#hate the colouring on this but the process was interesting

[bang-bang-gang]

[sundrop-writes]

Blood In The Water

Void!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Beg me for mercy - admit you were toxic.

Now I am the violence, I am the sickness.

Won’t accept your silence - beg me for forgiveness.

We’ll never get free, lamb to the slaughter.

What you gon do when there’s Blood In The Water?

Summary:

Being Stiles's best friend, you are incredibly worried about him when you figure out that he is quite literally not himself - and that the thing currently occupying his body could be destroying it in the process. When you approach him to show this concern, Void takes a particular interest in you. He's not capable of love, or even fondness, but he likes you.

And he likes the way your fear spikes when you talk about Stiles. So he makes you a deal - he'll agree to take care of this fleshy, mortal host, in exchange for something more precious, more rare, and more delicious than the meal you have brought for Stiles.

He wants your pain. He wants your tears.

Void!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader. Pining Best Friends. Extreme Emotional Angst, Hurt No Comfort. Set during Season 3 (with flashbacks to Season 1, Episode 11).

Word Count: 11,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: as it says above - this is pure angst, hurt NO COMFORT, please heed that warning, if this is not something you are into, please leave now; this is set during Season 3, but not during any particular episode; I guess I need to put warnings for demon possession and identity theft (even though for the entirety of the fic, the reader does know that Stiles is not himself on the basis of knowing him so well, and she is talking to Void ernestly); this fic is about Void and the Reader interacting and discussing the relationship and feelings between Stiles and the Reader; the reader and Stiles have had mutual romantic feelings for each other for a long time but never acted on them, and at the point when the fic begins, their relationship is described as long-term best friends; the reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned to wear a dress and high heels to the winter formal dance; the reader's race, hair colour, size or looks in general are not described in any way (Void does call the reader 'little' but it is meant to be emotionally condescending, rather than a description of her size); this fic DOES use Y/N (proudly so); mentions of Stiles not eating/being starved because Void refuses to participate in 'human pleasures' (and he considers food to be one of those); Void is a demon who is fed by pain and he enjoys the Reader's fear, sadness, embarrassment, emotional pain, and other negative emotions, and he can feel those emotions in the air as she experiences them, so he is encouraged to do and say things that prompt negative reactions from her; Void calls the reader 'sweet thing' and 'darling' and 'little girl'; passing mention of Stiles watching porn (but the general tone of this fic is not sexual); Void compares the reader to Stiles's 'mommy' (because she is the only one who has ever given him soft, 'maternal' comfort and understanding) - but it's not a Mommy kink thing (or maybe it is for Stiles, you don't know that); mentions of eating diary and meat being 'cruel' (but I am not a vegan, it's just Void commenting on the way humans do things); the reader considers cutting herself with a knife to 'feed' Void her physical pain (but Void wants emotional pain instead); Void asks the reader to relive a painful memory by telling him about it, therefore feeding him with her emotional pain; Void threatens the reader with physical harm and even murder (to make her more fearful, and to taunt Stiles, who is forced to witness all of this); there is flashbacks to the winter formal episode in S1; mentions of the reader being jealous because Stiles took Lydia to the dance (and the reader hates the jealousy it evokes in her because she doesn't want to pit herself against Lydia and she wants to be happy for Stiles); mentions of Lydia being attacked by Peter Hale (as is canon); mentions of alcohol - the reader takes one sip of alcohol but does not get drunk during the fic; mentions of drunk driving (the reader drives after that sip of alcohol and questions if this 'counts' as drunk driving, and other people are accused of driving drunk, but in this fic, drunk driving is not actually the cause of any accidents); Stiles gets into a life-threatening car accident - mentions of blood and grievous bodily injury; mentions of Stiles needing surgery due to the car accident; mentions of blood; graphic descriptions of a character being stabbed. I believe that's it?

A/N: I have a lot to say here, so strap in. First of all, you're probably wondering why you're seeing this now. That is because I have been going through a very bad patch of mental illness (fuelled by multiple things, including the state of my physical illness) and when that happens to me, I become like a big spinning top of agitation and bad energy. And I feel the need to work on a project to avoid bad practices like self harm. And after a lot of whirling around and only working on certain projects for a few minutes at a time, I was cleaning out my files just to keep my mind occupied, and I came across the pictures I had saved to make the moodboard for this fic and I was like 'I can't delete those yet because I wanna use those to make the fic cover'. So I decided to make the fic cover, and it spiralled into me editing the whole fic just to keep my agitated upset mind busy and focused on something other than the fact that I am upset. So - good for you guys. You get a new fic. As for the actual content of this fic - I wanted to mark it as both Void x Reader and Stiles x Reader, but I figured that wouldn't make sense to most people. Because this is about Stiles and the Reader having mutual crushes on each other for a long time, and Void enjoying the embarrassment of taunting them about it, as well as the pain that comes from their pining and the potential of hurting the other and forcing them to watch. And Void does take a kind of 'liking' to the Reader, but because he's a demon, it's not necessarily romantic? Idk. I just have a lot of fun writing demon characters as complete bastards (I will never get people who write characters like Void, Anti, Dark as secret softies - like please, write a villain as a villain. It's more fun that way). So please - enjoy my take on this awful bastard. I had a lot of fun writing it. (Also I would like to note that I wrote this before I saw the end of 3A so I thought the 'crashing the Jeep' thing was a totally organic idea on my part lmao.)

...

“Stiles hasn’t eaten in days.” 

You stated it very matter-of-factly, rather than asking if he had eaten or theorizing about it. It was something that you knew concretely. 

Usually, Stiles was someone who was very passionate about food. He complained about missing lunch and hated being rushed to eat rather than getting to enjoy his food if you were nagging him about being late and had somewhere to be. 

The only time you had ever seen him miss meals was when he got particularly sucked into his reading and researching. And usually, when his concentration finally broke, he would whine about his stomach hurting and only remember why when the smell of curly fries came under his nose because you had put the bag in front of him. 

But even in that case, he had never missed more than a single meal. 

You had never seen him go days without touching a single bit of food - without so much as mentioning something greasy he was craving or talking about a destination take-out spot that the two of you needed to go to on the weekend. 

You had to guess that it was around the time that He had taken control. Or at least, around about when He had stopped caring to pretend to be human. When He had stopped putting up a front. 

“Observant little thing, aren’t you?” He titled his head in that way that was so distinctly un-Stiles, giving you a small smirk as his words penetrated you with that utterly mocking tone. 

It was strange, staring at the face of your long-time best friend and referring to him in the third person. Starting to think about him as though he wasn’t even there when you were staring right at him. Though it had only been a few days, you had long since given up the hope that you were talking to Stiles. You knew that this was someone else - something else entirely. 

You were still clinging onto the hope that you could get Stiles through this and he wouldn’t be entirely damaged beyond recognition on the other side. 

Hence, why you were trying to feed him now. 

It had been at least four days since you had seen him take a single bite of food, and you had been carefully observing him the entire time. So you had arrived at his place today with an armful of Stiles’s favorite foods. You felt lucky to catch him alone while the others were out chasing leads - or perhaps, unlucky. Perhaps he would have eaten in front of them just to prove that he was still himself. But you were hoping to tempt him with the smell, at the very least. 

Surely, he had to be hungry? 

Laid out on the table in front of you was a variety of things - all kinds of things you knew would have had Stiles gorging himself in minutes. A disgustingly large and greasy double cheeseburger with curly fries and a strawberry milkshake, an extra large supreme meat lover’s pizza, an entire pack of Honey Buns, and a grocery store birthday cake - chocolate with vanilla icing. All of which elicited oddly painful memories for you, now that your best friend was being held hostage by a thousand year old demon. 

Everything from movie nights where the two of you would share a pizza and argue about what kind of toppings to get, to the times that the two of you would buy a birthday cake like this and eat it in his Jeep with no such occasion for it - just because you wanted to celebrate life and didn’t want to need a reason for such a treat. Nights when balancing it between your laps and eating with plastic forks was all the joy in the world that you needed. 

Nights before your life became so hellishly complicated. 

“Let me guess… you’re trying to tempt me?” He posed, moving his finger across the icing of the birthday cake, and then looking at the white glob on his finger with intense disgust before moving to wipe it off on a napkin. 

Of course, he wouldn’t even consider eating that small amount. He was taunting you. He knew that at this current moment, it was your greatest desire to see your friend eat - to know that even though you were entirely powerless against such a complicated and mysterious demonic force, you could do this one small thing in your power to take care of him. 

You couldn’t save Stiles, but you wanted to care for him - just for a moment. You wanted to make a difference - even if it was as small as a grain of sand in an hour-glass. You thought it would help. 

“Even you have to eat, don’t you?” You returned with a question. “You can’t risk your host dying, right?” 

It was something you had wondered. 

You hadn’t seen him drinking water either, and you didn’t think that he had slept at all. As far as you knew, he hadn’t attended to any of Stiles’s human needs. But according to the sallow, almost gray nature of his skin and the dark bags under his eyes - he wasn’t exactly in perfect health right now. So perhaps he did run the risk of actually killing Stiles altogether because he didn’t know how to take care of a human host. 

Void smirked as he felt that flash of fear - the utter terror that overcame you at the thought of Stiles dying from neglect. 

“Need I remind you, sweet thing?” 

He started, the nickname causing a shiver of creepiness down your skin, like the feeling of walking into a spiderweb. 

“I don’t eat the same deep-fried, fat filled crap that he does.” He looked across the table with disdain coating his features once again. “I feed upon the suffering of others.” 

These words caused a wicked chill down your spine. 

It was something that Scott had warned you of, but you hadn’t actually considered what it truly meant. 

“So by depriving Stiles of his worldly pleasures - his music, his laughter, his pornography - which he watches far too much of, by the way.” Void let out a devious chuckle at this, and you didn’t even have time to think about the implications of this before he continued. “And especially by depriving him of food and sleep, I get to feed off his precious suffering.” 

It was a terrible paradox. Void thrived while Stiles withered. 

“And as of late, I have been so deliciously full.” 

A lump formed in your throat - if you knew any words apt for this situation, you wouldn’t have been able to get them out anyway. Void’s smirk grew wider. Indulging in your suffering, in your fear for your best friend, your horror at these realizations - Void continued. 

“But - among all those things, you know what he misses most of all?” 

He posed, talking slowly, his voice calculated, mocking you with another head tilt. It was as though he was looking down upon you even though he was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table and you were standing across from him on the other side of the room. 

You choked on a miserable syllable - no words came out. Part of you wanted to know the answer very badly, and part of you wanted him to shut up. You simply shook your head in reply. 

“He misses you.” 

Void whispered these words as though it was a precious secret. And then - he let out a grand cackle of a laugh, bordering on a howl as he continued to mock you. 

Your insides shook, and you became foggy with confusion - how did Stiles miss you more than he missed food or water or sleep? How did he ‘miss you’ so much when you were standing right here in front of him? Did the presence of this horrid being keep Stiles from seeing you or hearing you? Was he trapped so terribly inside his own body? 

Was this like a coma for him? Would he not remember any of this when it was over?

You could only hope that was the case. 

“He begs and pleads every time I won’t let him touch you.” Void grinned, letting out another laugh - clearly pleased by the idea of Stiles’s misery. “He is so damn desperate to hold you. It’s hilarious, really. Especially because - at the same time, he’s terrified of what I’ll do if I get too close.” 

These words put a terrible knot in your stomach. 

You could only imagine how terrible it was for Stiles - he was a naturally touchy person, and now, someone else was controlling his body, keeping him from participating in the physical affection that he craved. Threatening to put his loved ones in danger if he did get the love that he desperately craved. 

You didn’t want to know what Void would do if you walked across the room to hug Stiles. But at the same time, it made you yearn to hold him, to squeeze him tight, to give him the comfort he was clearly so badly in need of. Especially now that you knew his consciousness was still in there, alert and alive, fighting to get out. 

“He’s so pathetic.” Void remarked softly. “He misses his Mommy, and… well, you’re the only one who ever treated him like a Mommy would. Isn’t that right?” 

This sentiment confused you entirely. 

You stared at him, gape-jawed, waiting for an explanation, and luckily - he did give you one. 

“You held him close, and kissed his boo-boos. You… you were the only one who told him he was good enough when he never fucking was.” 

You instantly wanted to argue this point, but you were more caught up on the overarching metaphor that Void was making. 

All of the individual points were true. You had done all of those things for Stiles. But you didn’t see how that made you Stiles’s Mommy. It just made you a good friend. 

“My Stiles is good enough.” You argued weakly, finally finding your words. “He’s a good person, and you can’t change that about him. He’s still in there. And he’s still going to be a good person after all this.” 

Void tutted his tongue, giving another mocking smirk. 

“Still at it.” He laughed. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t care to respond to that. 

“Beautifully relentless.” Void sighed, sounding almost dreamy as he said this. He sounded as if he admired this quality in you. 

Which he did. But he admired this about you for one specific reason. 

“See… that’s what makes the fear so fucking delicous.” He continued on, explaining. “When someone so bright, so full of hope finally gives up. When their spirit finally breaks. It permeates the air better than the smell of a rotting corpse - and it’s so fucking beautiful.” 

You chose not to respond to this - baffled by his words, and slightly frightened. 

Instead, you wondered something else. 

