#Mark's so lonely that his best friend was his shadow

[heloiblue]

  If there was anything Mark found reliable in his life, that would be his shadow. Many people lost theirs once they became teenagers, some didn’t even get that far before being left shadowless. Assholes, Mark thought, there had to be something inherently wrong with you for your shadow to leave you as a child. His ‘friend’, (quotation marks included because she wasn’t really a friend as much as she was an acquaintance he had to tolerate at work), Jenny had lost hers at 9 which made complete sense in Mark’s head, he sure wouldn’t want to be the poor thing shadowing someone as intolerably entitled as Jenny. But Mark, he was different, him and his shadow had been best friends since childhood and were still going strong. His shadow, which he called Shapey for as long as he could remember, had always been there for him, and they had a unique connection that both Mark and Shapey were extremely proud of. Not many people could communicate that well with a being who could not speak through the same means.

  Mark sometimes thought he felt so close to Shapey because he was, himself, similar to a shadow. As a child, he was very lonely and couldn’t make friends easily, he was also non-verbal for the first 7 years of his life, Shapey being the only creature he could speak to. He often felt different from his peers. Whenever he tried to speak to kids his age, it felt like a lump formed in his throat and he couldn’t get it out. Like a lot of shadows out there, he seemed to be trying to communicate something that no one else besides other shadows could hear. It was lonely, but he learned to deal. And like a shadow, he tended to gravitate towards the dark so that no one would notice him, so that he didn’t need to make an effort to be understood. He would always have Shapey at least. With time, he had gotten better at pretending to feel human. He worked at a respectful company and even had friends he would hang out with now and then, but the only time he could ever truly feel like himself was when he was with Shapey. Either way, he should get some sleep, rolling in bed thinking about his past and his life wouldn’t get him anywhere. It was dark and he couldn’t see Shapey but he knew he was there. Shapey was always there.

  “Good night Shapey. Love you.”

  He felt Shapey’s warmth as a response, telling Mark, in the way he could, ‘I love you too’. And then Mark fell asleep, peaceful and safe.

  In the morning, sunlight barged through Mark’s window. Dammit. He’d forgotten to shut the curtains again. Squinting against the sun, Mark rolled around in bed, hoping to not be too awake by the light so that he would still be able to sleep in. It was Saturday, for god’s sake he deserved to get some rest. Mark spoke slowly with a groaning voice, trailing off between words:

  “Shapey, could you please just… get rid of all this sun?”

  He wrapped his head in his pillow trying to keep the light out while Shapey did his thing. It was kind of a habit by now. Every weekend when Mark would leave the curtains open, he would politely but crankily ask Shapey to make himself big as to cover the whole room in a comfortable darker shadow. Even though there would still be visible daylight, it still beat getting up to shut the curtains and it certainly was better than getting beams of sunlight directly in his eyes when he was trying to sleep. Shapey never seemed to mind it, so it was a win-win. Mark suddenly noticed an absence of warmth next to him. Most people described their shadows as cold but Shapey felt like a peaceful lukewarm to Mark. The light was taking too long to go away. Mark opened one of his eyes hesitantly.

  “Shapey?”

  No response. No Mark shaped shadow pointing a thumb up in the wall, no suddenly warm feeling all wrapped around in familiar shadow.  No tingling sensation in his chest. He opened the other eye.

  “Shapey, where are you?”

  Again, nothing. Feeling a sudden burst of panic, Mark unwrapped his head from the pillow and sat up, looking around the room attentively. There was nothing but uninterrupted sunlight, the only traces of shadow being from objects.

  “Shapey come on. Stop playing.”

  He enunciated in a loud but hesitant voice.

  “Where are you buddy?”

  He thought aloud, mumbling in a gloomy voice while a crease came up in his eyebrows. Mark threw his covers aside, got up and started searching. He noticed the shadow cast by the small armchair next to his bed and suddenly realized he wouldn’t be able to find Shapey if he was inside a physical shadow, He got his phone from the bedside table, its clock marking around 7 AM and turned on the flashlight so that he could look in any inanimate shadow.

  Mark started with his room, lighting up the few places that were dark. Under his bed, under the armchair, behind his bookshelf, under the covers, inside his wardrobe, behind his wardrobe, under it. He looked everywhere, but still, he didn’t see or feel Shapey near him. Growing more and more desperate, Mark moved on to the kitchen and the living room looking in every possible place, chanting his shadow’s name and pleading for him to come back. He only noticed he’d started to cry when he felt his oversized pyjama t-shirt slightly wet from tears. He wiped his face and kept looking.

  “Shapey, please.”

  He was in a full panic now, turning his apartment inside out in a desperate attempt to find his dear friend. He couldn’t have left him, could he? Shapey wouldn’t do that, Shapey couldn’t do that. Had he been a bad friend? Had he expected too much, not given his shadow enough independence? His thoughts spiralled as he went back to his room to start from scratch, taking out his mattress, the cushion on the chair,  taking out every piece of clothing in his wardrobe, taking out every book in his bookshelf. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!

  The man let out a loud groan and threw a book on the wall out of frustration. He pulled on his messy black hair as his eyes filled with heavier tears. The book had fallen to the floor open and upon a closer look, Mark recognized it, it was a children’s book, one he couldn’t bring himself to let his mother give away when he was first moving. He sat down slowly and carefully picked up the book and looked at the page it was open at. Despite the circumstances, Mark smiled. With his voice a strange sound of simultaneous calm and fear, he said to a friend who wasn’t there and to himself:

  “You know, what’s funny about a human being this attached to his shadow is that you start to think that you’ll never be alone.”

  “I thought I would never again have to be alone.”

  His voice cracked mid-sentence and he could no longer hold down his sobs, and in the midst of that mess of a room that looked to have been broke into, he was a lonely 7-year-old again, who could only talk to his shadow, who couldn’t read, so the shadow read for him, re-enacting the whole book just so the human could have a moment of hope, could hear the story about the lonely elephant who became friends with an ant. Mark looked around and felt more alone than he had ever felt in years.

  Then, a glimmer of hope, he heard something, some kind of noise behind the bookshelf in its shadow, he stopped sobbing immediately and tried to hear better. The man got up and closer to the bookshelf, only to be disappointed by the presence of nothing except his phone on the floor, buzzing an alarm to remind him of some appointment he was too panicked to think about. Of course, it wasn’t Shapey, shadows don’t even make noise, idiot. He let out a sigh. Crying like a child wouldn’t help him now. He picked up his phone, the clock now marking around 9 AM. Had it really been that long since he started looking? The alarm kept buzzing and he realized what it was for. For fuck’s sake, he had a date today. As much as he hated Jenny from the company, and her condescending attitude towards everyone, he had to admit, she was at least a half decent match maker. He had his eyes on the new secretary, Logan, for about 6 months and Jenny set them up and got them talking. They were supposed to do breakfast today, and Logan, who was maybe the genuinely nicest guy he’d ever met, had invited him to go to a nearby dinner. Dammit. He wouldn’t go. He couldn’t go, not without Shapey. He would have to start looking in the building and then move on to the city. Feeling hopeless but at least a bit more purposeful in his search, Mark went back to the centre of the room, where his old book laid open, he picked it up again and approached the bookshelf. Just as he was about to put it back, he felt a familiar tingling in his chest. He froze and smiled, his eyes filling with tears for the third time that day, then, before turning, he proclaimed his shadow’s name as another question.

“Shapey?’

  He felt suddenly warmer when he turned around and saw him there in the wall, his best friend, his shadow, the closest thing he had to someone who truly knew him. Shapey was in his normal form as Mark, but somehow, he seemed different, paralyzed.

  “You scared me buddy. I thought you were leaving me.”

  Mark felt Shapey’s warmth fluctuate, becoming colder.

  “What happened? You feel troubled.”

  Shapey touched Mark in the only way he could, through his chest, the shadow’s whole spirit reaching Mark’s heart and providing him with that warm peace he was so accustomed to. He realized his heart had been pounding and that it was now beating at its normal rhythm.

  “What’s up, Shapey? Talk to me.”

 Mark’s smile and his relief were fading. Shapey made the shape of a small child who Mark recognized as himself, alone, holding a book, the child became taller and the book slowly disappeared. People appeared next to the now grown boy, Woman and men, and then, finally, a particular tall man Mark knew to be Shapey’s form for Logan. Mark started shaking his head.

“No. No… What…What are you saying?”

  Shapey turned into words.

  “You’re all grown up now and so am I.”

  Mark looked stunned and could only keep refusing.

  “Shapey, No… no!

  “I’m so proud of you”

  “Stop.”

  “At how far you’ve come”

  “At how far you can still go”

  “You have a date today!”

  “8-year-old you would never believe someone would like you enough to go somewhere with you, much less want to date you.”

  “We grew up together and we needed each other.”

  Mark kept repeating the same words. No. Shapey. Please.

  “But we don’t anymore”

  “You keep saying that you’ll always be alone, but you aren’t. Not anymore. You have friends now. You don’t need to hide anymore. You don’t need to be a shadow.”

  Mark fell silent, Shapey touched his heart again. He felt his shadow’s warmth more comforting than it had ever been, as if Shapey had poured out all his love into it.

  “You can do this. I can do this. It is time.”

“I know it’s scary to be known, but there are so many people to love and I’m afraid we can’t if we’re still focused on the only love we’ve known as safe.”

“I left earlier without saying anything because I wanted to see how you’d react. You’re ready.”

  Mark who had now been quietly reading his friend’s words on the sunlit wall, scoffed.

  “Am I? Because sobbing uncontrollably like a child and turning my apartment into a crime scene in the span of two hours isn’t what I would personally call a good reaction.”

  “A few years ago, you would have assumed I hated you, you wouldn’t have thought to look for me, you would have hurt yourself or done worse.”

  “You’re right”, Mark said in a defeated tone.

  “I’ll always be part of you and you’ll always be part of me”

  “I know.”

  “Just promise me you’ll go to the date today; I have a feeling Logan is the one”

  “I’m not exactly in the headspace for that.”

  “Promise.”

  Shapey took his normal form and cast an equal shadow to represent Mark, then strangled the shadow. Mark couldn’t help but smile and throw his hand up.

  “Ok! Ok. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  “So, where will you go? What will you do? Shadow someone else?”

  Shapey shook his head. He made more words.

  “I couldn’t. This is about my independence too. I need to go back to shadow world, I mean, I haven’t been there since I was one, I don’t even know where I came from.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. You deserve to have your own life too.”

  Mark rubbed his neck and Shapey took his normal form and flashed a thumbs up, before making more words.

 “Sorry for freaking you out, I just needed to know you’d be okay.”

  “It’s fine, I can take it, I’ll just never ever forgive you.”

  “Shut up”

  “Says the one without a mouth.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. I just…

  Mark laughed.

 “I’m gonna miss you, man”

 “I’ll miss you too, shadow boy who is now, finally, making friends, getting a boyfriend and becoming a human man.”

  Mark let out a good-humoured groan.

  “Stop being weird!”

  “I can’t help it, I’m your shadow, I’m supposed to be like you, remember?”

  “Shut up.”

  Mark was still smiling. He really was gonna miss this.

  “You better get going Mark, you’re already running late.”

  Mark’s smile faded.

  “I know that.”

   Mark’s eyes filled with tears again. He felt another tingling in his chest, likely the last he would ever feel. Shapey was there. But he wouldn’t always be. The tears started to fall; the tingling became warmer.

  “I don’t want to say goodbye.”, Mark pleaded.

  The words showed up gently at the wall:

  “But we have to.”

  “Goodbye Mark, thanks for existing with me”

  “This is where you say goodbye now.”

  But Mark couldn’t say anything, he could only sob.

  “Okay, last time, for real.”

  Shapey enveloped Mark in warm darkness, until his sobs quieted down.

  “I love you buddy.”

  “I love you too”

  “See you someday”

  As Mark finished reading the words on the wall, he felt a biting cold but also a sense of hope, he hoped they would be true, he hoped someday he would see Shapey again. Shapey reverted to his normal form and flashed a thumbs up. Mark gave him a smile as the shadow on the wall disappeared, making way to simple, uninterrupted sunlight.

  Mark looked around in his mess of a now empty-feeling room. He’d better start getting ready for his date, he couldn’t show up in pyjamas and a crying face. As he went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, he felt the underlying absence of his shadow trailing behind. It would be okay. He felt scared. Nevertheless, he was whole. Even if scared, he would grow, it’s what Shapey had thought him. Even darkness could be warm.

In this world, shadows aren’t simply an absence of light, but living entities with minds of their own. They can choose to follow or desert their owners, leading to unforeseen circumstances. Today, for the first time ever, you wake up to find your shadow gone.

[feefivefoe]

I guess I'm unintentionally working my way up the age ladder, so Jason next-

This is the first part that contains backstory stuff I gave my reader, so unfortunately this is where a lot of the "they can be anyone" immersion dies, sorry y'all.

Genuinely, he thought he might hate you at first. Even at the preteen age of 12, where children were usually trying to start striving to independence, you had been so...bland.

It's not that you didn't stand out. Quite the contrary. Anywhere Alfred could be found, you were just a step or two behind him. A leech. Only ever speaking in a hushed voice, making the old man strain himself to hear you, surely.

He doesn't think you've ever even looked him in the eye.

It isn't until that summer he starts connecting the dots. You still cling to long sleeved shirts, pants over shorts, even when it's clear you're struggling to not overheat.

Then he catches you in the kitchen in the middle of the night, t-shirt and pajama shorts.

Burn marks, healed yet gruesome, decorate your arms and legs. Based on how they're positioned, he'd argue they probably exist on the rest of your body, too.

And yet, despite his invasion of what you clearly(?) wanted kept hidden, you merely bow your head in shame and offer a meek apology.

That's when he stops seeing you as a problem, but as a victim of consequence.

Not a bratty child who doesn't care enough about the lower class to speak to your new 'sibling,' but a lonely child who had never even once considered he might want to speak to you.

"Mister Wayne and Mister Grayson are very busy." You had said once, matter of factly rather than bitter or sad. "I'm sure they'd spend time with me if they weren't. But they have two lives, so they have less time than anybody."

He doesn't have the heart to tell you that they make time for him. And the rest of Gotham.

