#sorry if this sucks!

[clownprincesshq]

Chapter 3 Part 1: A Whisper of Freedom

"The sins within are a mirror. The stories you read... are the paths not taken-- Your personal road to ruin. Each will be different. But whatever the story, for you... the nightmare will become real."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: murder, violence, smut, depression, mark being a jerk kinda, cheating, eve being a girlboss, angstrom is his own warning, william is cheesy

w/c: 7.4k

a/n: yall. mentally brace yourself before this. seriously </3. even though this was written months ago, it still hits me like a truck everytime I read this chapter. with that, enjoy!

Not a mission. Not a crisis. Not a crisis yet, at least. Just the stretch of silence in between, where the halls feel too big and the world hasn’t asked anything of you yet.

You walk alone, shoulders square, steps sharp, like you’re headed somewhere important though you're not.

The gleaming floors of the Guardians’ tower reflect everything, your boots, your shadow, your unsure attitude.

You still move like you're being watched. Like a handler will call your name from behind one of these doors. But no one does. Not today.

You’ve been given freedom. You’re just still learning how to hold it without flinching.

And then.

“Hey.”

You turn before the word’s even finished leaving his mouth.

Mark.

His pace is easy, unbothered. He jogs to catch up, a little out of breath like he hadn’t expected you to stop walking so fast. His sweatshirt hangs loose on his frame, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. His hair is still damp, like he stepped out of the shower and decided whatever this is couldn’t wait.

He falls into step beside you, like he’s always belonged there.

“You free today?” he asks, voice casual but a touch uncertain. Like he’s testing something.

You side-eye him. “I thought we had rotation today.”

“We do,” he admits. “Technically. But I asked Cecil to pull you from the list.”

You stop.

“You asked Cecil?”

He shrugs, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Told him you needed some breathing room.”

“And he just… agreed?”

Mark huffs a laugh. “Okay, no. He gave me a whole speech about responsibility and collateral damage and some obscure budget line item you apparently destroyed. But he said yes. Eventually.”

You stare. “So I’m being benched.”

Mark smirks. “No. You’re being invited.”

That word again.

Invited.

It lands differently than it should. Like someone stepping past everything conditioned in you with something soft and unfamiliar in their hands. You don’t move. But something inside you stills. Watches. “Invited to what?” you ask slowly.

Mark exhales through his nose, the sound almost sheepish. “To hang out.”

You raise a brow.

He pushes on. “Y’know. Civilian things. Get lunch. Maybe go to meet my friend I told you about.” He continues, a little more serious now. “I figured… maybe we could just do something that doesn’t end in property damage. No Guardian gear. No suits. Just a day.”

Your gaze sharpens. “Why?”

He stops walking. Doesn’t look away.

“Because I see you,” he says quietly. “I see how you move in here. Like you’re waiting for someone to give you permission to exist.”

You inhale, throat tight.

“And,” he continues, “because I want to know what you’re like when you’re not trying to be what they made you.”

You don’t speak for a beat.

The words sting in a strange way, not because they hurt, but because they don’t. Because they feel like the truth. Because no one’s ever offered you anything like this before.

No strings.

No objectives.

Just time.

Just him.

Your voice comes out lower than intended. “I don’t know if I’m very interesting when I’m not bleeding.” Mark shrugs. “Good thing I’m not looking for interesting.”

You glance at him. “I’m not exactly good at this.”

“Neither am I,” he says. “That’s kind of the point.”

Silence stretches again. But it’s softer now.

And finally.

Finally.

You nod.

“Alright.”

Mark lights up. It’s subtle, but there. A small, crooked grin that tugs at something in your chest you weren’t ready to name.

“Yeah?” he says.

Your mouth twitches despite yourself. The smallest curve of something warm.

Mark’s grin widens. “Perfect. We’ll walk. No flying. Actual sidewalks. Civilian rules.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Are you going to remind me to use the crosswalk, too?”

“I am a model citizen,” he says solemnly.

You start walking again, this time in no particular direction, just pacing beside him, like maybe it’s okay not to know what happens next.

The hallway fades behind you. The silence doesn’t feel empty anymore.

For once, you’re not going into battle.

You’re walking toward something quiet.