“What happens if Stiles doesn’t eat?” You asked. “You said that you’re full, but he’s still human. It’s still a human body. A body that you’re currently living in.” 

Void clapped his hands together a few times, slowly, giving you dry, sarcastic applause for your cleverness. 

“Good question. Clever little girl.” He congratulated you, causing another wave of ‘ick’ to roll through you at his condescending tone. “He is my host, but currently, I rule all. I give him strength, I eliminate all his weaknesses. I turn his pathetic human form into the ultimate weapon. With me inhabiting his body, he does not need to eat, sleep, or drink. He does not need such tiny fallacies as comfort.” 

“And what happens when you leave?” You posed. 

“If I choose to leave.” Void smirked at you. 

“When.” You ground out sharply, arguing, feeling braver the longer that you stood there and talked to him. 

To you, he wasn’t all that scary. 

Scott had warned you that Void was clever - that he would manipulate you and try to hurt you. But thus far, you hadn’t seen the route to any tricks. He seemed very straight-forward and honest. He seemed very plainly painted in his cruelty. 

“If I choose to leave this host and move onto another, then… I suppose that he’ll collapse.” Void shrugged, speaking about it as if it were no more interesting to him than a fly in his peripheral. “Without my strength keeping him alive, all the exhaustion, all the hunger, all the thirst - it will hit him, all at once. He may even die from the shock alone. His body will be too weak and fragile to handle it.” 

A surge of terrible anger flooded you. Perhaps it was fueled by fear, but either way, it drove you to smack your hand down onto the table, nearly smashing the birthday cake before you screamed out, finally lashing out on him. 

“Motherfucker!” You called Void the first cruel name that came to mind, and he didn’t give any indication of reaction at your throat scraping volume. “You stupid bastard! You are gonna get out and give Stiles his body back, and when you do, you’re gonna return it in good fucking condition! You understand me?” 

Void simply smirked, seeming entirely amused by your outburst. 

Of course, he wasn’t scared of you - a powerless human. You had nothing to threaten him with. Even if you had the powers of a werewolf, he still wouldn’t fear you. 

“There’s that spunk he’s always talking about.” Void said, an odd kind of fondness peeking through his voice that didn’t suit him. “You know, it’s almost… cute. I’m starting to understand why he likes you so much.” 

You only became more pissed off at being called ‘cute’ when you were so boiling angry. It was entirely aggravating - someone being so condescending toward your rage. 

Then, it hit you that the ‘he’ Void spoke about had to be Stiles. Did the two of them have conversations? Why would Stiles bother to praise you to a thousand year old demon? 

It caused more of your affection for Stiles to bubble up inside you, and you hated it. 

“Look, darling, because I like you, I’ll make you a deal,” Void posed, giving you yet another pet name that made you feel oddly disgusted. 

Stiles had called you plenty of friendly nicknames before - he had even called you ‘babe’ jokingly, on occasion. But ‘darling’ had never spilled from his lips toward you. It was just another horrible reminder that he was so terribly not himself. That the thing wearing his face, puppeting him around was not Stiles. 

“What deal?” You replied. 

It was best to move on and start thinking of ways to take care of Stiles - ways to get him out of this mess. 

“I’ll eat something for Stiles if you do something for me in return.” 

You knew that he kept his wording purposefully vague. And you knew that this was likely what Scott had talked about - his intention to trick you. But Void had you right where he wanted you - desperate, fearful. He was manipulating you using emotions that he didn’t have. 

“What do you want from me?” You dared to ask. 

He smirked. 

“I’ll tell you after Stiles has been fed.” 

You took a moment to consider it, knowing that it was likely a terrible idea to agree to anything when it came to him. But he had you backed into a corner. He knew that he could get you to do anything while holding the culpability of Stiles’s wellbeing over your head. 

“Oh no,” Void said, using an oddly soft, pained tone that varied so much from the emotionless, mocking tone he had been using before. He gripped at Stiles’s stomach, and let out a groan of pain that you knew had to be fake, as he professed before that he made Stiles’s body strong and invincible. “He’s begging for you to help him! You’re right, he hasn’t eaten in days, and he’s really feeling it now! It’s killing him!” 

He was using your empathy to manipulate you. 

“Stop it.” You protested, and it came out much weaker than you had intended - sounding much more like a plea than an order. 

He clutched his stomach tighter, and then, he looked up at you with the saddest water eyes you had ever seen - for a moment, a single breath of a moment - you saw Stiles, your Stiles break through. 

“Please, Y/N.” He said, crying out your name breathlessly. “Please, I’m so hungry.” 

“Fine, fine!” You cried in return, barely realizing how close to tears you were, seeing Stiles beaten down, weak, begging for you to help him. “Fine, you’ve got a deal!” 

In a moment of weakness, rushing to help Stiles, you reached out your hand to shake on it, signifying your promise - and in an instant, Void’s face shifted from that soft, vulnerable boy you knew back to that horrible demon, glaring at you as he reached out and grabbed your hand. You knew that many stories cautioned against making a deal with the devil, and you supposed that making a deal with Nogistune was just as bad. 

But it was done now. All you could do was hope that Stiles would benefit from this. 

A short while later, he had scoffed down a very large piece of cake and was halfway done with the cheeseburger, with you intently watching the whole time to make sure that there were no tricks involved on his part. You thought that the meal would mostly be silent, but he finally spoke up again, looking a bit less intimidating with some remnants of the meal smeared across his face. 

“You know, one thing I can credit humans for…” He said, swallowing before he picked up one of the fries. “Their talent for cruelty. Grinding up an animal, frying it in its own melted fat and then covering it in the stolen milk meant to suckle its babes - that is something I can admire.” 

“I’m sure vegans would love you.” You mumbled quietly, to yourself, not entirely sure if he could hear you. 

“You should join me.” He remarked after another bite - motioning toward the table full of food. “It’s more polite than standing over me like a statue, gawking at me the whole time.” 

You knew that with him holding Stiles hostage, you were in no position to refuse him. So you played right into his demands, pulling out the chair across from him without a word and flipping open the pizza box to grab a slice. You began eating in silence, and naturally - Void continued speaking. 

“This is almost like one of those little dates that you used to have with him, isn’t it?” He spoke quietly, mocking you once again. “At least, that’s what Stiles called them. Dates. He was deluded enough to believe that if he didn’t speak it aloud, his affection for you would simply be known.” 

This punched you in the gut, and you bit your tongue as you took your first bite of pizza. You sputtered with shock and Void continued to look amused. You never thought it was true. Scott always said that Stiles had feelings for you, and Lydia said so too - but you thought they were just theorizing. 

You had never, ever thought that your best friend and long time crush - the person you were in love with - would ever feel the same way about you. 

And you had to find out from a fucking demon. 

You remained silent, busying your mouth with eating as you tried to process the shocking news. 

“But we both really know what it was, huh? He was so pathetic… he didn’t want to be rejected by you, so he never even asked. He was never brave enough. Always so pitiful, and small. Your boy is just a coward.” 

Again, you didn’t say anything. Not playing into his game - unaware of the fact that he could feel your annoyance in the air. He didn’t need you to voice your emotions in order to gain satisfaction from mocking Stiles in your presence. 

So of course, he kept on going. 

“But not as pathetic as he is right now. Sweet and pathetic, begging for your life. Begging for me to spare you. It’s almost like a song. He keeps on telling me to stay away from you as if he has any power over this.” 

“Just shut up and eat.” You told him, sharp and even. 

He nodded and continued, seemingly content with the deal you had made - for now. 

And he finished the burger and fries, and two of the Honey Buns before scrunched up the wrapper on the last one, and then wiped his face with an utterly contented smile. Then he said: 

“Now, time for what I want.” 

You wiped off your face and hands with a napkin, done with your pizza - not having much of an appetite anyway with the situation at hand. There was a flash of worry in your mind. Wondering if he might ask you to kill someone for his benefit because they wouldn’t be expecting it to come from you. Or perhaps he might even ask for something sexual - 

He let out a bright chuckle - almost as if reading your mind and highly amused by your thoughts. 

“No, no. Don’t worry, darling. Nothing like that.” He told you. “I feed off of suffering. Precious pain. Anxiety, heartache, fear. Now it’s time for me to eat.” 

You thought he might say something like that. And you had come prepared with that in mind - prepared to give up anything to get Stiles back. 

You reached into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a small pocket knife. It was one that Scott had given you shortly after you found out that he had become a werewolf. He had never wanted to hurt you, so - it was silver plated steel, and he had Stiles burn Wolfsbane smoke over the blade to poison it - just in case you ever needed a weapon against one of his kind. It would be useless against Void, and the Wolfsbane wouldn’t poison a human like you. 

But the blade was more than sharp enough to cut you. It would hurt you. It would provide the pain that Void desired. 

You shoved your sleeve up to your elbow and poised the blade at your skin, but Void reached out, stopping you. 

For a heart-stopping moment, you thought that somehow, Stiles had regained control. 

But when your eyes flickered up to his face, you saw nothing but Void’s dark amusement lingering in those eyes. This left you confused as he took the knife from your limp grip. 

“As amusing as that would be, sweet thing, it’s rather… boring.” He declared tiredly. “I had something else in mind.” 

Your throat dried up, and you didn’t even realize that you were trembling as you stared him down with terrible, anxious anticipation, waiting to see what he had in store for you. 

Void licked his lips, practically lapping up the delicious, sweet taste of your fear. 

He pocketed the knife and walked around the table toward you. You resisted the urge to get up and run away as he bracketed so close to your side, leaning on the table and tucking his face close to your cheek. Being this close to him, as close as you had been to Stiles since he had been taken hostage - you could almost be tricked by the faint smell of the familiar body wash coming off his skin, by the warmth that you knew to be so human. 

But this wasn’t Stiles. A thought that only made it all feel so much worse. 

It caused you to hold back tears. 

“No, no, darling.” He whispered against your cheek, causing your throat to clench up again. “If I wanted your pain, I could have it. I could take it.” 

Fuck. What had you gotten yourself into? 

You held back a fearful whimper, and Void joyfully continued. 

“I could smack you, punch you, make you bleed.” 

He went on - the confidence of his words causing your trembling to become more apparent as your heart pounded in your chest. You considered running, but that would mean abandoning Stiles. You came here to check on him - to fight for him. You couldn’t chicken out now. 

“I could take your pathetic little knife and stab you, over and over again while Stiles screams and begs for mercy. I do love it when he begs for your life - he’s so much more desperate when it comes to you.” 

Dear god. Would he actually kill you just to force Stiles to watch? Did Stiles have to be conscious for something like that? 

Would he force Stiles to live for the rest of his life with the guilt of not being able to stop your murder? With him in control, would Stiles even live that much longer? 

“But no. That’s not the game I want to play. Not right now, at least.” 

You hated that he likely saw the breath of relief as it flexed from your chest. 

“What -what do you want, then?” You asked, your throat still clenched by fear, making your words come out choked and weak. 

He put a hand on your cheek - one that felt all too familiar. The hand you had held while walking to class, or cuddling on the couch. The hand that dismissively waved in front of your face when you told him that he had come up with another horrible idea. Void turned your face toward him, and you were then up close and personal with the horrible sight of a pain-fueled demon wearing your sweet best friend’s face. 

“I want your tears.” 

Of course. Emotional pain, rather than physical. You would dare to say that it would be even more potent. 

Good thing you were already so close to crying. 

You would just have to spend a few more minutes thinking about Stiles trapped in there, helpless-

“Tell me about the accident.” He declared, smirking, finding the whole ordeal very satisfying. 

“No.” You immediately replied. 

It was too painful. You couldn’t even think about it, it was too much- 

“No?!” He screamed in your ear, causing you to flinch. “Nobody tells me ‘no’! You promised me something, you stupid little bitch. Now hold up your end of the deal.” 

Sadly, he was right. You had made a deal with him - and if this was part of carrying it out… you would have preferred the pocket knife. 

Even just thinking about that night - the blood, the twisted metal, the terror you had felt. The anxiety, the waiting. It had all been so horrible. It had been hell. A worse hell than a dinner date with a demon who was wearing your best friend as a human skin suit. 

Already, Void felt a deep satisfaction as those emotions began to permeate the air around the two of you. To him, it was the most beautiful kind of poison. He took a deep whiff, and then leaned in close again, running his nose along your hairline to sniff you. 

You shrugged away from the touch, but didn’t have far to go without falling off your chair completely. You were happy when he pulled away again - feeling used and wishing for nothing more than Stiles’s comforting touch and assuring words. 

“Perfect.” He mumbled quietly to himself. “You know, Stiles hardly remembers any of it. The night is almost completely blank in his mind.” 

You didn’t know that. After the hospital, the two of you had never bothered to talk about it in order to compare stories. Like you always did, the two of you just moved on. You looked forward to brighter days, thankful that your friendship was still intact. 

“But I know that you remember everything. Every. Single. Last. Detail.” Void said, giving another terrible laugh. 

He grabbed onto the back of your chair, and using a strength that you knew didn’t belong to Stiles, he roughly tugged on it, forcing it away from the table and spinning you to face him. He came back around to stand in front of you - now, he would be the one standing to loom over you, watching you while you provided him with a delicious meal. 

“So, come on,” He prodded. “I want to hear the whole story. And you better not leave anything out.” 