As you do with Alfred, you begin to shadow him. Meandering behind him without a care as to what his plans are, happy to receive the barest of acknowledgments.

You hesitate when speaking about yourself, as though taking up his time with mentions of you is an issue. He's starting to understand why.

Jason isn't sure if it's pity or growing affection that keeps him around, at first. For a while, he sees you as more of a sad, wet dog than as his family.

But you begin to connect with peers at school, finding validation outside of those that feel forced to give it to you. You mature, grow up more than you should, and realize the reality of your home life.

And Jason is thrilled! ...and...a little sad? He's happy for you, sure. Having friends is probably what you needed. People who want you around, genuinely. Who choose to make time for you.

But he'd be lying if he said that the way you used to stare at him didn't make him feel like a hero. Like he was doing so much, changing your world, simply by existing.

You still speak, of course. You're friendly siblings that get along well. You give him various foods you've tried making, courtesy of Alfred inspiring a desire to learn to cook and bake on your own. You talk about books you've read together, and listen intently while he rambles about his favorites.

You even peek in after particularly rough patrol nights, just to make sure he's gotten through it okay.

But it isn't...quite the same. No, but it's...it's for the best.

And he is still a hero! As Robin, he's protecting the whole city alongside Batman!

So he's still a hero.

He's still your hero.

"Jay? I was wondering if I could ask you for some help. The show my club is doing is one of those old books you like-"

"They aren't that old."

"-and my character doesn't show up much in the movie-"

"You watched the MOVIE before reading the book!?"

"-so I wanted to ask if you'd help me with characterization!"

He remembers groaning at you and rolling his eyes. "I'm busy tonight. Go watch the dumb, BAD, movie again." He pauses. "Uh, but I can tomorrow. I'll make sure I don't have anything planned, promise."

He saw you pause, and sees the constant same promises pass through you.

"I...have other arrangements. I'll make it up to you next time."

"Ah...sorry, kiddo! Big kid stuff. But next time! You trust your big bro, yeah?"

But this is Jason. Jason doesn't lie to you.

Jason keeps his promises.

You smiled. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

...

Then he died.

[occasionalsnippets]

I’m curious about Tim and MC’s relationship.

Like, is Tim grateful for the fact that MC took care of him?

Does he know that MC took his shifts as Robin so he wouldn’t deal with B’s bad days/nights?

Does he know that Jack and Janet didn’t really like MC?

How much does he resent Jack and Janet?

How does he bond/show his love for his sibling?

Also, how would the members of the Batfam bond with MC? (Before and After Damian snitched)

And what do the Batfam think of MC?

- Storm.Anon

Focusing on just Tim for this! Send another ask for other Batfam members owo because I do want to individually dig into each relationship.

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations

Their relationship is both less complicated and more complicated than it should be. On one hand, you’re Tim's older sister-caretaker-parental figure-best friend- who can’t be categorized neatly into any singular category. On the other hand, none of those categories matter when you are the person he trusts more than anyone else in the world. More than he trusts himself.

Your parents do not hate you. You were an accident (huge, immensely big, giant accident) but they do care for you in some nebulous, difficult to discern, rich-people kind of way. They give you all the money you could want. They teach you the rules of high society and how to deal with the company. They try. Sometimes.

In many ways, you are their protege and student before a lot of things but you are still your mother’s child. A reflection of Janet Drake in every way that matters with a mind like a steel trap and a mouth that murmurs sweet poison. It is one of the main things Tim notes as a child when he thinks of you and mother.

The biggest mark against your parents, really, is the neglect. Their children weren’t their number one priority and both you and Tim knew. They could be worse. They could be better. C+ parenting all around.

Tim’s view on Jack and Janet are a bit fickle? Inconsistent? Complicated? He had wished for a very long time when he was younger for them to come home more often but he never really processed the whole situation until you forced everyone to get therapy. There’s quiet sadness in his feelings about his parents but not really resentment, not like you.

Not that those feelings have anywhere to go anymore. Both of you still grieved during their funerals.

Tim gives you gifts on mother and father's day and overtime the message written in the cards attached get longer and sillier. He still remembers the stillness of your initial reaction when he first presented you with a card.

He hadn't really noticed how much you did behind the scenes until he got older and realized you were internalizing a hell of a lot of things. His early days of existence are marked by your ever encompassing presence in his life. His parents leave. You stay. You always stay even as he digs himself into the pit that is becoming Robin.

He can always rely on you. If there is any truth in his life then it is that you will always be there for him. So, when you tell him with dark shadows cast upon your face that he shouldn't go out as Robin tonight, he accepts with minor protests.

You keep detailed reports on patrol to keep everyone updated when you're filling in as Robin and the ones from Tim's early days are... rough. Tim reads them because of course he does, and talks with you about it. A lot. You insist that he shouldn't have to deal with Batman because Tim is like 13 and Tim keeps saying that he chose this. So, the two of you compromise on it. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

No one else really reads the old patrol reports. What happens during the early days stays between you and Tim and Bruce. Tim thinks Bruce still feels guilty about it, about both him and you.

Tim shows affection for you the same way you show affection. He'll go to company meetings in your stead. He learns to cook and bring meals to you when you're too busy. He orders materials for your hobbies whenever he notices you're running out.

Your relationship is not immune to normal sibling shenanigans though. You yell, you fight, he stands a centimetre away from the entrance of your room for no apparent reason, the two of you want to kill each other sometimes because "mother and father always liked you better-" and "I never wanted to raise you-"

You and Tim are so crazily co-dependent even if it isn't obvious. You're a bit less dependent than he is but you've also revolved your life around him and everything you do is basically for him so how true that statement is can be debated.

Sometimes you think you need him in order to be allowed to exist. There is no role for you except in reference to him, to your little brother who you'd give the world to.

Tim literally doesn't know how he'd survive or live without you. You taught him unconditional love. You're his favourite person. You've always protected him. He can't fathom the idea of existing without you.

You're impossible to separate from him and him from you. Aren't the two of you one and the same? Where does one end and the other begin? Who is he if not a reflection of you and who you raised him to be?

Alsjfjak so yeah. The Siblings. Them.

[hisui-dreamer]

Hihi Rinna! Saw the cool event and I would like to request a bouquet ⁠\⁠(⁠･⁠◡⁠･⁠)⁠/ daffodils, rhododendrons and a few cherry blossoms, please send it to Lilia, Jamil and Jade!

everlasting mementos

Characters: Lilia, Jamil and Jade

Synopsis: you've left twisted wonderland, leaving behind a simple bouquet of flowers for him as a parting gift

Tags: heavy angst (disco wants suffering y'all), no happy endings, bad vibes all around, farewells

Word count: 976

Notes: hooboy this one was depressing ヘ⁠（⁠。⁠□⁠°⁠）⁠ヘ hope you enjoy the pain!!

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

daffodils: please don't forget me

rhododendrons: red ones symbolise tremendous grief

cherry blossoms: scattering, fleeting moments

Lilia casts a spell on your flowers to make them everlasting, keeping them by his bedside table his gaze is always drawn to it every time he walks into his room, and he’s reminded of all the memories you’ve shared together

he’s become used to saying farewells, having gone through the pain of losing his dearest friends and countless comrades in the war

he’s long learned that life will always move on, and whether or not you move along with it isn't a choice you get to choose

tries to act as normal, but everyone can tell he’s not energetic as usual

silver and malleus offer to spend more time with him so he won’t feel too lonely, and sebek even watches his mouth to not accidentally upset him

he’s incredibly grateful to everyone for being so considerate, but there’s no stopping the dull ache in his heart

every time he’s in the kitchen, he hears your panicking voice echoing in his ears, scolding him for another misdemeanour

or your squeals of surprise when he pops down from the ceiling to give you a kiss

you've really left a mark on this old fae...

Lilia tenderly caressed the flowers, tears welled in his eyes, tracing silent paths down his cheeks. He knew his time with you was limited, that you would always go back to your world and never return. He knew that nothing would last forever, but he just hoped he could have spent a little more time without you.

"How foolish am I...," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. "To dare to hope for a different ending. One without goodbyes."

Amidst the flickering candlelight, he found himself enveloped in memories of your presence. "The world feels so much dimmer without you," he confessed, his words laden with longing and regret.

Jamil wanted to throw out the flowers but he couldn't bear parting with the last thing you left behind for him

he ends up turning them into pressed flowers, making a tiny pendant with them so he can keep you close always

Jamil, like he's done most of his life, decides to bottle up his feelings and go about his day as usual

but everyone in scarabia can tell he's snappier and a lot more tense than usual

even kalim, who's been trying his best not to upset or trouble jamil

on late nights, when he's all alone with his thoughts, he pulls up your old voice recordings, unable to fight the urge to hear your voice

he replays them tirelessly until every sentence is etched into his memory

the comfort they once provided now only serves to amplify his frustration, a mere reminder of your absence

he had resigned himself to a life in the shadows, but then you came into his life and for the first time in forever he let himself hope for a brighter future but now...

he wants to be mad at you for giving him this false hope, but he can't even stand the thought of being mad at you, he's just mad that he let himself hope again

still, he doesn't regret a single second he spent with you

The sound of your voice from the recording dwindled into the hushed night, and with it, the floodgates of his emotions burst open, and he collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down his face.

"It's not enough," he whispered between sobs, clutching the device tightly in his trembling hands. "Just hearing your voice... it's not enough."

He yearned to see your smile, to feel your warmth beside him once again. "You gave me so much hope," he choked out, his voice breaking with emotion. "That maybe, just maybe, we could have been happy."

Jade keeps the bouquet of flowers you gave him, propagating them so they'll always thrive by his side, making sure to care for them so he'll always have the last gift you give him

each time he tends to them, he talks to them as if they're you, telling them about his day, what shenanigans floyd has gotten into, how well his mushrooms have been growing...

he never leaves without wishing for your happiness, because that thought eases the ache in his heart slightly

on the outside, he acts unaffected and you really wouldn't be able to tell he's upset at all

but floyd and azul can tell, it's clear as day to them just how devastated he is

azul lets him have more free time, cutting his shifts shorter so he can go on hikes or take care of his terrariums, any activities to cheer him up

but even those activities fail to lighten his mood, because he's constantly reminded of his memories with you

him taking care of your wound after you'd tripped and injured your knee, you excited to show him the new mushroom dish you've been working on, the subtle stares and smiles the two of you exchanged at school...

there are traces of you littering every corner of his heart...

As Jade passed by a familiar hiking spot, the very place where countless moments were shared between the two of you, bittersweet memories flooded his mind. He sank to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath.

How was it possible that you were only in his life for a short period, yet your absence felt unbearable? How had you managed to leave such a profound impact on him, with every little thing now serving as a painful reminder of your absence?

"I just... wish to see you again..." he whispered to the empty trail, his voice choked with sorrow. "What can I do... to make this feeling go away?"

Masterlist

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[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 2 / next.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader (You), Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, emetophobia, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. You, on the other hand, aren't interested in discussing your ex-best friend; you're much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support so far. So many of y'all have been so sweet :') Comments and reblogs are love.

Monday came, and you’d forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, you almost forgot your essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—you’d also forgotten if you’d taken your pills before you left for school.

You crinkled your nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. You flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, you’d definitely forgotten to take your pills. However, on your list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so your day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that you should spend at least five minutes every morning changing your ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking your meds was imperative to your mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; you were killing it. 

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. 

You lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows. You peered through the mass of shoulders in front of you and cupped your hand over your eyes. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: you realized. They were claw marks. 

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling. 

Awful, you quickly corrected yourself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches. You chewed on your bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but Beacon Hills was a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, on the other hand, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on the occasional unaccompanied support animal. Still, you doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges. 

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while you were lost in your own head. You managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing your airpods into your ears, you turned up the volume on your phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of your mind. Oh my. 

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention. 

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention. 

You grabbed your chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from your locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into your crowded arms.

Positive: You hadn’t gotten the chance to organize your notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor. 

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, you crouched down and gathered your notecards into a messy heap. You stretched across the scuffed tile for your highlighters; one brushed past your fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. You glanced up, apology ready, but your tongue went cottony when you locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but you supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe. Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. You understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating.

Lydia was…sublime. That was the only word for it. She was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of your eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest you could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with you, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over your copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like you were just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like you were a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. You watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was your best friend. 

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, you wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality to a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water turned cold and shampoo stung your eyes. After the funeral, you could taste decay in your conversations, in your silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. You saw the end coming weeks before you stopped speaking, and you didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either.

On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She’d always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. You made her human; that must have been the problem. You were babies together. You were more than family. Now, you sat across from each other in a class you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, and you did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

You snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like you could force your body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to your skin. You darted your gaze across the hall and almost snorted when you saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side in the span of no more than thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her. 

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; you could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating. 

You resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and you frowned. Glancing up, your frown cemented when you saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that you still had his sweatshirt wadded on your desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

You nodded and shut your locker with your elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in your arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

You stared intently at your notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.” 

You glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.” 

“So it is a thing.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under your arms.

You refused to feel grateful, even as you readjusted your grip on your cards and freed one of your hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. You met his gaze and smiled, quick and sickly-sweet, before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

You ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind you. You wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have your books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, you focused your itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of your desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to you—without permission. You changed your mind; he was annoying. 

Stiles scooted the desk closer to yours with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for you. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

You sighed heavily and lined your pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” you grumbled, low in your throat, and scowled at your picked-apart cuticles like they had done you a particular disservice. 

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” you finally turned around in your seat to face him at the accusation. 

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. You deflated a little; you’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. You snatched your books off of his desk before your lives could become further entangled and replied flatly,  “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky,  “I’m a good guy like that.”

You tapped your pencil against your chin, eraser side up, and cocked your head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and you were a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind you. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” 

“Sorry,” you grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

You turned to get a better look at him and didn’t mask the doubt in your eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s homeplanet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.  

You folded your arms over your chest and leaned back against your seat, “Have you even talked to her?” 

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

You just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” you pulled a face. You weren't sure if you were referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a guy out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of your desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of your pens careening towards the edge.

You caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” You returned the pen to its rightful place between your pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. You straightened your row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of your locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” you bristled. After a long exhale, you crumpled in on yourself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Your brows scrunched, and your eyes went lidded as you flipped through your mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.” 

