain closed, and presses his stupid, freakish, six-fingered hands to the side of his head.

Why does he have to be like this?

“Uh, Ford?” comes a now-familiar voice.  “You in here?  I saw you run towards the locker rooms.”

“Go away,” Ford says weakly.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” asks Stanley, and Ford hears him come to a stop outside the stall he’s in.  “You looked kinda freaked when you ran, are you okay?”

“Who’s Bud?” Ford asks instead of answering.  “And why did you make a deal with him about a public pool deck chair?”

Stan groans, loud and irritated.  “I didn’t,” he says.  “Was he being a jerk to you?”

Ford opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Stan pulls aside the shower curtain, and Ford shoves his hands down into his lap.

“Ford,” Stan says, confused.  “You’re all wet.”

“He uh—”

“He pushed you into the pool?” Stan asks, obvious anger entering his eyes.

“No!  Well, kinda?  He had this necklace thing, it was like— I don’t know,” Ford says.  He drops his head onto his knees.  “He made me throw my gloves in the pool,” he says miserably.

“He what?” Stan says, sounding even more angry.  “Those are like, your favorite thing!”

Ford pulls his head up again, looking at Stan in confusion.  “Huh?”

“Dude, I never see you take them off!” Stan exclaims.

Ford looks down again.  “I uh,” he says.  “That’s not—”

“Hang on, I’m going to get them back,” Stan says, and before Ford can protest, he stomps out of the locker room and back towards the pool.

Ford doesn’t know quite what Stan does, but it includes a loud scream from Bud followed by a loud splash, so he has something of an idea.  Regardless, a couple minutes later, Stan shows back up in the stall, sopping wet gloves in hand.

“Here,” he says, and he hands them to Ford.  Ford doesn’t move his hands to take them, though, and after a second Stan just shrugs and sets them on the ground next to him.

“We should probably wash them before you wear them again anyway,” he says.

Ford buries his head in his knees again.

“Sorry dude,” Stan says, patting him on the shoulder.  “Bud’s always like that.”

Ford doesn’t move, and Stan must not know what to do, because after a second he picks up the gloves from the floor and starts ringing them out.  “I think they’ll be okay, though,” he says.  We just gotta wash and dry them again.”

“I don’t care about the stupid gloves, Stanley,” Ford grumbles.  “I— what if he saw?”

“Saw?” Stan asks, sounding confused.

And wow, is Ford not ready for this.  He hadn’t planned on ever needing to be ready for this.  He hadn’t planned on Stan ever learning.

But if Bud did see something, Ford wants to tell Stan himself, before he learns how much of a freak he is from someone else entirely.

So, Ford sniffs, does his best to ignore the panic in his chest, and pulls his hands out from his shirt.  He can’t quite manage to display them to Stanley, instead gripping his shirt’s hem and keeping his gaze firmly on the floor.

“Hey, what’s…” Stan trails off.  Ford waits with dread for the weirded out “um,” the “what’s wrong with your hands”, for Stanley to realize that maybe he actually doesn’t want a weird freak for a brother after all.

Instead, Stan says, “Wait.  There aren’t even enough fingers on these gloves.”

Ford turns to him in bafflement.  “What?”

“Why are they your favorite?” Stan asks, looking back at the gloves like they’re the strange thing about this situation.  “They don’t have enough fingers.”

“You are really stuck on the gloves,” Ford says weakly.

“Well why do you wear them all the time if they’re not—” Stan stops, and gives Ford a look.  “Were you… trying to hide them?”

Ford feels his cheeks warm again, and stuffs his hands back inside his shirt.

“Why?” Stan asks, sounding deeply confused.

“What do you mean why?” Ford asks, probably a bit too much irritation in his tone.  “They’re— they’re weird.”

“Well, yeah,” Stan says, and Ford ducks his head down further.  But then he adds, “What’s wrong with that?”

Ford lifts his head and stares at him.

“Weird things are the coolest,” Stan says, starting to grin.  “Or did you miss the… I don’t know, entire town?”

