#wonder virus au

[lunar-disillusionment]

*Astraia soon felt a portal open underneath her and she dropped in, crying out as she landed into a new world*

The world before her looks like the entryway of the PizzaPlex. Except it looked very different. The coloring was black, purple, and green, the entrance appeared more like one to a giant concert than one of a mall, techno music and rock could heard faintly through the echoing place.

[5m173y]

has anyone done this yet AHAHAHAJHA

[stealingcodeau]

Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠ Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠

Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠ Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠

Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠ Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠

Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠ Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠

Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠ Ḩ̶̡̦̞͈͍͚̦͎̻̠̘͇̉́̓́́͂̏̔͜͠͝ͅȄ̷̱̟̲̘̭̭̭̬̺L̷̼̉͒̈́̀̔̄͝P̷̡̜̠̫͙̞̙̪͑͊̈́̇̐̇̅͑͝ ̴̲̙̮̱̔͌̐͂̿̏͗͒̽Ṵ̵̧̨̖͖̹̠͓̰͙̱̙͊͋͊̃̎S̷̨̘̯̻͕̬̰̯̊͑̅̇̈́͊̓͜ ̵̢̢̜̯̟͉̝͇̤̻̞̬͙̈́̈́̇̿͘͜T̵̡͉͇̻͂͋̂̓̈́̀̒̔̊͋̉͝Ű̷̟̝̥̻͍̘͓̠͇͓̩̬̰̻͆̇̀̌Ṙ̴̼͍͎̆̾̈́͛̈B̷̜̦̜̜̼̹̹̜͇͕̱͌̂̊͝ͅO̴̩̮̒̏́͛̊̾̽͜͝!̶̥̣̯͖́͋̈́͐̉̐͝͝!̸̨̗̦̭̞̠̈́͘!̶̧̢̧̨̯͍͉̗̹̩̜̤̹͐͑͊͗̎̎̃͒̃̈̐̈́́̾͠

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

GRAH bringing some of my monster au ramblings to here-

Ghosts are one of the more common Mandela monsters you'll find. Though most of the time they're not visible whatsoever, and only become visible at certain times when the plane of existence for the dead and the living have the border between them blurred. However, even if you could see them all, you'll find that there aren't very many of them in town or other populated areas, despite that being where they used to live. Instead, you'll see that most are. guided towards the forest right outside of town, and most of the time. they don't come back.

However! there are instances of ghosts being able to resist these "calls", by binding to something (or someone) so they aren't led into the forest. Mainly because. they're scared of being brought into there. it's said some souls get eaten whole in there. truly dead.

[thewhitefox3]

let's give a small update of some of them :) Evan. Oh Evan, the poor thing got infected and trap himself in a hotel room and his very infected friend is in there, and is very aggressive to him. Delirious is healthy, with his mask keeping him safe. He wants to find the others but not only does he have no clue where, but there are many infected the more he'd enter the city. Brian is fine, he's immune so nothing has changed, the infected even ignore him! Wonder how helpful such a thing can be, hmm.

[clover-the-awesomest]

AYO????????????

This was also fine.

[ask-alterwolf-curseko]

*closes the damn portal.*

[KX gets there too late and skids to a stop. Completely enraged, it throws it head up and bellows out a very livid,]

KX (full back monster form):

Ń̸̡̳̓̒̚͜Ȏ̶͖̫̞͕͛̓̍͂̀̒̄Ȏ̶͓̗̯̜̣O̸̩̥̤̣̩̼͋̈̋̔͌̅́͠Ǫ̶̢̭͇͈̼̳͑̒̍̄̑͛́O̶͙͎͌̏̀̑͘͝Ȍ̵̧̬̟̗͔̞̃̾̊͆̐͐͝Ǫ̷̡̡̻͚͚̩̇͐̏̑̍̚ͅŌ̸̢̨̩̺̣̐̆O̷͉̙̙̖͑̾͊̈́Ȏ̷̩͌̍͠!!!!!!

[tnsophiaayaonly]

LUTALICA

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ YOU'RE A YANDERE, WELL, AN EX-YANDERE TO BE SPECIFIC. AFTER COUNTLESS OF TIMES OF KILLING YOUR BELOVED, YOU FIND YOURSELF SUDDENLY GAINING AWARENESS DUE TO SOME VIRUS DISTORTING YOUR CHARACTER FILES. NOW YOU FIND YOURSELF WEIRDED OUT WHENEVER YOU'D FEEL SO INFATUATED OVER THIS GUY, AND YOU SWORE TO STOP BEING WEIRD. UNAWARE THAT YOUR DARLING'S GAINED AWARENESS TOO.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ MODERN AU. HIGHSCHOOL AU. YANDERE. AETHER, SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER, XIAO, VENTI, KINICH, ORORON

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ CONTENT WARNINGS: OBSESSIVE/CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR: EXPLICIT YANDERE THEMES AND EXTREME POSSESSIVENESS. OBSESSION AND STALKING, INCLUDING BEING FOLLOWED OR MONITORED. PHYSICAL RESTRAINT & KIDNAPPING: DEPICTIONS OF PHYSICAL RESTRAINT, CONFINEMENT, OR KIDNAPPING. UNLAWFUL DETAINMENT (E.G., LOCKING DOORS, FORCIBLY PREVENTING ESCAPE). CYBERCRIME & DIGITAL MANIPULATION: HACKING, INTERFERENCE WITH PERSONAL DEVICES, AND DIGITAL BLACKMAIL. EMOTIONAL & PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE: MANIPULATION, GASLIGHTING, AND COERCION DESIGNED TO CONTROL OR ISOLATE. THREATS—IMPLICIT OR EXPLICIT—THAT UNDERMINE PERSONAL AUTONOMY. NON-CONSENSUAL ACTS: ANY NON-CONSENSUAL OR FORCED BEHAVIOR, EVEN IF MASKED AS “PROTECTION”. ILLEGAL BEHAVIOR & UNLAWFUL ACTS: DESCRIPTIONS OR DEPICTIONS OF ACTIONS THAT ARE ILLEGAL (KIDNAPPING, DOCUMENT FORGERY, THEFT, ETC.) MATURE THEMES IN GENERAL. MENTIONS OF MURDER. MENTIONS OF BEING AWARE IN A GAME.

: ̗̀➛ note that I DO NOT condone such actions irl, and this is a work of fiction. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. part 2 (xiao, venti).

-`♡´- PART 1

╰⪼ AETHER - Class Rep.

A man of virtue—helpful, funny, kind, caring, and breathtakingly attractive. He has it all. Who wouldn’t love someone like him? Who wouldn’t yearn for him, worship him, drown in the delirium of his existence?

No wonder you’ve always felt that electrifying rush, the intoxicating ecstasy that floods your veins with every slow drag of the knife across his flesh. No wonder you’ve felt that dizzying euphoria each time you spilled the blood of another—man or woman—who dared to steal even a fraction of his attention away from you.

He was yours.

But then—

Distortion. A glitched-out, shredded mess of memories, like a dying screen flickering between past and present. When you finally come to, you're curled up in your bed, hair tangled, your skin fevered and slick with cold sweat. Your lungs fight for air as images flash behind your eyelids—a grotesque, jagged onslaught of death, of red-streaked corridors, of bodies slumped in pools of their own warmth, all because of you.

What the hell was that?

Your hands tremble as you grab your phone, fingers slipping against the smooth glass. The calendar stares back at you, unwavering in its cruel simplicity. Not the beginning. Not a fresh start.

The middle.

Your stomach twists violently.

That means you’ve already committed crimes. That means, despite this terrible, newfound awareness clawing at your mind, the stains on your hands have already set. The walls are already splattered. The game—the world—will not reset this time.

At school, every breath feels like an alarm sounding in your chest. The walls seem to close in, and the weight of invisible eyes presses against your back. You are a criminal walking in broad daylight, masquerading as something human.

You consider confessing. Throwing yourself at the mercy of the police, the authorities—anyone who could lock you away before you slip again.

But you don’t.

Fear has its hands around your throat, whispering of consequences, of punishments, of the irreversible.

And then—

“Oh, [Name]! I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can come to your house to help you with math today. Maybe another time?”

His voice is golden honey, smooth and easy, like the way the sun filters through autumn leaves.

Aether.

Your body reacts before your mind does, stiffening, and recoiling. He stands before you with that same effortless charm, his golden hair meticulously braided, strands catching the light like spun silk. He is still beautiful, still perfect—too perfect.

And yet.

Guilt lurches in your gut, a sickness festering beneath your ribs. You manage a stiff nod, then turn sharply on your heel and bolt before your expression betrays you.

Strange.

Very strange.

Aether watches you go, his head tilting slightly, brows furrowing. He expected you to whine, to insist, to grasp at his sleeve and beg for his time, like you always did. But instead, you—ran?

At first, he brushes it off. A bad day, perhaps. A sudden bout of shyness.

And yet—

He thinks about it. And thinks about it. And thinks about it.

You were always there. Always orbiting him, always finding ways to entangle yourself in his life. You chased him, your obsession like a suffocating force, relentless, inescapable. It had been overwhelming—yes—but predictable. A constant.

But now?

Now, he barely sees you. Now, your eyes flicker away the moment they meet his. Now, there is distance where there was once unbearable closeness.

It feels wrong.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d grown used to your presence until it was gone. How the absence of your obsession left him… cold.

Had he done something? Had he driven you away?

Had you found someone else?

Aether’s fingers twitch.

The message arrives when you least expect it.

Meet me up later at the dorms. Yours or mine?

You freeze, staring at the words on your screen.

No. No, no, no.

You’ve been so careful. So diligent. So determined not to fall back into old patterns.

Ignore it. Ignore him.