And maybe, if you’re lucky, something that might not hurt.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Burger Mart still smells like burnt frying oil, over-salted fries, and memories.

Mark’s already sitting as you come back from the bathroom. He has his hoodie sleeves rolled up, a plate in front of him loaded with two paper-wrapped burgers, fries overflowing out the sides, and a milkshake with extra whipped cream he’ll pretend not to drink. He’s facing the door like he was waiting for you, yet when your eyes connect, there’s no pressure in his face. Just something easy. Familiar. Something that doesn’t expect too much of you.

He waves you over.

You wait barely a second before crossing the room and sliding into the booth across from him where you previously sat. The seat cushion puts out a pleasant squeak beneath you. The table’s sticky.

Mark smiles. “Welcome to the height of American cuisine.”

You arch a brow. “Is this… a rite of passage?”

He shrugs, raising a fry. “Something like that. Can’t be part of the team if you’ve never had a cold burger at 10 a.m. as a teenager at the counter glares at you.”

You gaze toward the counter. The teenager in question is, in fact, glaring.

“I’m honored,” you deadpan.

Mark chuckles, then tilts his head toward the tray. “Go ahead. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I purchased the default human experience. Meat, grease, guilt.”

You unwrap the burger cautiously, like it may contain wires or a trap. You’re not used to food that arrives in layers, or food that leaves residue on your hands. But the fragrance is nice. Real. It doesn’t originate from a lab.

And when you bite into it, slightly dry, too much mustard and it tastes… okay.

That’s when someone steps up to the booth.

Tall, somewhat untidy, with a messenger bag thrown over one shoulder and the type of smile that says "I’ve got stories you didn’t ask for, but you’ll hear them anyway."

“Mark Grayson,” he says with dramatic dismay, slipping into Mark's booth like he’s done it a hundred times.

“Late. Rude. And, once again, eating without me. What a betrayal.”

Mark leans back, unaffected. “I ordered you fries.”

“I forgive you,” the guy responds promptly, grabbing one before they’ve even gotten it halfway across the table. He turns to you, hand outstretched. “William Clockwell. Mark’s best friend. Probably smarter than both of you. Definitely better dressed.”

You blink at him. “I don’t know either of you very well.”

He grins wider. “Then I’m starting strong.”

Mark chuckles, saying your name and introducing you to William.

Your name still feels odd outside of missions. But hearing him speak it, your real name, not a codename, softens something tight in your chest.

William watches you for a second, not with suspicion or caution, but the kind of attention you’d expect from someone sizing up a chess opponent or trying to remember where he’s seen your face.

Then, casually, “So. You dating?”

You nearly choke on your fry. “What?”

Mark moans. “Dude-”

“What?” William shrugs. “I’m establishing context.”

“We’re not dating,” you say hastily. Too rapidly.

William raises his hands. “Hey, no judgment. Just wonderful to know what type of third wheel I’m about to be.”

Mark looks like he regrets everything.

You, surprise, don’t feel like jogging. William’s energy is strange and fast, unfiltered, but it’s not intimidating. If anything, it makes it simpler to stay sitting. To exist.

You chew another mouthful of burger.

William leans forward, putting his arms on the table.

“Alright, mystery girl. What’s your deal?”

You gaze at him.

He peers back, smirking.

And for reasons you don’t comprehend, you answer. Not everything. But a bit.

“I’m new.”

“To Burger Mart?”

“To people.”

William’s grin fades slightly, but not in discomfort. He nods. “Fair. Well, I’m obnoxious but friendly. Mark is too nice for his own good. And this place," he gestures around the grease-stained booth, “is kind of our version of a safe house. No hero talk. No superhero threats. Just bad food and worse music.”

As if on cue, the overhead speakers crackle and turn from a harsh pop sound to something faintly melancholy and acoustic. It grinds against your ears unpleasantly.

Mark pointing upward. “See? Burger Mart ambiance.”

You recline back in the booth. The table’s still sticky. The burger’s already cooling in your palm. But for the first time, in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re standing on the brink of something about to erupt. No suits. No weapons. No failsafe ready to shut you off.

Just two people, one who continues gazing at you like he wants you to see the world through his eyes. And another who’s already giving fries like they’re olive branches.