You were startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before you could deny such blasphemy, you were distracted by the boy who usually sat next to you—Greg something, you were pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between you and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler. 

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and you wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch. 

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom. 

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of your face.

You smirked slightly at your notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of your notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. You added a long feathered tail to your bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. You both watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” you shook your head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles clicked his pen aggressively with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before you could succumb to your base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth. 

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed everyone to turn their essays in. 

You hastily wrote your name across the top of your paper and pointedly kept your eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” you interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but you’d worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all your teachers. 

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” you jotted down the daily prompt in your notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.” 

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and you were pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

You opened your mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of you. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers. 

 “Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott you gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

You were distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind you. Her jaw could cut glass. You dropped your chin onto your folded arms and refused to let yourself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life. 

Lydia was…prickly, so you were just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, you thought as you risked a peek over your shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over you, and you found yourself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until you remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault. 

“Hey.” You flinched when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You reluctantly shifted in your chair so that you could see Allison. You just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” You blinked and licked your dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on your desk that you’d missed during your lengthy period of dissociation. You kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under your breath.

Allison looked at you for a moment, and you didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.” 

You could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. You felt that ugly feeling slip into your mouth again, bitterness coating your tongue, and you wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle. 

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around your neck. 

A heavy pendant rested just over your sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. You weren’t sure exactly what it was made of; your mother never said when she gave it to you, and you never asked. It didn’t matter much now. 

“Thanks,” you finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and you were a normal person. Mostly. You swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of your bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” You did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. You would wear it yourself if you didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid. 

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and you quashed the sigh rising in your throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

You didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, you scraped up a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” You felt a dizzying heat crawl up your neck to your ears once you realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for you before you turned around. Damn. You liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. You almost wished that Stiles was still pestering you so that you had a real reason to be upset—until you finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. You flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions? 

Positive: At least, you found a legitimate excuse to sulk. 

Negative: You felt a migraine coming on. 

Blessedly, whatever Scott had said to Stiles at the beginning of class was distracting enough to keep his, frankly obsessive, focus on him for the rest of first-period. You were even able to finish the final essay question without interruption—which was plenty difficult without being interrogated about your ex-best friend. You almost scoffed when you read the prompt: Whom do you sympathize with more, Gregor or his family? Who in their right mind would side with a pathetic parasite who couldn’t love anyone more than he hated himself? An uncomfortable, undeniable pang of melancholy sliced through your throat, and you were actually grateful for the distraction when the bell rang for second period and you had to pack up for chemistry. 

The impending chemistry midterm, however, was evidently a touch too distracting because you didn’t notice that you’d regained your lanky shadow until you were in Mr. Harris’s classroom and he stole the flashcard in your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned across the lab table and rocked onto your tiptoes. Your outstretched arm shook as you struggled to even brush your fingers against the cardstock, “I haven’t talked to her in years. Lurk elsewhere.”

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it again, head bobbing helplessly for a moment, “I was just going to ask you about…Gregor. That last question was a real piece of work, huh.”

You plucked the card out of his grasp while he was distracted by his social ineptitude, “Uh huh.” 

“Scout’s honor,” Stiles placed his hand over his chest and somehow made his big eyes rounder. His pink bottom lip jutted out ever-so slightly, but the quivering at the edges of his mouth gave him away. Sighing, he leaned his weight onto his palm: flat against the tabletop, fingers spread, and far too close to your own. He gestured erratically with his other hand, and you jerked back to avoid being smacked in the face. “Personally, I’m on Grete’s side. I mean, you can only take care of your werebug brother for so long without some kind of recognition before you snap.” Stiles shot a pointed look over his shoulder at his friend from first-period, and you thought the glare Scott returned was well-deserved. You could be biased, but probably not. 

“He was a little preoccupied by being, y’know, a bug.” You shuffled your notecards and frowned pensively at the question that ended up on top of the stack: What is the formula for Calcium acetate?  

“He could’ve said thank you in Morse code.” Stiles looked over your shoulder and added, “C4H6CaO4.”

You flipped the card over and pursed your lips. He was right. “I actually said the same thing,” you admitted begrudgingly as you grabbed the next flashcard from the pile. “Not the Morse code bit, that’s objectively insane. I did say that the best thing he did for her was die.”

“Damn.” Stiles’s forehead wrinkled as he let out a puff of air, “A little harsh.”

You picked at your raw cuticles and wished you could pull your bottom lip over your head. “It’s like you said,” you muttered as you folded your arms firmly over your chest, ducking your chin towards the divot in your breastbone, “she could only deal with his depressed bullshit for so long before she got on with her life and made new, sane, non-insect friends who actually go outside, and have fun at parties, and respond to texts.” You paused and remembered that you needed air to function when your lungs started to burn. Exhaling shallowly, you pressed your calves against the stool’s frigid legs until it hurt. Maybe, if you crushed your limbs together tightly enough, curled in on yourself closely enough, you could disappear. “And don’t, y’know, crawl on the ceiling and projectile vomit Exorcist style,” you finished weakly.

Stiles studied you for a moment, and it was like he could see every painfully tender spot inside you. You felt ants crawling underneath your skin and him seeing you, and you wanted to bolt before you came completely unstitched at the seams. “Well,” he trailed off for a moment, rubbing the back of his head, “in all fairness, being there…that’s kind of the deal when you’re friends—even if they turn into a disgusting bug.” You didn’t know that someone so caustic could sound so gentle, like ink running across paper.

“Siblings.” You swallowed and looked away from his unyielding gaze, but you still saw amber and understanding every time you blinked. “You mean siblings.”

“Sure.” Stiles smiled a little and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “Siblings.”

You swallowed again, couldn’t even manage a ‘see'ya’ or an eyeroll when he saluted you goodbye, and watched him saunter towards his seat next to Scott through your lashes with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You felt a little sick once you realized that you weren’t relieved by his absence. It was all you’d wanted at the beginning of his inquisition, and yet…you wanted him to sit next to you. The epiphany struck you right in the stomach, and you felt a bit like one of your dad’s rare butterflies—tissue paper wings pinned to paper, fervently yearning to fly away, even if it meant ripping yourself apart. 

Normally, you thoroughly enjoyed not having a lab partner. The class had an odd number of students, and Mr. Harris either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that you never joined another pair during labs. It was a toss-up, considering he seemed to loathe his job as much as he loved devoting his undivided attention to mocking Stiles. Speak of the bifocal-ed Devil. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” the contempt in Mr. Harris’s voice was sickeningly viscous. You imagined mucus dripping from his thin lips; it helped quell some of the righteous anger in your gut. He continued, and now he was spitting up slugs and snot, “If that’s your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while. I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

“No–” Stiles’s jaw hung open as he shook his head violently. 

Mr. Harris silenced him with a glare, and your fingers curled into your palms as you watched the condescension gloss over his smirk when Stiles complied. Your jagged, bitten-down nails pinched your skin; you quickly flattened your hands on top of the table before you did something stupid like draw attention to yourself. It was none of your business, after all, and you had a test to prepare for. 

You stared at your notes, reread the same sentence over and over again without comprehending a single word, until you felt the uneasy sensation of someone sneaking up behind you.

“Hey,” Stiles sat down on the empty stool next to you and kicked at your shoe lightly under the table. You hummed in recognition and slid your textbook over to make room for his things. 

Stiles’s face scrunched as he flipped through his own notes. You couldn’t read most of it—not that you were looking; his hand-writing was just glaringly atrocious. Everything was smooshed together and most of the letters were partially incomplete, like his pencil couldn’t keep up with his brain. You looked back at your own notebook, at the meticulously symmetrical loops and compulsively straight lines, and the corner of your mouth curled into a brief smile. 

The quiet was nice, but you couldn’t shake the irritation sticking to your fingers. You tapped your pencil against your notebook a few times, bit down on the inside of your cheek, and then said, “He’s a dick.” You spoke quietly, but Stiles still flinched. The highlighter in his hand left a long yellow streak across his textbook, and you winced. Truthfully, you were equally startled that you’d voluntarily broken a perfect moment of silence. 

Stiles didn’t seem bothered by the new mark permanently defacing his book, most likely because a good portion of the glossy pages were already more yellow than they were white. He angled his chin towards you and smirked, “Are you legally allowed to call a teacher a dick? Y’know, as the resident teacher’s pet.” 

You grinned at your notes, “I have the utmost authority, actually.”

Stiles leaned forward onto his forearms and struggled to keep his mouth impassive, “Oh, yeah?”

A loud, grating squeal of metal on tile and an even louder yelp interrupted your reply. A girl near the front of the classroom shot up out of her seat, almost sending her stool toppling to the ground, and then bolted towards the window overlooking the parking lot, “I think they found something!” 

Mr. Harris quickly lost control of the classroom as the rest of the class surrounded her, practically pressing their stupefied faces against the glass to get a better look at what, or rather whom, the EMTs were wheeling out of the thicket of trees just beyond the school’s perimeter. You hesitated for a moment before joining the stragglers. Morbid fascination dwindled after you were confronted with the reality of it—you weren't in any rush to see another dead body. 

You weren't ever supposed to actually see the photos; they were strictly evidence for the potential arson investigation. The coroner didn’t even want your dad to see the body. There hadn’t been any point, after all; it was completely unidentifiable. At the time, you thought it would help. You thought peeking at the case file while the Sheriff was on the phone might remind you of some crucial detail, hidden in the depths of your blackout—and, well, you thought it might finally make it real. Maybe, if you saw the proof, you’d finally believe that your mom wasn’t coming back. 

You’d been wrong, of course. Seeing what was left of your mom, seeing her like…that, it’d just made you puke. Your whole body had trembled from the retching, and then you were paralyzed, held hostage by a glacial streak of terror. Sheriff Stilinski had been so terribly understanding about the whole thing, like it was nothing: vomit on his office floor, trembling hands invading his private files. He’d just wiped the corners of your mouth with a tissue and rubbed your upper back in slow circles, just like her your mom did when you were sick—which ultimately sent you into another round of dry-heaving. You never felt the temptation to look again. 

You let out a deep breath when you looked out the window and saw the man on the gurney twitch. His jacket and pants were black, and his shirt was charcoal gray, dark enough to hide any blood stains. The only injury you could make out was a large gash on his face; it was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a sticky red trail from his jaw to his neck. Your grip on your forearms tightened as your stomach lurched. 

The paramedics began to load the gurney into the ambulance, and the man surged forward without a single warning. His screams were raw, like they’d been ripped from his throat along with the flesh on his cheek, and every single one of the students crowded against the windows recoiled from the wailing. You swallowed the bile burning your throat. It was like they were watching their own, personal horror movie and couldn’t decide if they were more exhilarated or horrified—just itching for the jump scare. 

You stumbled back towards the door and bumped into Stiles and Scott. Stiles gripped your arm gently until you regained your footing.

“That’s not a rabbit,” Scott said under his breath. He looked as queasy as you felt.

“Or a cat,” you added quietly.

“But he’s alive,” Stiles nudged Scott a little, “that’s good, right? Dead guys can’t do that.”

Scott still looked like he was going to hurl all over Stiles’s white Vans, and you felt a flutter of sympathy. The only thing worse than puking was doing it in front of other people. “You might want to take him somewhere,” you spoke softly to Stiles. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded a little and wrapped an arm around Scott’s rigid shoulders, “good call.” 

His eyes darted around the classroom: big, and brown, and frantic—like a lost fawn. You nodded towards the dark corner Mr. Harris was dissociating in, “I’ll cover for you.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled a little, but he looked weary down to his bones as he started shuffling Scott towards the door. 

“Yeah,” your smile was a bit wobbly at the edges, “but only ‘cause I get a sick thrill out of fucking with dicks.” 

Your weak attempt to ease some of the tension in the air was semi-successful; Scott was still staring into another dimension, but Stiles looked positively giddy at the prospect of such a perfect setup. “I have, just, so many thoughts on that, but I’ll save them for after Scott—” he gave Scott a long look and scratched the back of his buzzed head, “gets his blood sugar up.”

It was sweet, you thought as you watched Stiles guide Scott into the hallway, lying to spare Scott’s pride. You thought Stiles would be a better liar, but maybe that was the downfall of being raised by a police officer. It was either that or the general social impotence. Not that you had much room to talk; silence was your preferred method of social interaction. 

The classroom was far from silent now. Students were spread out across the room in little clumps. Some spoke in furious whispers. Others weren’t as discreet, and you could hear every single preposterous word that left their mouths. The amount of sophomores who didn’t know that the California grizzly bear went extinct almost a century ago was a very depressing glimpse into the public education system, but at least there were only two boys howling obnoxiously at a few giggling volleyball girls. Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and typed ‘Beacon Hills bus attack’ into the search bar. 

You refreshed the webpage obsessively, all throughout chemistry and art class, until an article finally popped up on your screen at lunch. You bit into your slightly bruised apple and squinted at your phone, immensely grateful for the empty courtyard as you came across the grittier details. 

You always ate lunch outside; it was quieter without the echoes of gossip and laughter, and the heady scent of cut grass was far preferable to whatever monstrosity the cafeteria was serving that day. Today, the afternoon heat made the earthy warmth especially thick in the air. Normally, you loved that smell, the smell of summer. It reminded you of frenzied August afternoons, running through Lydia’s sprawling backyard and swinging into brisk lake water, but the smell was quickly becoming suffocating the more you read. 

The man who was attacked was a bus driver. He was smiling in the photo they’d chosen to include before pictures of the crime scene, like a warped ‘before and after’ ad. You dropped your half-eaten apple into your lunch sack and shoved it to the side when you got to the background bits. Garrison Myers had a family, a wife and two daughters; they were praying for his unlikely survival. Your throat hurt, and you wondered if there was an apple chunk lodged in your esophagus. Swallowing hard, you scrolled down to the police interview. The deputy they managed to get a quote from clearly knew next to nothing, though he did posit the possibility of a mountain lion attack. You rolled your eyes. Maybe on PCP. 

The only thing you were sure of was that whatever kind of beast ripped a woman in half and slashed a man to ribbons in the span of a week wasn’t going to stop. At least, not until it was killed.