Your dorm is a sanctuary—a place to suffocate beneath your own guilt, to drown in your shame without prying eyes. You push the door open, stepping inside, closing it behind you—

Click.

The sound is quiet.

Too quiet.

Your breath stills, your fingers going rigid against the doorframe. Slowly, you turn.

And there he is.

Aether.

Your blood runs ice-cold.

“I always felt safe when you were around,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual, dangerously intimate. His amber eyes are heavy-lidded, laced with something unfamiliar—something raw, something hungry. He takes a step forward. You take one back.

“But lately… I don’t know anymore.” Another step. Another retreat. “You used to be so close. Now, you’re so far away.”

Your back meets the wall.

Aether tilts his head, golden strands slipping over his shoulder. His hand rises, ghosting over your cheek with a gentleness that contradicts the steel beneath his words.

"Do you hate me now?"

The panic clogs your throat. "No—"

"Shh," he soothes, pressing a finger to your lips before dragging it down, pressing it flat over your chest. Your heart hammers beneath his palm. His lashes lower.

“Your heart’s racing…” His fingers trail lower, his grip settling firm against your waist. “…Just like it used to. Whenever I looked at you. Whenever I said your name.”

Your breath hitches, your body locking up as he pulls you closer—too close.

“Like always.”

His arms wrap around you, caging you in. You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

“Don’t worry.”

His lips brush against your hair.

“I missed you too.”

╰⪼ SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER - Outsider of the Drama Club. Rebel.

Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe you were always drawn to the unattainable, the cruel, the ones who stood above the world as if it were theirs to scorn. And he—he was the epitome of it all. A nightmare draped in elegance, venom wrapped in silk. Scaramouche was all sharp edges and hollow laughter, a phantom that commanded space with his mere presence.

He was unbearable. Unreachable. And utterly perfect.

You wanted to break past his walls, to carve yourself into his life, to make him see you. And if the rest of the world had to bleed away for that to happen—then so be it.

The others didn't deserve him. The parasites who giggled at his words, who brushed against him so casually, so carelessly, as if they had any right. They did not deserve to exist. Their very presence was an insult, a smear on the pristine canvas that was him.

And so, piece by piece, you erased them.

The first one was easy. A soft thing with wide, innocent eyes that adored him too much, who lingered just a little too close. You watched as life drained from their gaze, as their breath rattled out in broken whimpers. It was almost beautiful—the way the blade slipped into flesh, the way blood bloomed like an offering, warm and thick and real against your trembling fingers.

Every cut, every scream, every shuddering gasp—it was for him.

Yet he never noticed.

No matter how many of them you silenced, no matter how much devotion you etched into the world in his name, Scaramouche never noticed. He walked through life untouched, uncaring, his gaze never once landing on you with the reverence you craved.

You returned home to your shrine—his shrine. A sanctuary of madness. Photographs lined the walls like sacred scripture, capturing every fragment of his existence. The way the sun kissed his pale skin. The rare, unguarded softness when he thought no one was watching. The harsh, unrelenting glare that you had come to love more than life itself.

Strands of his dark indigo hair, stolen in the quiet of passing moments, lay bound together with fraying ribbons. Fabric from his discarded clothes, the scent of him still clinging to the fibers, folded with trembling care. A single, crumpled note—his handwriting scrawled across the page, meaningless to anyone but you.

You had built a temple in his name. A cathedral of longing, devotion, and sickness.

And yet—when you stood before it, staring at the madness of your own making, something inside you snapped.

You saw it. Truly saw it.

Not love. Not devotion.

Obsession.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising like bile. You thought you had been pure, that your love had been something sacred. But the truth was carved into the blood on your hands, into the grotesque altar before you.

You were filth. No better than the ones you had slaughtered.

You couldn’t face him. Not like this.

So you ran.

For the first time, you abandoned him.

At school, you became nothing—a wraith in the halls, slipping through shadows, avoiding his gaze like it burned. You erased yourself from his world, just as you had erased the others from his presence.

And Scaramouche noticed.

The absence of your eyes on him was suffocating in its own right. He had grown used to your presence, to the quiet weight of your obsession curling around him like an unwanted curse. You were supposed to be there—watching, waiting, hanging onto his every breath.

But now?

Nothing.

No glances from the corners of your eyes. No lingering in doorways just to catch a glimpse of him. No quiet, frantic movements in your notebook whenever he spoke.

It was almost... eerie.

A slow smirk curled at his lips, but beneath it was something dark, something unreadable. His fingers twitched, restless. A storm brewed behind his gaze, a creeping, unspoken rage.

Did you think you could leave? Just like that?

Oh, how naive.

You had crawled through madness for him, had burned your soul away in his name. You were his, a pitiful, broken little thing that had spiraled into insanity just to get closer.

And now, you wanted to turn away? To pretend it had never happened?

Scaramouche does not lose what belongs to him.

You would come back.

One way or another.

Scaramouche never cared to notice things beyond himself. People came and went, their voices drowned in the white noise of his existence. He never wasted energy on trivial matters—least of all you.

You, with your cloying devotion. You, always at his heels like an obedient pet. You, whispering sweet, obsessive promises as if they meant anything.

You had been everywhere. The moment he turned his head, you were there. In class, in the cafeteria, lingering outside the bathroom, loitering in the hallways, even perched at the rooftop, always waiting for a glimpse of him.

And then, suddenly—you weren’t.

It was silent.

At first, he didn’t question it. Why should he? It wasn’t his concern. It wasn’t his problem. He should’ve felt relieved.

But the longer it stretched on, the more something gnawed at him.

You were nowhere.

And that—that was wrong.

For two weeks, one day, three hours, fifty-six minutes, and thirty-two seconds—he counted. His mind involuntarily tracked every second that passed without the weight of your suffocating adoration pressing into his skin. He didn’t care, yet somehow, he noticed.

Then, finally—he saw you.

You.

But you weren’t alone.

You were talking to someone else, laughing, smiling. Living.

Something in him snapped.

His smirk faltered.

You—his shadow, his puppet, his wretched little thing—were no longer circling him like a moth desperate to burn. You were free.

You had a life.

And for the first time, Scaramouche felt something eerily close to betrayal.

What happened to your promises?

Where were the feverish whispers of "I'd die for you, Scaramouche!" Where were the eyes that followed him in manic devotion, the trembling hands that clung to every word he uttered like it was scripture?

Had it all been a lie?

Had you really abandoned him?

The rage was instant. Consuming.

Without hesitation, he strode forward, cutting through the people surrounding you like they were nothing but fog in his path. Conversations halted, eyes turned, but he didn’t care.

Because there you were.

And you weren’t his anymore.

"You used to be all in—every moment, every breath, I knew you were mine." His voice was sharp, biting, loud. He didn’t bother to hide the venom in his words, his arms crossed in a defensive, possessive stance. His voice carried through the stunned silence. "Now it’s like you’ve just… vanished. Were you ever really sincere?"

You froze, your body going rigid.

A lump formed in your throat, suffocating, as you stared at him. He was livid, but there was something else buried beneath the rage—something worse.

"What—?" You barely managed to get the word out before he cut you off, voice rising, boiling over.

"You played me. You abandoned me! After everything you’ve done for me?!" His voice cracked slightly at the end, but it wasn’t weakness—it was fury. Frustration. A terrible, uncontrollable storm of emotions that even he didn’t know how to process.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palm as if trying to ground himself—to stop himself from grabbing you, shaking you, making you look at him the way you used to.

And yet—you didn’t.

Your eyes didn’t hold that obsessive gleam anymore. They held pity.

And then, you said it.

"Can you just please leave me alone?"

Firm. Cold. Unshaken.

And that—that hurt.

The words slammed into his chest like a blade. His breath hitched, his whole body stiffening. His lips parted, eyes blown wide, an expression of utter disbelief.

You had never, never spoken to him like that before.

And worse—you turned away.

You walked away from him.

You walked away from him.

The world blurred for a moment. He could barely hear the whispers around him, barely feel the weight of the stares pressing into him.

The air felt wrong.

His hands twitched, his heart hammered against his ribs, but his face remained eerily blank.

A slow, suffocating rage curled inside him.

No.

No, this wasn’t right.

You thought you could leave?

You thought you could escape him?

A smirk twitched at his lips, but his eyes were dark—hungry.

You’ll pay for that.

He’ll make you regret ever thinking you could live without him.

It wasn’t difficult.

You had made it easy for him.

Every whispered confession, every vulnerable fragment of yourself—you had offered them up willingly, blind with devotion. When you worshipped him, when you ached for him, you had bled your soul dry, spilling every truth at his feet like a devout follower praying to an unholy god. You had believed your love was unbreakable, that nothing could twist it into something ugly.

But love was a lie.

And now?

Now, those same truths would be the noose around your neck.

Scaramouche barely had to lift a finger. The dirt he had on you wasn’t something he had to dig for—no, you had given it to him, laid it bare in your desperation to be seen, to be acknowledged, to matter to him. And so, with meticulous precision and an insufferable smirk, he wove it all together, weaving your past into a beautiful, intricate cage.

A perfect blackmail.

The tapes spun between his fingers, glinting under the dim light, the cruel little wheel of fate turning in slow, damning circles.

Your sins, preserved forever.

Blood. So much blood. The camera didn’t shy away from the violence—how your blade had sunk into flesh, how wet, gurgling gasps had choked out their last breaths. How their fingers had twitched, grasping at the nothingness as they collapsed, lifeless. And you—standing above them, gloved hands stained red, chest heaving, lips parted with something too close to reverence.

Then, the photographs.

Dozens of them.