You take another bite.

It's messy. It's too salty.

But it’s genuine.

Real.

And somehow, that’s enough for now.

You’re not used to this type of loudness.

The quiet hum of people conversing in booths behind you. The fryers hissing in the rear. A kid giggling too loud in the corner with ketchup splattered on his chin. Somewhere behind the counter, the bored teenager from before announces an order with the flat, unbothered tone of someone who hasn’t cared in a long time. The odors are thick, grease, salt, something sweet that doesn’t belong yet lingers nonetheless. And somehow, all of it makes you feel more visible than any battlefield ever has.

You move in your seat, not uncomfortably, but gingerly, like you’re trying not to take up too much room. Mark’s still across from you, calm in a manner you haven’t quite worked out how to be yet. He’s drinking his milkshake, chewing slowly on a fry, gaze periodically wandering toward you, then away again. Like he’s trying not to stare.

Like he’s letting you decide.

You scrutinize the half-unwrapped burger in your hands. It’s breaking apart already, the bread wet with sauce, pickles seeping out the rear. It’s messy. Unstructured. Unpredictable.

Just like everything about this moment.

William, seated across from you like a stranger who already knows plenty about you, is telling a story about some guy in their freshman dorm who tried to smuggle a lizard into the communal microwave “to keep it warm.” You don’t know why he’s telling you this. But you find yourself listening anyway.

Mark sighs midway through, covering his face in his hand. “Will. You can’t trauma dump like that without a warning.” He jokes.

“It’s not trauma,” William replies happily. “It’s a public service announcement.”

Then he turns to you, smirking. “Never trust a guy who uses the phrase ‘reptile bonding.’ I discovered that the hard way.”

You gaze at him for a second, perplexed.

And suddenly, before you can stop yourself..

You laugh.

It slips out before you even feel it develop. Not a whole one. Not loud. But genuine. A sound that seems alien in your mouth, like something you used to know before someone wiped it out of you with training and stillness.

Mark glances up swiftly at the sound.

His smile isn’t broad. But it’s genuine.

And you… you don’t look away.

“I wasn’t sure this would work,” he admits, after a moment. “I thought maybe it’d be too much. Or too weird. Or you’d just sit here silently judging me for dragging you to the greasiest fast food joint in the city.”

“I am silently judging you,” you reply.

William snorts taking a sip of his Coke.

“But,” you say, softly now, “It’s not bad.”

Mark nods, like that means more to him than he’ll say.

You let the stillness fall again. It's the type of silence that happens between people who are still figuring each other out but aren’t in a rush to get there.

Mark leans back in his seat as William swipes on his phone. He glances at you for a long moment, like he’s checking in, without saying it.

“How are you really doing?” he says gently. “Like… really.”

You don’t answer immediately away.

Because the truth is difficult. You’re not sure how to say, 'I don’t know what it means to sit in one spot and feel comfortable. I don’t know how to communicate about myself without sounding like a mission report. I don’t know how to just… be a person.'

So instead, you stare down at your tray, at the half-finished burger and the handful of fries still clumped together like they’re clutching on for dear life.

“I think I’m figuring it out,” you say.

Mark grins again.

And this time, as the calm falls around you, it doesn’t feel weird.

It feels like maybe… this is how it starts.

Burger Mart is beginning to clear out. Your clothing still smell like salt and fried oil; the sun is starting to set outside the smeared windows, coloring everything in a gentle, orange-tinted haze.

Mark sits across from you, somewhat slouched with the remnants of his shake melting in front of him; William is still next to Mark, casually twirling a straw wrapper between his fingers as if about to speak. You can feel it coming before he even opens his mouth.

It's the quiet before someone breaches a line.

At last, William leans forward with his elbows resting on the table. “So… not to kill the vibe, but… I saw the footage.”

Mark looks up. “What footage?”

William's gaze darts between the two of you. “The footage. Of the fight. With the guy who looked like you but clearly… wasn’t. The one leveling a city while yelling weird, touchy-feely monologues at,” he gestures vaguely toward you, “her."

Mark’s expression hardens. “Right.”