He stood there in complete satisfaction, his arms crossed as he grinned down at you with a devilish smile. 

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with your fingers for a moment. You gathered your courage, and then you began to speak. 

This is for Stiles, you assured yourself. For Stiles. 

“Well, it was the night of the winter formal.” You started off. “And when I saw Stiles screech out of the parking lot in his Jeep at top speed-” 

“No, no.” Void shook his head, cutting you off. “I said start at the beginning.” He scolded you sharply. “That’s not the beginning, is it? I want all the details. Go back to the beginning of the night.” 

“Are you serious?” 

At first, you were utterly confused. He asked you to tell him about the accident. What did a high school dance have to do with a car accident? 

“Of course, darling.” He smirked at you. 

Then, it hit you. He didn’t just want the gorey details. He wanted every ounce of your suffering. He wanted Stiles to suffer too. Especially if he said that Stiles didn’t remember it. He wanted you to recount the entire night to Stiles from your perspective. It was why he had brought up Stiles’s ‘affection’ for you. 

He wanted both of you to suffer in the misery that you had been in love with each other for so long and not been together. The stupidity that you were both blind idiots who kept each other from happiness the whole time. 

So you took a breath, and you told your story how he wanted to hear it, starting from the beginning of the night. 

… 

You were utterly miserable. 

It was one of the biggest dances of the year (well, aside from Prom and Homecoming…) and you didn’t have a date. You had spent a huge chunk of money, your savings from a crappy minimum wage job waiting tables, on a gorgeous dress and shoes, hoping that Stiles would ask you to the dance. But he was going with Lydia. 

You guessed that you had to be happy for him. He had been crushing on her since the third grade, and he was finally going on a date with her. A good best friend would be happy for him. 

But naturally, you were still trying to look your absolute best, maybe, selfishly, in the hope that he would see you from across the room and realize that he had made the wrong choice. Lydia was an amazing, sweet girl - and you genuinely hated the type of jealousy that this was making you feel. 

You knew that logically, you had no claim over Stiles. He was just your friend, and he was more than free to go on dates with other girls. It was downright toxic of you to not ask him to the dance and then get upset when he happily went with someone else as his date. 

But you tried not to think about that as you put the finishing touches on your look. You had gone all out with your best hair and make-up to compliment your expensive crystal blue satin dress. Whether it was to make yourself feel better or to try and capture Stiles’s attention - you still weren’t entirely sure. 

“Lip-gloss?” Allison appeared behind you, holding a hand out, looking for the aforementioned product. 

You handed it to her and she leaned down, looking into the mirror of your vanity while applying it. She had told you that getting ready at her own house would have simply been ‘too weird’ because she was fighting with her family, and she wanted some calm down time. So she had asked to get ready with you, with the offer that Jackson could give you both a ride from there. 

“Look, I’m sorry.” She said, feeling too awkward in the silence as you applied your mascara, focusing on your work and not looking at her in the mirror. She knelt down beside you, guilt written across her face. “If I had known that you liked Stiles, I wouldn’t have set him up with Lydia.” 

“It’s not a big deal.” You remarked. “Like you said, you didn’t know.” After a moment, you added on: “It’s kind of… good. Like a relief. I almost feel like it’s less pressure.” You shrugged. “I can just go and have fun without worrying about impressing him.” 

You had been lying to yourself. You absolutely hated it with every fiber of your being. You didn’t want to be angry with Allison, but you knew that she was better friends with Lydia than she was with you. That’s why she hadn’t known about your feelings for Stiles before now. When she had asked why you seemed so upset about the news that the two were going to the dance together, you told her, and she explained with a sour, sad face that she had set them up. 

You hated it, but you couldn’t help thinking that this was the first step to Stiles and Lydia becoming a thing - the first act in them dating for long months while you resented Lydia for stealing something you once saw as yours. 

And you hated yourself for being that kind of person. 

Allison chuckled at this. 

“Yeah… Well, Scott’s not going at all, so none of us get to go with the person we want to be with.” She said in a deeply sad tone, obviously aching from her own problems. 

… 

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Void commented, drawing you from the memory. “A pretty girl spends too much money on a dress, trying to impress some moron who won’t even notice it.” 

He was mocking Stiles again. 

“And then you had to see him with her.” 

You nodded. 

You could picture it so perfectly in your mind. Getting out of Jackson’s car and seeing Stiles rush to open the door for her - the way he smiled at her, the way he looked at her like she held the world on the edges of her lips. You wanted nothing more than for him to look at you like that. Her perfect ‘strawberry blonde’ hair fluttering in the wind as they walked arm-in-arm across the parking lot. 

It caused the most awful aching pain in your chest that you had ever felt. You didn’t truly know how precious Stiles was to you until you saw him with someone else. 

You knew Jackson was aching too, for much the same reason. And when he had offered you a swig of his drink, you took it. But it wore off too soon for your tastes and you didn’t have more. So for the better part of the night, you were forced to feel your pain while his was drowned out by the booze. 

“Tell me. Tell me how it made you feel.” Void egged you on, wanting you to say it out loud even though your pain was all too palpable in the air. 

“Like I was dying inside,” You answered, your throat tight but - still no tears yet. “Like all good had drained from the world. Like I had lost the most precious thing in my life and I would have to sit at the sidelines watching a perfect story play out when I was supposed to be a part of it.” 

Void took a deep breath, sniffing the air again. And then he chuckled. 

“Your pathetic teenage angst is… so amusing.” He grinned at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do tell me more.” 

You had no clue that somewhere inside of there, Stiles was hit with his own wave of intense sadness - something else for Void to feed off of. He had no clue that you had been in love with him for so long. He had no clue how many opportunities he had missed out on to tell you about his feelings - how long he could have been happily dating you. 

He hated how much time the two of you had missed out on. 

Void sat contently between Stiles’s complicit misery and your renewed angst as you continued the story. 

… 

You had moped around all night. 

You thought perhaps the only person more miserable than you at that dance was Scott - stuck hiding in the shadows, forced to watch Allison dance with Jackson while pretending he wasn’t even there. 

But eventually, he too got his way after making a huge scene that even stopped the band for a moment - and left Coach feeling embarrassed when everyone thought that he went off on a homophobic screaming tirade because Scott was dancing with Danny. Good thing Beacon Hills was pretty progressive. 

After spending all night on the bleachers on the verge of tears, you decided to leave to get yourself a chocolate bar from the vending machine - nothing goes better with sorrow than chocolate, right? Well, perhaps Jackson had a point in pairing his sorrow with liquor. But you weren’t at that point yet. 

You were considering just calling it a night altogether. But you saw Stiles standing by himself, sans Lydia, and you figured it was a good time to make your move, if you were going to make one. 

You wandered over to him shyly. 

You had been feeling so down about yourself, you didn’t notice the way his eyes traced over every inch of you with awe - the way his lips parted with slight shock and wonder at how beautiful you looked that night. 

Just as he was about to tell you so, you spoke up. 

“So… where’s Lydia?” You asked. 

“Oh, uh - she went to go find Jackson.” He said, disappointment seeping through every single inch of his voice. 

“Naturally.” You replied. 

You wanted to rant and scream about how she wasn’t good enough for him if she was going to ditch him for a guy who supposedly didn’t even want her anymore. 

Your eyes strayed over to Allison and Scott on the dance floor, looking at each other with nothing but affection - clearly, only thinking of the other person, so caught up in their own little bubble. She didn’t care that Jackson had ditched her. A small flare of jealousy went through you. 

You wished that could be you and Stiles. 

“Do you wanna dance?” You asked Stiles, hoping that you could have your moment, even if it meant stealing him away from Lydia (when she clearly didn’t care). 

He gave you a shy grin. “Okay.” 

You grabbed his hand and led him out to the dance floor, and his hands found a natural place on your hips while you softly draped your arms around his neck. The two of you swayed to the slow music for a moment before you spoke again. 

“This is nice.” You commented, smiling. 

Though it had felt impossible only an hour ago, you actually felt happiness creeping in. Standing there underneath the coloured lights, dancing with the one person you had wanted the whole time. It was nice. There was still a lick of mourning lingering in your chest. You knew that Stiles still only viewed you as a friend, and you weren’t sure if you could ever gather that courage to take the leap and tell him about how you truly felt. As much as you wanted to just pull him close and kiss him. 

“You know, you were the one person I actually wanted to dance with tonight.” You continued on. “And-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, not wanting to sound too vulnerable. 

“Yeah.” Stiles replied - though he sounded oddly distant and thoughtless. 

When you looked at his face again, you realized that he was staring at something over your shoulder, and you craned your neck to see that he was gawking at his watch. 

“Ugh, really?” You scoffed, pushing him away. “Is dancing with me so awful that you feel the need to time it?” 

“No.” He shook his head furiously, hating what you were accusing him of. “That’s not - look, Lydia’s been gone for over ten minutes! I’m worried.” 

You shook your head, sighing deeply in defeat. Of course he was still thinking about her. 

“Did you ever consider that maybe she found Jackson? That maybe they’re off somewhere making out? That she just ditched you because she doesn’t give a shit about you?” You argued, full of pain, your voice raising in volume to the point where you attracted stares from others on the dancefloor. 

A look of pure pain streaked across Stiles’s face at your words. 

“Whatever.” Stiles shrugged. “I’m going to find her. Because I actually care about her. And because I trust my gut.” He sharply bumped your shoulder as he passed, leaving you feeling more rejected and horrible than ever.

You turned and fled from the room, scurrying away from the many eyes on you once you realized that people were still staring. 

… 

“His gut.” Void chuckled. “He always did have good instincts, didn’t he?” 

He did. Stiles had amazing instincts. 

Because you had been assuming the worst - believing that Lydia had ditched Stiles to go and make-out with Jackson, when in reality, she had been bleeding to death on the lacrosse field. Stiles had been more than right to go looking for her. 

Given, that was before you even knew about the existence of werewolves and all the other bullshit that ran ramped in Beacon Hills. But it didn’t make you feel like any less of a horrible person when you found out. 

“Did you ever consider what a selfish bitch you are?” 

Void continued on when you didn’t speak, seamlessly picking up with his mocking. Of course, he knew all the weak spots to hit. He could feel right where you were soft and vulnerable - right where you flexed with hurt under his taunts. 

“Whining about not getting to dance with some dork while an innocent girl was bleeding to death? Talk about priorities.” 

“I didn’t know.” You replied, your voice stiff. 

You knew it was a poor excuse. You knew that ultimately, you were selfish. You should have gone with Stiles to look for Lydia. You should have helped. 

Distantly, caged up inside of Void - Stiles was eternally thankful about that argument. He was thankful that you had been distanced from all of it, kept away from Peter Hale’s hungry claws. He would have gone insane, having you and Lydia in hospital beds, side by side, not knowing what the fate of either of you would be. 

“Yeah, you can just keep telling yourself that same bullshit, sweetheart.” Void said, his voice a low whisper. “But we both know what you are. Maybe in reality, you’re not that much different from someone like me.” 

Maybe that realization hurt more than anything. 

Maybe that was his intention - to hit you with a truth that would wound you. 

“You know… he still thinks about you in that dress.” Void spoke quietly again, carefully, painstakingly choosing each word. “How… beautiful you looked. His perfect rare crystal.” 

He put emphasis on each word in a way that sent chills down your spine. His sharp gaze coming from Stiles’s honey whiskey eyes felt infinitely darker, and rather than feeling treasured as something good, something valuable like you usually did when Stiles looked at you - you felt filthy. You felt a sense of fear, knowing that Void would use Stiles precious appreciation of you to hurt him. To hurt both of you. 

“That was the night he knew for certain that he was in love with you.” Void let out another laugh - dark and low. “The night he knew that he loved you more than he ever loved Lydia. She was laying in front of him dying, and still - all he could think about was protecting you. Protecting you from the threat.” 

Your throat clenched up, and anything you were going to say was lost. 

“I guess he’s selfish too, isn’t he?” Void posed. “You two are perfect for each other, I suppose.” 

Then, he put on a weak, small, wobbling voice, and began to mock the unique, crippling fear that Stiles had experienced that night. 

“Where’s Y/N? I need to find her. I need to protect her. Is she next?” 

Nausea tightened in your stomach. 

A unique tightness clutched at your chest. 

Stiles had known he was in love with you that night. 

He had been trying to protect you. 

Is that why he had fled from the dance so suddenly? 

“Ask me the question.” Void grinned, entirely excited now that you had put it together, made the realization. “Come on, ask me the question. We both know you want to.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You choked out. 

This was not the question he wanted. 

But still, he indulged you. 

“I told you.” He said firmly. “I like pain.” 

He took a step forward then, leaning down, bracketing his hands by your hips on the wooden kitchen chair’s seat, his face tight in your personal space once again. 

“Now… ask me the question.” 

You took a shallow breath. 

You hated how intimidating he was. You hated knowing that if it had actually been Stiles who was this close to you, it would have given you butterflies or even turned you on, but instead - you felt anxiety having him this close. 

You couldn’t help but to give him what he wanted. 

“What really happened that night?” You whimpered out, terrified of that answer. “Why did Stiles leave the dance?” 

Void grinned. 

“What a brilliant question. You are such a clever girl.” 

… 

All of it happened so fast. 

Stiles spotted Lydia from afar - her red hair very distinctive. Then he saw it - a humanoid shape transforming into a big, black beast. Razor sharp teeth and claws. 