Ford looks down again and starts fidgeting with his extra fingers.  “That’s different.”

“Uh, no it’s not.  Dude, you’re telling me you’ve got two whole extra fingers and you’ve never told me before because you’re embarrassed?  That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!  I mean, come on, you gotta tell me if you’re this cool!”

“I— what?” Ford asks, feeling thoroughly lost in regards to how this conversation has gone.

“Wait wait wait,” Stan says, his eyes getting big.  “Do you call high fives high sixes?”

“Uh, no?”

Stan gives a little gasp that almost sounds betrayed.  “Why not?” he asks.  “The opportunity is right there!”

“I— I don’t—”

“Well we’re definitely gonna have to fix that right away.  Come on, high six!”  He holds his hand up to Ford, a bright expectant grin on his face.

Ford stares at him for another second, then slowly raises his hand and smacks it against Stan’s own.  “High… six?” he says hesitantly.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Stan says, jumping to his feet.  “Man, it’s a good thing you met me, or you’d just go on never taking advantage of the greatest opportunity ever.”

“Calling high fives something else?”

“Exactly!  I’m so glad we see eye-to-eye on this,” Stan says, nodding in approval.  He looks down at the gloves on the ground again, and something sparks in his eyes.

“Hey, can I actually hang onto these for a bit?” he asks.  “I have an idea.”

And, well, the thought of going without his gloves for longer than absolutely necessary isn’t a fun one.  But Stan’s smiling so big at him, and somehow this hasn’t ended with him being weirded out or disturbed, so maybe going without them for just a little bit longer wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

So hesitantly, Ford nods.  And when Stan lights up even more, it makes Ford start to smile too.

…

He does keep his hands tucked inside his sleeves for most of the rest of the day, but Stan must have said something to Grauntie Mabel, because she doesn’t comment at all on them during dinner.

Stan is in the craft shop for most of the evening, and he gives Ford strict instructions not to come in, so Ford spends the evening with Grauntie Mabel, who’s knitting something in her armchair while Ford writes down everything he remembers about Bud’s necklace in his notebook.

Eventually, he moves up to the attic, and it’s here where Stan finally shows up again.

“Okay!” he says, coming to a stop right in front of Ford with his hands behind his back.  “Can I see your hands please?”

Ford still feels a little uncomfortable about holding his hands out in the open, but if earlier was any indication, he doesn’t have to be worried about Stan seeing them.  So he puts them in front of him, and then Stan pulls something out from behind his back.  He’s holding the gloves from earlier, but when he slips one onto Ford’s hand, all six of his fingers find a spot to fit into.

Ford blinks as Stan slips the other one on too, and then steps back with a bright grin.  “Ta da!” he says.  “Custom made gloves!  Now you don’t have to stick two fingers in the pinky spot anymore!”

Ford flexes his fingers slightly, enjoying the way his last two don’t tense up against each other.  He shakes his head, looking back up at Stan.  “How did you do that?”

“Please, you think I can grow up with Grauntie Mabel and not know how to sew?  You’ll probably know some yourself by the time you go home,” Stan says, putting his hands on his hips.

Ford laughs a little.  “I won’t be telling that to Pa,” he says, but he’s smiling.  “I— thanks, Stanley.”

Stan beams at him.  And as he heads back over to his bed, Ford looks down at the gloves.

Maybe Stanley was on to something about them being his favorite.

[nothing-impt]

ok, sso.... I've been seeing a lot of warrior! Penelope AUs(as I should) but since your blog is a little more Telemachus ccentric, I've been wondering, if there was a Warrior! Telemachus AU, how do you think that would go?

Hmmm.. I haven't actually thought about that up until this Ask! Thanks Anon! All jokes aside on my Substitute Mentor AU, if there was a Warrior! Telemachus AU, I would really love for Dionysus to be his mentor.

While Odysseus is stuck on the ocean on the way home and Athena being salty over their falling out, Dionysus would possibly mentor Telemachus to defend the throne in Ithaca at Hermes' request.