William delivers a wary shrug. "I mean… I didn’t seek it out. But you know how fast this stuff spreads. The news clips. The shaky phone videos. It’s everywhere now. And people are asking questions.”

You say nothing. You merely gaze at the fry basket in front of you, already cold.

William glances at Mark. “He looked like you. Sounded like you. But, he wasn’t you, obviously. Except… I don’t know, man. He knew you. He knew her.”

Mark doesn’t answer at first. His jaw twists, his eyes falling.

William keeps going, softer now. “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others. But it looked like that guy knew exactly where to cut. What to say. And it messed you up.”

Mark eventually nods. “It did.”

You can feel his hesitancy. The strain behind every word he hasn’t uttered yet.

William leans back a bit, eyeing the two of you with silent anxiety. “You gonna tell me what’s going on? Or am I just supposed to pretend that wasn’t you getting beat to hell by your evil twin while he confessed some tragic, alternate universe backstory?”

Mark breathes through his nose and runs a hand over his face. “It’s complicated.”

William scoffs. “You think?”

Mark hesitates again. “That version of me… he came from a world where Dad pushed him even harder. Broke him faster. Told him love was weakness and made him believe it. In that world, he loved someone who looked exactly like her.”

William glances to you, shocked. “You?”

You finally speak. Quiet. Controlled. “Not me. But close enough.”

Mark continues, voice heavy. “And when he finally broke, when he snapped...his dad told him to prove it. To get rid of his weakness.”

William swallows, slowly. “So he killed her.”

Mark nods.

“And then he was here,” William adds. “Fighting you, saying all this twisted stuff, like he’s trying to pull you into the same direction.”

You don’t answer. But Mark does.

“He wanted me to recognize him. To see him and understand. Because if I could, maybe I’d follow the same path.”

William lets that settle for a beat.

“That’s messed up,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” Mark says. “It was.”

William doesn’t joke. He doesn’t pivot. He merely sits back, letting the facts hit. Then his voice softens. “Does it… mess with your head? Knowing in every universe, he kills her. Or worse, you do.”

Mark flinches at that. He doesn’t disguise it.

You speak before he can. “He wasn’t him. That matters.”

William stares at you like he’s still trying to properly get his head around it. “But it’s still you standing in the blast zone.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

The three of you become silent again, the sounds of the restaurant rolling over you like static. Eventually, William exhales and leans forward again.

“Look… I don’t know what this is between you two. And I’m not trying to be weird about it. But if that guy came from a world where he loved you enough to break like that… maybe don’t underestimate what it means that this Mark hasn’t.”

You don’t say anything.

But Mark stares at you, something quiet and raw behind his eyes.

William shrugs, trying to dissolve the serious atmosphere, "If the next version of you shows up with a goatee. That’s when we should panic.”

He stands up to go to the restroom. The weight of it all still remains in the air, yet somehow it’s easier to breathe.

You study the door for a second, the one William disappeared through, still hanging slightly after his joke. He’s loud, that guy. Fast-talking, sharp-witted. The kind of person who fills every space he walks into and leaves it buzzing after he’s gone.

“He’s weird,” you remark after a pause, without actually looking at Mark.

Mark glances up, taken by surprise. “William?”

You nod. “Talks too much. Changes topics before he finishes the last one. Like he’s trying to win a conversation you didn’t know you were having.”

Mark snorts. “That’s pretty accurate.”

You pick up a fry. It’s cold. You eat it anyhow.

“I didn’t hate it,” you add, more to yourself than him.

Mark lifts an eyebrow, then leans back in the booth.

“Yeah. He’s… a lot. But he’s a good guy.”

You nod. You can kind of see that now. William has a way of being obnoxious and serious at the same time, which felt like a contradiction, but somehow worked.

“He doesn’t really hold back, does he?” you add.

“Nope,” Mark answers, stuffing another milkshake-covered fry into his mouth.

“He’s never met a boundary he didn’t sprint right past.”

You gaze at him. “That normal?”

Mark smiles. “For him? Completely.”

You sit in a moment of companionable stillness, the type that’s unusual for you, especially in public. No one’s asking you for anything. No one’s watching you too carefully. Mark’s simply sitting there, calm, milkshake practically gone, like this is any other day.

It’s… not unpleasant.