He begged for her life, and he had been given one chance to spare her - a single call to Jackson. Luckily, the asshole picked up. (It was the one time in Stiles’s life that he had ever been thankful for Jackson’s existence.) 

And then, he was being kidnapped, forced into his own car and being forced to drive to God knows where. 

Of course, he was far too busy with the panic of it all, and he didn’t notice you. 

He didn’t notice you - stumbling into the parking lot, looking for him in order to apologize for what you had said. He didn’t notice you watching with suspicion and confusion as his Jeep pulled out of the parking lot at top speed. He didn’t notice you going into your purse for your phone, looking to call his dad, considering making a report to him about it - only to find Jackson’s keys in your purse from earlier that night. Because when you had spotted him still drinking more than an hour into the dance, so sloshed that he could barely stand, you had demanded his keys from him, telling him that you wouldn’t let him drink and drive. 

Stiles hadn’t noticed you getting into Jackson’s car and stealing it in order to trail behind him to see where he was going - just in time to miss Jackson running through the parking lot screaming for help with Lydia’s limp body in his arms. 

Stiles was too busy with panic and anxiety to notice any of that, far too busy wondering if he was going to get out of this alive. And now, he was driving down a deserted backroad with Peter Hale in his passenger’s seat, who was making entirely sexist remarks about how Lydia would end up ripping his throat out ‘twice a month’ if she survived The Bite. 

“You know, you didn’t have to protect her from it.” Peter droned on, increasing Stiles’s anxiety and annoyance. “It’s going to make her whole life better. She’ll thank me for it when she’s ready.” 

“You should have just left her out of this.” Stiles bit back. “Lydia is a good girl. She doesn’t deserve any of this.” He huffed. “If she dies, I swear to god, I’ll-” 

“You’ll what?” 

Peter chuckled, grinning, seeming amused by Stiles’s vague, likely unbackable threats. Stiles ground his teeth, not responding - hating that they both knew he wouldn’t be able to follow through on anything he threatened. Not when Peter could kill him with one clean swipe of his claws. 

“You’re protective. I do admire that in a man.” He paused, thinking. “Though, I suppose… you’re not quite a man, are you? At least not yet.” 

Stiles bit his tongue, not wanting to make any further threats that he couldn’t live up to. He had seen what Peter could do, and unfortunately - he knew that he didn’t have the physical force to fight against him. 

So what the hell could he do? 

That was the question that made Stiles’s mind tink on anxiously, convincing him further that he just might end up dead tonight. 

“What about your other pretty friend?” Peter wondered aloud, changing the subject suddenly in a way that confused Stiles. “Are you just as protective of her?” 

“What? Are you talking about Y/N?” Stiles’s heart began pumping even more viciously with anxiety, absolutely terrified that you were on Peter’s radar. 

He hated that he knew Peter could hear it - that spike in his heart rate that indicated his fear, his weakness. 

“The one in the blue dress.” Peter told him, seeming almost disinterested in the conversation as he picked at his nails. Stiles’s heart thumped harder in affirmation, and Peter continued. “She wears that lovely vanilla perfume-” 

“Leave her out of this!” Stiles screamed at the top of his lungs, rage overtaking him so suddenly that he almost swerved off the road - Peter reached over and corrected this, rolling his eyes at the outburst. 

Stiles clenched his jaw tightly and looked ahead at the road, fuming. 

(Driving behind him in Jackson’s car, you wondered why his driving was suddenly so erratic.) 

“You leave her the hell alone.” Stiles huffed, praying that there was some finality to his words. 

“That would be a little difficult, considering that she’s been following us for half a mile.” Peter grinned. “I am going to have to speak to her about this whole matter when we arrive.” 

Stiles thought that Peter was bluffing - trying to use you as leverage to get him to co-operate, just as he had done with Lydia. But when he squinted into the rearview mirror, he saw… Jackson’s car? And a flash of blue in the driver’s seat that must have been your dress. 

Fuck. 

He was so screwed. 

“What do you mean ‘speak to her’?” Stiles questioned, entirely panicked. 

“Well, we can’t have her running back to the Argents to warn them.” Peter smirked. “Perhaps, I can convince her how beneficial the Bite would be to her-” 

“No!” 

Stiles screamed, his voice filling up the entire cab of the Jeep with the might of his protection toward you. 

“Enough! Okay? Enough. You can do whatever you want with me - I’ll do whatever you want, I swear. And then you can kill me when you’re done with me so I won’t blab.” His voice tightened up around these words, slightly frightened to resign himself to this fate, but he was willing to do whatever it would take to protect you. “Just leave her the hell alone.” 

“And if I don’t?” Peter asked, taunting, clearly enjoying the emotional reaction prompted from Stiles trying to protect you. “What can you possibly do about it?” 

Think. Stiles wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel. Think, think, think, Stiles! You’re supposed to be the clever one. 

An idea popped into his head. 

It wasn’t clever. It wasn’t good. But it was the only idea that he had. 

And when he took one last glance in the rearview mirror and realized that you were about twenty feet back - more than enough to hit the brakes in time - he resigned himself to it. 

He put his seatbelt on, and then - he harshly turned the wheel toward the nearest tree and - he gunned it. 

… 

The crash shocked you. 

You slammed on the brakes as quickly as you could, and came to a stop a few feet behind the tree that Stiles had rammed into. You stumbled out of the driver’s side door in shock, tears in your eyes as you wandered toward the Jeep - which was now nothing more than a heap of twisted metal, smoking, the horn blaring loudly where it was crumbled against the tree. 

“Stiles?” You called out, praying that he would answer you. “Stiles?” 

You slowly came around the car, finally able to get a good view of him through the smashed driver’s side window. 

He was entirely still, collapsed against the air-bag that had emerged from the steering wheel, blood smeared all over the white material. So much blood. It painted the smashed front windshield, dripped through his shirt. He was so still. He wasn’t moving. He-

“Stiles?” 

When he didn’t respond, you let out a loud sob. 

“Stiles? Come on - you - you have to-!” You couldn’t contain another sob as it tore through you, making you utterly breathless. 

You had been so distraught that you didn’t notice the passenger side door was wide open, even though there was not a single trace that anybody had been sitting there. Even if you had noticed, you likely would have chalked it up to the door being flung open from the force of the crash. 

Your ears were pounding with blood from the shock and you didn’t even notice the wolf-like howls echoing into the night above you. 

…

“I thought he was dead.” 

Your body couldn’t contain another sob when you got to this part in the story - finally providing Void with the tears he so desired. 

As you went over the horrors of that night in your mind, they now poured freely down your face. Your pain was made even worse with the stunning realization: Stiles had done it all to protect you. Put himself in danger, gone through so much pain - all to protect you. 

Void smiled at you - a terrible, haunting grin that he mocked you while wearing the face of the man you loved the most. 

“So beautiful.” He hummed, reaching out and wiping your tears - not to comfort you, of course. He gathered the wetness on his fingers and brought it to his lips, licking it. At this, he gave a satisfied sound. “So much pain.” 

“Are we done now?” You asked, wanting to be alone to wallow in your pain. 

Truthfully - you wanted nothing more than the comfort of Stiles. You wanted him to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay in the soothing way that he always did. You wondered if hugging Void would feel the same. You wondered if you could close your eyes and pretend, even for a moment. 

“No.” He told you, enjoying the extra little bit of anguish he could wring from you by telling you this. “Because that wasn’t the worst part, was it?” 

…

“Look, Noah, it’s probably nothing.” Melissa said firmly, doing her best to try and soothe the fellow parent. Sheriff Stilinski had already been at the hospital to take a report on what had happened to Lydia when something else came over the radio - a car accident report about a crash involving a blue Jeep. “Stiles isn’t the only person in this town who drives a-” 

Before she could even get the words out, the paramedics came bursting into the ambulance bay, wheeling in a bloodied, unconscious Stiles on a stretcher with you walking beside them, holding his hand. 

“My boy.” The Sheriff sobbed, rushing to reach them. 

Melissa knew that the doctors would likely need to get him up to the ER with the kind of condition that he was in, so she moved to escort you and the Sheriff to the waiting room. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you refused to be pulled away - you refused to let go of his hand. 

“He needs me.” You bawled, tears still steadily streaming down your face. “He needs me!” 

“Let them work, sweetie, just-” Melissa argued gently, trying to be understanding about the kind of shock you were in. 

“He needs me! He needs me!” 

She held you back, tearing your grip off of Stiles so that he could be escorted to the ER. Melissa began to cradle you comfortingly, rubbing a hand on your shoulder. 

There was only a short moment of silence before-

“What the hell happened?” The Sheriff turned to you, barking the words loudly, obviously yearning for answers about how Stiles had gotten hurt. 

“I - I don’t know.” You answered meekly, feeling intimidated by him. 

“Was he drinking? Were you two partying?” He screamed, getting closer into your space. 

Quickly, Melissa stepped between the two of you, putting a hand on Sheriff Stilinski’s chest to keep him at bay. 

“Noah, stop it-” 

“Was he drinking?” He pressed, forcing the words out slower, as though you were too dumb to understand. 

“What? No!” You quickly replied. “Stiles doesn’t drink!” 

(That had been a lie. You had seen him drink a few times at parties. But you knew that he was a firm proponent of designated sober drivers because of how many accident reports his father had filed from drunk drivers that involved death.) 

“Even if he was, I would never let him drive! Stiles would never let anybody drink and drive because that’s what you taught him!” 

You felt a slight bit of guilt, knowing that you had sipped on Jackson’s bottle and gotten behind the wheel. You wondered if that one single sip made you guilty of the crime that Stiles was so very much against. 

Before you could dwell on it too much, you continued. 

“I took Jackon’s keys from him to keep him from drunk driving! That’s how I followed Stiles in the first place.” 

“You used my car?” Jackson appeared behind you suddenly, taking on an accusatory tone. 

Everyone ignored him. 

“Well? Where was he going? What was he doing? How the hell did this happen?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” You ground out slowly. “It’s not like it was my fault!” 

… 

Void let out another astrid laugh. 

“Oh, but it was.” He grinned. “It was all your fault. How did it feel lying to a police officer about the fact that you almost killed his son?” 

“I wasn’t lying.” You replied, your throat gripped by tears. “I didn’t know.” 

You were glad that you hadn’t known the truth at the time. You weren’t sure if you could have faced the Sheriff, knowing that Stiles’s near death experience had been all your fault. 

“Would you look the Sheriff in the eyes and tell him that now?” Void asked. “Or would you apologize? Tell him that it’s all your fault that stupid, infatuated Stiles crashed his car into a tree trying to save you?” 

“I-” You choked out, truly unsure what to say. “I don’t know.” 

“Would you have taken his place?” Void snipped, quick to berate you with more questions. 

“What?” You parroted back, slightly confused. 

“Would you have taken his place?” He repeated. “You - caught up in that heap of twisted metal, carted off to the hospital to be poked and prodded by doctors, cut up, barely alive? Him - crying at your bedside like a pathetic idiot?” 

You had never considered it. You didn’t think it was wise to dwell on the past or mull-over hypotheticals like that. But truthfully - you thought that what had happened to you was worse. You thought that Stiles got the better end of it, sleeping through most of it while you had to steep in your pain. 

“Y-yes.” You said, hesitating slightly, feeling as though this was the proper, kind answer - saying that you would have taken the physical pain for him - that you would have laid in the bed and taken all of it in his place if you could have. 

“Uh-oh.” Void said, shaking his head. “Nobody likes a liar, Y/N.” 

How he knew that you were lying, you had no clue. 

But you were eager to move on from it before he prodded you about it any further. So you quickly moved on with your story. 

“And then, there was the waiting.” You told him. “We had to wait hours for him to come out of surgery, wondering if he was going to live. And then I waited for weeks by his bedside, wondering if he was ever going to wake up.” 

You swallowed around a painful knot in your throat as you remembered it. 

“So perfectly pathetic, isn’t it?” Void commented. “The way that you showed up to that hospital every single day - spent nights sleeping beside him in an uncomfortable plastic chair, just waiting… every single day waiting to see if he was going to wake up. Or rather - seeing if he was going to finally slip away. Waiting to see if he was finally going to die.” 

You let out more tears and Void sniffed the air again, taking a deep breath, enjoying the depth of your pain. 

“I wish I could have been there.” He remarked. “Every single day, you mourned over him. You cried for him. What a waste of sweet suffering.” 

He let out another laugh. You go do nothing more but sit there and let him mock you, let him indulge in the suffering that you had promised him. 

“You showed up every single day and he didn’t even know it. You talked to him, read to him, played him music… not even knowing if he could hear you. Thinking that he could hear you, but just… hinging it all on that tiny ray of hope.” 

You thought for certain that Void would confirm then and there that Stiles had never heard you when he had been comatose, because before he had said that your hope being broken was ‘delicious’. 

But what he did next hurt so much more.

Because of course, he knew the worst, most perfect ways to hurt you.  

“You read him The Velveteen Rabbit… because he said that his Mommy used to read it to him.” 

Void said, mocking deep in his voice. And then, he put on a shrill impression of you as he spoke again - repeating word for word what you had said to Stiles when you had been at his bedside. Private words that had been meant only for Stiles. 