[childotkw]

Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗

Oh god, this is like picking a favourite child 😅😅 but I'll rank them from most to least

1. Consuming Shadows

This was my first big story back, after I stopped writing for about six years. I was just testing the waters, having fun, and I wanted to play around with a ship I had only really just started consuming content for. It very quickly reignited my passion for writing, and it's blown up in such a way that I had never anticipated. I love the plot, I love the characters, I love Hadrian's progression from snarky but emotionally distant figure to a genuinely warm and loving friend, I love how well I managed to keep the threads of storylines and foreshadowing together, and I love the slow development of Hadrian and Tom's relationship in a way that's believable and does them both justice. The fact that so many people have resonated with it over the years has really left a mark on me, and I'll never forget all the things this story gave me.

2. you belong to me (i belong to you)

This one really was just my 'haha this is for the lolz' story. It was never meant to be popular or as big as it is. I was just fumbling around, wanting to write a cool time travel story, and then I came up with the Twist and it was no longer a joke 😂 I love the dynamics in it, I love Harry's general vibe, I love Orion and his chaos gremlin schtick. I'm still amazed that I came up with the plot twist (like, seriously, I don't think I can ever replicate that). And the fact that this story grew so popular and that so many people have enjoyed what started as my funny lil project overwhelms me in the best way.

3. The Lone Wolf Dies (But The Pack Survives)

In a lot of ways, this was a love letter to Regulus. I'd never really given him much thought as a character, but I fell in love with my interpretation of him. He's incredibly complex, and the future potential of the story really makes me excited.

4. ruination

Again, it's more the potential of this story that makes me love it. I wasn't super comfortable writing for asoiaf, and the fandom makes me...uneasy in a lot of ways. But I greatly enjoy all the ways this story could go. Lucerys intrigues me, and my interpretation of his character is especially fun to think about. I want to explore the slow but fundamental shift in a character, something that leads to them becoming almost unrecognisable. I love fantasy, and getting to play around in such an immersive world makes me giddy.

5. i don't owe you my forgiveness

It's only one chapter at the moment, but I really really really love the concept of soulmate rejection and the bitterness that is sown by Tom's hasty actions. The inherent power imbalance - originally in Tom's favour and then very dangerously in Harry's - is one dynamic I can't wait to sink my teeth into.

[wooyoong]

🧸 freya's recent bts reads (& recs)

disclaimer : there's atleast one fic for each member, but i am yet to widen my spectrum, so you will find less vmin + jin fics. that also doesn't mean i don't like reading them, lol.

note : fic titles labelled with a * mark are series. minors please stay away, strictly. almost all fics here are 18+ !!

— also, i am @sugarwithtea 😭 incase you wanted to check out my writing blog then.

KIM SEOKJIN

* 9 months to fall in love by @floralseokjin (s2l, accidental pregnancy au, 18+)

It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in.

Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it.

Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you �� in a very unescapable way…

* For Love & Money by @jimlingss (s2l, forced marriage au)

For love, you foolishly lied to yourself. For money, you married a stranger.

MIN YOONGI

* Till Death Do Us Part by @colormepurplex2 (e2l, arranged marriage au, mafia au, 18+)

Marital bliss isn't always a guarantee, especially when you find yourself marrying into the family responsible for your own family's demise. Sometimes, marriage is just a game of kill or be killed. Even when there is love involved, bullets still hurt.

Sinful Lust by @oddinary4bts (ft. jungkook, threesome au, 18+)

in an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating...

* The Truth Between Us by @jimlingss and @gukyi (e2l, multiple aus, 18+)

a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

* Playing With Fire by @/chanyeolly (ao3) (e2l, idol au, 18+)

Yoongi hates you. Or at least, he thinks he does.

AKA

Y/N works for BigHit and Yoongi is bad at dealing with his feelings.

JUNG HOSEOK

Brevity (But Most Often Not) by @threeletterslife (ft. jimin, s2?, psychopath hoseok)

All your life, you've been with guys who didn't bother to read the news or appreciate the art form of journalism. But Hoseok... Even the way he carefully chooses his words is a sign that you and he are a match. If only he weren't in a dilapidating psychiatric hospital. Then maybe you'd have a proper boyfriend who treated you right for once.

* Arranged by @obiwrites (ao3) (arranged marriage au, 18+)

If you thought entering an arranged marriage with the person you love would be a dream, you were in for a rude awakening. Jung Hoseok was far from the doting husband you’d dreamed of and most of it could be chalked up to the fact that he was in love with his best friend. And you are without a shadow of a doubt, not her.

But what happens when Hoseok starts to realize he doesn’t want you to be her? That there might be more than meets the eye with you?

Fake Love by @aquaminwrites (e2l, fake dating au, 18+)

Every year, your family spends the holidays at your parents’ cottage in the country. Freshly single and not wanting to be picked apart by your family for being alone, you decide to recruit one of your friends to pretend to be your boyfriend. The only available volunteer? Your brother Namjoon’s roommate, Hoseok. Only problem? He absolutely hates your guts.

* Jungle Park by @jimlingss (coworker au, amnesia au)

The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

KIM NAMJOON

Not Another Holiday Romance by @kpopfanfictrash (s2l, one night stand au, holiday au, 18+)

You, a perpetually alone (and utterly cynical) movie director, are sent to the town of Snow Falls, Middle-of-Nowhere for your latest film assignment. Stuck in holiday hell until the new year, you’re determined to get in and get out with minimal damage to your Grinch reputation. That is, until a ridiculously gorgeous (and young?!) town historian is assigned to help with your film. Suddenly, you find yourself the heroine of one of those corny romances you direct – and are discovering they might not be so corny after all.

* My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold by @daechwitatamic (r2l, college au, 18+)

You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

The Wedding Arrangement by @/sugalights (ao3) / @sugaurora (s2e2l, fwb au, 18+)

You are in love with your best friend, the only man who matters, Kim Seokjin.

Unfortunately, he's just gotten engaged to someone who isn’t you. Even more unfortunately, he expects you to help plan the wedding alongside Kim Namjoon, his other best friend and, based on your first meeting, just another judgemental jerk.

Putting aside your distaste for the sake of your friend’s happiness, you both set about giving Seokjin the wedding of his dreams. Following a rough and satisfying affair at the caterer’s, you strike an unusual deal: you and Namjoon will be enemies with benefits until the wedding is over. And after six months of wedding planning, you both just might learn that weddings aren’t usually the end, but a brand new beginning.

PARK JIMIN

* Maybe Me by @jiminrings (single dad au, s2l)

summary: maybe it’s stupid of jimin to take on everything at once, all by himself. maybe it’s rash of him to book a long-term stay at a luxury hotel, even if it comes with a family discount. but maybe, just maybe, jimin would have nothing to lose and everything to gain if he lets you in.

KIM TAEHYUNG

Always the Bridesmaid by @kookingtae (e2l, holiday au, 18+)

When you first meet Kim Taehyung, you’re determined to find every reason you can to hate him—or maybe he’s just looking for ways to get on your last nerve. But when a turn of events has the two of you working the wedding of the man you’re hopelessly in love with, you’re too late to realize the real reason to hate Kim Taehyung is because of the latest column he’s secretly writing: “Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride”, and it’s all about you.

JEON JUNGKOOK

* Take A Chance by @crystaljins (hanahaki au, coworker au)

You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

on the road (to you) by @cupofteaguk (f2l, road trip au)

as a young adult, one of the strangest revelations is the discovery that peers of yours from past fragile college years are getting married. so imagine your shock and excitement upon receiving a wedding invitation. there are, however, two problems: (1) you are a poor early-20s recently employed adult just beginning to adjust to your 401k plan, and (2) the only available ride to the wedding comes in the form of Jeon Jungkook—friend of a friend, attendee to that aforementioned wedding, and your old college crush. 

Sinful Lust by @oddinary4bts (ft. yoongi, threesome au, 18+)

in an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating...

Accidental Roommates by @jjkeverlast (r2l, single dad au, 18+)

moving apartments is stressful and difficult enough as it is. all the planning and packing and multiple moments of rearranging furniture; all you crave is peace.

yet it seemed like peace was far within reach as the owner of the apartment had left out one tiny crucial detail from the ad — a ripped tattooed adonis, coupled, with a tiny baby daughter will come as your roommate.

Rivers Over Stones by @ichorai (e2l, godparents au, 18+)

you hated jungkook the minute you laid eyes on him. the only reason why he was still in your life was because you both shared a goddaughter, hana. but everything changed unexpectedly when the two of you become her caretakers and you’re forced to live under the same roof. suddenly, you find yourself hating him just a bit less. or more, but who’s keeping track?

* Ego by @suga-kookiemonster (s2l, fwb au, 18+)

what’s a girl to do when her sweet, innocent baby lab partner isn’t quite so sweet and innocent? well, he’s a grown-ass man, and you’re about to learn that the hard way.

🧸 given that a lot of authors are not active, please don't misuse their content! all rights reserved by the respective authors!!

— a bit of these have not been completed by me, leading to no feedback yet but i know these are good haha!

[kittyscabin]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[mengyan]

i had been made into an archer, the shadows suiting me best; you were a sun-bright girl forced into immortality, eternal servitude to chosen sacrifice for the people.

i think the first thing you taught me was absurdity. no one that knew me ever dared— through these years i’d become as much of a man as the rest, and it was rare for someone to think of wanting me. not that you did— did you? did you want me, wen xiao, or did you not think so much and just trusted that i would catch you?

sleep was always restless when it came. the heartbreak in a-heng’s new-blue eyes always marked the end of my dreams, because i was too afraid back then to turn around and see the rest of him. one month was enough to grow sick of my chambers, and i retired only when i could no longer keep my eyes open.

but then: a forest, a sea. fog cleared and the ink of you kissed my palm, calling me awake.

xiao, for daybreak, but if i allowed my tongue to loosen just the slightest— xiao, for you.

was it then that i became unable to see much else? was it then when i started seeking you first in every room, your voice in every pitch, your hands, arms, fingers touching mine— and me racing to reach you before you changed your mind? was it then that my heart wavered, and i thought, perhaps, that the dark wasn’t so lonely after all?

i never intended to keep you. i knew your eyes strayed elsewhere— i always noticed you first, but so did he, and him, and everyone that has ever met you. the fate of a goddess, maybe, to be beloved by all, to spill her love as floods to the people— but i knew you had long found your home in the soul of one. bloodbound by contract, kindred through heart and mind— how often i’d find myself rushing to stand before you only for him to already be there. 

the place by your side was never meant to be filled by me. but wen xiao, i’m no less absurd than you taught me to be. i would pray to a false god if it would make you safer; i would shoot even at the heavens if they tried to take you. flesh and blood is all i can offer you— is it too much to let me shield you with it?

later the worst of winter stole away your beloved, your closest friend, but kept me. still alive, rosy-cheeked and frostbitten on my knees in front of you, but the snow might as well have buried me too. live with me, die with them— and you picked up the dagger.

what does that mean, wen xiao? what am i supposed to do about what that means? you pulled me from the abyss, but am i not worthy enough to do the same for you?

the cold began to cling to me. one by one we lost the best and bravest of us, and i could do nothing to stop it. i thought myself useless, a drag, but you took my hand and said, so earnest, so warm, so thawing— i need you. you wouldn’t lie to me, but how badly i wish it were the truth.

it had been at least four fortnights since i’d ceased being afraid, since the fears in my heart stopped festering. they never disappeared, but i could stare at them head-on now, knowing that what a mortal lacks is only the difference of a body. you said that you thought of me as irreplaceable, and so i believed that’s what i was.

a fool’s tenacity is, perhaps, the strongest of all.

i woke to everyone but three gone, your tears pouring from the skies. he left to him white streaks in his hair, horseback roaming, world seeking; he left to you an age-old vow on paper, in jade, an impermanent parting, a once-more isolation.

and you left to me not even a farewell.

how is it that the demon hunting bureau is fuller than ever yet so grave with silence? how is that what i guard is no longer home to anyone that used to live in it?

i must be going mad, sometimes, to hear bells that no longer ring, bickering that never ends, idioms i’ll never be able to correct; to smell food i’ll never taste again, wine i’ll never get to drink, sulfur from cases unsolved; to see golden eyes, the rustle of notebook pages, the swoop of a brush— and feel the lilt of you, so willing for me to stay.

and so, absurdly, ridiculously, stupidly— i’m still here, wen xiao, and this is how i’ll remain. come and see me just once, and ask me what i asked you. three hundred years in a sundial: was it hard? the rest of my life with only your memory to keep me company— i’ll answer you the same.

don’t you want to know what my big-as-him secret is? i’ll give you a hint: if you see him in the rain, i see you in stone. just as pillars hold up these roofs, this city— the cliff i hung from was too-steep, yet you held me by the soles of my feet, dug yourself into my palms, and said look up, pei-jiejie. dawn has come.

the morning will always return after night. but wen xiao, when will you?

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 11 -- The End!

This is the last part everyone! I may right little snippets after this one if the inspiration strikes, but this is the definitive end to the series.

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

CW: Mentions of death, low self-esteem thoughts, brief vague mention of sex at the end, two kisses

Part One Here

Part Ten Here

At first, they thought he was sick. Jonathan didn’t ever give them a cell phone number, so they couldn’t call and check on him. By Wednesday they drove round for three hours after work, trying to find the neighborhood that housed his apartment, with no luck. By Friday, worry stayed a constant pit in their stomach.

Monday morning brought the news that Jonathan had “transferred” to another in another part of the country. Civilian had to suffer all day through the cloying sympathy of their coworkers. Gloria had even hugged them. Everyone assumed a breakup occurred so horribly awkward that it drove Jonathan to move several hundred miles away a week before the holidays.

For the rest of December, Civilian kept up religiously with the news, looking for something big enough to fit the plans Jonathan had hinted at — massive art theft, large scale arson, hell even a government coup.

There was nothing save for constant Christmas ads that Civilian tuned out.

Eventually they had to accept the truth that Jonathan had just got the fuck out of dodge and didn’t look back. Fine. Civilian knew their ‘relationship’ had an expiration date, that it had never existed in the first place. But they had expected some kind of goodbye, even if it had been a threat to stay quiet — not this slipping away in the dead of night like a ghost.

Maybe his plans fell through and he had to leave before someone else discovered him. Maybe the Agency had found him despite his best efforts and he had to abandon everything. Both scenarios were more likely than the one echoing cruelly in Civilian’s head at night:

That they had driven him away; that he couldn’t take their needy loneliness anymore and bounced.