Some of him—captured in secret, stolen moments where he was unaware of your obsession clinging to him like a shadow. Pictures taken from alleyways, behind windows, through crowds. And some of you—uninvited, invasive, taken when you thought you were alone but weren’t.

He liked these.

He liked the way you looked in them—unsuspecting, fragile. He liked knowing the tables had turned, that he was watching you now, that your obsession had left you vulnerable enough for him to tear apart.

But the best part?

The confrontation.

Scaramouche didn’t need to hunt you down. He didn’t need to lure you in. You walked straight into his web, oblivious, thinking you were safe.

The door creaked open.

A sharp inhale.

Then—stillness.

You stood frozen in the doorway, the color draining from your face as your breath caught in your throat.

Scaramouche.

Lounging on your sofa as if he had always belonged there. One leg draped over the other, fingers lazily tapping against the stack of evidence in his hands, violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Something triumphant.

You felt the air shift—suffocating, cloying, thick with the unspoken understanding that this was no longer your space.

This was his.

Your voice broke, barely above a whisper.

"What are you doing here?" The words wavered, shaking under the weight of panic. "How—how did you get in?"

Scaramouche didn’t answer. He only tilted his head, watching you, letting the silence drag on long enough to coil around your ribs, squeezing. Then, ever so slowly, he lifted the tape, letting it spin between his fingers, his smirk widening.

"More importantly," he murmured, voice smooth, slow, deliberate, "what do you think I’m going to do with this?"

The world tilted beneath you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, the blood draining from your limbs as your stomach twisted into knots.

It was all there.

The evidence. The obsession. The murders.

Your sins, reflected back at you in sickening clarity.

You barely managed to breathe, barely managed to whisper out a choked, "I—I should just go to the police." The words left your lips before you could think them through, raw with desperation. "Tell them—tell them there's a criminal on campus—"

His laugh cut you off.

Sharp. Cold. Mocking.

"Oh?" He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, eyes glittering with amusement. "And what do you think happens next? Do they rush in, sirens blaring, guns drawn? Do they drag me away in chains?" His smirk widened, teeth flashing like a predator playing with its food.

His voice dropped, honeyed with false sympathy.

"And what do you think they’ll do when they see all of this?"

Your stomach lurched.

He didn’t need to say it.

You knew.

His expression softened into something almost pitying—almost.

"Face it," he murmured, letting the words settle into your skin like poison. "You're finished, no matter what you do."

A pause. A moment stretched too thin.

And then—casually, effortlessly—he leaned back, arms stretching along the sofa, as if this was all just an idle conversation.

"Or," he drawled, "you could be a good girl and go back to being my pet."

Your breath caught.

The words slithered over you like a collar snapping into place.

His voice was soft—so soft, so sweet—but beneath it was steel. An unspoken command. A leash tightening around your throat.

"It’s your choice, really," he continued, tilting his head. "But let’s be honest—there’s no different outcome. Either way, you’re never leaving me."

The finality of it crushed the breath from your lungs.

The realization clawed its way through your mind like a slow, sinking weight.

You had never been free.

You had never been in control.

And as Scaramouche's smirk widened, as he watched the last ember of defiance flicker and die in your eyes, you realized—

You never would be.

ONG I COULDN'T CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT OF WRITING :(( AAAH

[itstheghostofmypast]

🔥Overwhelmed🔥

Corporate AU Wooyoung x (F)Reader

Summary: No one could stop swiper when his queen was overwhelmed.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1 K

Est. Read Time: 5 min

Warnings: None

Rating: PG-13

Type: One-shot

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: I'd like to thank @edenesth for this picture- and dedicate this to her - my corporate queen.

Overwhelmed

That was one way to describe how you were feeling right now, from the way your admin had dumped everything on your department to the way clients were ringing your phone like you owed them money- incorrect, you had nothing to do with anything that had happened. The missing records, unfilled forms, lack of digitisation of pre existing documents, somehow ended up being given to you- sure, you knew with great power came an even greater responsibility, but being team leader did not mean you were willing to become a punching bag of your superiors.

To top it all off during your break an idiotic colleague from the IT department had decided to come at you for something, yelling at you, ruining your gaming session- the 30-40 minutes of peace you'd have during work- and in the end it turned out to be not your desktop that had an issue, the virus was in the lady in the cubicle next to yours. During that drama, you had been reported and banned from the game for 24 hours. It was wonderful, it was just wonderful. What were you going to do on your drive back home now?

The worst thing of all was that you were unable to see the only person who'd make your day bearable, the only person who'd wake you up gently every morning, with a soft damp tissue gently pressing against your closed lids, then his warm lips against your own before he'd whisper sweetly in your ear, “Time to dominate the day, my queen.” The same person who'd have your breakfast waiting for you as soon as you'd rush out of the room all dressed, forcing you to sit down and eat with him, sometimes feeding you if you'd try to say you were in a rush. The only person who would spend the night with you, choosing your clothes, shoes and accessories, ensuring to match his tie and socks with your clothes, “Pink shirt huh…welp, pinks socks it is.”- yes, he had worn pink socks and a pink tie, which most men at work found funny, but most women at work found it adorable.

Hence, now, you were sitting in your cubicle, staring at the spreadsheet, wondering what you had done to deserve this. Maybe you were too nice? Maybe you wronged someone? Maybe you - the irritating ringing of your phone had you heave out a sigh and pick it up, letting out a tired, “Hello?”

“Excuse me, miss, this is the police. You're under arrest for being so damn hot that your boyfriend is willing to commit murder for you.”

A chuckle broke past your lips as you sighed, leaning against the seat and humming, “Ah…really? Well, Mr.Police, I'm a bit busy right now, so I'll have to get back to you soon.”

“Nonsense.”

You heard from the phone and from behind you, causing you to turn around, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, facing the man holding his phone to his ear with one hand and in his other hand he held a white box.

Hanging up, he placed it on the desk before pushing your keyboard aside, causing you to gasp in disapproval, “Silence my queen.” He demanded before flipping open the box and showing you the sweet treat that you had been eying for a while. You'd glance at it everytime you'd buy your morning coffee, knowing very well it was the bakery's best selling treat, but you'd postpone it often, for various nonsense reasons, as Jung Wooyoung would claim.

“Woo…” you glanced up at him with a pout, “Work…I have work-”

“It's 6 p.m. No more work, only cake!” He declared dragging a stool next to your chair and handing you a spoon, “I was away for one meeting, and I came back to my queen in shambles? The nerve of people - just you wait, I'll punch San in the face for leaving you like this.”

“Woo…his wife was giving birth.” You shook your head in defeat and amusement, suddenly remembering another reason to your glum mood, you had missed your boss and his wife- your friend's birth of their first child.

“I know. Where'd you think I got the cake from.”

Your eyes widened at the statement before flickering to the cake, squinting at the small card that had, “Congratulations, it's a girl!” written on it.

“YOU STOLE HIS CAKE!?”

Your screech echoed in the empty office followed by his shameless cackle, and a “REVENGE SHOULD BE SWEET, MY QUEEN!”

“JUNG WOOYOUNG!?”

He rolled his eyes at your yelling and scooped up a good amount of cake and pressed it against your lips, “Say ahhh…I got coffee too.”

Taking in a deep breath you reminded yourself that the intention behind this was sweet, and that later, perhaps tomorrow you'd be apologising to the new parents with another cake and a gift for their new born baby. Parting your lips you let him feed you, closing your eyes in pure bliss, instantly forgetting about everyone and everything, wanting nothing more to smooch the man infront of you for blessing you with this wonderful, sweet, delicious treat.

The moment you opened your eyes, you realised that his lips were on yours, and you gently pushed him away, swallowing and mumbling, “Y-you idiot we’re at work.”

“Don't worry, ain't nobody here but us and this cake.”

You shook your head in amazement. This day had been shit, but at least you had your personal little clown, your companion, your lover, and your little thief swiping around and getting you treats. As the thoughts processed you had somehow started crying, tears rolling down your cheeks that you realised when you felt him wipe them with his thumb, giving you a small smile, “It's okay… its okay to feel overwhelmed, love…the world won't hate you if you take a little break.”

Nodding at his statement you let him pull you in a hug, your head resting against his shoulder as he gently stroked you back, mumbling, “Their daughter is beautiful…I'm glad she takes after the mom…imagine if her head was as big as his…pushing it out would've been hell.”

His smile widened at the sniffled laughter, hugging you closer as he eyed the cake that San’s wife had insisted he take back to you, knowing how you had to handle her husband’s load today and how the lack of a Jung in your life today may have overwhelmed you. She was right. Perhaps she was a good friend- welp. He was gonna swipe the cake anyway, Mrs.Choi only caught him and laughed it off.

“Woo…”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you…” you mumbled, moving back before you started eating again, taking a sip of your coffee, realising how hungry you were, how grateful you were, how loved you were. It really was a blessing to have someone like Jung Wooyoung in your life - no matter what kind of chaos he brought with him.

“Anything for you…my queen.” He whispered, watching you eat in peace, chin in palm as he admired you, taking in your tired posture and eyes, naturally you were tired and exhausted, drained and overwhelmed- no matter, he'd make sure to fix all that. It was his job to keep his queen, the love of his life, safe and happy.

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

HOLY CRAP YOUR DOMINATOR AU SHOULD ACTUALLY BE CANON, THE WAY ALL OF THE PLOT HOLES LEFT BY THE END OF THE WHOLE ARC HAVE ALL BEEN SO BEAUTIFULLY RESOLVED ACTUALLY MAKES ME SO HAPPY I WOULD DIE FOR YOU

If I can add on a bit, I think that a bit of tari’s past should be woven into your arc, because I’ve had a headcanon rotting in my brain where she was created by mr Puzzles as a highly advanced virus, but ended up learning too much and fled to smg4’s world in order to live a better life and was just curious if you’d like to add this to your amazing au :] no problem tho, and I hope you have a nice day!