“‘Stiles, you have to wake up. You have to wake up so we can be together again. Look, I know I messed up before, but… I really like you. I might even love you. Fuck it - I do love you. I’m in love with you, and you - you have to wake up so that I can spend the rest of my life loving you.’” 

He burst into laughter with these last words, cutting right through you. 

“Well, newsflash!” He screamed, startling you with his sudden volume, shaking you. “Stiles isn’t going to wake up this time. He’s never coming back again. You’re going to spend the rest of your life alone.” 

“He will.” You said weakly, knowing how defeated you sounded. “He’ll come back. He’ll come back to me, I know it.” 

You and Void both knew that you were trying to convince yourself with these words. 

Void pulled up his shirt, showing off the long, jagged scar in the middle of Stiles’s stomach - the scar he had from the accident. 

“See this? This is his human weakness.” Void stated. “I came along and I made him into something so much better. I made him strong. I made him-” 

“You ruined him!” You screamed, finally standing from your chair, hyper charged with your own rage now. “You took away everything that made him good - his sweetness, his kindness, his empathy. You-” 

“No, sweetheart.” Void grabbed your face, shutting you up and causing sharp shocks of pain across your head as he roughly jostled you. “Those things have always been his downfall. His stupid kindness and empathy caused him to crash himself into a fucking tree tyring to protect you. You - a dumb bitch who is still willing to put herself this close to a demon who could gut her in a second without a single care.” 

You held your breath. You waited for him to do something more - to truly attempt to harm you. 

And then, after a paralyzing second of staring into those dead eyes - he let you go again. You took a step back. You should have run - you should have run, and run, until you found Scott or someone else. But he was right. You were a dumb bitch. Even now, you couldn’t abandon Stiles. 

“You know, it’s even the same thing right now.” Void grinned. “The minute he gets back the slightest bit of control, he keeps trying to crash the damn car. He keeps trying to protect you!” 

He burst into laughter again, and your insides shook with fear. 

You knew that Stiles ‘crashing the car’ this time would only end with him dying. And you weren’t sure which was worse - him living in there, trapped and tortured while a demon controlled his body - or him killing himself to end all potential harm that Void could do to you and anybody else. 

“Even now, he’s begging me to shove this pathetic little knife into his neck,” He said, taking your knife out of his pocket and raising it up to his jugular. “Just so that there won’t be a single chance of me hurting you.” 

Your chest jumped. 

Upon instinct, you stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, attempting to pull the knife back - but of course, Void was much stronger than you, and his grip didn’t budge. Not even a slight bit. 

Your heart raced as you began to panic. 

“Please, don’t-” You muttered out, knowing that begging was likely your only course of action, whether Void or Stiles was the one in control. 

He grinned. “What are you going to do to stop me?” 

You had an idea. A terrible one. 

You leaned in, sealing your lips onto his - feeling chapped skin against yours and for a moment thinking that you had a one-way ticket to getting stabbed. But then, you felt the stiff, tense form underneath you soften up. You felt a gentle sigh, a sigh of relief leave Stiles’s lips as he pressed back, pushing into the kiss as though he had been yearning for this for centuries. 

The hand holding the knife to his neck shook - sharp spasms going through the muscles as he battled with himself. And after a moment, he dropped the object to the floor with a quiet clatter. Then, he brought that hand to smooth across your back in a gentle, comforting way that could have only been Stiles. 

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment, and when you looked into his eyes, you knew for certain that it was him. The softness, the sadness, the apologetic mourning. 

“Y/N-” He croaked out, releasing a few years of his own. 

“Hang in there, my love.” You told him, reaching up to gently grasp at his cheek. 

And then, just like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day - he was gone. 

Void’s horrible grin took over once again, and all the life dropped out of those eyes. 

“You truly are pathetic.” He said, giving another horrible laugh. 

Perhaps he was trying to convince you that Stiles had never been there, that it had only been a trick, but - you knew what you saw. 

Void hated it. 

It was something that he absolutely hated to admit, but you gave Stiles strength. You were likely the only person in town, likely the only thing on earth that could have given him - a weak, stupid, pathetic human, the strength to overpower the epic thousand year old demon that had taken control. 

In that moment, in an instant, he decided that you had to be eliminated. 

Void didn’t hesitate to reach down and pick up the knife. 

“No-” You gasped out. 

Before you could blink, he grabbed your shoulder, shoved you against a nearby wall, and plunged the small blade into your stomach. He didn’t stop just once - he stabbed you again, and again, and again - creating a flurry of blood and mashing flesh that caused you to gasp from the pain and sheer shock that overtook your body. 

It didn’t hurt as much as you expected it to. It was like a simple pinprick - nothing more painful than a needle piercing your skin for a routine blood sample. But when you felt the intense hot waves of blood pouring out, soaking your clothes - you knew that it was bad. You were already shaking from the shock and you knew that him pressing against you was the only thing still holding you up. 

Void took a tight hold of your face, both your cheeks in one blood-coated hand, and pressed his forehead tightly into yours. 

“Look at her.” He growled out, his voice as sharp and frightening as ever. “Look at her. Look at her while she’s dying.” 

You knew in an instant that he wasn’t talking to you. 

“Look at what you’ve done, Stiles!” He screeched, his voice harsh, almost distorted. “All that begging… all that begging - all for nothing!” 

“It’s okay.” You huffed out, reaching up, your hand surprisingly bloody, trying to touch his cheek in comfort. “It-it’s okay.” 

You were determined to survive this. Or - at the very least - you didn’t want Stiles living with the guilt if you didn’t. 

“Stiles-” 

Void wouldn’t stand for it. This comfort. 

He quickly stamped out this truth with a few more quick, violent jabs of the knife into your gut, forcing Stiles to watch as he violently eviscerated you. 

Then, he tossed the knife aside and let you slump to the floor before he walked away. 

He left you for dead, all too pleased with how utterly the sight of you bloodied and limp tortured Stiles. 

He left you there, not knowing that he left you with just enough determination - just enough life left you to drag your shaking body to the phone and get a bloody hand wrapped around it.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, so there will not be a sequel or a 'Part 2'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for a sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

Because I ended the fic the way I did, I do have some ideas for a potential sequel, but it's not something that I am rushing to write, and it's not something that will be on my schedule anytime soon. If you would like to, you can come into my inbox and chat about my ideas for the potential sequel - but right now they are just ideas and they will stay that way for a long time before becoming a full realised story (if they ever become one). I hope you enjoyed this fic as the capsule story oneshot that I always intended for it to be, and that you enjoy my other works if you do check them out.

[shiongenkai]

Jabberwock's B's-Log Pages!

Sorry for the horrifically blurry text. It's the best I can do, but feel free to ask for something zoomed in. I can easily provide!

Rough TL of what I considered important text under the cut.

Disclaimer: I am not a professional TLer, and this hasn't been proofread by another. I prioritized speed and therefore may have made mistakes. If you see them, please let me know. This is meant to be a very quick TL so people can have a rough idea of what to expect! TL notes are included on certain lines.

EDIT: I totally forgot to add like, a full two sentences. Those are there now. Im so sorry.

Main Story Summary: The members of Jabberwock, struggling to stay out of the red, head to a mission at the 'Father Farm' in order to make some cash! The farm has a labour shortage following each of its staff members quitting in succession. Furthermore, every retiree mentions the existence of a strange 'cat'. Even Ren, who usually hates troublesome work, agrees to go along, assuming it'll be easier than taking care of the anomalous animals. However... 'Father Farm' is a parody of a real life amusement park thing called 'Mother Park'. You get to do fun farm things like sheep shearing, racing pigs, a duckling procession, etc.

- Little Haru Image: "The heck happened to you guys?! When did you get so gigantic?!" Haru is so hard to translate I am Not up to date on my kansai…

-

Outfit Blurb: The Jabberwock members go on an undercover investigation! Here's a sneak peek at their super cute and colourful outfits! The actual outfit notes aren't that interesting, so I didn't translate them

-

Haru Sheep Blurb: The bright and cheerful voice of the announcer echos across the park, attracting visitors towards it. The MC is in charge of the capybara, Towa in charge of the sheep, and Ren in charge of the ducks! But their peaceful time quickly disappears as the fence containing the ducks breaks, leading to them escape....?!

Image Dialogue: "Welcome in, don't be shy! C'mon, everybody! Come on in, see the bang for your buck!"

-

Haru On Knees Blurb: At the farm, the temporary staff's main tasks obviously include taking care of the animals, but they also include helping to organise the events and shows! Due to that, the uniforms are cute work clothes that take after various animals. I honestly can't tell if their animal characteristics are fake or not… maybe they're anomalous? Shrugs.

Image Dialogue: "What the hell are these outfits…" (Ren, probably)

"R-Ren and Towa too huh? You look great in those matching outfits!" (Haru) I split this into two sentences because I think he's doing two thoughts… otherwise, it's 'Y-You guys look great in those matching outfits!' or something like that

"～～、～～……." (Towa)

- Towa Image: "Hehe~. Since Dandelion looks pretty, I'll protect her~."

[she-walks-on-starlight]

Negotiations

a/n: This is Day 2! So sorry it's late, I was hospitalised over the weekend which put me behind! I'm working hard to catch up hehe

Pairing: Ambessa Medarda x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Write a scene without any dialogue

Warnings: smut, vaginal fingering, public sex, alcohol drinking, slight dom-sub vibes, mentions of violence, mention of blood

Summary: Ambessa hates negotiating, no matter how important it is for her rule. Perhaps she will make herself some entertainment to find it more enjoyable...

Word Count: 1.1k

18+ | MEN AND MINORS DNI | 18+

You know Ambessa finds these meetings the most tedious part of ruling over Noxus. She finds little meaning or use in negotiations, far more used to greeting political rivals and ambitious warlords with her sword at their throat than breaking bread with them. It is a preposterous notion to her, attempting to appease her perceived enemies. As she presides over the emissaries and nobles at the head of the table, you know she is listening keenly, identifying weakness, and sniffing out any hidden agendas. Noxian custom is steeped in violence, and there was a time that Ambessa would be demanding fealty or these peoples’ heads.

But things are different for her now. Now, her daughter Mel has agreed to remain in contact with her and visit Noxus more often with her consort, Jayce. Ambessa can breathe easier knowing that rebuilding the bridge between herself, and her daughter will secure her legacy and ensure that a Medarda inherits the throne upon Ambessa’s death.

She has you now. Seated to her right, close by so she can always see you. Her consort, the love she never thought she’d find again. You’ve dressed yourself in a scarlet red ensemble tonight, complete with a gold medallion belt accentuating your hips. Red and gold, her favourite colours. The colours of war and victory. Conquest. You’ve already caught her more than once tonight, her eyes raking down your figure, her eyes hungry and her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When your eyes meet, she flashes you a fanged smile, no doubt envisioning the many ways she will take you when this insufferable night is over.

You’re drawn to one of the visiting emissaries booming laughter as he gulps down wine and flirts boisterously with the serving girls as they refill his plate and his cup. You try to suppress your smile as you take in Ambessa’s disgust, knowing she’d want nothing more than to pick up the lout like a ragdoll and smash him into the ornate mahogany dining table, likely shattering it in the process.

The image sends an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome rush of heat between your legs. You squeeze your thighs as you imagine her leering down at the man, twitching as blood leaks from his head and then turns to you with her signature smirk. The very same smirk that ushered you into her bed three years ago, at another function where Ambessa was more interested in the wine selection than the purpose of the gathering. The scandal had rocked the court of Noxus, their esteemed leader engaging in an ill-advised relationship with a younger woman, and the daughter of an insignificant noble. She had silenced their doubts in her usual way, with threats of broken bones and removed tongues.

At first, you were convinced that she wanted only for your body, the way she tasted and marked your flesh during your visits bruising you with carnal possession. She was a tornado of fire, and you were blessed to be at the heart of the inferno. Countless nights you found yourself in awe of her, in awe of your luck. Nights spent with shaking legs, dripping with sweat and your own release as she made you scream her name for her over and over again. She was never satisfied with hearing your desperate pleas and devoted prayers to her only once. You never feared her, and knew she would never hurt you, not unless you asked her to.

But she soon proved to you that she wanted more, much more, than what your body could give her. She wanted you by her side always, listening to her stories of long-forgotten battles on distant shores, showing off your new dresses, massaging away her troubles in the bathhouse. She had fallen hard for you, an unexpected light leading her out of the darkness.

You’re startled out of your reminiscing by a hand creeping up your dress, invited in by the high riding slit at the thigh. You gulp as Ambessa’s face remains completely impassive as she sips at her wine, but you don’t miss the quick glance she sends your way, and you know exactly what she’s trying to say.

Be quiet. Don’t move. And enjoy.

Her hand climbs higher, and you hear her try in vain to supress the deep rumbling groan that threatens to emanate from her throat when she finds no underwear to stop her advance. You’re already wet from your earlier fantasising, and your clit is throbbing, begging for her attention. As she drags calloused fingers through your folds, you grit your teeth and grip the table tightly. You’re in for a ride, and regardless of the social setting, Ambessa will expect you to take what she gives you.

She wastes no time in gathering the slick pooling from you, coating her fingers before she pushes one inside. Her fingers are thick, and no matter how used to the stretch you’ve become, you relish in the burn as your pussy eagerly welcomes her inside. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re holding on and you’re fighting to keep your breathing even, lest one of your guests suspect something’s wrong. Ambessa would hate to be interrupted.