It’s a thought that hounded them for the next six months, followed them as closely and loyally as their own shadow. As the weeks drifted by, Civilian burrowed further and further inside themselves, rejecting offers from Gloria to eat lunch, rejecting their mother’s requests to call or visit, rejecting drinks after work with the other members of their department.

It wasn’t that Jonathan broke their ability to trust anyone — it was the stubborn, naive belief that if Civilian chose to be alone then they weren’t lonely, that it didn’t count because it was self-imposed, a choice, a preference. And being around other people reminded them so sharply of feeling not alone that they couldn’t handle its absence once the night was over.

The whole thing was ridiculous, and Civilian berated themselves at each night for it. They were acting childish and silly. Jonathan was right: the only thing stopping them from having friends was their own fear. They could find a new job, move to a new city, find a place where Jonathan had never set foot in and build anew.

But they didn’t.

And six months later, the bank went under.

Ironically, the one thing Civilian needed to watch the news for, they had ignored in favor of a Buzzfeed shopping list. Their mom had sent a text with a link to a video and a series of question marks.

Isn’t this your bank????

The video explained how the entire board of directors had been arrested for fraud and embezzlement to the tune of billions.

Billions with a B.

After that number, Civilian’s attention went a little fuzzy. The explanation of the complex series of fund transfers and shell corporations and blah blah blah faded to the background as Civilian tried desperate to work out just how the hell Jonathan made it happen.

Over the weeks, each man screamed his innocence of course, but camera footage and witness testimonies — even ones from the other board directors, all eager to stab each other in the back — denied those claims. Each director passed a psych test with flying colors, despite their protests of their body moving with out their consent. It all looked very much like a bunch of disgustingly wealthy men got caught trying to illegally make themselves even more disgustingly richer.

After a certain point, Civilian could have spoken up about Jonathan, and no one would have believed them anyway.

It was the perfect crime and now Jonathan was walking out there will several billion dollars in his pocket and Civilian . . .

Well Civilian was now out of a job, living off a pathetic severance package, and trying to find a solution to their problem that did not involve moving back in with their mother.

It happened in the middle of the night. The ear-popping pressure of a powerful aura dragged them from sleep. In the soft darkness of their bedroom, they could just make out a shadowy figure looming over them.

In seconds confusion crystalized sharply into fear. Civilian’s hands dove under the pillow for the knife they kept there and yanked it out. Their hand froze in the air, gripped by invisible fingers Civilian knew all too well.

“Did you just pull a fucking knife on me?” The figure asked incredulously.

The familiarity of his voice hit them like a physical ache, like a thumb on a bruise.

“Jonathan?”

The lamp switched on, bathing the room in a dim glow. Civilian squinted and blinked against the sudden light. Standing there, eyebrows raised and dressed in all black, was Jonathan Anderson.

The knife gleamed between them. He glanced between it and Civilian and shook his head.

“You should give me that before you hurt yourself.”

He took the knife gently out of their forcibly relaxed fingers and set it on the nightstand, far out of their reach.

Their chest was a swirling maelstrom of too many emotions to count — joy and fear and anxiety and relief.

But most of all anger.

How dare he just show up after ten months of nothing.

“You should go fuck yourself,” they retorted, sitting up and swinging their legs over the side.

“Awww, Civilian, did I upset you by leaving?” He gave them a mocking frown. “Did you miss me?”

The truth of his words pierced them, sending a hot flush of humiliation up their neck.

“No, I did not miss you, you sick on of a bitch — ”

Jonathan bent down, cupping their face in his hands and cutting them off with a fierce, almost desperate kiss.

“I missed you,” he breathed. “So fucking much.”

Civilian’s heart pounded like thunder in their ears. How often did they daydream this kind of moment happening, and yet now that it was here, they couldn’t help but doubt it. It felt dangerous to believe it.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” they demanded. “For all I know, you could be here to kill me and — and tie up loose ends.”

Jonathan had the gall to laugh. “Where do you think we are — a mobster movie? Do you think I’m going to tie cinder blocks to your legs and throw you off the pier?”

“You wouldn’t need the cinder blocks to make sure I drowned,” they said mulishly. “You wouldn’t even need a pier. You could make me smother myself right now with my own pillow.”

Why they were arguing this, they had no idea. Perhaps stubbornly clinging to the belief that he didn’t care about them protected them from hope. Jonathan’s grin faded into something more somber as he studied them. Then he slowly sank down on one knee before them, putting him at just under eye level.

“Why would I come here to kill you after everything I’ve done to protect you?”

“Protect me? Is that what you calling taking off with no goodbye like I didn’t mean anything?”

“Tell me, Civilian, how suspicious it would have looked if I had stolen all that money and then skipped town? How many people would be scrutinizing the newest hire that suddenly disappeared and anyone who associated with him? How long before the Agency would come sniffing around, looking for someone with my skill-set, and find you and your glorious little secret? Hmm? Tell me.”

Civilian glared at him and his tight, unbeatable logic. How dare he make sense.

“Some warning would have been nice,” they said instead, crossing their arms. “I thought I had — that you ran because — ”

They couldn’t finish the thought, it was too embarrassing. How stupid they had been, obsessing over a silly kiss, when Jonathan was executing such grand larceny on an unheard of scale. Like he had even spared it a second thought.

He gave them a knowing, crooked smile. “You thought I took off because you kissed me and I flipped out.”

“No,” they lied. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” he agreed. “It’s the one thing that made it hard to leave in the first place. And I couldn’t let you know, in case someone did question you. You were my insurance, not my accomplice.”

The one thing that made it hard to leave. Staying angry at Jonathan was getting more and more difficult. Civilian tried to hold onto it, but it slipped through their fingers like an eel.

“So the bank . . .that really was you?” they asked.

This time his smile widened into a full smirk. “Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“Beautiful? It fucked over a lot of people — including me! I’m out of a job now, you prick.”

He shrugged. “People will move on just like they always have. As for you . . .that’s why I’m here.” He reached out and traced the pad of his thumb down their jawline. “To spirit you away.”

Civilian fought and failed to hold back a shiver at the light touch. “You mean kidnap me.”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t volunteer for it,” he said. “You’re being very stubbornly angry with me. You must have missed me quite a bit.”

They swallowed thickly. “I hate you,” they lied.

He smile, soft and gentle, his thumb swiping over their bottom lip. “You wish you did.”

Civilian’s pulse fluttered. They wanted very badly to kiss his thumb, his hand, anywhere they could reach. “And where would you take me?” they whispered instead.

Jonathan turned his hand so the back of his knuckles brushed over their cheekbone. “Where do you want to go? I have more money than God, Civilian. We can go anywhere in the world and disappear and never have to look over our shoulders again. What say you to that?”

“What happens if I say no?”

As tempting as his offer was, they had to ask the question, regardless. His answer determined everything.

“You will never have to see me again,” he said, taking his hand away. “And I will find a way to anonymously give you enough money to do whatever you wish in a way that can’t be traced. With me or without me, you will have the same freedom from the Agency that I do. I had planned for that for a long time.”

Whatever resentment for their months alone evaporated in an instant. This time Civilian took his face in their hands and kissed him, long and fierce.

“Take me to Greece first,” they said. “I want to see the ruins.”

Taglist: @those-damn-snippets@heroes-villains-side-blog@anonymousewrites@follow-me-into-the-fog@sunnyside-world, @rivalriotrenegade@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room@midnightsillusions@villain-obsessed-word-nerd@deflated-bouncingball @pickleking8 @cesspitoflove@to-sneak-away-and-hide@im-a-wonderling@hasel-anne@ghostly-writer@moonknight-s-cumdump@valiantlytransparentwhispers@galactic-squiddo@boomimhere@organizedchaos03@dungeon-roomba@vidiaka@powerflower119 @cbiom @meltedgallium@skevethefool@sarcasticlittlebook@lisapicklemagick@dragonfirephoenixflame, @royalmuffinsworld@sillypeachduck

[totallytobobo]

Get Marked on ☕️☕️

Mark Amor is a 20 year old cat based hybrid who was born and raised in the bustling heart of Hollowcrest. Growing up he was a papa's boy, functioning as Fazil's shadow. As a teenager, he would take up odd jobs to help out his family (more so his dad's workload), he would often tag along to his father's job and took great interest in his tinkering work. Though he was sociable he struggled to make his own meaningful friends, often hanging with his older brother's group who weren't very fond of him. One day while selling newspapers, he was robbed by an older kid. When Mark gave chase, he ended up finding the culprit tripped by another kid who happened to be seated in the alleyway. Mark wanted to thank them for helping, and took them to replace the apple that the kid had dropped while tripping the robber. "Ender", the kid would go on to introduce themselves, "My name is Ender." Their friendship quickly blossomed, and the duo would often be seen together about the city. Their living situations would result in some lonely days, but Mark always looked forward to the next day he would be able to see his friend. However; after 6 years of their friendship, Ender was nowhere to be seen. One day after another. One week after another. One year after another. Mark had grown to miss his best friend.

𖤉

Mark is very expressive and easy to read. He is skilled at masking, and pulling a forced tone or expression seamlessly. He's a very physically affectionate guy, and a big hugger. Though he struggles with confrontation and expressing his deeper emotions with words, he is a smooth charismatic talker, and can easily get on the good side of most people. He'll approach any stranger with this sense of confidence that baffles the more introverted Ender and Melody. Mark wants to please the people around him, and takes pride in maintaining his smile. Mark struggles with communication, and is inexperienced with teamwork which results in his habit of overburdening himself. He has a logical problem solving attitude towards issues, and often tunes out his emotions. Though he's independent and seems to have everything under control, he subconsciously craves reassurance, support, and stability.

[quarantineddreamer]

Jyn Week Day 1: Home

I wasn't sure I was gonna post this, because it's really not my best work. But then again, with the way my brain has been lately not much is! And I wanted to participate and show our girl some love so. Fighting through the perfectionist in me and here's this little thing <3

Though the Rebels had breathed new life into the cave upon their arrival, the network of tight tunnels and sprawling caverns that made up Echo Base had a history that stretched back to a time long before the war. There were stars younger than the stone walls that surrounded them, buried beneath layers of ice so thick, it was unlikely the galaxy would ever uncover the secrets they contained.

It had not taken Jyn long to begin exploring the area, seeking hidden nooks and crannies to which she might escape. Within a week, she had formed a sprawling mental map, memorized the quickest routes to every exit, marked the nearest spaces to duck to when Draven was after her about her latest display of ‘irresponsible/reckless/unacceptable’ behavior–or, when she simply needed quiet. (Which seemed to happen more and more with each passing day spent trapped in this hellhole.)

Tonight, she was bundled in her warmest gear: every thermal layer she possessed, two sweaters, one parka, her hat and scarf, gloves, and four socks pulled one after the other till she could barely squeeze her feet into her boots, much less feel them. 

Clumsiness was the price to pay when you wanted to be up and about at this hour on Hoth–that, or frostbite. It was why, for the most part, no one on Echo Base left their beds after sundown unless they absolutely had to. In temperatures this cold, you’d have to be out of your mind to willingly leave the relative comfort and warmth of your room without very good reason.

Apparently, Jyn was out of her mind, because she’d woken from a dream–the one where the fires of Scarif blinded her one minute, and she was trapped in the cold bunker all alone the next–and crawled out from beneath her blankets. She’d dressed in the dark, moving by instinct more than anything, her skin itching and heart racing as the walls seemed to press closer and closer. Before she’d fully realized what she was doing, she had found herself fumbling by the dim yellow cast of a lantern to a place well-beyond the boundaries of Echo Base.

It would have been all too easy to take a wrong turn–and subsequently freeze to death trying to find her way back–but her body had taken care of her when her mind could not. Before too long she had arrived at a vaguely familiar antechamber, small and circular, with smooth, curving walls.

As she sat and leaned her back into their hard surface, it felt as though she were being held in the palm of some ancient, mysterious being. She took in her surroundings like someone waking up from a dream. Why had her instincts guided her here? 

Then she felt it: air, fresh air; the barest of hints of it brushing across the tip of her nose and suddenly it all made sense. She closed her eyes and drew it deep into her lungs–holding it for a moment with the gratitude of someone reuniting with a long lost friend–before releasing a slow, careful breath. It lingered in the air before her–the ghost of a scared and lonely girl—a swirling cloud of mist, glowing purple. 

Heart in her throat, Jyn lifted her eyes, seeking the source of the strange light. High above her, the chamber’s ceiling of ice and rock gave way, revealing an incredible sweep of night sky, dancing with color. Wind whistled across the opening of the cave…waves whispered upon a black-sanded shore…

“What are they, Mama?”

Her mother’s amused hum tickled at her back. “The Force paints a path home for those that are lost, my love.”

Jyn squirmed beneath the blanket, trying to find her father’s face amidst the orange, flickering shadows of the bonfire. “What are they really, Papa?” 

Mama’s head rested beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them both, a shield from the wind. He gave her a smile; her favorite kind, the kind he gave her when he asked if she could keep a secret. “You don’t believe your mother?”

Jyn didn’t think her question had anything to do with belief, she simply wanted to know. Mama often told her stories about the Force; stories about love and anger, light and dark, and the threads that tied the world together–just like the ones her favorite blanket was made of. But Papa told her stories too; stories like what kind of soil made the plants on the farm grow, or why her skin turned red after too much time in the sun, or how to fix Stormy when his arm fell off. Mama’s stories were stories she saw and felt on the inside, while Papa’s were ones she held in her hands. But they were both a part of her, pieces she carried with her wherever she went. 

She studied the sky again, following the splashes of purple and green and blue as they wove their way between clusters of stars. She wondered what it would feel like to stand on one of the rippling bands of light; tried to imagine stepping one foot after the other across the horizon as her mother had described. Maybe it would be warm, like sand in the sun, or maybe it would be more like waves lapping at her feet, cold and tingly. 

“A scientist’s daughter through and through,” Mama laughed. “I recognize that look in her eyes…”

Jyn wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by that, but she tore her gaze away from the lights in the sky and turned towards her father instead, ready for his answer.

His skin shimmered green, then blue, and back again, the same colors as the ones that hung in the air above them. “The path your mother spoke of is made of particles, shed by our planet’s suns.”