🐦📺🐦📺🐦📺🐦📺

🐦📺🐦📺🐦📺🐦📺

AAAAAA THANK UU SO MUCH!!!! 💛🧡💖💛💖🧡💛💖🧡💛 I'm still so surprised and happy when I see people say they enjoy my writing!! Hope everyone reading this has a wonderful day as well!! 💛🧡💖

That's actually a pretty cool way to connect the two! But I should probably watch Meta Runner before I start thinking of her backstory. Still, the dynamic between her and Mr. Puzzles is a big part of the AU!

While she's not tied to him directly, both of them are technological geniuses. He is a hardware engineer while she is a software developer, and both have managed to create the same reality shifting technology in their own separate ways.

Thing is, she isn't aware of the extent of her powers just yet (made obvious by the fact she learned about Clench relatively recently) and so she doesn't show up on Mr. Puzzles' radar until she brought down the simulation in Western Spaghetti.

She is the only one who can beat him at his own game with his own weapons. She just doesn't know it yet. 🐦📺

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

what if i told u,,,,,,,,,,, i had another new au idea

say hello to the 'two-faced' au! where u start to work at the daycare and become besties with Sun n Moon right as Vanny is putting the whole virus-thing into motion. Moon rlly likes u and feels like he can b his genuine Professional Silli Boi self around u, so when he starts having some more murdery tendencies he makes the executive decision to just kinda Lie About It and make sure u don't know! and everything will be fine, so long as u never find out about those missing kids! or where ur coworker went. or why ur other coworker quit. or why that one guy is in the hospital. or,,

(it gets way more complicated when management starts to wonder if u could be tied to all these accidents that only ever seem to happen on ur days off)

[imjustasugablob]

Feel Me Up

Trainer!Leon x Female!Reader

tags: trainer au, asshole!Leon, slight angst? hate sex,

part 2

Blinding fluorescent lights were the first thing you saw as you opened your eyes. A blaring alarm, almost a siren, woke you from your "peaceful" slumber, on a cold metal bed topped with a pile of cloth that could hardly be called a mattress.

Four A.M. It was time to train. You hadn't planned on joining the government. Ever since you were young, you'd always dreamt of becoming a doctor, just like your parents. You thought they used to help people, save lives. Not create the demons that made hell on earth in the form of the C virus.

That horrendous day in Tatchi. The scene was burned into the back of your eyelids, seeping behind your vision when you turned to rest, like acid slowly coursing through your brain and frying it. You didn't have much of a choice after that, did you? They thought you'd join Neo Umbrella just like your parents had. So it was either - live a life under constant surveillance from the government, or join them to win back their favour.

Shaking your thoughts loose, you made your way to the bathroom to clean up before reporting to your trainer. Skennedy's gonna eat me alive if I'm late.

It was a terrible nickname, but you couldn't take the credit for it. Your teammates had come up with it after day 1, when Leon had successfully traumatised anyone who was getting cold feet about joining the DSO. The batch went from 51 trainees to about 23 that day. For good reason - Leon was not going easy on anyone.

For the past month, all of you had been coming back to the dorms covered in scratches on every piece of skin left exposed, and bruises on skin that wasn't. When you first saw the grape coloured mark the size of a palm on your ribs, you thought you were dying. You didn't even know bruises could be that dark. Or outlined in green.

But it wouldn't be fair to say that everyone was going through it. Cause Leon particularly hated you. Every quip, every correct answer, every successful parry only seemed to piss him off further. As if he wanted you to fail, to cry in front of everyone and quit. Others had noticed it, too, but no one wanted to say anything out of fear of coming in his line of fire. But you never gave him the satisfaction.

Grabbing some food from the dining hall, you made your way to the training room.

"You're late." Leon's voice had an icy edge to it this morning.

There were 5 others who weren't there yet. But you were used to it by now.

"It was four thirty on the dot when I walked-"

"Don't. Talk back to me."

Taking a long stride, he was right up to your face in an instant. His voice had dropped in volume and in pitch. A silent threat for only your ears to hear. You could practically see him foaming at the mouth. You didn't back down, however, keeping your chin up and staring straight down his eyes. His intimidation tactics didn't work on you. You hated his guts too much to offer him respect unless it was forced out of you.

You noticed the colour of his irises was a soft blue, like the morning sky, hardened around the edges by the years who had been unkind, more to his mind than his body. It felt like they were the only thing holding back the demons inside his head. You wondered how much shit he had seen, all the way from Raccoon City till now.

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?", you could hear your friends whispering. You didn't have the guts to say anything back to Leon. Not today. You didn't wanna lose a limb. He slowly retreated back to the centre of the room, on the training mat.

"Everybody, pair up. You'll be fighting each other today. You will be ranked on the basis of your scores. I hope everyone knows that your ranks will affect your position and assignments after joining."

"And since there's an odd number of you,", he looked straight into your eyes, "you'll be fighting me today."

Well, fuck.

You watched impatiently as one by one Leon called out the names of your peers, watching them beat the shit out of each other on the mat. Nobody was "friends" inside the training room, that was for sure. Blow after blow landing over flesh, you could hear a few bones crack even from a distance. One of them called for timeout as their nose broke, bleeding profusely, staining his white clothes with scarlet.

"No." Leon's voice echoed in the big hall, ceasing all the jeers and cheering from everybody egging the fighters on.

"No? What the fuck do you mean, "No"? He broke his nose, the fights over", called out his opponent.

"The fight isn't over until one of you is physically incapable of continuing. Carry on, otherwise you know where the door is."

Leon's demand was met with silence. The young man took a moment to catch his breath, looking at his partner with pity. He pulled him to his feet, maybe so he wouldn't feel as bad about what was about to come next. You couldn't bring yourself to watch, so you turned your eyes away. A sickening crack resounded in the silence, before the man landed in a heap on the mat, knocked out.

"Next." Leon's voice was curt and neutral, completely devoid of any sympathy or emotion. You didn't expect him to be wallowing at the sight in front of him, but a little humanity would have been appreciated.

"It's you", Leon called out.

Just then, the sirens blared again, signalling that training was over for the day. Was it already eight? But of course he wasn't gonna let you up that easily.

"You'll be staying back. The rest of you may leave."

Holy shit. Was he seriously gonna challenge you to hand to hand combat? You know you didn't stand a chance against the seasoned veteran he was - trained by Krauser himself, had more than 10 years of experience on the field. You felt the hair rise up on the back of your neck at the thought that it would just be you and him.

He could destroy me right now and no one would stop him.

You slowly walked towards the centre of the mat where he was standing, inhaling deeply. It's okay. You got this. He's fucking old. And big. I'm faster.

You tried not to dwell on the fact that he was almost twice your size, and that his biceps were almost the circumference of your whole head. He could crush you like a grape if he wanted to.

You swallowed, and Leon wasn't gonna let a sign of weakness go unnoticed. "You scared?", he asked in a mocking tone. "Let's not act like this is a fair fight, shall we?", you snapped back.

"Look around you. You think anything in this fucked up reality we're living in is fair?" His voice shook slightly as he spoke. It was the most emotion you'd seen out of him.

You paused for a second, biting back the quick retort that rose to your mouth.

"Why do you treat me differently? You think I'm not cut out for this line of work?" He was quiet, almost taken aback at your question. He didn't expect you to ask it upfront.

"Let me tell you something, Mr. Kennedy, unlike the others, I'm not here by choice. Hell, you couldn't pay me enough to complete this stupid training and fight those monsters out there. I'd do anything to be free and leave you to your job. But I can't. So here I am. And you're not making it any easier by being a prick."

You breathed out, hard; his silence only making you regret your decision to speak your mind. With each passing second you only grew more and more uncomfortable, when suddenly, he grabbed your hand. You instantly raised your other hand to fight him off, before realising that he wasn't attacking you.

He was tracing the lines on your fingers with his own.

"Look at you. Skin so fucking soft, like you haven't worked a day in your life."

What the hell is happening?

You didn't trust yourself to say anything so you kept quiet.

"I used to be like you, you know. Bright eyed, bushy tailed, take on the world with hope and determination, yada yada. It's all such bullshit."

"Well then what makes you still fight for your life? You must have something to live for, or you'd just walk away, wouldn't you?"

He chuckled a little. More like a sigh leaving his lips. He looked so good like this.

What?

Before you could process your thoughts, he suddenly twisted your arm, putting you in a chokehold.

"Well these days it's been getting to see you fight like a little lamb, so adamant against accepting your fate", he whispered against the shell of your ear. It was your fault for giving in to his manipulation. You should have known better.

But even now, instead of trying to fight him off, you stood completely still, frozen in place. His breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine, as every molecule in your body screamed DANGER, as if you were teetering on the verge of a cliff. Except the cold waters at the bottom enticed you this time, inviting you to jump in, even if it was to your death.

"You've been such a little brat lately, refusing to give up. You think winning here or impressing me is gonna win you points in the real world?" His voice was like explosives on your nerve endings, making you gasp out loud.

You pawed at his arm desperately as his grip on your neck tightened, making you struggle to draw air. He laughed at you.

This motherfucker has the audacity to laugh right now. It was all a game to him, isn't it? Well, two can play, Leon.

He flipped you onto the mat, pinning your arms above your head, with his knee between your legs. God, he looked good on top of you. His golden hair shielding you from the harsh white light above, forming a halo around his head. His eyes were playful, teasing, yet somehow pleading, begging you to make a move.