She’s adding a second finger, smirking into her wine as she can feel you tighten around her. You can feel the pressure mounting in your belly, your entire body aching for release. You shoot her a pleading look and feel her curl her fingers in response. You start to see spots at the edge of your vision as she brings you closer and closer, all while engaging in dull conversation. Gods, you were going to make her pay for this later. Her thumb is pressing roughly against your clit in swift, calculated circles, you can feel her determination to send you tumbling over the edge. Soon enough, you are doing just that, but you’re hurtling not simply falling. Your orgasm hits you like a searing meteorite, burning through you with force and it takes all of your self-control not to cry out, biting down on your lip so hard you draw blood. You cover it up quickly by taking a sip of wine, dabbing at your mouth with your napkin and glaring at Ambessa reproachfully. She takes no notice, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied grin.

Shaking your head, you try to reintegrate yourself into the conversation, though none of it holds your interest. Instead, you find yourself consumed by thoughts of your handsome warrior, trailing over each scar you can see and thinking fondly of all the ones you cannot but know intimately. You will reward her mischief with a soothing massage and relaxing oils tonight, it’s been far too long since you’ve caressed her bulging muscles. But you will deny her the taste of your flesh until she begs, a fitting punishment for tonight’s shenanigans. After all, no matter what the nobles of Noxus or the visiting emissaries of foreign lands may think, no matter how imposing Ambessa may appear, you know that there is only person she will fall to her knees for. Tonight, you will make her remember why.  

[gloooper]

3D Gillion WIP

RAAGGHHH I have been in blender hell for like 3 weeks and I have nearly finished this low poly model of Gillion!!! Features a responsive 2d facial animation rig :3 I just have some bones to finish adding drivers to (and a sword and environment to model and texture) and then he is ready to animate!!! (nerd shit rant under cut)

I have been having a lot of fun learning blender!! in comparison to my first model in March of this year I think I have certainly come a long way!

Bonus: I am finally starting to understand the evil spaghetti

Here is the nodes for the 2d facial animation rig in all their glory! it's a whole process but a lot of fun I was using principled BSDF for shading up until the point of actually making the face rig which... does not work if you add a bunch of colour mix nodes so I had to switch to diffuse BSDF. If you're interested in learning how to make a rig this is the tutorial I followed it only covers the eyes but you can just copy the steps for making the eyes and use it to make additional bones for the mouth & eyebrows, adding them through colour mix nodes with alpha channels set to your textures like in my image!

I have also been using the pribambase plugin & aseprite to create my textures which I highly recommend! asesprite honestly is such a wonderful and intuitive program I had never made pixel art before starting this project and I know I certainly could be doing better (I am fully aware the model has mixels but I honestly don't hate the look personally which I know isn't the common take but whatever) but for my first time doing pixel art I'd say it's not too bad! Pribambase is a bit of a pain to set up now since the original creator has discontinued it and is no longer supporting it but it is still possible to find and use I am happy to teach anyone who would like to know!

Once the model is done I will be releasing my blender files & texture files as free to use for anyone who wants to animate with it or just play around & deconstruct! (with the exception of my animations) I am only learning myself so idk how useful they'll be but I would not have been able to make this model if it wasn't for kind modellers online who have released their files to deconstruct and learn from.

I have many plans for future blender projects all currently jrwi related (the brainrot is intense rn) & I am very excited to keep learning as I go! I currently have plans to make low-poly models of all the riptide pirates, the pd & the godslayers with animations in mind :p and I really wanna try some 3d sculpting (and maybe 3d printing) which I have wiwi in mind for... if any of these ideas get finished I will also release those models for free :)

[seleneprince]

Lucia is truly nothing like her family. She always knew that, but recently it's started to feel less deprecating and more like something to be proud of.

She's not a fighter. She's not a brilliant strategist always two steps ahead. She's not some valiant hero or vigilante or whatever that risks her life everyday to fight the evil.

No. She's a cockroach. A survivor. She'll do anything and everything in her power to stay alive, to protect those she loves. She'll break any rules and bend herself backwards as many times as she needs to, if it means getting what she wants. Even toying with the limits within life or death.

That's why when she first learnt of mithridatism, she was obviously interested. The possibility of becoming totally immune to poisons? Just how incredibly useful would that be? Oh, just imagining how stronger she would be that way, how efficient it'll be for her endevours.

She wanted it.

And she turned to the only person she trusted in Gotham to help her with that goal: Poison Ivy.

Not only she provided Lucia with different kinds of toxins to consume every day, but she also kept tabs on the amounts and the sympthoms she experienced. The woman wanted humanity wiped out, sure, but she also had a PhD. And she owed Lucia some favours anyway.

She tried non-lethal doses everyday at different hours. Her body started to feel the intrusion immediately and reacted. Fever, nausea, body pain. Some days getting out of the bed was a herculean struggle. Of course, taking any sort of medicine to dull the pain was forbidden, since it would ruin the whole process, so she bit her tongue and endured it.

Good thing no one in that house cared enough to notice. Only Alfred worried and asked her when she didn't leave her room, but she claimed some passing sickness, that she could handle it. He still made a point of bringing her favourite snacks to her door everyday until she recovered.

As time passed, her body grew used to it. She tried liquid, then gases, even powder. Poison could be found in all forms. She wanted to be prepared.

By the time she reached fifteen years of age, she was already immune. When Scarecrow kidnapped her and tried to torment her with his fear gas, Lucia found herself breathing through it like it was air. She felt nothing.

And she felt invincible.

(She just wished that most poisons weren't green coloured. She hates green)

Taglist: @yuyuzi-ling @lunayaps (if someone wants to be added, let me know)

[mclalan]

Can you share what your art-making process is? What software and tools do you use?? I'm falling in love with your work!!

Thank you, I'm so happy you like my work and are interested in the process. The short answer is I mostly use Adobe Animate.

I hate how I'm using an Adobe product (although I still regard it as a MacroMedia Flash product), but there's just no other software that compares to its jankiness. Perhaps it's just my long familiarity with the program, but nothing I've experienced matches how it simultaneously feels like drawing in MS Paint and using Microsoft PowerPoint vector shapes. The result is something that feels in-between the two; handmade yet computer-generated.

Typically, I'll start with a hand-drawn sketch, often beginning as a thumbnail done with pencil and paper.

I'll then do a mix of hand drawing and vector shape tool rendering. I use the Paint Brush tool to hand draw strokes, and the line and shape tools mixed with transform to make more geometrically accurate shapes. The design is rendered into divided closed loop shapes, ready to be filled with a solid. The strokes are kept or removed depending on the design.

These fill shapes are then either coloured and rendered in Adobe Animate, using fills, gradients, or a more complex process of masks and effects.

Alternatively, I'll bring all these vector shapes into Photoshop and use them as clipping masks. The vector shapes act like masking taped areas or shields to maintain sharp edges, while the brush is like an atomized airbrush used to build soft volumed forms.

Please excuse all that horrible Adobe Cloud and AI bloatware...

And there we go!

Variations in the process include just using MS Paint, index color in Photoshop, or 3D programs.

Very old works of mine were almost abstract, just exploring digital mark-making, which was a trend I was following in the mid 2010s that I loved. This kind of stuff.

While my current work uses its digital material specificity as an intermediary to the subject in the illustration.

For example, #ersatz.world parodies clip-art and flash edutainment styles but imagines the characters living within that kind of world. The designs are meant to be cute, easy to read, light in computer processing, but also irreverent, janky, and generic too.

People typically regard this sort of clip art style as ephemeral trash, but I always found them charming. I use Ersatz World primarily as a satire vehicle, parodying educational formats to spoof corporate explainer content and digital media.

However, part of the problem with Ersatz is I've made it look too polished, complex, and I've grown too attached to the characters, which I imagine is a typical issue with overbuilding a world. So recently, I've made an even jankier Ersatz-like set of characters to play about with, using an even simpler style with less cohesion. I like to try and use slightly different styles and digital material styles to relate to the property at hand.

That’s why #autonymus has a bitmap digital material and a denser feel to it. Unlike Ersatz, Autonymus is not meant to be an overt semi-meta fiction. It’s not exactly pixel art, but the pixels are just about visible, as the intention is to create a digital expressionist depth to the setting. Although it’s still stylized and not realistic to our world, I definitely still want to evoke semblances of our world. That’s why there’s attention to landscape, plant life, and implied life beyond what you see in the frame with the characters, etc. But I'm still making a cartoon, and I still want it to feel at ease with itself being a digital material work. Characters are therefore flat, simple, stiff, and the speech style is like a bad Shakespeare parody. I like to balance between ugly and appealing, simple and complex, familiar and unfamiliar.

In regard to things like inspiration, references, and my relationship to aesthetic genres; these things certainly factor into my work, perhaps I'm even overtly dependent on them. My work can definitely be post-modernist in method; creating new, ironic, or fragmented interpretations through deconstructing a mix of various styles or methods. But at the same time, I'm still trying to make a digital gestural representation where the aesthetic is driven by my relationship to the software and techniques directly—not simply in an attempt to reference a style. For example, I like drawing lines in sweeping strokes, not to a point of geometric perfection, but just in a way where the curves are smooth and simple. But if I want perfectly curved or straight lines, I'll use the vector tools.

Working this way, you can sort of learn why certain styles and design choices in past vector aesthetics were made, as they would have also needed to make similar choices. That’s why I’m more mindful of using digital material specificity as a foundation to build narrative and subjects upon these days.

For example, genre references like cyberpunk clichés for #cyberhell or late medieval design for #autonymus or 2005 to 2015 era subculture fashion for #gradientgoblinz.

I think it’s important to take inspiration and reference from a wide variety of sources, but I think they’d mean nothing without having something to say or express. Autonymus, although it is a collection of tropes and clichés, isn’t just about that. It’s a story about the tensions of socially constructed systems and how that shapes faith, technology, and the natural world, or at least that's what I'm aiming for anyway.

But despite all that, I think there’s a danger of locking myself into the past by using these methods. For example, using nostalgia and references to past aesthetics can result in just recreating the past in a form of role-play. To avoid that, I try and evoke the past through a messy, inaccurate pastiche rather than caring to accurately re-enact anything. I’m probably not always successful at communicating the deliberateness of this, and it can certainly get very frustrating and pedantic. To be honest, I do kind of hate aesthetic labels (terms like Y2K, global coffee house, utopian scholastic designs from a pre-9/11 world).

I do not believe that a project aimed solely at mapping history through aesthetic styles is worthwhile. Sure, they can be handy for organizing style trends, but they can also be reductive and ahistoric. Who are these people to define the history of these design eras? The result is a kind of suffocating simulation of design history but removed from context, perfect for moodboardism. I wish it felt more tongue-in-cheek, less absolute of itself in its own practice. Instead, it acts to legitimize and engender those making these labels, almost giving them ownership of the design styles. It’s similar to the logic and process of generative AI and its databases in a way, just done manually.

I’m very inspired by artists like Oneohtrix Point Never in this regard, as I think he’s able to create an aesthetic portal to all kinds of memories, feelings, and worlds reminiscent of the past, while still being in the present. It’s more a reflection of how timelines are messy now, like a memory or dream, rather than an audacity to say the past was actually like that, or to try to actually map some kind of timeline.

I think the benefit of this process is how it avoids the other side of the spectrum—being locked into chasing the cutting edge of digital processes. I don't necessarily think using an old digital process means your work inherits the semiotics of old aesthetics. Non-digital mediums don’t have this issue to this degree, as you can still paint in oils and be considered contemporary, or at least it's not frowned upon to such a degree. And I also don't think anyone in the heyday of Flash ever made work the same as I do, especially as computers are more powerful now so can handle more. I probably shouldn't boast too much about that though, as artists at the time probably just had more sense than to use Flash like a painting program! So then, why is my use of Adobe Animate critiqued as obsolete and an aesthetic dead-end? Because to whose standards is this process obsolete? If you value digital aesthetics as an apparatus in industry practice, then sure, my work is redundant.

But as wonderful as the latest tech can be in creating new aesthetics, I do feel it can be overtly dependent on the trends and directions of tech corporations, and therefore act as an indirect propaganda tool to their hegemony over digital aesthetics, such as the ever-demanding processing power needed for simulated realism. If anything, work that does follow in the direction of the latest tech trends is ironically the quickest to date once the trends move on.

I've noticed I've not really described what my work is about, just the process, in this text. But I don't know, maybe I like Flash because it is regarded as redundant. No one really cares about it, so I feel free to make whatever I want, and can decide on form myself, to my own standards, the quality of my work. As fun as making images is, I find it difficult to put into words what it is exactly I'm expressing in my work, and perhaps that would spoil it anyway.

[loveandleases]

Do the RO’s like doing puzzles? If so, how would they start out the puzzle? Random spots, or doing the boarder first? Perhaps they sort the pieces into colour coding?

(I’m missing 2 pieces to a puzzle and this is just my life now.)

Did you find the missing pieces? ❤️Cam - He doesn't mind them. He starts randomly, then gets annoyed when a piece that should fit doesn't. He’ll go so far as to give them voices, inventing backstories that they're siblings who just can't get along. He stops after getting four pieces done because it's the evening, and surely it's time for a nice bowl of sugary goodness. He’ll forget about the puzzle for a few hours, then return to it when he needs to think. Utter chaos.