Jyn frowned at this. “But it’s nighttime.”

“Just because we cannot see something, does not mean it is no longer there,” Papa explained, reaching over to tug the blanket back over her shoulders. “Tonight, the aurora reminds us that the suns have not left us, and they will rise again tomorrow.”

She twisted to face Mama again. “So the suns are the Force?”

“The Force is the suns,” her mother murmured reverently, “and the wind, and the waves, and the sand beneath you. It’s the salt on your tongue when you breathe in and…” she smiled as she poked Jyn’s nose with the tip of her finger, “that means it’s a part of you, and me, and your Papa too.”

Jyn settled into her parent’s arms again and shut her eyes, feeling for the Force her mother spoke of. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. 

But she thought there might be some truth to her parents’ words, because though she could not see them anymore, she could sense them there beside her. The comfort of her mother’s heartbeat under her ear, the warmth of her father’s breath as he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

And if she were to find herself lost and standing amidst the aurora, she felt certain this was where they would bring her.

The colors of the sky began to blur and run together. Jyn wiped roughly at her eyes, urging tears away before they could turn to frost upon her cheek. Hoth was more than a far cry from the beaches of Lah’mu, yet she felt closer to it now than she had in a long time.

“Beautiful,” a voice murmured, echoing quietly off the stone around her. 

Jyn started, turning towards the rasp of footsteps. “Cassian…” Leave it to the spy to find her in the middle of a labyrinth in the dead of night.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked warily, taking one last self-conscious swipe at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

“Not long,” he answered, lingering at the entrance to the cavern.

But long enough… Jyn figured. She heaved a short sigh and returned her gaze to the aurora, an ache in her chest. “There were lights like this on Lah’mu,” she murmured, an explanation of sorts–though Cassian had not asked for one. 

He ducked past the icicle that hung in from the tunnel’s opening and silently came to sit beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own. Though it barely made a difference in a cold this numbing, Jyn found herself drawing comfort from the warmth of his body beside her. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked softly. 

She glanced at him, but he was looking at the lights above, granting her a reprieve from the weight of his stare. “How’d you find me?” she countered. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were serious when they landed on her again. “I went to your room and you weren’t there. For a moment I thought…” he shook his head and took a sudden interest in his boots.

“You thought I’d left?” 

“I didn’t know what to think. I checked the infirmary next.” There was an odd strain to his voice, something she couldn’t quite place. “No one had seen you there either, so I headed towards the perimeter,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I’ve noticed you wander to the edges of Base when you’re trying to avoid Draven.”

“Of course you did,” Jyn remarked. “Then what?”

“I followed the light…” 

“And it led you here…” The memory of her mother’s story–still fresh in Jyn’s mind–began to mingle with words Cassian had once spoken to her. The kyber crystal she wore seemed suddenly heavier than it had a moment ago, a hand resting over her heart. 

She thought of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, even K2. Of all the people who she had gotten to know because of the Rebellion. People who had her back. People who might not understand all of her, but who accepted her nonetheless.

“Hoth is the first time we’ve really slowed down since Scarif,” Cassian said, ignoring her sudden glance at the mention. “I know it can be hard to adjust to life in the Rebellion.”

A tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she replied, catching a ripple of light and shadow as it wandered across his face. “I've been feeling lost…but I think I’m beginning to find my way.”

[therummesoccupied]

IDW'S SONIC THE HEDGEHOG, KNUCKLES' 30TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL - THOUGHTS

WARNING - SPOILERS AHEAD

It's that time, friends.

The year is 2024, and SEGA has declared it to be the Fearless Year of Shadow, making a big show out of showering the dark hedgie with all kinds of love over the course of the year.

This was certainly done to promote the upcoming Sonic the Hedgehog 3 movie, but I can't help but feel that it's a bit unfortunate that the movie's release, and therefore the Year of Shadow, happened when it did, as 2024 is the 30th anniversary of the release of the original Sonic the Hedgehog 3 game on the SEGA Genesis - a game that marked the first appearance of Knuckles the Echidna. And so, where this could have been a year all about Angel Island's lone guardian, instead the spotlight has been dedicated to Sonic's other main rival for the bulk of the year.

Rad Red wasn't forgotten entirely, however, as just as they'd done with Tails and Amy over the past couple years, the folks at IDW gave us a nice little anniversary special dedicated to ol' Knux.

This story is not as strictly dedicated to Knuckles as the Tails and Amy specials were to their titular characters, however, as they also use the comic as an opportunity to commemorate one of the series' more recent releases with Sonic Superstars.

A good deal of this story centers around Trip the Sungazer, a new character introduced in Superstars who was the guardian of the game's setting, The Northstar Islands. I like Trip, if only because she's the first totally new playable character we've had introduced in a main series entry since Silver first showed up in Sonic '06, seventeen years before Sonic Superstars was released. It was really cool to get a new character with their own perspective on the adventure after such a long time, and they even got their own unique Super Form to boot! It was one of those little steps that helped make me feel like the series was going in the right direction again - or at least a direction I appreciated.

The story, penned by Ian Flynn, largely centers around Knuckles offering some one-on-one training to Trip in order to help her become the best Guardian she can be. He's an old pro, after all.

(Side note: I really adore this nod to Tyson Hesse's old "Knuckles is Great at His Job parody comic. That thing is comedic gold and this panel got a genuine cackle out of me.)

It's really interesting to see the comic run with this premise mere months after the Knuckles TV show premiered on Paramount+, centering around Knuckles training Wade Whipple in the ways of the Echidna warriors over in the movie universe.

The difference is this is good, though.

I know a lot of people were somewhat disappointed to see this Knuckles special dedicate so much of its time to Trip, especially after the Tails and Amy specials both put their titular characters in the spotlight to save the day from some kind of crisis, but I really love everything Trip brings to the table here.

Firstly, her presence gives us some really solid worldbuilding. I feel like, before Frontiers, it'd been entirely too long since we'd gotten a solid "Explore the Mysteries of an Ancient Civlization" story, and I feel like Sonic is often at its best when running with that idea.

When you think about it, that's kind of what Knuckles represents for this series. Stories about him are often the ones that do the most calling back to the lost peoples of old, the ones that really put in the work to establish this world's lore. Sonic 3 & Knuckles gives us the Master Emerald and gives us our first real storyline with the Chaos Emeralds at its center. Sonic Adventure tells the story of Chaos and the Echidna Tribe. Sonic Frontiers has Knuckles discovering the connections between Angel Island and the Starfall Islands, home of the Anicents who first brought the Chaos Emeralds to Earth.

This time, however, we're not strictly dealing with some long-lost society...

This was a delightful surprise to me. When playing through Sonic Superstars, I - like many others - thought the Sungazers were like the Echidnas: A bygone people all but wiped out in some kind of cataclysm, presumably related to the Sungazer Dragon, and that Trip, like Knuckles, was the last of her kind. Here, we learn that there just are other Sungazers around! Their civilization isn't gone at all! I think this is the first time we've gotten to see one of these ancient societies still existing in the modern world, and it's a really nice touch!

I do wish there was some variation in their color schemes, however. All of them using the same brown color palette kinda leaves a very... Ken Penders taste in my mouth. Blech.

Regardless, their designs are very nice and I like them, despite their shared palette.

As much as I like Trip and the Sungazers, the comic thankfully does not solely focus on Trip. Knuckles here does get his due.

The comic does a great job at displaying the juxtaposition between Trip and Knuckles, and how they approach their shared role as Guardians - Trip, who is just starting out in the Guardian gig and has plenty of people to help her learn and support her, and Knuckles, who has been a Guardian his entire life and lives alone on an isolated island with no one to help or teach him. Between this and his shared story with Blaze in the 2023 Annual Special, I really love the way IDW has been taking the opportunity to have Knuckles interact with other Guardians and offer his perspective into the way they approach their duties.

Through this, we also get a nice little peak into Knuckles' heart, and the way he approaches social interaction after being on his own for so long.

We get to see some of the difficulties he's faced understanding others after having to fend for himself for his entire life. In turn, we get to see how he's grown, and gotten genuinely closer to his newfound friends as a result.

We see him look back on the lessons he's learned, and use them to help Trip find her way as best he can. It's kind of beautiful that, between Tails, Amy, and Knuckles, Knux is the one most suited to an action story, and yet he's the one out of the three whose anniversary special centers entirely around him opening up and making a connection with another person.

Of course, Aaron Hammerstrom thoroughly knocks it out of the park with his pencils. The man is a juggernaut. It doesn't matter if he's trying to portray a style reminiscent of Yuji Uekawa or Naoto Ohshima, he absolutely delivers every time. I'm so happy we've gotten to see so much out of him lately.

His art is elevated by the lines of Rik Mack, whom I've been noticing more and more often lately, and the colors of Valentina Pinto, who does a phenomenal job with a comic that almost feels tailor(heh)-made for Reggie Graham. It's awesome to see them getting more opportunities to show their stuff.

All-in-all, I do wish we could get some more intense, action-driven Knuckles stories, but these introspective little bits of worldbuilding are also very nice, as was the opportunity to see Trip expanded as a character after her debut in Superstars. At the end of the day, I'm just glad to see Knuckles' 30th anniversary recognized among the tidal wave of Shadow love happening right now.

I do hope Shadow gets one of these stories himself one day, but it's tough to imagine him getting a dedicated 30th anniversary story when his 30th anniversary would also be the franchise's 40th. We'll see, I guess. In the meantime, we have a Chaotix 30th anniversary special on the horizon!

I'm super curious to see how that'll pan out. Will it be a Classic-era story, ushering the very first reappearance of the Chaotix's Classic designs since their original debut? Or will it be the first of these 30th anniversary specials set in the Modern era? Whatever the case, we're definitely going to be breaking some new ground. Before that, though, Issue 75 drops in about... eight minutes for me. So I'm gonna go get ready for that.

As always, thanks for reading!

[ranger-jahen]

Your Tav/OC as a party member: Get to know Jahen

Class: Ranger (Canon subclass: Dread Ambusher)

Race: Half-Elf

Background: Outlander

Voice: Tav 7

Where to find him: Between the Nautiloid crash and the Overgrown Ruins, kneeling in the underbrush and picking herbs. When you speak to him he tells you that he's been scavenging for basic supplies. He can be recruited through a dialogue about needing someone on your team who can help navigate and forage in the wilderness.

Approval Conditions: Successful medicine checks, successful mediations during conflict, asking for his opinion in survival scenarios, providing aid to allies or refugees, showing caution when interacting with the Dream Visitor, sarcastic or hyperbolic humor.

Disapproval Conditions: Abject or senseless cruelty, aiding antagonistic characters, agreeing to Raphael's soul-binding deals, betraying allies, tampering with dangerous powers needlessly, using your illithid powers on him without his consent.

Betrayal Conditions (cause him to leave the party): Killing the tiefling refugees, allowing Last Light Inn to be destroyed, bombing the Steel Watch foundry with the gnomes inside, letting Orin kill her victim or becoming Bhaal's Chosen.

Personal Quest: The Lonely Ranger - as time passes, you will learn that Jahen has almost no friends or allies to his name. His childhood was loveless, his escapades as a ranger have kept him at arms-length from most communities, and he has not made efforts to change this out of a deep-rooted fear of not belonging. As your rapport increases you will have quest-related chances to affirm your friendship, his merit as an ally, and your confidence that he will have an important role to play before all is said and done. His quest will culminate in him deciding to confront an old enemy of his in the city, someone who preyed on his good will and tricked him when he was young, and believes themself to have gotten away with it all these years. Now that he has friends he trusts at his back and a newfound self-respect for who he is and what he's about, he will rise above his past grudges and be ready to face his future head-on.

Greetings:

Platonic High Approval: "Look what the cat dragged in." · "There you are." · "What's cookin'? Hope it's something good." · "Good to see a friendly face coming my way."

Romanced High Approval: "You've been thinking about me too?" · "Do we have a little time? You'll have to tell me if not or I'll get sidetracked." · "Hope that smile is for me."

Medium Approval: "Can I help with anything?" · "If you need something, just let me know. Can't promise anything but I'll do my best." · "Wanted to let you know I found something. Thought it might be useful, so I put it by your pack." (places random herb in your alchemy inventory. this greeting can happen at medium approval or higher.)

Neutral Approval: "What is it?" · "Something wrong?" · "Oh, hey. Something on your mind?"

Low Approval: "Ugh, what do you want now?" · "This had better be good." · "Don't know what that look on your face is about. Maybe I shouldn't care though."

Party Dynamics:

Jahen will have lots of positive and adventurous banter with both Wyll and Karlach. If the player reaches high approval with both Jahen and Karlach by Act 3, Jahen will have a banter with her where he will tell her he wishes he’d known her when he was younger, as he could see himself being better off with a friend like Karlach in his life. She will reply that she adores him too and feels the exact same way.

Jahen will be cautious but generally respectful to a pre-act-2 Shadowheart in his party banter. His post-act-2 banter with her will depend on what choice she made and how it affected the Shadow-Cursed Lands. A Dark Justiciar Shadowheart will receive terse but civil dialogue with him if she attempts to engage him in conversation. A Selunite Shadowheart will see a marked change in his disposition towards her as he will become warm, protective, and proud of her.

Jahen and Halsin will have a great deal of party banter that revolves around discussing the natural world and the various things they each enjoy about their respective roles in the party and their lifestyles. The two of them will also tend to flirt with and tease each other if the player is not romancing either of them (or is romancing both of them.)

Jahen will have numerous party banters with both Astarion and Jaheira that entirely revolve around giving each other shit or snarking about some of the less-than-pleasant aspects about the journey so far. In some cases Jahen and Astarion might get so wrapped up in gleefully sassing each other that the player avatar will interject to tell them to pipe down or put a lid on it, in which case they will both reluctantly concede.

Jahen will often ask after Gale’s wellbeing in act 1 party banter, but will tend not to have much to say to him during act 2, other than an occasional quiet comment about how important Gale is as both an ally and a friend. Gale will recognize Jahen’s attempts to dissuade him from using the Orb and will politely deflect each time. By act 3, Jahen will have resigned himself to an occasional, friendly, exasperated “Gale…” each time his wizard friend starts raving about a new powerful artifact the player might have discovered.