You almost wanted to forget how much he had tortured you over the last month, how you had been limping back from training sessions like an old hag.

You wanted to scream at him. Go fuck yourself, or something of the sort. But the words died in your throat. You hated the effect he had on you. He was leaning over you, pressing his whole body weight down, but his weakness was exposed. One good kick to his shins and he would lose balance, leaving you free to slither past and regain your footing.

A mistake a beginner might make, not someone like Leon. As you gazed into his eyes, you realised he was aware of it. He was giving you an out. You could oh-so easily tackle him down, and be done for the day. But his lips looked so fucking good right now.

"Goddamnit", you managed to choke out, before reaching your head up and trapping his lips with your own. His mouth melted against yours, finding a steady rhythm. It was a messy kiss, your teeth clacking with his as he nipped at your bottom lip, threatening to draw blood.

His free hand roamed over your torso, slipping under your shirt and grasping at your hips, digging his fingers into the supple skin. It was driving you crazy, as could be proven by the heat pooling between your legs.

You struggled against his grip on your wrists, silently pleading him to let go so you could touch him, too. He broke free from your kiss and looked down at you, panting. "Such a needy girl, hmm? You're a little slut for me, aren't you?" He smirked.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd been in such a haze, driven only by your primal need to satisfy the ache between your legs. Leon's teasing was not gonna be tolerated tonight. So you did what you should have done from the start.

Aiming for his leg, you quickly pushed your knee up. As your leg met it's target, Leon let out a grunt. You hadn't hit him hard enough to hurt, but just enough to surprise him. Taking the opportunity, you flipped him over, sitting upright and straddling his waist. From this position you could feel his semi under your clothed cunt, straining against his trousers, begging to be released. Leon groaned at the unexpected contact, closing his eyes. He looked ethereal from this point of view.

Without missing a beat, you slowly began rocking your hips against his, creating much needed friction for both of you. You let out a soft moan as you paced yourself, throwing your head back in pleasure. Now that you had the reins, Leon had nothing to do apart from looking up at you completely hypnotised. He had never experienced a woman trying to take control voluntarily from him, most of them simply wanted to be fucked dumb, or be taken care of.

But the way you were using his body for your own pleasure flipped a switch, triggering something animalistic inside him, making him instantly rock hard. He let out a low growl. You looked so fucking pretty like this, your chest rising and falling rapidly, beads of sweat trickling down your temples. The soft moans that left your mouth were like music to his ears. You looked down at him, seeing him almost cross eyed as he gazed at you, his pupils completely blown out with lust.

You smirked at the sight, and leaned down to whisper against his ears, "Enjoying the view?" Your hips never faltered, steadily increasing in speed and fervour, trying to rub your sweet spot against him. Leon's brain had completely short circuited. He was only focused on you, meeting your movements with his own thrusts, trying to chase his own high.

"You act so fucking self righteous all the time, like you're some kind of saint. Look at you, Leon, tryna' fuck a girl half your age. Anybody could walk in right now and catch us, but that probably just gets you going even more, right?" You spoke against his ears, your dirty words setting Leon off. But you weren't gonna let him have it.

Suddenly, you became completely still and stood up, walking away from his body. Leon yelled out, "What the fuck? Where're you going?"

guys I've written part 2 but I'm still editing it so I'll upload it tomorrow if this post gets like 10 likes lmao. You guys should also get teased like Leon, hehe. Am I too evil?

"Well training's over so I'm going to dinner. What else?", you spoke so nonchalantly, throwing him for a loop. You had to admit, it had taken every ounce of self control to walk away from that temptation of a man. But you weren't gonna let him win again. Not this time.

part 2

Its the first work I'm uploading so please give any feedback or things you would have liked seeing in this story in the comments. you can be harsh, i really don't mind, as I use this platform to improve my irl writing. I wanna figure out all the cutesy banners everyone else does but im still getting familar with tumblr rn :)

[askswordfrisk]

More Kids in the Orphanage. ^^

More children of the Delta Orphanage. Either found or saved. Scars of their pasts clearly visible.

Shifty: A StoryShift Chara from a geno route where they failed and was gruesomely cut down because they were “In the way”. Coding corroded too much and had to be pieced together by hand. Scars visible and missing arm implications of lost coding and can’t be easily healed or fixed. Has nightmares a lot and usually found in the medical ward.

Swapy: Storyswap Chara saved before the AU they were saved from imploded. Has been so traumatized that they developed anosognosia and has the delusional belief that they will be picked up by their dead parents… Which sadly will never happen. (Not sure if I got the condition correct. If it wrong I apologize will see if we can fix it)

Seller: Storyfell Chara. From an AU that had a bad virus, she out of desperation destroyed it and fell into the trash void. She is friends with Skara, Dhara, Fara, and Dalla. Sees Skara as an annoying little brother.

Fink: Ink!Frisk is much like ink sans. However due to ink sans popularity and more attention he was gonna be forgotten. Unlike ink!sans Fink does not need paint to have emotions. However they have a crippling phobia of being alone. They don’t have their own paint brush but their hand can color and paint things but he prefers showing his art rather than doodles. He was found after wondering the white void for a long time and was brought to the orphanage. Now he can share many of his magical drawings and paintings with everyone.

Buttercup: Flowerfell Frisk variant (not frans au). Due to their AU having a glitch, they constantly died the moment they fell down to the underground. They were saved and brought to the orphanage helping stifle their disease. Their blindness was chronic but they are very sweet to everyone.

Felly: Firefell Frisk. First child saved by CC and brought to the orphanage. Her Toriel was too strict and burned her for any small mistake she made. After finding out the AU was long discarded and the universe was completely empty. After defeating Toriel Felly was happy to stay at the orphanage. But requested to keep her scars. Despite everything, she still saw Toriel as a good mom.

———————————————————————————

Sorry for the long wait, once again sharing the kids who been saved and brought to the orphanage. Bless you once again @susartwork for all your amazing work! QwQ

[harbours-lighthouse]

Company in A Bone Dead Land (Jason Todd xF!Reader; Apocalyptic AU)

[ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

⁀➴ pairing: jason todd x f!reader

— summary: the world as you know it is broken, crawling with those infected by the virus. you're one of very few survivors, and you're cautious of each step you take. when a man breaks into your house, you're torn between kindness and survival.

— author's note: hi loves! first thing i've been able to work on and actually finish, so hopefully you guys enjoy (a lot of inspo taken from bird box and the last of us). i'm thinking of making this into a series, but i'm not sure. let me know if i should make a part 2!

cw: apocalypitc setting; possible slow burn; semi enemies-to-lovers; death; gore; violence; graphic descriptions; overall feelings of dread wc: 5.7k divider credit: @/saradika

IT’S HOT AND DRY, and the ants are swarming. They march in dotted black lines, trailing through your garden towards the fence. You squint against the harsh white light of the sun, your skin burning beneath the thin layers you wear. 

Since the Fall happened, the seasons have become more brutal, more violent. Summer kills everything, from the bare bushes surrounding your property to the few people that stumble across the plains. But like an angry god whose vocabulary doesn’t include the term ‘fair,’ the few of those who survive the scorching summers are picked off when winter comes—leaving behind faces frozen in terror, lips nearly as blue as the lake near the Old Town when it freezes over. But winter won’t be here for a long time.

The line of ants isn't usual, so you follow along the trails, unlocking the gate and circling around the fence. Dried soil shifts beneath your shoes; twigs crack in the stale air. Flies buzz around sun-bleached bones, and it’s the tip of your boot that kicks them away from the fence that wraps around your property. 

The mesh buzzes, a low hum that sings of the electricity coursing through it. The ants swarm around the corpse as it lies face-first in the brown grass, bony hand stretching forward, and only a single phalanx hooked around a loop in the mesh.

You move the tip of your boot against the side of its head, peeling skin and tufts of brown hair shifting with the light breeze that smells of dust and rotting flesh. There’s a low crack, bones that were stiff beneath the sun moving against their will as you reveal the face of the corpse. 

Blank white eyes lock with yours, and bile rises up your throat. Relief accompanies it. The birds haven’t been able to pick at the eyeballs yet, so you’re now able to identify that it’s a survivor and not one of the infected—a gouger. 

You sigh heavily, feeling as if those lifeless eyes are staring up at you, pleading. Why didn’t you save me? I was right here!

You know exactly what Johnny would say if he were standing beside you. 

“Poor guy probably died before he even felt the shock.”

He would’ve said it with that gravel-laced chuckle of his, though there wouldn’t be any humour in it at all.

You watch the rotting corpse with the sun beating down on you, wisps of wind pushing your hair into your face. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, and you shove the sound of Johnny’s voice to the back of your mind. You don’t want to remember him.

Brows pinched inward, you wonder why you hadn’t noticed the corpse until now. It’s obviously been here for a while, with much of its skin already peeled away like dried parchment. The clothes that barely hang from its skeleton are tattered and bleached, but it’s in far better condition than what any of the gougers wear. With a calculating survey across its unmoving form, you decide that there’s nothing you might poach from the body. Nothing useful. 

Leaving the ants alone to feast on what little is left of the decaying man, you circle around the whole fence to check for anything else, though you have a feeling you won’t find anything. It’s not common for anything to show up here—at least not in the last seven months. This lonesome survivor is the first in a long time. 

The plains themselves are mostly empty and have been for years. Only a small smattering of twig-like trees dot the landscape, reminiscent of thin lines dashed across the horizon. Excluding Old Town, your property is the only splash of colour to be seen for miles: a white farmhouse with bleached siding and a partially broken porch, a rusting generator that still rattles with power, and the electric fence Johnny built three years ago.

It’s the fence that makes sure they never come too close. The infected. Or the more common term given to them: ‘gougers.’