💙G - They enjoy puzzles so much that they have a dedicated board just for working on them. They're very meticulous about the process, first separating the pieces by shape and then further sorting them by color. They swear it makes things easier in the long run. Borders first, of course.

💚Kara - Puzzles aren't for her. Her bedroom and collection of makeup already feel like sorting through a puzzle, and that's more than enough. She wouldn’t mind watching someone else work on one while she’s busy with something else—especially if the design is artistic.

💛M - M has collector’s edition puzzles that cater to their interests. (Yes, some are anime-themed.) They like puzzles but never seem to finish them; most of their collection remains untouched, still in boxes with the plastic wrap intact. If they had the time—or maybe a proper place to work on them—M would give it their best shot. They’d start in a random spot, probably one they thought was the middle, and work their way outward.

💜Isaac - They could probably get into puzzles—if they ever had the time. With two jobs, free moments are rare. They’re more experienced with crosswords, something to tease the brain in short bursts. I believe they would enjoy them if they had the chance. It’s an activity they could do while working through their thoughts.

🖤Ardent - Oh, he’s really good at puzzles. Ardent has a love-hate relationship with them—he gets frustrated when a piece goes missing (which happens quite a bit with Cupid around) or when too many pieces share similar colors. Thanks to his niece, he’s had plenty of practice and knows his way around a puzzle. He always starts at the bottom left; to him, it just makes sense. While he’s not as meticulous as G, he does separate the shapes into piles. Of course, Cupid has yet to let him finish one in peace. Maybe one day.

[dunmeshistash]

Hey im @holmsister tumblr is tumbling as usual.

About the Maizuru complaint and bad faith interpretation: I feel the same way about POC in this fandom. I didn't really engage in fandoms that have many canon POC because most of my reading in the last years has been historical and classical European lit and nonfiction so like. The racism is baked into the source so to speak. AND im super white so im not going to try and speak out of turn. But moving into a fandom for a recent work of art in which there are important characters of colour has been... enlightening (derogatory). Also not naming names, but the way white characters are extended grace for things the POC are criticised extensively is... enlightening (derogatory). Maizuru, being at the intersection of being a woman and POC, is obviously going to get the brunt of it. Especially because yeah, she's not exactly a pleasant character - yeah, the way she treats the other retainers is not nice. But she is basically a sex slave. Like we can mince our words as much as we like, add in everything about how she is clearly being well-treated and not resentful, etc etc, but she's there to entertain Nakamoto and she can't say no if he comes to her room. All of her privileges are dependent on her pleasing him. That doesn't mean that she can't be abusive in her own right - but like. How old was she when she was taken in by Nakamoto? She's been around since Toshiro was little, remember? Hell, her obsession with being a good retainer with Toshiro might be a way to safely "escape" Nakamoto - after all, if she's following Toshiro around, she's not in her parlour waiting for his father's next visit, and if Toshiro, who has no interest in her, became the next head of the household, she would be allowed to live out her last years in peace. Like this is speculation of course, but it's based on what we know of the character in much the same way any other speculation is - I'm choosing to give her the benefit of the doubt the same way I do for example Laios choosing to join the army.

Sorry for the vent, it's just. The complexity of the characters is a good thing! Stop trying to find a bad guy, you're missing the point! (And showing your ass in the process). everyone has complex motivations!

Truly, people hate nuance and it seems like internalized misogyny and racism amplifies that.

I feel like at least for the racism one there's more awareness and people speak more about it? But I usually see misogyny arguments being dismissed a lot more so I got specially angy at it.

I guess I wanted to find a reason outside misogyny to justify how people treated these character's cause I've seen lots of people being mad about that before about other characters and even thinking myself "It's surely not that bad/widespread, this character is the one that sucks" but when you have a more general view of reactions it becomes painfully obvious.

Thankfully I didn't see the racism against Toshiro (maybe cause I barely post about him) but I can only imagine.

[mayskalih]

hey, i see you have been answering!! so i just wanted to say i LOVE your art, i just love how effortlessly swift your lines look + i enjoy the colors you use.

i was wondering if you had a specific process when rendering the artwork cuz i would be interested&honored to see/know!!!

much love and have a nice day!

Hi anon and thank you!

Here's the general workflow of how I colour in CSP. I usually spend most of my time on lineart, as I enjoy it most, so I keep my rendering simple. Sometimes I skip some of the steps below :)

Step 1: flats. I add a 'Multiply' layer on top at 10-20% opacity and fill with single colour, usually peach-y one since I like my colours to be warm.

Step 2: gradients. Here I add some variation to the flat colours. I use airbrush for this, or sometimes low-opacity brush that allows colour mixing (Magda). I add blush and gradients to hair and clothing using similar but darker colours.

Step 3: shadows. I use solid round brush (G-pen) and just block in shadow areas on a separate layer set at 'Multiply'. Sometimes I use different colour for skin/clothing/hair.

Step 4: smooth parts of shadow where needed. Not all shadows are sharp and I use Blend tool to soften some areas.

Step 5: adding colour variety. Essentially, I improvise and play with adding different colours until I like it (or hate it and delete everything). I use 'Soft light' and 'Hard lights-out add different colours, usually with airbrush. And add accents (reflections) on 'Overlay' layer.

Hope it helps! Here's the time-lapse:

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I have a fantasy story in early planning stages; it relies a lot on fantasy trope subversion, so I gave one of my main characters the typical 'over the eye' facial scar with the intent on approaching it as realistically as possible. As such, the character has lost that eye. During the story, the character heals from the trauma that caused the scar/eye loss. I would like to physically show that process in connection to the scar/lost eye; the current plan is to switch from a pitch black eye prosthesis (symbolizing anger at the world, intended to make people uncomfortable) to one with flowers (very personal motif, symbolizes renewed love for the world and the life he has, partly gained through that trauma). However, I've been iffy on that from the start, since it's not very realistic and falls into some tropes. The character does not hate himself or his scars, but I feel like with the current set-up it would be too easy for readers to make that assumption; he has a congenital limb difference he has a normal, healthy relationship with and I'm planning on incorporating more characters with facial differences, but I'm unsure if it's enough to mitigate the issue. I'm also worried that the lack of realism may alienate readers with missing eyes/facial scars, which is the last thing I want. Is there a way to physically show this trauma healing process as connected to his scar/lost eye that is more realistic and less trope-y? Or should I drop the idea altogether?

Hello!

It's great that you're wanting to incorporate more characters with facial differences and approach it realistically. The main thing that stands out for me is them starting off with the pitch black prosthetic and actively wanting to make people uncomfortable.

There's already a lot of stigma around people with visible disabilities, especially limb and facial differences, and perpetuating that stigma in a narrative about a character gaining acceptance of their differences doesn't feel quite right to me.

That said, there are certain characters that this trope could potentially work with. Take a character like Wednesday Addams, for example. Her entire character is based around the 'other' and she has strong interests in the macabre, strange, and unusual. If she were to lose an eye, a reaction like this wouldn't be out of character for her.

Another thing to consider is that the first prosthetic eye most people get is rather ordinary in appearance. Custom prosthetic eyes are available but they are (Caps) EXPENSIVE (End Caps) and, in a lot of cases, insurance* is fairly picky about which eyes to cover. Many insurance providers will consider anything custom made or even just somewhat unusual (Such as the pitch black eye here) to be purely cosmetic in nature.

Personally, I think there are better ways to go about this in a way that's more realistic and doesn't alienate your readers with low vision and/or facial differences.

One way you could do this is by having your character start out hiding their missing eye with a very ordinary prosthetic, maybe one that very closely resembles their original eye colour and matches their remaining eye. As they grow more comfortable and begin to heal from the connected trauma, they might begin to play around with different prosthetics and start to have some fun with it. If they're able to financially, they might get a custom prosthetic! This could be where your flower patterned prosthetic comes in.

There are ways to keep the essence of the character's journey and development while still keeping with realism and not playing into the stigma against people with facial differences.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

Just hopping in to say that you really don't need to give your character a prosthetic that makes others uncomfortable, 99% of people are already uncomfortable with facial differences existing.

If anything, an aesthetically pleasing cosmesis would make others more comfortable. In my experience, these (ridiculously expensive) prosthetics tend to have more of a "wow! so cool!" effect, while a person with an empty socket tends to be seen as "gore" or just simply "disturbing/gross". One is frequently seen as a fashion accessory, the second is a disability that's a bit too visible for most people's liking.

That is, of course, if your intent is to write a character with a plotline that centers on how uncomfortable able-bodied people are with visible disabilities - if you don't want to tackle that, you should probably leave it out.

mod Sasza

[sunny374940]

Love is stored in the hat

Hello yes I am back with another piece of domestic fluff with Emmrich and Rook. This time there is snow and knitted hats. 1.2k words.

................

Rook came down into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was already light outside, made all the brighter by the snow that fell in the night. Rook looked out of the window blearily and said: “Ugh,” with pronounced disgust.

"I find the snow rather beautiful,” said Emmrich from his seat at the kitchen table. “Where is this distaste for the beauty of nature coming from, I wonder?”

“It's coming from the five inches of the beauty of nature I'm going to have to shovel off of the path to the house,” grumbled Rook. “Neve and Lucanis are coming along later in today, remember? I don't want them slogging through the snow with the baby.”

“Oh, of course!” Emmrich clapped his hands in excitement. “I was so caught up in admiring the view that I forgot they are coming today. How I’m looking forward to meeting the little one!”

“Yeah,” Rook smiled softly. “So I’m heading out, gotta get it over with.” He turned to get himself ready to go outside.

“Rook, wait!” Emmrich called, “I have something for you before you go out to brave the elements.”

“I'm just shovelling snow, not going out in a blizzard,” Rook chuckled, but waited for Emmrich to cross the hallway and enter his study.

“Just a moment, my dear, I promise you will find this handy,” said Emmrich while rummaging through a drawer.

“Now where did I-” he muttered under his breath. “Aha! There it is!” he said triumphantly as he pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper.

“I meant to save this for your birthday, but with the snow coming early I think it's better I give it to you now,” he said, proffering it to Rook. “I know how you hate the cold, so I thought this would make our first winter here a bit easier.”

Rook took the package from Emmrich's outstretched hands, brushing a thumb against the back of Emmrich's hand in thanks. He opened the package and there sat a knitted hat and gloves, both in a blue the shade of the sky on a frosty day. He looked at Emmrich in wonder.

“You made these?”

“Yes, it is rather obvious, isn't it?” said Emmrich, a blush creeping onto his cheekbones.

“I am not as skilled at knitting as I would like. See, Lucanis gave me some pointers and then Harding's mother lent me an amazingly detailed volume on knitting just about anything, but the instructions proved rather more complicated than I anticipated and-”

Rook interrupted him with a light touch to his forearm. “No, Emmrich, they’re beautiful! Thank you, really. I just didn't expect the necromancer and alchemist to also knit,” he grinned teasingly.

Rook took the hat out to admire it properly. The wool was soft under his fingers and the care that went into making the hat made his heart stutter. “Did you learn to knit just to make these for me?”

"Well, I did try to procure a hat for you by means that didn't involve nearly taking my eye out with a knitting needle, but I couldn't find anything good enough. And then I saw this yarn and it was just the right shade for you, so I had no choice, really.”

“That explains why I had to untangle Manfred from a string that was exactly this colour the other day,” chuckled Rook.

Emmrich pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew Manfred must have made off with some of the yarn. He was so interested in the process of knitting and kept trying to take the yarn when he thought I wasn't looking.”

“I suppose you weren't looking all that well,” Rook laughed. “He had a whole tangle of it on his forearm, I guess he was trying to do it like you. Kept saying purr purr, not sure what that was about.”

Emmrich rolled his eyes fondly. “I suspect he heard me talking to myself while I was working, he probably meant to say purl. His enunciation still needs some work, I must say.”

Rook put the hat on and turned to look at himself in the hallway mirror. “Wow, it looks really good, Emmrich. I love it. And you. But that goes without saying, I guess.”

He turned back to Emmrich to give him a peck on the cheek.

“I never tire of hearing it, my love. You look beautiful. The blue really brings out your eyes,” Emmrich said with a warm smile.

“And now I must go, pray for my safe return,” said Rook, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead theatrically.

“Your wish is my command. I shall also make you tea to battle the demons of cold,” Emmrich replied with a bow and a press of his lips to the back of Rook’s hand.

“Don’t forget your gloves, dearest,” he said as he handed them to Rook.

Rook put the gloves on and wiggled his fingers at Emmrich, then walked outside to get a damn shovel.

After an hour, during which Emmrich heard lots of scraping and the occasional curse coming from wherever Rook was attacking the heaps of snow, Rook came back through the front door, stomping the last of the snow off his boots. His cheeks were red from the cold and his teeth were chattering.

“Hate the fucking snow,” he mumbled through the shivers.

“Come, darling, sit by the fire,” said Emmrich as he led Rook to an armchair in their living room. There was a blanket ready and a steaming mug of tea was sitting on the coffee table alongside some cookies.

Rook gratefully sank into the armchair and allowed himself to be fussed over. The mug of tea was placed in his hands and he took a sip. The tea was just the way he liked it, black with a generous amount of honey and he felt himself relaxing under Emmrich's care.