“I don’t usually do this,” you remark unexpectedly.

Mark glances up again. “Do what?”

“This. Sitting. Small conversation. People.”

He tilts his head, thinking. “You’re doing fine.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I called your friend weird within five minutes.”

Mark shrugs. “That’s basically a compliment in our circle.”

That draws a faint, silent smirk from you, so quick that it nearly disappears. But Mark catches it. You see it in the way his shoulders open just a bit more, how his grin turns from mischievous to something gentler.

“You can hang out with us anytime,” he continues, voice relaxed.

You nod, then grab for the final fry between you both.

Mark makes a pretend attempt to grab it, but you’re quicker.

He lets you have it.

You don’t say anything more for a time, and neither does he. The city hums outside.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The air outside is thick, the kind that sticks to your skin and slows the city just enough to make everything feel suspended in time. You’ve walked three blocks and William hasn’t stopped talking for a second.

Not that you mind. Not really.

Mark walks at your side, hands in his hoodie pockets, occasionally glancing your way as if checking to see how you’re holding up. You’ve caught him looking once or twice, not just to monitor, but to see you. Like he’s trying to understand how this all lands on someone who’s never had the chance to just exist.

And ahead of you, William is enlivened, arms flailing, voice climbing into the kind of pitch reserved for heated debates.

“And I’m just saying, if a flying dog with psychic abilities can wear a cloak, then clearly there’s no reason you can’t make a practical costume. You’ve got the build for it. Like lean, but scary. Kind of like a hot ninja librarian.”

You stare at him. “That’s… not a thing.”

“It should be,” William says proudly. “I could start a fan club for you.”

Mark groans under his breath. “William, don’t start. Please.”

But William only grins, slowing slightly to fall back into step with you. “Speaking of powers…” He looks at you with wide, hopeful eyes, already up to something. “Can you fly?”

You blink. “Yes.”

He lights up. “Okay. So, real talk, can you take me flying? Just once. Quick lap around the city? I won’t even scream.”

Mark doesn’t miss a beat.

“Nope,” he says flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on! I’m a very responsible passenger!”

Mark raises a brow. “Dude, last time you rode a scooter you ended up in a decorative fountain.”

“That was one time.”

“And you were texting,” Mark adds. “With your eyes closed.”

William waves him off. “I was being efficient.”

You glance between the two of them, unsure whether to be amused or concerned.

“She’s not a taxi,” Mark finishes. “Drop it.”

William groans but lets it go, muttering something about wasted potential as he stomps dramatically up the dorm steps.

“Rick! We brought a guest. And Mark. But mostly a guest.”

Inside, it’s surprisingly clean. Lived-in, sure open textbooks, a few laundry piles, an unfinished homework on the desk but not a disaster. A tall, broad-shouldered guy looks up from the mini fridge, a soda can in hand. He straightens when he sees you.

“Hey,” he says easily. “You must be the mysterious ‘no-last-name’ girl.”

Mark supplies your name quickly, nudging you forward just a little. “This is Rick. He’s one of the few people William hasn’t driven insane. Yet.”

“Debatable,” Rick mutters with a smirk. “Want a soda?”

You nod, unsure if you actually want one, but accepting seems easier than refusing.

The room is too tiny for four people, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a warmth here that you can’t define. A type of disordered contentment. The aroma of popcorn blends with fabric softener and something like old books, maybe Rick’s, maybe William’s. It's hard to tell. A little fan buzzes in the corner. The windows are opened just enough to allow the sounds of city traffic hum in the background.

You’re on the bed. Mark’s next to you, sprawled out with one leg tucked under the other. Rick’s seated on the arm of the neighboring chair, drinking his Coke like he’s been waiting all day to finally sit still. William, however, is never still, he’s down on the carpet in front of you, cross-legged and restless, like a kid eager to start a sleepover game.

“Alright,” he replies, suddenly smacking his palms on his thighs with a theatrical flourish. “I need to know. I have to know. What can you do?”

You raise a brow. “Psychically?”

“Yes, obviously. We all seen the footage. You yeeted Mohawk Mark across a city block like he owed you money. But I mean, can you perform the mind-reading thing? Can you guess what I’m thinking? Because I have some genuinely cursed ideas you might wish to avoid.”