Not only do you find the remains of those who crawl to the fence for protection—and ultimately die there with nothing and no one—but you also find the remains of those whose minds were whittled away to nothing, reeking of rotting flesh and gore.

It’s been years since fear accompanied the thought of them. With age and loss, you’ve only grown more angry. And since Johnny’s death, the pistol strapped to your hip feels heavier than normal, and your fingers twitch with the animalistic urge to go searching—killing those that took everything from you. 

The last thing Johnny saw was their broken faces, the dark sockets where their eyes should be—gouged out in their insanity. And you couldn’t do anything.

Swallowing thickly, you pull yourself away from the lingering images of what were once people, sane and normal. 

Idly kicking away loose stones and twigs, you amble back towards the gate. Looking over your shoulder, you linger to watch the horizon; waves of heat warp the line between land and sky.

Frowning, you notice a tree in the distance, and it’s larger than the rest. Squinting harder against the sun, you watch its thin figure, a pale grey shadow in the haze of heat and dust. But it’s not a tree, you realise, and your heart stutters inside your chest.

It’s smoke. 

Feeling your throat seize, your heart starts thudding against your ribcage. What you thought was the distant canopy of a large tree is really the billowing cloud of a column of smoke. And it's not the heat warping its shape, but the smoke rising higher in the sky, a fist of ash, and a sign of fire. 

You move on instinct.

You rush through the gate, making sure the several locks and chains rattle behind you, securing your home. Hopping up the steps of the porch, the floorboards groan under your weight, and you glance back at the dark pillar in the sky. 

You can’t take any chances. 

The front door slams shut, rattling the old picture frames on the walls. Your breathing deepens, your pulse throbbing inside your ears as adrenaline rushes through you. Like a well-trained soldier, you check that each of the windows has its curtains drawn shut, wooden boards hidden behind thin white lace. 

The house is dipped into pale light and shadows. Only slivers of sunlight that shine through the wooden boards peek through the gaps in the curtains. It’s quiet, not even the wind whistles through the cracks in the glass. 

But your heartbeat doesn’t slow.

Glancing at the heavy chest of drawers in the foyer, you exhale sharply through your nose before striding towards the old piece of furniture. Pressing your palms against the side of the once-polished wood, you dig your feet into the floor and push. It barely moves.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you mutter harshly, pressing your shoulder against the chest and leaning all your weight against it. With a sharp scrape against the floor, the chest dislodges. You almost trip, feet sliding, before pushing it with relative ease to barricade the door. 

Straightening with your shoulder aching, you glance over the barricade with a small pang of satisfaction, but you know that a lone piece of furniture won’t save you. 

Moving through the house with purpose, you cut through the living room to the kitchen, and you pull open a cabinet mounted on the wall. The hinges squeal in protest, but the gold glint of ammunition is what you're after. Grabbing as many of the cardboard boxes as you can, you carry them upstairs.

There are three bedrooms upstairs and an attic. Every single window has been boarded up ever since you found out the hard way that gougers can climb, though you still had Johnny back then, and you hadn’t set up the electric fencing yet. 

Dropping the boxes of ammo, you crane your neck upwards at the string hanging from the ceiling. Jumping, your feet land with a thud at the same time that your fingers wrap around the wooden knob at the end of the string, and you pull.

A groan deep inside the house reverberates around you, and the attic ladder unfolds with a wooden creak. Inhaling sharply, you gather up the boxes again before ascending the ladder.

The attic itself is mostly empty, save for only a few boxes sporadically piled around and the thin mattress and blankets tucked in a corner that you keep up here in case of emergencies—like today.

Hunching your back so as not to hit your head against the slanted ceiling, you shuffle further into the wide room towards the two windows on your right side.

These windows remain open and unboarded, giving you a clear view of the front yard, and specifically the gate to your property. If things hit the fan in a disastrous way, you’ll be able to slide out one of the windows and scurry up onto the roof. Thankfully, you’ve never had to resort to that. 

You let the boxes of ammo clatter to the floor, and the smell of dust is so thick, you can taste it on your tongue. You move to the other side of the room and pull away a pile of boxes. A plume of dust hits the floor, and you sputter out a choked cough, gagging as your eyes flood with water.

Waving a hand in the air to dispel the yellow cloud, you kneel to the floor and pull at one of the wooden boards.

There's a soft creak before the board pulls away and reveals a hollowed-out space. It's large enough and deep enough to hide away a perfectly intact, gleaming M21 sniper rifle.

Your heart stutters against your chest, the steady beat of your pulse loud inside your ears. You haven’t touched it in seven months.

The gun glints in the bright light that streams through the windows, winking at you with all of its memories just as clear and bright as the nocturnal scope mounted on the barrel of the rifle. Swallowing thickly, you push through the nerves that hold you captive for only a moment and gently ease the gun out of the empty slot.

“Alright,” you murmur into the empty space around you, “let’s get this show on the—” 

The explosion rattles your entire house. Gasping, your fingers tighten around the body of the M21 as the frame of your house shakes violently. The noise rings inside your ears painfully, rippling through the air and piercing through the walls of your home and straight through your chest.

Staggering forward, you move to one of the windows and peer out across the plains. You can't see anything other than the column of smoke in the distance, but you rapidly scan the horizon for anything else—a mushroom cloud punching through the sky or an orange-red ball of flames.

With your ears still ringing, all you can do is wait as the earth slowly settles again, the soil no longer quivering and the floorboards no longer shaking beneath the soles of your feet.

Panic hits you like a truck. It's been months since anything like this has happened—which is why you had stored the M21 in the attic in the first place. You didn’t need the gun, and its owner is dead. For whatever foolish reason, you’ve let your guard down.

Sucking in a trembling breath, you realise just how tightly you’re gripping the M21. Unclenching your iron-tight grip, your mind races.

Someone must have caused that, and not just anyone. Sure, gougers weren’t entirely dumb, but they weren’t usually capable of setting off explosives either. And as for survivors…it was rare that anyone had the means or strength to detonate something that powerful. 

This was something else, and your skin crawls at the thought. Quickly, you snap your gaze to the electric fence, staring hard at the mesh and waiting for a tell-tale spittle of electricity to catch your eye. You need to know if the generator had been affected by the shockwave; if your generator was down, so was your fence.

There’s a spark of blue, and you breathe a sigh of relief before returning your hawk-like eyes to the horizon. You sigh heavily. 

Tonight’s going to be a long night.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The crickets chirp angrily inside leafless bushes, perched on thin twigs as they play their nightly choruses. Usually, you take comfort in the noise they make, but now, it only adds to your nerves.

Lying on the thin mattress in the corner, you strain your ears to listen above the sound. Anything out of place could mean something—a twig cracking, a rustling of leaves or clothes. Nothing can be brushed aside as simply ‘nothing.'

It’s too hot for any of the blankets, and even if it were cold, you wouldn’t dare slip underneath them. If you had to jump up at a moment’s notice, the blankets could entangle you and cost you precious seconds.

Seconds that could result in your death. Or worse. 

The M21 is cradled in your arms, fingers resting lightly along the stock. The safety is on, but you can just imagine Johnny scolding you for sleeping with a firearm. 

“You try’na kill yourself before anything else can, kid?” 

A fragile smile pulls at your lips, though it disappears as your thumb gently brushes across the initials engraved on the side of the stock.

J. B.

Jonathan Barnes. 

Johnny. 

Your throat tightens, and you swallow thickly. It’s been seven months. You need to stop crying about him. 

With a hollow exhale, you curl around the M21, ears perked for any noise. All you can hear are the crickets and the low groan of the house as the wind pushes against it. 

You’ve gone over every possible situation that could have resulted in the giant explosion, and you guessed that it came from the Old Town. It didn’t make much sense, though, considering the Old Town is miles away and completely deserted. Nothing but hollowed-out frames of what were once bustling stores and stylish saloons remain there. Relics of a past you can hardly remember now. 

There’s a scuffle outside, and you immediately shoot upright. Your fingers flex around the sniper rifle. You sit and wait. 

The house remains quiet; the crickets keep chirping. For a long, drawn-out minute, you sit as still as a statue and listen. Even your breaths are quiet, too scared to miss any other telltale noise that you’re not alone. 

You don’t hear anything else. 

Your muscles are as tense as a coiled-up snake, but you slowly shift back onto your side. The grip you have around the gun doesn’t ease up, and your heartbeat is painfully loud in your ears. The night will drag on, and you’re sure you won’t be able to relax the entire time.

Johnny’s voice rings softly in your ears.

“Loosen up, kid. We’ll be fine.” 

You close your eyes, wishing that Johnny could be as quiet in your mind as he is in the grave. The grave you dug. The one you filled with dirt and tears. 

You fall asleep within seconds. 

***

Your eyelids are heavy as you peel them open, and dread stirs inside your stomach. Confused, you prop yourself up onto your elbow, squinting through the inky blackness and listening to the noises around you. 

The crickets are utterly silent, and not even the wind whispering through the bushes can be heard. It’s only your soft breaths that seem loud in the still atmosphere of the attic.

You groan lowly beneath your breath, rubbing a hand over your face. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. How stupid could you be?

Just as you're about to stand and move to the window to get a better look at the horizon, a noise stops you in your tracks.

It was low, barely perceptible. But with the silence of the crickets and wind, you could make out the sound.

Footsteps.

Your pulse bursts to life, throbbing almost painfully in your throat. Swiftly, your fingers latch onto the M21 that had drifted from you in your sleep, fingers flexing against the polished wood.