Jahen’s banter with Lae’zel will tend to involve him welcoming her to talk about her culture and experiences as he is very curious about her and her life thus far. If she says something particularly horrendous even by the party’s standards he will diplomatically end the conversation with something like “I see” or “Is that so?” and decline to comment further.

Most of Jahen’s party banter with Minsc will revolve around Boo. They may both be rangers but they have little in common beyond their fascination with friendly creatures.

If Minthara is recruited during a campaign that does not involve killing the tieflings (as this choice will cause Jahen to leave the party), he will rarely be inclined to chat with her unless she is specifically talking Karlach up, in which case he will join in. If Minthara addresses Jahen directly she will tend to comment on what a waste his aimless life is, to which he will reply tiredly that he knows she thinks so but he doesn’t really care, and tell her to save her breath. She will then surprise him by overtly approving of his disdain regarding her opinion of him.

Act 1 Companion Scene:

You will find Jahen up late at night, sorting herbs into satchels and preparing small bundles tied with twine that he's laid out atop a flat stone at the edge of camp. You can either approach him directly or roll a check to sneak up on him (DC 18.)

If you successfully sneak, you will startle him and he'll playfully rant at you a little for messing with him, but other than a few lines of funny dialogue there won't be much impact on the rest of the conversation. If you unsuccessfully attempt to sneak, he will chuckle under his breath and tell you he can hear you and to come out and talk to him face to face.

When you ask him what he's doing, he will tell you that in a camp this size, he thinks it will be useful for there to be a sort of communal "medicine cabinet," which you or your other companions can come to collect "remedy bundles" from at any time ("Just crush them up together with some water and heat and you'll have the potion or antidote you'll need," he'll tell you.)

If you ask him why doesn't he just have people come and ask him for remedies, he'll answer in a way that shows a deep understanding of others and those who may want for privacy: that sometimes people don't like to show weakness or may even feel too ashamed to ask for help directly. Having something pre-prepared like this takes the pressure off of having your needs met when you're in pain or unwell.

If you ask him how he'd know to think of that, he will admit to you that he's had a strange condition ever since he was a child; a condition that can cause him to be overcome with intense fevers at night that seem to miraculously evaporate in the morning. He's never been able to find proper medical help because the symptoms sound too unusual to match any known illnesses, and he's been accused of imagining things or even making things up. He himself has been ashamed to ask for help in the past and he wants to make sure that no one he calls a friend ever has to worry they'll find themselves in a similar position.

If you tell him it does sound like he's making things up, he will disapprove (-5), and tell you sadly that he thought you might understand, but he apologizes for taking up your time (this will end the scene.)

If you instead ask if there's anything you can do to help, he will laugh lightly and tell you that if you think of anything, he would be all ears. After a moment of hesitation he'll add that he's a little afraid that if he comes down with a fever any time soon, the others in your camp will jump straight to the conclusion that he's undergoing the transformation and becoming a mindflayer. At this point, he'll ask you if you'll give him the benefit of the doubt and refrain from attacking him or keep your other companions from attacking him until and if you're completely sure it's the transformation and not his condition.

If you agree to protect him if he becomes vulnerable like that, he will approve (+5) and thank you for having his back. If you agree to protect him but also protest that you don't like the thought of having to kill him, he will approve (+3), but tell you that while he truly appreciates the thought, he would not want to live as a mindflayer - especially if it means he might become a threat to you or your other friends, as he is beginning to care for you all. If you tell him he's on his own if this comes up, his approval with you will not change but he will comment sadly that maybe he should have expected as much.

Regardless of your dialogue choices, a "medicine station" will become a permanent fixture at your camp following this scene (until and if Jahen leaves your party.) You can interact with the medicine station once per long rest, and chose a benefit-based potion of any discovered type to add to your inventory. (The station cannot be easily "farmed" however, as it will not reset unless certain conditions are met in-between rests. On explorer difficulty: an update to any active quest. On balanced difficulty or higher: any member of your party having lost one-third of their hit points (or more), expended half their spell slots (or more), or received any negative status condition at some point during the day.)

Act 2 Companion Scene:

You notice that Jahen isn't at camp and find a small trail that leads down a hill into a grassy clearing. As you follow it, you begin to hear notes from a musical instrument, and shortly after, you pick up the sound of Jahen singing.

You will find him sitting with his back to a tree playing a small kalimba, one that's a little rough around the edges as if he might have made it himself. He will stop singing when he spots you and ask you if you came to find him for anything important.

At this point you'll have a few different dialogue options to explore and questions to ask. If you ask him about his kalimba and his singing, he'll tell you it's a way he's learned to pass long nights by the campfire during the years he's been on his own, that it brings him some comfort and gives him a reason to keep reading books and finding new songs to sing. If you ask him how long he's been on his own, he will give you a rough timeline of his life, starting with how he and his older brother lived as latchkey kids in a dubious shack that belonged to his father in Baldur's Gate. If you press him he will admit that there was no real love in his family and the arrangement was more or less what was most convenient at the time. When asking further questions you'll find out that when he prepared to move out at the age of seventeen, neither his father nor his brother cared enough to even properly tell him goodbye, and that he learned basic survival skills from a Hedgedruid who passed through the area before he struck out on his own into the wilderness. The rest of what he knows is mostly self-taught, and he travels around the Sword Coast, doing his best to help whoever he comes across. If Wyll is in your party, Jahen will have an extra dialogue line about how he heard of the Blade of Frontiers years ago since they live similar lifestyles, and that he's really enjoyed the chance to get to know him face to face.

If you tell him his singing is bad he will laugh, approve (+1), and tell you that's why he walked away from the camp to do it. If you tell him you like his singing he will be surprised, approve (+1), and then quickly tell you with some humor that he hopes you won't expect him to take up the bard profession as it's a quiet pastime for him and not something he likes to do for attention. if you tell him to stop with the theatrics, that he's nothing special and that he'd better come back to camp before he pisses you off any more, he will disapprove (-3) and quietly get to his feet to follow you back (this will end the scene.)

After you've asked about the music and he's told you about how it became a hobby of his, you can point out that he's among friends now, and ask why come out here to play and sing if he usually does this when he's lonely? He will answer that the Shadow Curse is weighing heavily on him; he is struggling with the unnatural gloom twisting the lands, and he will express that he hopes your band can do something to help. if you tell him it sounds like he needs someone to talk to about what he's struggling with, and that he should feel okay to come to you with his burdens because you care for him, he will approve (+8), become quiet and emotional, and tell you that he's never had anyone before that he could just talk to if something was on his mind. After the conversation finishes he will tell you warmly that his heart feels lighter and he's ready to go back to camp.

You can also choose to tell him that he shouldn't expect special treatment, that no one is enjoying themselves right now and that's no excuse to wander off and make himself a liability. If you choose this option he will agree with you sadly and say he's ready to come back to camp.

(If your player character also has high approval with Shadowheart and has not yet completed the gauntlet of Shar, you will have the opportunity to ask him what he thinks about her involvement with Shar and how that impacts his view of the curse. Jahen will tell you that he cares for Shadowheart and doesn't want to see harm come to her, but that he believes she's been deceived and led down a dark path that doesn't reflect her truest self. He will say he hopes she can find the courage to turn away from what is hurting her rather than continue to embrace it.)

If, during his Act 1 Companion Scene, you explored the conversation far enough to learn of Jahen's condition, he will stumble a little when he gets up to follow you back to camp. You can choose to ignore this to end the scene and you will get no approval changes, but the next morning your other companions will remark that it seemed like he wasn't well the night before (with some commenting warily about potential mindflayer symptoms), and you'll find he has an "off balance" debuff until your next long rest. If you did not learn of his condition earlier through conversation, you will not get a chance to question him about the stumble but he will still receive the debuff the next day and he will proceed to explain his condition to you that morning.

If you don't ignore Jahen's stumble and instead ask if he's alright, he will admit to you that he might have a "bad night" coming on, and that he'd better get to his tent before he inevitably passes out. Once back at camp, you can choose to either tend to him yourself (by getting water for him or bringing him some herbs - dialogue only, no effect on camp supplies), or if Halsin is in your party, notifying him that Jahen needs help. You can also choose to tell Jahen goodnight without offering him help (he will give you a friendly dialogue reply, but this will result in him receiving the debuff.)

If you choose to tend to him yourself, you will have an opportunity in the morning when he's back on his feet to verbally tell him you're glad he's feeling better (+3 approval), give him a friendly hug (+5 approval), or lean in for a kiss (+5 approval.) (this will start his romance if you have not done so already at the tiefling party in act 1.) regardless of your choice of verbal or physical affection he will receive you with immense warmth and will tell you that you are the first person who has ever cared this much for him, and that he hopes he can be as good a friend to you as you have been to him.

You can also choose to tell him now that it's morning he'd better suck it up and get going, and in response to this he will give you a weary laugh and a wordless salute, with no approval changes. If you tell him he was a waste of time and that this better not keep coming up, he will disapprove (-5) and say he'll make sure it won't be your problem again. As long as either you or Halsin helped him the night before he will not receive a debuff the next day.

After this scene plays, you will have an occasional opportunity to check in on him during a long rest when another companion makes a remark about him not looking well. He will not receive the status debuff again but checking in on him will net you a couple more +1 approvals before late game. If you ignored or chastised him in the larger cutscene, providing him some help during these passing checks will ensure he doesn't die during the endgame.

Act 3 Companion Quest:

When visiting the Guild Hall in the sewers at any point during Act 3, a brief interaction will play if you have Jahen in your party where an unnamed NPC will leer at him or possibly threaten him. The next time you’re back at camp, you can prompt him for answers regarding this strange interaction, and he will tell you about an event in his past that he carries great shame over.

When he first struck out on his own after receiving survival training, he didn’t immediately leave the area and instead kept a tight circuit around Baldur’s Gate, where he helped travelers in need on the roads or brought supplies to and from the trading outposts to earn some gold. In time, citizens in the area came to know him for his helpfulness and resourcefulness, and before long there was a group of street urchins who would seek him out to ask for training of their own to forage and learn to survive.

Jahen was eager to pass his skills on and happily taught the kids everything he knew about medicines, wild foods, and carefully instructed them on dangerous lookalikes to keep them safe. But in little less than a year, his eager pupils stopped coming around and he was certain something was wrong.

Jahen began to investigate their last known locations and learned to his horror that the younger ones had been abducted by a man who was building an underground drug channel of sorts. The man had enlisted the help of the kids with promised coin and then put them to work by force in his budding organization once they knew enough about herbalism to better serve his for-profit interests.

Outraged, Jahen set out to free those abducted, but only managed to retrieve one or two of them before he was overwhelmed by a retaliatory force of hired muscle and beaten to death’s door, barely managing to escape with his life. With no allies of his own to call upon to attempt a second rescue and a seething threat from the growing organization to keep his distance or face their forces again, Jahen left Baldur’s Gate in defeat and regret. He’s kept to other areas of the Sword Coast ever since in order to avoid stirring up the situation anew.

At this point the player can tell him that he has friends and allies now and it’s time he get the chance to face down his past regrets. He will fiercely agree, and mark on your map the location of the shipping dock where this organization stocks their cargo and conceals a hidden entrance to their base.

You can also trigger this conversation if you complete the House of Grief questline first and investigate the supplies cache behind the counter. You will learn that in addition to magics and boons from their goddess, devout Sharrans have been making use of specialized elixirs and poisons to subdue and erase their client’s memories. You will unlock a journal entry to investigate the source of the potent alchemical flasks and Jahen will gain an exclamation mark to tell you he thinks he knows something about this.

This dungeon requires some preparation as the antagonists will make frequent use of a wide array of unusual poisons and negative status effects. It is recommended to give each of your active party members an elixir of poison resistance ahead of time and keep at least a couple bottles of antidote in each of your inventories. Thankfully you don’t have to worry about freeing the hostages mid-combat and can do so afterwards once the commotion has died down.

Post-battle, Jahen’s final personal cutscene will play, the conditions of which will depend on his level of approval towards the player character and their overall decisions in-game during their campaign. In any scenario however he will be able to claim many of the organization’s resources for himself, and back at camp, will indicate that he’s discovered a lead to start researching his condition in some of the medical literature that was stashed in the organization’s base. The player will be able to loot a crossbow from the corpse of Jahen’s old enemy with a unique bowstring that retains applied coatings for 3 turns each instead of the default 1 turn. There will also be an opportunity to acquire an alembic that will enable the player to combine effects of different elixirs.

Unique interactions in game areas:

Underdark - if you have Jahen in your party when exploring the Myconid Colony in the Underdark and open a dialogue with him, he will express enthusiastic fascination with this incredible new and different system of natural organisms that he’s never seen before. He will talk about wanting to collect samples to study them, experiment with making potions, and forage for unusual food sources. You will have the opportunity to approve of his curiosity but caution him not to make himself or anyone else sick, and he will laugh and assure you that he knows his methods very well and there won’t be anything to worry about. You can also choose to tell him this isn’t a field trip and to stop poking around like an idiot schoolboy. He will be crestfallen, but will meekly agree to heed your wishes and fall back in line.

His approval will not change in either case but if you choose to chastise him you will not receive a boon at your next long rest, courtesy of Jahen’s experiments.

If you do support his interest, then at your next long rest when selecting your camp supplies, you will have a choice to select either a “Colourful Potion” or an “Aromatic Mash.” The potion will give each of your active party members an extra +15 hit points until you either lose them in combat or take another long rest. the food mash will impart a unique “fortified” condition that gives each active party member a +2 bonus to strength, dexterity, and wisdom checks until the next long rest.

Wyrm’s Lookout - if you open dialogue with Jahen at this Act 3 interlude campsite before initiating the cutscene with the Astral Prism and his approval with you is medium or higher, a unique cutscene will play where you will happen upon him waist-deep in the berry bushes that cluster around the campsite. His face and hands will be so splattered with red berry juice that you’ll have the opportunity to remark that he looks like he’s covered in blood, and he will laugh, approve (+1), and offer up a basket of berries he’s been picking ever since everyone settled in.