Epic Telemachus has a more naive and kind disposition, but Warrior! Telemachus would be more unpredictable and possibly violent (Dionysus is the god of Madness) I personally would think that after one of the banquets where the suitors were feasting in their palace, Telemachus would just slaughter them. Dionysus is kind of unpredictable, so I suppose Telemachus would use an impromptu weapon he can find on hand, aka like a bone of a bull they were eating. (I mentioned it before, Dionysus' skill would be Liquid Courage, giving Telemachus a rush of adrenaline before he gets into any kind of fight.)

These are just my rambles. Let me know what you think!

[pinkyshy10]

Okay I just thought of a Gravity Falls au ( if this already exists share the link to it because I want to see it)

Okay so in this au in the first episode Dipper does not hide the journal in time so Stan sees it, and ask for its and he actually is honest in saying that it's his twin brothers though he plays it off as his twin brother was inspiring fantasy Sci-Fi author before he went missing( and definitely not sharing the details on how his brother went missing) Dipper agrees but either asks for copies or secretly copies the journal so we still has the information in the journal but he doesn't have the physical copy, few things that would change from the actual show is besides dealing with a binder full of copies of the pages in the journal instead of the actual journal is instead of searching for the author's identity because they think they already know who it is( they don't know about the identity theft they think they're looking for one Stanley Pines not one Stanford Pine) but instead the trying to figure out how he disappeared. Do also a little more untrustworthy towards Stan because he already lied to them about the things in the journal not being real( they're not 100% sure if he believes that or not) also the fight with gideon is over the fact that Gideon thinks that the twins still have the actual copy of the journal gideon does not know this three of them he thinks that they have book one and then just decide to copy it to protect the book, also since the twins think the author is stanley pines. When Ford comes back the twins either call him Stanley or when Sanford calls Stan Stanley they're like wait no he's Stanley you're Stanford and that's how Stanford discovers that hey his brother took his name. Oh also in this version of not what he seems they think stan's trying to bring someone back from the dead after they find the newspaper talking about Stan's death because even though they know Stan has a twin stan again did not tell them anything about what happened he just said my brother went missing, after finding the newspaper they kind of assume that Stan said that so if he manages to bring his twin brother back from the dead they're not going to question it

I just thought of this and like I said if this already exists please tell me I would love to read this

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Hi forgive me if this has been addressed before! I'm a little new to your fem!stan stuff (I saw your ask reblogged by Boston and snuck out of the back of their foodtruck to send this) but I love the idea and was wondering does stan pretend to be Stanford when he falls in the portal? (If that is the route that's taken in the au at least) because it would be really interesting to see if constance would enjoy the freedom that comes with being a man but at the same time I think it would drive (incel) ford up the wall if he came back and saw his sister running a successful business out of his house. There would be this extra layer of tension as ford has to grapple with his own learned misogyny. Though I also imagine exploring the multiverse and seeing the way gender is explored or even ignored in other worlds would probably force him to have some realizations before hand but whether or not hed really allow himself to internalize those realizations is another story. Bros got an easy excuse to not analyze his own sexism since hes trying to hunt down bill

And then when he comes back and sees his sister is doing just fine would probably wound his pride a little bit. All those fantasies and unfair expectations of their roles hes built in his mind are forced to come crashing down once again

I'm also just kind of obsessed with the idea of constance finally learning how to be /stan/ in gravity falls because she never had the freedom and safety to do so before. I'm sure a large part of rejection of any femininity whatsoever came from not having the option to do so in the past. But then she watches the kids over the summer and sees mabel embracing makeovers and grappling hooks hand in hand. Dipper is insistent on being a "man" but never once tries to tell mabel she needs to be a "woman"

This ask is all over the place sorry I think i had a point to the start of this and now I'm just rambling about your own au to you lmfao

Anyway love the concept (and your art!!)