Rick moans. “William, don’t.”

Mark smirks but doesn’t interrupt. He’s certainly interested in where this is headed.

William points at you, eyebrows raised. “C’mon. Let’s play a game. You guess what I’m thinking, right now.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, observing him.

“I’m not a party trick.”

William swings his arms wide. “But if you were, you’d be the best one.”

You sigh, yet a little corner of your lips twitches.

Mark moves nearer you just a little, voice low. “You really want to do this?”

You shrug. “I’ll skim.”

Just surface-level. A fleeting idea. Nothing too profound.

So you reach. Quietly. Barely a ripple.

And then.

Oh.

Oh no.

You flinch almost instantly, blinking hard, like you just stepped face-first into a wall built of someone’s very inappropriate fan fiction.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, astonished.

William’s eyes become wide with joy. “You saw it?”

“You were thinking about Rick,” you reply softly, fear dawning. “But not, like, romantically. You were thinking about-” You stop yourself, but the picture is already scorched in.

“Was that whipped cream?” you ask. “And a beanbag chair?"

Rick, to his credit, chokes on his cola mid-sip and coughs furiously into his elbow.

Mark is shielding his face with both hands. “William, what the hell?”

“I was going for memorable!” William says brightly, absolutely unbothered. “Also, it was a very flattering fantasy.”

“Flattering? I’m going need therapy,” you mutter, leaning away from him like his thoughts are a contagious disease.

“I told you not to go in there unprepared,” William replies with false seriousness. “You brought this on yourself.”

Rick is still coughing, cheeks red, trying very hard not to laugh and failing horribly. “Jesus, William.”

“I’m expressive!” William defends himself.

“You’re deranged,” you shoot back, but now you’re laughing.

You try not to. You truly do. But it’s pointless. The sheer ridiculousness of it, the reality that this is what passes for normal here, is too much. It pours out of you, shocked and real, and suddenly you’re laughing so hard you have to put your hand against your lips just to breathe.

Mark’s laughing too now, though he’s trying to hide it behind his hand.

William bows significantly. “Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week. Don’t forget to tip your telepath.” You’re shaking your head, still recovering. “You are so lucky I didn’t dig deeper.”

“Oh please,” he says, stretched on the carpet like he owns the house. “That was tame. You should see what’s in my thoughts on a Friday night.”

“Absolutely not,” Rick answers instantly.

Mark leans toward you, beaming. “You doing okay?”

You nod, still breathless. “Weirdly… yeah.”

And you mean it.

Because for the first time in a long time, your power isn’t a weapon. You’re not being measured or tracked. You’re simply here in a too-small room, on a lumpy couch, with a group of people who aren’t scared to be idiotic and loud and stupid in front of you.

And they’re not asking anything from you.

You catch Rick’s attention, and he gives you a faint, pleasant grin. A gentle type of welcome that doesn’t need to be shouted out loud.

William tosses a gummy at Mark and misses. Mark retaliates by flinging popcorn at his head. Rick eventually tosses a pillow, and suddenly it’s anarchy, soft and innocent and loud with laughing.

You sit back against the bed.

William and Rick retreat into the tiny kitchenette, disputing about who consumed the last of the popcorn. The dorm smells vaguely like laundry and microwave food. The window’s cracked, and you can hear birds outside.

For a minute, it’s just you and Mark.

“You okay?” he says, quieter now.

You nod. “It’s… a lot. But not bad.”

He grins faintly. “That’s kind of college in a nutshell.”

You peek around. “They’re… good together.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. “They are. It wasn’t always simple, but they worked it out.”

You gaze at him. “You ever think about that? Having something simple? Not being a hero?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. Then the universe reminds me I’m not made for it.”

You huff a chuckle. “Relatable.”

He grins again, more sincerely this time.

“Still,” he admits, “it’s nice to pretend for a while.”

You sit in silence together for a moment, just listening to the sound of Rick mocking William in the kitchen over some mislabeled leftovers. Mark spreads out his legs, relaxing for once, and you find yourself copying the motion, settling a bit deeper into the cushions.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The city feels different now.