“Really, dear, you should wrap up better next time, you are freezing cold,” said Emmrich worriedly. “Or maybe we could ask Manfred to assist you, so you could get it done faster-”

Rook interrupted him with a laugh. “There's no way I'm letting Manfred ‘assist me’ with shovelling snow. He will make snow angels, then he'll get damp and you know he creaks when he gets damp.” Rook shuddered.

“I’ve never heard a worse sound and I won’t be causing it on purpose. And before you say anything, no, I’m not letting you help me. Who would make me tea? And hats?”

He looked up at Emmrich through his lashes and added with a coy smile: “And who would kiss me after I come back home to help me warm up?”

Emmrich brought up a hand to caress Rook’s cheek, then drew closer to place a kiss on his forehead. Rook sighed happily and leaned into the touch.

“Oh? If you need warming up so badly, I have read some amazing things about sharing body heat,” said Emmrich with a quirk of his lips. “Care to test if the theories are sound, darling?”

Emmrich extended his hand to Rook, as if to only innocently help him up from the chair, but there was desire burning in his eyes.

Heat shot down to Rook's core and he found himself suddenly very uninterested in his tea.

“I would like that very much, vhenan,” he said as he took the offered hand and allowed himself to be led to the bedroom.

[pawseds]

God's Favourite

Symbolism notes + process shots under cut (spoiler warning!)

"God's Favourite" because it's based off a track name and because of me trying to emulate religious imagery

Setting sun doubles as a halo because he thinks of himself so heroically (a tortured saint, even)

Biblically accurate angel eyes was honestly a coincidence: it started only with the 4 eyes on top and the ID cards were supposed to have faces, but I might as well really push the religious imagery and turn them into eyes (also less work lol)

Wanted Jimmy's pose to both look vain (because he IS) and to look like he's repenting, like he just realised his mistake, religious imagery +1

Also wanted to play with the irony despite Jimmy directly/indirectly killing everyone (hence their blood on his hands), he's the one crying because he's a little BITCH (boohoo he feels sooo bad for himself)

The scene with the hallway of ID cards had Anya's card always covered up with something (and it wasn't flying around I think) to show Jimmy really did not gaf about her. That inspired having Daisuke/the axe and Swansea/the gun overlap Anya/the pills/her card (aka it was a compositional problem I symbolism'd away lmao)

Jimmy also does not see the dead pixel. He does not care about it. The other reason for including this is because I wanted it to stand out in a 'this feels wrong' way, because it is

Also, I remember seeing Mouthwashing fanart before I knew what Mouthwashing was even and OOC, it looked like Jimmy was a (barf) victim/sole survivor. It is the point of the game and all LOL and the art was good! (I'm not saying it's bad, it's what got me interested in MW in the first place) But I wanted to a little something with the no-context gang to make them go 'oh something's not right' (along with the bloodied weapons + bloodstained hands)

Intentionally left Anya's card numbers uncensored to 'reduce her to numbers', which is meant to parallel the 'just another statistic' attitude towards SA survivors

TL;DR the religious imagery is meant to be very ironic and is meant to highlight just how fucking stupid ridiculous Jimmy's saviour complex is

aka this drawing basically summarises WHY I HATE THIS MOTHERFUCKER SO MUCH TO THE POINT IT COMPELLED ME TO DRAW

Sketched with a colour pencil, inked with Snowman drawing pens, coloured with Tombow brush pens, and digitally touched with Clip Studio!

[mncxbe]

Hello! I really enjoy your posts they are really nice to read or re-read! I was wondering if you could do Fyodor headcanons (you could add chuuya dazai and more if you’d like) but fyodor x Gn!reader headcanons and how they would get ready for the holidays? Maybe make gingerbread houses or set up lights together? Feel free to ignore! :3

your ask just made me realise how close Christmas is goddamn~ I loved writing this. hope you like it anon♡♡

🎁

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓, 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ silly

°☆○

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓

☆ I'm gonna start off my saying that Fyodor most likely isn't particularly interested in the winter holidays, but he enjoys spending time with you. as long as he sees you smile, he's happy

☆ he's a big fan of baking; gingerbread, cupcakes with white and red frosting, deer shaped cookies. he loves it. although he doesn't always get involved, he spends hours on end by your side in the kitchen

☆ as for lights I think he likes those simple golden fairy lights; the flashy ones exhaust him fr

☆ hates to admit but he lowkey enjoys christmas movies; there's something extraordinary soothing about watching those sappy, same script films. it's a break in his routine

☆ I see him playing christmas music on the cello; but don't make him listen to commercial songs on the radio, he'll throw it out of the window

☆ he tells you stories about Russian christmas traditions or any other culture really

☆ he loves cuddling up to you under fluffy blankets while you two enjoy a cup of tea

☆ he's a sucker for the scent of oranges and cinnamon, so he'll buy some scented candles and place them around the house

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

★ you guys know those advent calendars with little chocolates for each day of December? yea, he has one of those

★ Dazai has never had the luxury of doing such mundane things as a kid; the Port Mafia isn't exactly a place to celebrate Christmas. so he puts a lot of effort into everything

★ loves to hang colourful lights around the house and other little ornaments (striped socks, christmas globes with that fake, glittery snow)

★ one evening he shows up with cookie shapes and asks you to make gingerbread with him

★ a marathon with Christmas movies is a must; you two sprawled on the bed with a mug of hot chocolate while the films roll in the background

★ he kisses you under the mistletoe every morning to "practice for the Christmas evening kiss"

★ he definitely wears a santa hat or reindeer horns while decorating the house. and knows "All I want for Christmas is you" by heart (it started off as a joke but he can't stop)

★ keep the mulled wine away from him

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒐

☆ because of work he's often too busy to help you decorate the place, but his heart swells with joy when he comes home one evening and finds your shared apartment nicely adorned with lights

☆ I feel like he also prefers more dimly lit lights, or even candles

☆ does his best to find time to bake something with you. he's a big fan of Panettone and sweetbread with sugar frosting

☆ buys you early presents for sure, to compensate for his absence

☆ look me in the eye and tell me this man doesn't wear fuzzy Christmas socks

☆ loves listening to jazzy music while you two spend time together. period

☆ he may not be that involved in the decorating process, but he does spend Christmas with you and does most of the cleaning after

[whumpbby]

Tbh i really hate when ppl act as if Jiang Cheng was "rotten from the start" and never actually cared about Wei Wuxian as a brother. Like, in the latter's case we can see he cares very much but that care is very much mixed in with many negative feelings, it's like when you love someone but they hurt you but you still love them, you want things to go back to the way they were before but they can't and they won't. On the former it's pretty much canon that he was an ok if high strung young man and losing everyone he ever loved in very close proximity to each other is what made him be the way he is today, he's not evil (he'd be hotter if he was) he's just angry and bitter for very valid reasons

I think it takes an extreme case of Protagonist Bias to think that. And not even following the actual protagonist's thought process - just being biased on their account in some sort of a projection. Kids these days got to used to having their bad guys colour-coded.

People are so desperate to cast a villain to the Happy Couple they will grasp at any straw to justify their opinion. They will ignore every piece of text that explains in detail why things are happening and why he's acting the way he is - even to the point of ignoring the protagonist explaining what happened and how. They will literally ignore the protagonist they're wanting to stan just so that they can have their villain. Wei Wuxian needs to be massively nerfed and woobifed for the whole shitshow to start making sense. Literally, a man with no agency! Poor helpless victim! The poorest little baby, no one suffered as he did!:(

Meanwile, Jiang Cheng's biggest sin in the novel?

He's not nice.

That's it. He tried to protect Wei Wuxian from his mother. He did all he could to bring Wei Wuxian home after the war against his best interests. He walked away from Lan Zhan being a dick when he could have easily caused him problems. He only ever fought Wei Wuxian when it was either staged or he was attacked first (in the much brought up ancestral shrine scene that people don't seem to have actually read).

But he's not nice about it. He's not even stoicly stiff like the ever-amazing Lan Wangji (who only ever cared about one thing in his life, and it's the man he wanted to fuck roughly in the bushes-_-).

It was barely a decade from having his whole extended family horrifically murdered, so obviously he should be fine by this point. (We can ignore the main plot of the decade-in the making-revenge-plot, that's not important, that's not a theme at all!) At least he should learn to repress his trauma! Because that ended great for the protagonist, right?:)

You need an intense case of lack of comprehension to miss the fact that, until the very moment of the Core Reveal, every bit of information Jiang Cheng had available to him pointed directly to Wei Wuxian being at fault for the tragedy his life became. The only doubt cast upon that conclusion was the spark of love that he could not kill. JC trusted Wei Wuxian for as long as he could. He trusted him - against a myriad of signs that he maybe shouldn't have - until the man killed his brother in law.

That's where any sane person would stop and reconsider.

And yet he was still willing to be convinced otherwise - until his sister died in his arms.

Like, this is what it took for JC to snap.

If someone says that Jiang Cheng was "rotten from the start" that only tells me they have skipped the whole fourth of the book that tells us in detail why Jiang Cheng wasn't a bad kid and how much he loved his family and Wei Wuxian. It tells me that they are here only for the romance and can't see anything else, certainly not character development (why would they? Wanxian don't develop throughout the story in any impactful way except of "oh, hey, we can be together and not care about anyone else - just like we did it before, but now with fucking included!"). It's like people who don't read books cannot comprehend the fact the author thought about this shit and put it there on purpose. It's not something that just happened to fill the pages between the Romance bits for the word count. That's, like, the actual meat of the story? These people have the critical thought capacity of a fucking tiktoker-_-

The author is telling us: look at these kids that were raised in a broken family and how it affects them as teens and young adults. How it affected their relationships with the people they love and demolished their self-worth. Look how a broken family can leave it's children scarred for life!

The idiots online: one is an innocent angel that never did anything wrong and the other an evil, selfish and hateful brat, got'cha! I am very smart!

-__-

[whinlatter]

The broken family bond between Harry and Petunia!

wow while usher was dancing his socks off at half-time you were thinking about petunia dursley née evans' malicious treatment of everyone's favourite grouchy knobbly-kneed jock... what does this say about you anon? look inwards

i feel terrible that i do not have too many thoughts about the broken family bond between harry and petunia but i DO have thoughts about what harry represents as a challenge to the nuclear family unit and its associated class connotations that petunia cares so much about. one thing i have been thinking A Lot about recently is petunia's description of snape as 'that awful boy' in ootp (which ofc, at the time, harry thinks is a reference to james), and how petunia's ideas about class and social mobility colour her view of wizards and, by extension, her resentment and contempt for harry. sooo i have talked about that instead......... ctrl + f neoliberal renders 2 results below i'm so sorry

when we meet petunia in the canon timeline, she's a parody of a tory home counties suburban housewife, striving middle class in the very thatcherite neoliberal sense, all about the house prices and the pension pot, with her perfectly maintained peach home decor and pristine garden, with a husband who has made his money through a managerial position in industrial manufacturing, who sends her son to private school and monitors the material wealth of her neighbours and associates very acutely. we know that young petunia wanted to join wizarding society and was rejected by it, and we know that adult petunia now holds wizarding world and its culture in open contempt. we particularly know that petunia hated snape, and that, other than lily, snape was the first wizard she ever really met. to young petunia's eyes, snape had all the visible markers of poverty and of being working class ("They live down Spinner’s End by the river," she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation.') nevertheless, by virtue of being a wizard, this shabby poor-looking boy was elevated above petunia as something particularly special, and sneered at petunia as lesser than him as a result. i think this is interesting, because i think young petunia processes her rejection from magic by starting to think of magic and wizarding culture as a perverse subversion of the class system she knows and believes in, where a visibly working class person can somehow be special and worthy. (we can speculate what she would make of james potter as her son-in-law - james, while obviously wealthy, is old money posh coded - he doesn't work for a living! - aka not at all invested in the hard-work discourse, keeping-up-with-appearances that the new money suburban types that petunia strives for).

why does this matter? i just think it's very striking that petunia's complaints about harry are so often expressed less in terms of the danger of his magic, than his threat to external perceptions of her and her family, and, especially, as a challenge to their class position

petunia makes critiques of harry's messy appearance, his misbehaviour at primary school (caused by his magic), his association with the criminal (sirius black) and the shabby (the weasleys), and his refusal to respect or show any deference to vernon and the family despite their great attempts to maintain the trappings of respectability. the particular horror of harry's presence in the dursleys' life, in petunia's mind, is that his existence makes her family an alternative blended family, which compromises all that petunia holds dear in terms of the trappings of middle class respectability that puts a great deal of social capital on the nuclear family unit and no deviation from it. i don't mean to suggest petunia only perceives magic as a class threat, or that she doesn't fear harry's magic as something dangerous. her response to dudley's dementor run-in proves how much she fears what magic can do (and, ofc, she knows what happened to lily). but what's striking in DH is that petunia is still umming and ahhing, as vernon is, about whether to go into hiding. unlike movie!petunia in that deleted scene, book!petunia still isn't convinced about 'what these people are capable of'. for this reason, i think petunia has come to think of wizarding culture in terms of a fundamental challenge to the class system she understands and upholds, and to the primacy of middle class new money neoliberal suburban identity that is petunia's entire worldview. and that's really the source of her beef with harry: not his threat to her safety, but to her class identity, which is adult petunia's whole world.