-🐶

Hello! Thank you for passing by and sending me such a nice message, sharing your own ideas with me! and many thanks for the compliments too, of course ❤ That said, I'm afraid my answer will be a tad disappointing. Because, the fem!Stan I enjoy to imagine is cis, and I can't imagine a cis woman being able to consistently pretend to be a man for thirty years, without losing their mind (in the same way it's detrimental for most trans people to supress their true identity for a lifetime, non?). Especially, in the same way canon Stan is very masculine (with a sprinkle of femininity, despite his shame about it), I like to imagine Constance as a lady who is very proud and comfortable in her womanhood- despite her loud voice and direct and somehow brash manners. Even in her younger years, when she was classified as a tomboy by most, she loved girly things- dresses, make up, gossip magazines, etc. without issues. I think of Stan in her 60s wearing tacky jewelry, lipstick, and hair-curlers at night, tbh. That's why, in this AU, my mind skirts around the part were Ford gets stuck into the portal.

For example, I sometimes imagine 30s Ford simply having a change of heart and dismantling the portal, and (now former) Drifter!Constance living with him from that point on (and, of course, I elaborated this one up until Stan and Mabel get into the picture, but for the sake of brevity I'll stop here). Or, I bend canon a little, making up that the people of Gravity Falls only heard of some researcher who was gonna build and live in a shack in the forest, but they never actually got to see them, let alone find out if it was a man or a woman. It's a version were the chaos Ford caused in town while posses by Bill either never happened or he did it without getting caught by police or getting seen. And, about the name on documents and stuff-- Constance was a marinated and resourceful conwoman at that point, she simply found a way to make things work. Hell, they have the same last name- maybe this time she registered Ford as deceased, passed herself as his wife, and inherited the Shack and the rest of Ford's possessions. I know many, reading this, would think it's heartless of Stan, but to me this trick is fucking hilarious. Especially, I'm grinning like a maniac imagining how mad and appalled Ford would look as he realizes the trick Constance pulled- not only because what a fucking ASSHOLE she's been, to use his "death" to appropriate his stuff- but also!! secretly!! because WHAT the FUCK- he often fantasized about Stan being his wife, but this is the most cruel and ironic monkey paw situation EVER!! To reconnect back to your speculations about sexist!Ford being humiliated and mad about Constance running a business independently: I like it! it's fun to read! But, I have to go deeper. I usually think of Ford's sexism toward Constance to be the outside layer, so to speak. I think deep down Ford always knew Stan had the potential to be strong, resourceful and independent, despite what their ma, pa, teachers and other people said. Ford grew next to her, he knows what this girl is capable of, how determined she is. And that's the point...What he really dreads, what he really hates, is the idea she doesn't need him, at all. That's what would make Ford actually upset about Stan running a business: knowing that, hadn't she brought him back, she would had been fine, without him. Sexism would be the mental shield Ford uses to protect himself from this painful acknowledgment: He's just mad because his fraud of a sister thinks she's being successful, but all she accomplished was using her physical appearance and womanly ways to seduce and manipulate. That's all, really. I roll my eyes at him, here, which is a good indicator I got him in character, if I can say so myself. The last scene you shared, with Stan realizing her nephew and niece aren't as oppressed by gender roles as she herself used to be- and bypassing them, even- is SO sweet 🥺 I have absolutely no doubt in my mind: one thing that does NOT change in either the canon universe and the genderbend one, is that Stan would love and adore Dipper and Mabel- and learn a lot from them ❤ PS: is the puppy icon your anon signature? it's so cute! 🐶 look at this fine boy. Great choice.

[noodles-and-tea]

Twins in time au.... Would Fiddleford act as a sort of father figure to Stan? Since Filbrick obviously SUCKED to both Stan and Ford and Fidd is more than definitely missing HIS son, and of course Ford has grown to love him but they're still BROTHERS.. Maybe they could act as the father/son the other is missing?

ABSOLUTELY!!!!