It’s not the area you’ve examined from roofs or observed behind mirrored glass. It’s alive in a manner that’s both chaotic and soothing. The sun has sunk below the skyline, painting everything in tones of mellow amber and lengthy shadows. There’s movement everywhere. cars inching through crossings, people strolling with purpose or without, couples holding hands, someone laughing across the street like they don’t have a care in the world.

You don’t understand how they do it.

How they just exist. Loud. Unbothered. Untouched.

But you’re starting to want to.

Mark walks beside you. His shoulder brushes yours once or twice, casually, like he’s not thinking about it. Rick and William are up ahead, William waving frantically per usually as he narrates some prank of campus involving a stolen mascot head and a janitor with a vendetta. Rick listens with the calm, experienced face of someone who has heard the story a hundred times yet never minds the recounting. You pass shops sparkling with gentle light. The comic shop’s window is loaded with old issues and dusty action figures. A pizza shop with fogged-up windows smells like garlic and cheap cheese. And suddenly you see it, your goal.

The ice cream shop is sandwiched between a laundry and a smoking establishment. The structure seems older than anything around it, its worn brick facade softened by plants crawling up one side and a glowing neon sign atop that simply reads.

SCOOPS.

Inside, it’s colder. The air smells like vanilla and freezer burn and something slightly fruity. The floors groan underfoot, and there’s a buzzing noise from the freezer case that makes your teeth hurt.

William’s already leaning over the monitor, his finger running across each taste like he’s solving a riddle. “Okay. I know what I want,” he says dramatically. “But I must sample everything anyway. For science.”

The teen behind the counter looks like he’s one existential crisis away from quitting, yet he passes over little pink spoons without a word. William dives in. Rick merely groans and gestures to his usual, vanilla with rainbow sprinkles, in a cup, because cones “are just structural failures waiting to happen.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “Double scoop. Rocky road. Waffle cone.”

You hang back.

Not because you’re unsure of the place, but because your brain hasn’t caught up yet. It’s too quiet in here. Too sluggish. You’re used to moving through missions, not moments. Standing in line with your hands tucked into the sleeves of your jacket, you realize how still everything is.

And how alien that quiet seems.

Mark glances back at you. “You okay?”

You nod. Not persuasively.

He leans in a little. “You don’t have to pick anything if you don’t want to.”

“I just… I don’t know what I like,” you admit, quietly.

It’s a dumb thing to say, but it’s true. You’ve eaten military rations, energy bars, recovery gels. You've never stood in front of a freezer and been asked to chose something for no reason at all.

He smiles, soft and understanding. “Try chocolate. Safe bet.”

So you do.

The icecream is delivered to you in a little paper cup, topped with a tiny wooden spoon. Your fingertips skim the chilly edge of the cup as you follow the others outdoors, where a solitary flickering streetlamp buzzes softly over a metal seat. The night air strikes your skin like a blanket that hasn’t decided whether it’s warm or cold.

You take a seat next to Mark on a park bench. William plops down cross-legged on the pavement in front of the bench across from Rick, of course. Rick leans back on the bench’s arm, legs extended out and crossed at the ankles like he could fall asleep right there.

You gaze at the ice cream in your hand. It’s already beginning to melt around the edges.

You take a bite.

It’s frigid, painfully cold at first, hitting the roof of your mouth, but gradually it softens. Sweet. Rich. Like nothing you’ve ever eaten. You chew carefully, eyes riveted on the passing headlights across the street. Mark watches you, his own cone nearly gone.

“Well?” he asks.

You nod, slowly. “It’s… good.”

He grins. “High praise.”

“I didn’t think I’d like it.”

“You don’t have to like everything,” he continues. “You just get to try things now.”

That sticks with you more than it should.

William talks about how he once tried to impress Rick by hosting a surprise lunch on the dorm roof, which ended with a kicked-over lantern, a scared security guard, and two very furious pigeons. Rick affirms every phrase, beaming ay him through a mouthful of sprinkles.

You listen without attempting to memorize anything.

Without filing it away for later. You just… listen. Let the noises of the city and their words and the crunch of Mark’s cone all swirl together.

“This is weird,” you reply finally, voice hushed.

Mark turns toward you. “Weird how?”