If you accept his offered basket then you will receive 100 raspberries for your camp supplies and another +1 approval from him. If you tell him he should keep the fruits of his labor and the rest of you have plenty, he will receive a unique “satiated” condition for that night only, which may come in handy if you have him in your party when entering the Astral Prism (he cannot be surprised, frightened, or moved against his will.) You can also decide to share the basket between just the two of you (approval +5) (either friendship or romance), in which case you will both receive a one-night-only condition of “contented” (neither of you can be frightened.) If Jahen’s romance is active and you choose to share the berries between the two of you, he will lean in to kiss you just before the end of the scene and comment on your lips tasting like sweet berries.

When he offers his basket you can also choose to ignore the sharing options and instead tell him he looks ridiculous and that you hope those berries are poisonous to teach him a lesson about digging around in the bushes. He will become angry with you, disapprove (-5), and tell you the first rule of foraging is to never put anything in your mouth that you’re not absolutely certain is safe. He will then remark bitterly that you clearly think nothing of him or the few skills he can offer. If this approval change moves him from “medium” down to “neutral” approval, he will make an additional jab at your intelligence given that apparently you don’t recognize an ordinary raspberry when you see one.

If you do harshly reject his berries in this way he will evidently not continue to eat them off-screen as he will not receive the “satiated” condition for the night, but there may be some dialogue from either Halsin, Wyll, or Karlach the next morning about Jahen coming by to share his freshly picked fruit with them.

All of Jahen’s personal cutscenes will play, regardless of whether the player character is in a romantic relationship with him or not, but his dialogue will differ between his platonic and romantic paths and he will have some unique animations regarding his inclination towards physical affection if romanced. In addition, once his romance has been activated, he can be approached during any long-rest and requested to share his bed with the player. If his relationship is kept platonic and he reaches “very high” approval with the player (or higher, to “exceptional”), he can be approached at camp and asked for a hug at any time. His hugs will typically be very warm and he will clearly enjoy giving him, unless he has been “hardened” over the course of the game, in which case his hugs will become more somber.

Endings:

Bad Ending 1: If the player character runs a campaign that does not drive Jahen away from the party completely but still prioritizes broadly antagonistic choices, Jahen's outlook on the world will harden over time and he will adhere more strongly to his distrust of society rather than learning to seek community and trust his friends with his burdens. His personal quest will end with him choosing to take over his past enemy’s business rather than end it, in order to acquire the resources he needs to start researching his condition. He will start to earn a reputation by endgame as an up-and-coming Undercity figurehead, and he will make adjustments to the organization to make it less predatory, but you will also hear occasional rumors that similar nefarious figures think he's too soft to be cut out for the role because of this and have plans to move against him if his guard ever comes down.

Reaching this ending for Jahen will almost always end his romance. He will either break up with the player coldly and tell you he doesn't have time to entertain you anymore with his new goals in his sights, or if his approval is still high, he will break up with you regretfully, and mention that he can no longer afford to have obvious weaknesses. If his approval is still high, you can pass a persuasion check (DC 15) to convince him that you're anything but a liability and will only make him stronger in the long run. He will accept this and will thank you for staying by his side despite it all.

At the epilogue party, depending on certain circumstances met during the game, Jahen will either reveal:

that his rivals have taken their chance to move against him and he is more or less a fugitive, having made powerful enemies in Baldur's Gate and having little recourse to fall back on.

that he has risen to meet these challenges and has been ruthlessly cutting down his enemies for the past six months in order to come out on top. He will be noticeably colder and more cruel during this conversation, regardless of his prior approval or romantic status with the player.

* This ending is extremely difficult to get by accident as it requires careful micro-managing of his approval changes to enable the player to both establish trust with him while also not driving him away through antagonistic approval hits or outright evil choices before the endgame. If you wish to roleplay this ending it is recommended to follow a guide to help navigate strategic points to take Jahen in and out of your party.

Bad Ending 2: If a non-hardened Jahen's condition is repeatedly ignored and uncared for, his illness will interact poorly with his illithid infection and he will die after facing the Netherbrain when the tadpoles are destroyed, as the residual psychic energy overloads his weakened body and tears his mind apart. If the player character has him in their party and has medium or higher approval with him despite neglecting his wellbeing, he will tearfully tell them goodbye before he passes on and will say that he's at least glad he was able to be of some use before the end. If his approval is neutral or lower he will die with a wordless scream of pain as the narrator describes what is happening. If he is not in the party then he will die off-screen and another companion will tell the player what happened.

Neutral Ending 1: If a good-aligned player character made sure Jahen's condition was cared for but his personal quest is not completed, he will return to his familiar ranger lifestyle post-game and put some distance between himself and Baldur’s Gate once more. At the epilogue party both he and a few other companions will remark that he has kept in touch with them and that it’s good to have friends to have each other’s backs when the going gets tough. If the player encountered Jahen’s unique Underdark scene, did not ascend Astarion, and released the vampire spawn into the Underdark, Jahen will instead mention that he has specifically kept in touch with Astarion and the Gur, and has helped with keeping tabs on the spawn. Astarion will also have some unique dialogue about Jahen lending his efforts to the Gur’s cause, but admit that he’s got some concerns about Jahen’s condition seemingly worsening over time.

Neutral Ending 2: If Jahen's personal quest is completed and he has high approval with the player character, he can be convinced to become a mindflayer for the greater good in the endgame. However, once your victory is secure, he will choose to end his own life and cannot be persuaded out of this choice. Before he dies he will thank you for being a friend to him and say that he hopes you and your friends will keep looking out for each other, because he's come to view your bonds as very precious and he wouldn't like to think of this as the end of the family you've made.

Good Ending: A non-hardened Jahen gains trust and assurance in relying on others outside himself so he doesn't have to shoulder his burdens alone. After confronting the mastermind behind the mistakes of his youth, Jahen chooses to dismantle his organization and distribute important resources to all who were price gouged or blackmailed in the name of profit or power. In doing this he begins to acquire many helpful resources and valuable friends himself, and gains prospects to begin researching his own condition - the main lead he finds is that it may be related to a very rare mutation that can occasionally occur in those with half-elf ancestry like his own.

Epilogue 1: If Karlach is in the party and agrees to go back to Avernus with Wyll instead of burning out at the end of the campaign, and the player character volunteers to go with them, a romanced Jahen will also accompany them to the Hells.

Epilogue 2: If Jahen was romanced and the player character does not volunteer to accompany Wyll and Karlach back to Avernus, then Jahen will ask the player character to come with him back to the reclaimed lands that Halsin is returning to. Jahen's epilogue will then involve a few sequences of him and the player character contributing to the rebuilding of Reithwin and Last Light as well as following the lead collected on his condition from the end of his personal quest. If Halsin was poly romanced there will be some unique romantic dialogue. If not, there will still be a strong indication of warm friendship between Jahen, the player, and Halsin in the ending scene. Regardless of poly romance status, Halsin will have a couple of unique humorous lines about how he knows Jahen loves the kids but it’s hard to trust him alone with them as he keeps accidentally teaching them to swear.

Epilogue 3: if Jahen was not romanced, he will return with Halsin to the reclaimed lands to help rebuild and will also begin investigating the lead on his condition collected from the end of his personal quest. There will be some bits of dialogue at the epilogue party that imply/hint that he and Halsin have entered an open relationship with each other.

[petitprincess1]

Greetings you, do grace us with some unhinged Sun headcanons in these trying times ;3

How dawe you! 83 Well, I on antibiotics and got small cat bite infection, so I will do my best:

Sun does his best to keep you at the Daycare. He sometimes will go against his code and create a mess, saying that both of us missed a spot. You never believe it, but you still help the ray of sunshine out. Sun's just happy to be able to enjoy your radiance for even longer.

Anytime anyone seems like they're even daring to like you, Sun prances up behind you, silently. His eyes turn black with pinprick white pupils. He slouches over, turns his head to the side, and his smile widens ever-so-slightly. It works in freaking people out and it makes others evade you completely if Sundrop just looks in their direction. It makes you feel lonely and self-conscious...perfect~

Sundrop has definitely followed you home, surprisingly being sneaky and quiet. He oftentimes just watches you through a window from a distance, tracking your heat signature. Although, he does treat himself by climbing through your bedroom window and watching you sleep.

You have woken up in the morning with strange marks on your shoulder or neck. As if something was trying to puncture your skin. Strange. Try not to think about it. Suppress.

Moon has to talk Sun out of kidnapping you or wanting to squeeze you tightly. He knows Sun desperately wants to take care of you in any way, even if he was the one to cause the injury. He is...somewhat helpless to stop him. Despite being more of a parental figure, Moon still enjoys you almost as much as Sun.

Yes, Sun has also stolen wardrobe, dirty and clean, from your home.

Sundrop has affectionately called you a whore and a slut. Unfortunately, his filter blocks those words by making him say you're a wonderful person or that you're silly. But judging by the hunger and desperation in his eyes, you feel it's something more dangerous. Suppress.

It's no longer just tiny punctures. There are actual hickies and bite marks now. Is that blood that you see? Suppress.

He's getting closer and closer to you. His hands wander along your body as the two of you and the children watch Disney movies. He tells you that he would "knit" for you, but that's not what he actually meant. Suppress.

No matter where you go in the Pizzaplex, eyes are all on you, but you never see where. All you know is that Sundrop treats your brief absence as if you had gone off to war. He hugs you so tightly that you can't speak, so you punch his shoulder to make him stop. He does...but finds your panic adorable. Suppress. Just don't think about it.

On your walks home from work, an unsafe feeling creeps up on you. You bought a taser and pepper spray, just in case. But something tells you that your need more than that. Someone has followed you into your home. You thi- know who it is. How can you stop such a force? Don't think about it. Stop.

Sun's not at work the next day? Where could he be? He would never miss out on the little...spawns, as he often called them. Did he always dislike them? Is that why mutters so disdainfully when the Daycare is open and when it closes? Where is he!? Just keep working. Don't think about it!

You worked with the kids all day and no sign of Sun. No one has seen him. You walk home from work and keep this icy chill down your spine. Your friends suddenly stopped talking to you. They say they are scared. Scared of a figure that lured behind you like a shadow and are angry you didnt tell them about a boyfriend, yet tell you to break up with them. Who are they talking about? You have no other home but your own. Stop. Suppress.

You get home. Your lights are all on and you KNOW you turned them off! Suppress.

The curtains are still closed, yet you can hear humming. Suppress.

You unlock the door and open it so, so slowly. You're not breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Suppress.

Oh, it's Sunny. He's in your home, wearing an apron, and gave you a cutesy finger wave. He welcomes you back and he has the warmest grin on his face, while he's making you dinner. He also "reminds" you that you should really get a deadbolt on your door, never know who may come in. It's so domestic and calm...but you feel like your one small thread cut away from breaking down and crying.

It's okay. Sundrop is here. You- ...He found you. Suppress.

[elvenbeard]

2077, November

"Heeey... All good? What're you doing out here, so early?"

"Couldn't sleep... Wanted to watch the sun rise."

"Well, here I am!"

2077 was a hell of a year. It left its marks, mental and physical, trauma and scars alike, memories and lack thereof. A year ago Vince was working at Arasaka, desperate to stay in the corporate world despite it slowly destroying him from the inside out. A year later Arasaka is only a shadow of it former self - and in a way Vince felt like a shadow, too.

Six months had been Alt's prognosis, at most... then he'd die. For good this time. Vince knew the drill. But he also knew he would try everything in his power, utilize all means possible and necessary... Because yes, 2077 had been one hell of a year, of loss, despair, betrayal and pain... But also of hope, trust, friendship and love, and connections, however unlikely they may have seemed.

The road ahead is still long, and it will be far from easy. But he is at peace knowing he won't be walking it alone.

Vince through the years (9/9)

Aaand the series is complete! ;A; Ending it on a somewhat bittersweet note with a few of more pictures this time cause look at them looking at each other ;___;

Vince has always been a deeply lonely person trying to find his place and purpose - as you'll surely have gathered reading along this far. By 2077 he finally finds his people, real friends in the most unlikely places, that he cares about and that care about him. And after how badly his previous relationship with his Arasaka-coworker Shou ended, he wouldn't have expected to get another shot at love, too. I definitely feel like he found a soulmate in Kerry, very scared in the beginning that his feelings for him were only brought on because of Johnny, and should he get rid of Johnny he'd also lose the connection to Kerry. He didn't though, thankfully. Vice versa, Kerry found someone who really understands his loneliness and struggles and takes them seriously. They really match very well on many levels and bring out the best in the other (on most days at least :P), something I neither planned for nor expected, and probably why I'm so obsessed with them at the moment XD They really are each other's sun, driving away shadows and doubts, a light in the darkness.

But yeah, Vince has a lot to lose really, and together with Kerry and everyone else they try and find a way to solve the Relic-problem so now that he found his place and people he can stay with them, live the balance of quiet and exciting life he deserves and always wished for.

The scars I gave him here (and damn, it hurt me to make them 😭) are not 100% canon yet... I'm gonna explore and explain what they are and how he got them in my post-ending fic soon-ish.

But yeah... V gets his happily ever after with his loved ones, in one way or another, and CDPR can take my headcanons from my cold dead hands xDD No but really, I get it. In a world like Cyberpunk there's no such thing as a sunshine-and-rainbows happy ending with world peace and all... and even mine is gonna come at a certain cost. But if anyone, V deserves some peace and love after that shitshow :D

That being said:

Before and after! The scars are drawn on, and I used the relief layer effect in Photohsop to give them some dimension. Was really a matter of playing around with colors and layer modes to make them somewhat convincing looking, but I'm really liking the result a lot!

Once again it gets me how different Vince looks without his iconic hair and makeup 😭 Believe me, he had a really really hard time when he was told "we gotta shave your head for this procedure" cause throughout his life his hair has been a really important part of his self-expression. From dyeing it blond as a teen to rebel against his parents, to going completely wild afterwards, conforming to Arasaka, then slowly finding himself again... With everything gone he felt like yet another part of him was gone and yeah... wasn't a good time, that time in late 2077.

If you've read along all the way: thanks so much!! I hope you enjoyed this series as much as I enjoyed creating it and sharing a bit more about Vince's background and how he became who he is. When I'm done writing my post-ending fic I might go back to writing and sharing his background story fic, detailing everything from this series a bit more, and you'll get to know some of the people I only mentioned in passing (his mother, his first real boyfriend, his coworkers, etc.) a bit better, too.

So... Thanks for sticking around!! :D