[baalzebufo]

so I very briefly mentioned this au I have in my last gideon doodle post and saw one tag saying to elaborate and thats all the excuse I needed. ok to be honest i didnt need an excuse i was going to talk about it anyway

i had a dream shortly after the stanchurian candidate aired where my brain made up a fake episode of GF to essentially finish gideons 'arc'. and it involved him making a deal with bill to gain demon powers. bill promised him All The Perks, and he was desperate to get outta jail, so he took it.

turns out 'all the perks' involves being trapped in the nightmare dimension without a physical form and, while being tremendously powerful, unable to truly utilize those powers without being summoned. so he sort of just gets condemned to existing as a demon and is desperate to get back into a physical body because, turns out, the human brain is not really.. designed to process that existence for too long. it freaks you out. especially if 'you' happens to be a ten year old who is still afraid of the dark and spends most of their time surrounded by nightmares.

it was weirdly grim and i woke up like 'holy shit. i need to make that an AU' and it developed from there. in the more thought-out version, bill and gideons deal involved him swapping into gideons body to further his plans for a while. he never promised he'd give it BACK, though. it, uh. ended how you'd expect bill possessing a body to end.

'what happened to his eye?' bill thought it'd be funny if it was part of his collectin on gideons 'debt'. hes got one eye, you should have only one of em, too.

honestly I make most of the details up as I go and its mostly an excuse to draw my favourite worst son in various levels of power-thirst and distress. sorry gids even you dont deserve this one

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday

“I can’t believe you fucked that old man.”

Bill’s head snaps up so quickly from where it was inside of the air duct that he smacks it on the metal internals. When he reappears cursing and rubbing at his head, there’s dust bunnies in his hair and clinging to his eyelashes.

“You can’t believe I what?”

“You fucked that old man,” Red repeats, feet up on the counter as she lazily reads something called “Lumberjack Layabouts Weekly.”

“I—“ And Bill lets out a grunt as he comes down from the ladder to slam his hands on the counter and lean into her space. The action does little to phase her other than make her look up.

“Neither of those things are right!”

Red takes a second to turn the page of her magazine, but doesn’t look away from Bill.

“That’s not what I heard.”

Bill’s eyes roll back into his skull for a second. He thinks of what he was told to do both by the therapium and Question Mark’s fiancée: deep breaths in and deep breaths out, count to ten, don’t visualize throttling them no matter how fucking annoying these fleshbags are.

“First of all, I’m older than him,” he begins, like that’s the important part.

“You don’t look it.”

“That’s because I take good care of myself.” Which is only partially true.

When the Axolotl and the entire therapism decided Bill’s methods of rehabilitation weren’t working, they’d sent him here. To hell.

…to earth.

Stripped of his powers, they’d shoved him into a meat suit that was an “appropriate approximation of his natural form” (Bill resents that statement entirely, but the appearance has grow on him). The dark skin and golden eyes are quite a contrast coupled with the golden hair offset by strays strands of grey or white hair. Melody has helped him figure out how to wash and maintain it, which is far more maintenance than he was expecting after watching Ford for years barely do anything more than occasionally wash it and wake up. Bill’s currently picking dust bunnies out of an individual lock, throwing them into the trashcan by the counter (like hell is he sweeping up in this damned place more than he has to).

He has it on good authority that this is a desirable fleshbag form, both from the open way that people compliment him and the way people stared. …he’s getting used to the staring and has stopped threatening to flay people alive who let their eyes linger too long.

Question Mark calls it progress; Bill calls it not wanting to see that haunted, barely contained disappointment on Melody’s face again. She is simultaneously the kindest and cruelest person he’s met on this plane. In spite of literally everyone’s reservations about Bill being on the same plane as the rest of these humans, she’d been willing to hear him out, offer him accommodations here at the Mystery Shack, and even provide a job if he could behave.

She also detailed to him with a sunshiney smile and no insignificant amount of knife waving that if Bill started anything, anything looking like world domination under her roof, not even the Axolotl would be able to save him.