Straining to hear any more sounds, you eye the panel of wood you placed over the attic hole and the heavy box you had placed on top of the panel as an added precaution. It was something Johnny had done when you'd both camped out in the attic. He said it made it look as if there was wood nailed to the entrance of the attic and would possibly deter anyone from even trying to climb the ladder.

You hoped that it would work this time too, as the footsteps grow louder. They're heavy, belonging to something that must be large and bulky. Your stomach twists with anxiety, sweat gathering along the back of your neck.

Slowly, as if you were a hunter stalking prey, you stand on your feet, making sure your movements are measured enough to avoid making any noise. You can’t afford to be heard from below, can’t afford to make any of the floorboards creak beneath your weight as you stand.

With your breathing strained, you press the butt of the rifle into your shoulder, and your fingers are shaking. It's been months since you've had to fire a gun at something that wasn't a rabbit or shrew, though those were extremely rare to find in and of themselves.

The footsteps are loud. They thud along the upstairs floor, directly below you. Your brows furrow.

Whatever or whoever it is, it's not consciously trying to be quiet.

There's a low scrape, shuffling footsteps, before a long pause rings in your ears.

The silence is loud.

You flinch violently when the first thud echoes, a step taken down the staircase. Breathing in a shuddered breath, you close your eyes, relief flooding through you. Whatever it was, it wasn't interested in the attic ladder leading up to what looked like a panel of wood.

You listen intently to the footsteps thudding down the stairs before the sound recedes, and you're thrown back into silence again.

The muscles in your arms are taut, your thighs braced to run to the window and climb onto the roof. You want to relax and unclench your jaw, but you know that the thing must still be inside your home.

Then it dawns on you. The fence. The electricity.

How did it get in?

Taking tentative steps, you make sure to walk where the wood doesn't groan, and you move to the open window.

Your heart drops to your stomach. Next to the gate, the mesh wiring has been cut in a large arch, opening up a hole in the fence for anything to slip through and into the yard.

Swallowing down the bile bubbling in the back of your throat, you take a deep, calming breath, though it does nothing to soothe the panic that's rooted inside your chest.

This thing is smart, you think. It's capable.

Gougers aren't able to problem-solve. They don't have eyes to see, and their minds are purely animalistic. Carnivorous. If something in front of them is alive and moving, they'll ravage it and tear it to shreds. But if there's a fence in the way, the gougers are useless. They can only wail and shriek, but they can't solve the problem.

So whoever is inside your house isn't a gouger, and that's ten times worse.

"Remember," Johnny grumbled, "you can always outsmart a gouger. But an uninfected? They can be just as smart as you."

You need to kill this person before they find you.

Slowly, you walk over to the box and the panel and sling the rifle over your back. Crouching, you nudge the box out of the way, careful to move it gingerly enough that it doesn't scrape along the floor.

Once the box is out of the way, you shimmy your fingers under the panel and carefully dislodge it from the opening.

Looking down, fear curls inside your stomach. The lower floor is shrouded in darkness. Leaning over the edge of the hole, it feels as if you're staring into a void, and you can just imagine bright eyes looking up at you from below. Murderous. Inhuman.

Shaking the thought away, you remind yourself of your safety. Of your home. Some jerk had decided to trespass on your property, and with your life on the line, you were going to put a bullet through their head because of it.

With tentative steps, you ease your way down the ladder. You don't let the ladder fold in on itself again, just in case you need to book it to the attic and climb onto the roof.

Glancing down the hallway, you bring the M21 back into your hands, fingers flexing near the trigger guard. None of the lights are on. 

It's completely dark.

Breathing through your nose and out through your mouth, you do what Johnny taught you to. Steeling your nerves as best as you can, you slowly descend down the stairs.

You know this house better than anyone. You know exactly where to step, an ingrained map of the house's aches and groans etched out in your mind.

When you reach the ground floor, your skin crawls. A quick glance down the foyer reveals the front door wide open, pale light spilling across the dust-coated floorboards. Outside, the hole in the fence gapes mockingly at you, and the thin trees look like sentinels watching you. Waiting. 

You listen for noise, for footsteps. Moving through your house, you stare into every corner and every shadow, waiting for something to reveal itself. The M21 is heavy, but the trepidation inside your chest is heavier.

If Johnny were here, he'd be taking point. He'd be holding this gun. Not you. Never you.

"I don't want you touching my gun, kid."

"Why not? Scared I'll break 'her'."

"Smart aleck."

"Old man."

A shrill clatter reverberates through the house, and you slap a hand to your mouth to keep from gasping audibly. Your fingers are shaking as you peel your hand away, and you swallow thickly.

Get it together.

The noise came from the kitchen.

With the butt of the M21 digging into your shoulder, you cut across the living room, eyes carefully glancing around you before snapping to what's ahead of you.

You nearly gag as the overwhelming odor of gunpowder and sweat floods your senses, and your blood pulses inside your ears. 

The shuffling becomes louder, and you're sure you can hear someone breathing. It's strained, laboured.

You press your shoulder against the barrier between the living room and the kitchen, hands clenching around the pistol grip. Peering around the corner, you breath locks inside your throat.

Shoulders as wide as the doorway are illuminated by the moon's pale light, and you catch the glint of a bolt cutter languidly thrown across the kitchen island.

That must have been what made the loud clatter earlier, you file away mentally.

You watch with piercing eyes as the giant man leans heavily against the kitchen counter, spine bent inward as harsh breaths leave him, his head dipped.

For a moment, your grip around the rifle slackens. If it weren’t for the moonlight slipping into the kitchen, you would have mistaken the broad frame for Johnny.

Dark hair. Creased leather jacket. Deathly pale skin. 

No, you close your eyes briefly; this isn’t Johnny.

Clenching your fingers around the pistol grip tightly again, you inhale deeply and step through the doorway. The barrel of your gun points directly at the man’s head. Your finger hovers above the trigger. 

It must have been the shaky breath escaping past your lips that alerted him to your presence. The man’s head snaps up; obsidian eyes lock with yours; they glint coolly, as if the dark abyss of them had captured slivers of moonlight.

Your breath stutters. They’re the opposite of the lifeless eyes belonging to the corpse still clinging to the fence outside. 

The fence this man tore apart. 

Tense silence settles heavily between the two of you, and your heartbeat is thudding against your ribcage like a wild bird beating itself to death.

Like two predators silently watching each other with bated breath and flicking tails, you stare at each other with calculating glares.

You break the silence first, doing your best to keep your voice firm and steady.

“Who are you?”

The stranger stares at you, his breathing strained. Johnny’s voice had matched his looks: gravel-laced, rough. You half expect the same from this boar of a man, but instead, you’re surprised when a smooth, deep voice echoes in the kitchen, although it quivers subtly.

“No one.” 

“Cut it, edgelord,” you snap, though your voice remains low. “What is your name?” 

Your feet shift, hips trading weight as you keep the barrel of the M21 level with the man who lets out a long exhale, and you catch the hitch trapped inside of it. 

“My name’s Jason,” he says quietly, eyes sliding languidly along the kitchen island and the bolt cutter, before flicking up to you. 

They seem canine, but not in a domesticated way. His eyes give you a glimpse of a wolf silently studying you, calculating whether or not you are worthy prey. It sends a cold shiver slithering down your spine. 

 “Okay,” you mutter, “Jason. Why are you here, in my house?”

Johnny would have rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, sure. ‘Your’ house.” 

Jason’s brows lift close to his hairline in what you can tell is faux surprise.

“Oh? Your house? Sorry. Didn’t see a sign out front—thought it was abandoned.” 

You bristle at his tone, and skepticism coils inside your chest.

"You thought that a house with a fully functioning electric fence and generator was 'abandoned'?"

Jason's eyes watch you carefully, as if he's surprised that you caught that inconsistency. Does he think you're stupid? Blinded by fear?

He shrugs as if it doesn't matter, though his stance heightens your anxiety; there's a stiffness to his shoulders, and a clear bell rings inside you: something is wrong.

"Look, lady—"

"Why are you here?"

You stare at each other, the tension akin to a pot of water simmering on the stove, slowly beginning to boil.

When he realises that you're not going to let him leave without answering and that you're not lowering the sniper rifle any time soon, he relents with a harsh exhale and a swift nod.

"Alright, fine," he straightens, and you clock the sharp jerk of his hand moving to his side. Instantly, you square your shoulders, knuckles turning white with the iron-tight grip you have on the pistol grip.

Jason lifts his other hand, brows raised in caution. You scrutinize him, and he purposefully keeps his movements slow.

His hand slips to his side, hidden behind the leather jacket, and you brace yourself for the glint of a gun, maybe even the impact of a bullet. Your finger hovers dangerously over the trigger.

"Chill," Jason mutters, and you suck in a sharp breath.

Jason removes his hand from his side, and instead of the metallic sheen of a gun, you're left staring at the gleam of blood dripping from his fingers. It shines black in the moonlight, but if you were to turn on the overhead light, it would drip to the kitchen tiles in droplets of crimson.

"I need—" his voice cuts out before he swallows thickly. "I ran into some trouble...thought I might find medical supplies here."

Your gaze snaps between the blood on his hand and his face. There's a tightness to his jaw, as if he's bracing himself against waves of pain.

Sympathy pulses inside of you, something you thought had died long ago. But you think back to the fence, the hole that you don't know how to fix. It was Johnny that set up the fencing—who speared the poles into the ground and cut the sheets of mesh. Who made sure that the generator worked and brought electricity sparking along the metal wiring.

You only helped where you could, but you don't know where to get supplies to fix the fence in case of something like this happening. It's too late to ask Johnny—something you should have done three years ago.

"You ruined my fence," you say lowly.

Jason's eyes flicker shut for a moment, a puff of air pushed through his nose.