If nothing else, she’s done more than a little to earn his respect and compliance than anyone else in this entire reality.

So, he’d gotten used to people staring and it doesn’t bother him.

At least, until one particular person started staring.

“Second of all, I didn’t—“ And he looks around, makes sure no hide or hair of thirteen year-old menace can be seen before he continues, “—fuck Sixer.”

Red closes the magazine entirely and shifts to take her feet off the counter and lean on it with her arms folded—this is what she’d wanted to hear.

“I heard Stan caught you two in the bathroom.”

Bill clears his throat and starts back up the ladder to avoid having to look at Red even as he feels something warm in his face.

“Stan doesn’t know what he saw.”

Red lets out a raucous laugh that makes Bill wince and wrinkle his nose as he sticks his head back in the vent to continue clearing it out.

“I heard that you two also got into a fistfight at dinner before that. Weird foreplay, but I can respect it.”

Everyone, mostly Question Mark and Shooting Star, have insisted on family dinners since both sets of Pines twins returned to Gravity Falls. And, somehow, Bill gets lumped into that because he sleeps in the Shack (specifically, the sofa in the living room because everywhere else is off-limits). It’s been three weeks and most everything has been simpatico, Shooting Star was the fastest to warm up after her initial talk too of “unspeakable horrors” she’ll unleash on him if he steps a toe out of line. The fact that he’s powerless seems to make her willing to humor him.

…also something about him looking like a wet rat? And it was a good thing? Bill didn’t ask. Or, rather, he had asked and she brushed him off and because he knew Stanley will flay him alive if he lays a finger on either niece or nephew, he let it go.

Pine Tree has been a lot more hesitant in his behavior, sure, but he’s recently started being in the same room with Bill and musing aloud in ways that Bill knows are directed at him without talking to him. Pine Tree will state something stupid about the state of the town and when Bill corrects him, he’ll scribble it down, go silent, then rinse and repeat.

Stan has been… well, they were avoiding each other without problem. The closest they get to a conversation is when they’re both sitting in the living room after everyone else has gone to bed and before Stan goes to his bed and Bill passes out on the sofa. Their talk is a roundabout back and forth about complaining about what’s on the television and saying there’s “never anything good on”. Occasionally Bill will liken something on the screen to something he’s seen on television in other dimensions, Stan will grunted, and then they go back to silence.

They’ve also worked out a system where they’re allies in their silent agreement to watch The Duchess Approves as long as no one else finds out about it.

…and then there’s Ford.

They haven’t been in the same room as each other outside of dinner even remotely. Bill doesn’t look at him, Ford doesn’t acknowledge him, and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

It doesn’t bother him even a little that Ford won’t even look at him, won’t talk to him. Doesn’t bother him that when Bill does talk, he rolls his eyes. It doesn’t bother him either that Ford gets up every time Bill enters the room even for a moment. It’s not like he cares about the asshole or wants to see him. It’s fine for Bill.

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

And because it is so fine, he’s not sure what exactly caused him to get mouthy with Sixer the night before.

Ford had made some inane comment and Bill couldn’t help but correct him. Over a trillion years in the multiverse, he knows when he’s right about something.

Ford bit back.

And Bill argued against.

It’d devolved into a petty back-and-forth, both of them digging their claws in places it shouldn’t go without caring for the carnage it spread.

It ended when Bill called Ford “my shining star” like this was just a philosophical disagreement thirty-one years prior.

He shouldn’t have done that.

The next thing Bill knew, he and Ford were rolling on the ground, fists flying and snarling at one another. Ford caught him in the nose, Bill punched him in the mouth, both of them scratching and pulling hair like a pair of animals.

It took Stanley and Soos both to pull them apart, both of them still swinging until they were forced to calm down.

After that, Bill had left his unfinished dinner to sit on the roof and wait out everyone else’s dinner. It was only because the blood wouldn’t stop flowing from his nose while the blood on his knuckles had dried uncomfortably to the point he kept accidentally ripping it when he flexed his hand that convinced him to go downstairs.