"Yeah, look. I wasn't going to get myself—"

"You could have at least cut the padlock on the gate instead of the actual fence."

"That's—" he stops, realising the truth of your statement.

You scoff, eyes flickering to the side before returning to him again. Two parts of you are warring against each other. There's a desperate, instinctual urge to switch the light on and bring out your medical kit, but another, fainter desire to pull the trigger—rid yourself of the problem in front of you.

So, in true survival mentality: if you help him...what's in it for you?

You opt for another question. "How'd you get hurt?"

Jason hesitates. His gaze flickers over you cautiously, warily. A spark of annoyance heats beneath your skin. After destroying a part of your fence in an irrational move and breaking into your house, bleeding all over your kitchen floor, do you not deserve an answer?

"Buddy," you level, "if you don't answer me, I'm letting you bleed to death or I'm shooting you. Your decision."

After a moment of stiff silence, Jason relents. He glances down at his hand, taking in a sharp breath.

"I ran into some trouble with a couple of gougers."

Your hackles rise. Instinctually, you take a step back, but keep the gun's barrel steady. Panic begins to claw inside your chest again, and Jason notices.

His hands raise again in a placating motion, "the gougers didn't cause this. It's a gash from barbed wire."

It's hard to believe him. In the past, people have lied—said that they got hurt from something else and not the sharp nails or yellowed teeth of the gougers. Once you're marred by a gouger, you run the risk of catching the virus. You risk losing yourself to insanity, to becoming something inhuman.

You've seen people scratch out their eyes, wailing and shrieking. People you knew. People you loved.

But you don't know Jason. He's only a stranger that's jeopardized your safety and broken into your house—Johnny's house.

He could be lying just so you don't shoot him on the spot.

And you're trembling without realising it.

"How do I know—" your swallow thickly, taking another step back, "—that you're not lying to me?"

"You'll know in a day's time."

The words hit you like a ton of bricks, though you don't know why. It's true, though. The virus eats away at the mind in a matter of days—hours even.

There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and your hands feel clammy around the M21. You've put more space between you and Jason, but you feel as if you're suffocating. There's not enough light in the kitchen to give you a good idea of what he's saying with his eyes, and his rough exhalations grate against your ears.

If what he says is true, then you have nothing to worry about. But if he’s lying, you’ll be faced with a gouger inside your home in a day or two, ripping you to shreds. 

Or, you could shoot him when that happens. 

You think it over in your head, your stomach knotted with anxiety. 

You have three options: help him, let him bleed out, or shoot him—either now or later. 

It's Johnny who makes that decision for you.

"You've still got a heart, kid. You don't find that anymore."

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you give in to the deeply ingrained part of you that can't not help.

"If I help you," you say slowly, "then you have to help me in return, got it?"

Jason eyes you, and you can see the way he's mulling over your words. There's a sag to his shoulders, a tremor in his breath.

He'd be dumb to not take up your offer.

"Fine," he says gruffly, glancing away from you briefly. "What do you want?"

"Fix my damn fence."

"Done."

You blink, surprised. It was that easy, huh?

"One condition," Jason adds, and your surprise is immediately replaced with suspicion. Who does he think he is?

He points a finger at the M21, brows raised. "You put away the gun."

You open your mouth to argue, but cut yourself off before you can say anything. Glancing at the M21, you wonder if it's a smart decision to conform to that condition.

What if he takes you off guard?

What if he grabs it and shoots you?

Looking back at the bolt cutter on the kitchen island, you sigh heavily before returning your gaze to Jason, who's already watching you.

"If I put away the gun, you can't have those."

Jason glances at the bolt cutters and scoffs. "Really? It's not even a weapon."

"Anything can be a weapon," you say flatly.

Jason tilts his head, brows furrowed. The reality of your words isn't lost on him. There's a short pause before he nods his head softly.

"Alright," he says quietly, "fair enough."

With measured movements, you slowly lower the barrel of the M21, feeling exposed and vulnerable immediately. Holstering it across your back, you move forward to take the bolt cutters. The rubber handles feel warm still, and you wonder if electricity burns inside the material.

Jason observes you the entire time while you move towards the kitchen entrance. You make sure to not turn your back to him.

"I'll put these away, and I'll come back with a med kit. Don't move."

Jason huffs, glancing down at his side before looking back at you with an unimpressed look.

"Trust me, doll. Ain't going nowhere."

Your face pulls into a frown, and your gaze lingers on him for a second before you take a step back into the living room.

Then a thought dawns on you. And you quickly look back at him.

"Jason?"

There's a low hum in response.

"Did you cause that explosion—earlier?"

You watch wordlessly as he shuffles into the kitchen entrance way, and you take another step back into the living room. His hunched shoulders brush against the frame, leather jacket creasing.

The look of genuine confusion on his face says everything, and your blood runs cold.

Something else is out there.

thank you for reading, God bless <3

© harbours-lighthouse 2025

[muzzlemouths]

Oneshot Masterlist

Returning the Favor - Moon Centric - Moon has a habit of helping you to bed. It's only fair that you return the favor.

We Dance in Synchronous Rotation - Moon Centric - (Dream Eater Au) It's been three days since you've managed to catch some shut eye, and continuing to fight off sleep sees you coming face to face with your worst nightmare.

What Remains After Ruination - Eclipse Centric - A year after the fire, you return to the plex to see if you can make sense of it all, and find something — and someone — unexpected.

Whatever this is, it's over - Sun & Moon Centric - You've been fired.

The Loveliness of Loving You - Sun Centric - You desperately want to kiss Sun. He desperately wants to be kissed. Too bad you're thick as a post!

Two of Us - Moon Centric - You've been stuck with a migrain for days now, and Moon isn't helping, but in the end Moon is just what you need to feel better.

Please (don't go) - Moon Centric - You're about to clock out for the night when Sun pulls you aside and asks for your help. Moon hasn't been feeling himself lately, and you think it might have to do with the blood under his nails.

Best Friend - Sun Centric - You spend the last hour of your shift making friendship bracelets.

There's a First Time for Everything - Sun & Moon Centric (no y/n) - It isn't every day that Sun finds a dead body behind the desk.

I'm Glad I Didn't Die Before I Met You - Sun & Moon Centric - Ten years have passed since you first brought Sun and Moon into your home (and to that extent, your life), and as it happens, today is your anniversary.

Unsteady On Your Feet - Moon Centric - Sleep deprivation can make you do crazy things — like stealing company merchandise on the clock and drinking unknown substances. Guess you'll have to "suffer" the consequences!

Hypothermic - Moon Centric - Your chance of survival looks bleak when you manage to get yourself locked in the walk-in freezer. Thankfully, there's a certain cold hearted animatronic out on a midnight stroll.

Let Your Heart Be Light - Moon & Sun Centric - December is a hard month and you're being worked to the bone. Good thing you have two sentient animatronics waiting at home to do the unthinkable - give you a very merry Christmas.

Squeeze My Hand - Moon Centric - Moon finds himself in worrying condition after an accident and is rushed to Parts and Services. He isn't eager to undergo the required surgery, but with you at his side he's able to find his courage.

Pining Here I Crumb - Sun & Moon Centric - You're still getting used to having Sun and Moon in your home after the fire. It can get a little overwhelming; but today you make cookies, and that's enough.

Two Times Moon Apologizes (and one time he doesn’t) - Moon Centric - Ever wonder what it was like before the virus took control? What if you were there when it happened? What if you had the chance to help? What if you were still just a little too late?

Weathering the Storm - Eclipse Centric - Life has gotten to you lately. You weather the storm together.

Quiet Comforts - Sun & Moon Centric - You're having a rough week and none of Sun's attempts to lift your spirits are working. Moon has his own idea of how to help.

All Tied Up With Nowhere to Go - Sun Centric - Sun gets himself into quite the bind — literally. Hopefully you can help him out before that darn bug escapes the daycare!

Please Leave the Light On When You Go - Sun Centric (no y/n) - A character study of Sun and his reaction to the daycare closing, and remaining closed.

Left Unspoken - Sun & Moon Centric - It's been a year since you last spoke with them, and you're still not ready to accept how things ended. Your apology comes too little, too late.

I Know the Meaning of the Words Ever After - Moon & Sun Centric - This house is full of ghosts.

Keep Your Friends Close - Sun & Moon Centric - (Pirate AU) As captain, you run your ship with an iron fist, but you couldn't do it without the help of your two quartermasters. They've been acting stranger than usual as of late, though, and you can't help but wonder if they're hiding something from you.

Second Chances - Moon Centric - You and Moon get off on the wrong foot right from the start, but you'll have to learn to understand each other eventually.

-

Series/Connected Oneshots

Lost in Transmission - Eclipse Centric - What would you do if an enormous, celestial cryptid came pouring out of your television screen one night? If the old VHS tape you bought without disregard actually contained something much more profound - and horrific, to boot. Would you run? Would you scream?Would you love them back? - 1 / 2 / 3

Dead Mall Dare: The Golden Years - Sun & Moon Centric (no y/n) - A collection of oneshots from the Dead Mall Dare au that take place before the main fic, when the mall was still in operation. - 1 / 2 / 3

[lani-heart]

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

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

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

y/n's perspective

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

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

His words couldn’t leave my head. 

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

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

Did they want me to adopt them?

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

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

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

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

They were dangerous but not to them… to me. 

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

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

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

He looked at me with a smirk.  

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

hongjoong's perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one noticed just how… unstable she was becoming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I’ll check that out later. 

y/n’s perspective

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

Everything was… great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why don’t you run?”

hongjoong’s perspective

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

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

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

Did I kill her?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The orange tiger is going into isolation”

seonghwa’s perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“San, panther hybrid prepare a code purple room” 

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