He’s still figuring out this whole human thing and, yeah, he was fumbling with the tape and his nose was dripping all over everything and he was fighting not to get it on the stupid sweater he got from Shooting Star and—

That’s how Ford found him.

There were no words as he crowded into the small bathroom with him, took off his gloves, and started to doctor Bill.

Neither of them say that there’s something familiar about this, them being together while cleaning up blood and puss and setting bones, usually injuries inflicted on Ford by Bill. There’s probably something funny about the idea of it being the other way around now.

They’re both too tired or embarrassed to say anything for awhile, but then Ford makes an innocuous statement that raises Bill’s hackles and there goes the peace. Then they’re shoving and pushing into a wall, Bill effectively having Ford cornered against it, chest-to-chest, spitting in each other’s faces, and then—

Then they were decidedly not fighting.

“Yeah, well, Fordsy is a know-it-all prick who doesn’t actually know everything,” Bill defends. “He started the fight.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Red replies in a singsong voice.

“And who’s telling you this?!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Red goes quiet for a moment, but he knows she’s still staring at him. “Did you two really make out though?”

Bill is quiet, can’t quite find the words he wants to say about this. Was his tongue in Ford’s mouth? Yes. Were Ford’s hands in his hair? Also yes. Did Stan walk in while Bill’s hand was halfway down the front of Ford’s pants? Regrettably.

“It was a… heat of the moment thing.”

“Wow. I mean, I knew you two were something back then, but I figured you two had, you know, moved past that.”

Bill doesn’t respond for awhile, leaning back to sweep the dust into the garbage bag he’s holding.

“So did I.”

[uncleardyn]

(aw-gf crossover) sometimes the relationship that you completely made up between a pair of characters from completely different franchises can be so important...

[egginfroggin]

*yeets this and runs*

My hand regrets my decision to try for more realistic wings, frankly

Transcriptions:

Mabel Pines - Steller's Jay

Dipper Pines - Blue Jay

fledglings

can't quite fly yet

wing's aren't adult-sized yet

Dipper often forgets to preen

Mabel likes to put glitter in her wings (and Dipper's, when possible)

Dipper collects his primaries to make quill pens

Mabel collects their feathers for crafting

Yeah so I'm just gonna drop this here and uhhhhh run, thanks for checking this, and I hope you have a good day

(program: krita; time taken: about 1 hr 45 minutes)

[mocc-tok-flip-flop]

The submas brainworm is only getting stronger, so I have drafted a whole-ass comic for a new AU idea! One where Chandelure gets to take center stage and become the main character she was always meant to be~

The gist of the AU is that Chandelure has a ghostly soul-bond with Ingo, which essentially means that his soul is under her protection and he sorta registers as a ghost to other pokemon. Basically protects him from other ghosts trying to put their sticky paws on her trainer and also gives the two of them a bit of an empathetic connection. Not quite telepathy, but able to transmit complex feelings and lets them check how badly they're hurt.

Naturally, this means that when Giratina (who was honestly just trying to play around. They were given the tedious task of just opening rifts and looking through all those peep holes made them curious. So when they saw a soul that had a beautiful ghost bond, they became fascinated) snags Ingo and drags him through, Chandelure immediately feels when Giratina's power accidentally tries to overwhelm Ingo's soul and she absolutely loses her shit. Through psychically screaming and using her protective aura to try and bash Giratina, the distortion god acts like a dog that's done something they shouldn't and tries to hide the evidence of their messing around (Ingo getting fucked up via soul and getting not too gently dropped off a mountain).

I have more ideas, especially relating to how Emmet is taking his brother's ace losing her mind and how her actions affect the investigation, but if I keep going down these tracks I'm going to end up with another 90k WIP fic like i did with Naruto. (Though if people wanna see the AU written out...👀... I could absolutely be convinced. I'm very weak...)

[thermodynamic-comedian]

but would the world be ready for a tma au where all the avatars are the fear entities' kids.