“Peaceful.”

He smiles at that. Not mocking. Just soft.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It sneaks up on you.”

You gaze at him, echoing your worries again. “I don’t really know how to do this.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He merely shrugs.

“Neither did I. You figure it out.”

You sink into a comfortable stillness again. Someone’s playing music from a window down the street, low, crackly pop. The type of tune you don’t know, yet strangely fits.

You take another mouthful of ice cream. It’s melting rapidly now, and you pursue it with the spoon like it could escape if you look away.

You’ve never gone this slowly through a day before.

You’ve never been permitted to.

And now, in this park, under this cheap streetlamp with sticky fingers and laughter still booming about you, you realize, this is what they call normal.

It’s messy. Loud. Stupid.

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

You hadn’t planned on going anywhere after the ice cream.

But you all walked into a corner coffee shop anyway, one of those cozy, overstuffed places with too many books on the walls and too few places to sit. It was too late for coffee, but it was your first time seeing an establishment such as this. A neon “OPEN” sign flickered slowly in the window, throwing gentle red light over the display of old vinyls and mismatched mugs.

Inside, it smelled like espresso and vanilla syrup, with a lingering undertone of something herbal, maybe the tea they only ever serve at night. The floor creaked with every step. A few students crowded in the corner with computers, headphones, and textbooks. No one paid attention when you stepped in. And for once, that was a blessing.

You sat at a tiny table near the window, watching while Rick had William sip decaf under protest. Mark didn’t order anything, just leaned against the counter and waited, eyes glancing to you now and then like he was checking in without asking questions. You didn’t need caffeine. You didn’t even finish your drink. It didn’t matter. The warmth of the cup in your hands was enough.

Eventually, Rick and William pulled off to check out a used book sale in the rear, muttering something about recipes from the ’80s and "the lost art of fondue."

That’s when Mark turned to you and motioned toward the glass door.

“C’mon. Let’s wait for them outside.”

You didn’t hesitate.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

By the time you cross the iron gate at the park’s entrance, the city feels distant, like something left behind on purpose.

The gravel walk twists between antique lamp posts, each one producing a faint circle of yellow light. The trees above rustle softly, like they’re whispering. You hear water someplace nearby, maybe a fountain. The air smells different here. It's cooler, tinted with grass and something flowery, growing someplace out of sight. You notice a bench near the edge of a tiny clearing. There are no other people in sight. Just two squirrels arguing in the distance and the soothing beat of the wind through leaves.

Mark sits first. You follow.

For a time, neither of you says anything. And that feels okay. Maybe even good.

Then, after a long beat, Mark exhales through his nostrils. “Y’know,” he adds, voice hushed, “when I first got my powers… everything felt simple. At least at initially. Be strong. Be fast. Protect people. Easy.”

He kicks a small rock with the toe of his shoe, watching it skid across the path.

“But then it stopped being simple. And I didn’t even notice the change until I was in the middle of it. The calls. The expectations. The pressure to keep smiling through it all even when I was barely holding it together.”

You turn toward him, not all the way. Just enough to indicate you're listening.

Mark leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His voice is quieter now. Less sure.

“It’s easy to lose yourself in all of this...to forget what it feels like to be human.”

He doesn’t say it for pity. Or drama. He just says it like it’s the truest thing he’s got. Something he’s had in his chest for longer than anyone knows.

You don’t answer immediately away. You’re not sure how. Because it taps something in you, something archaic and sore and yet healing.

“I don’t think I ever really knew,” you concede, eventually. “What it felt like. To be human.”

Mark stares at you, countenance inscrutable.

You keep going. “I was made for utility. For precision. Not for this.” You gesture vaguely to the darkened park, the quiet space, the warmth still faintly lingering in your palm from the coffee cup. “This wasn’t part of the training.”

He nods, slowly. “Yeah. It’s not in any manual. Trust me, I’ve looked.”

You nearly grin at it. It’s faint, but it’s there.

You gaze up at the sky. It’s darker now. The moon has pushed its way up above the buildings, producing a pale brightness that cuts through the canopy of trees.

“I used to think stillness meant failure,” you remark. “If I wasn’t moving, fighting, reacting that I was wasting time. But now… I’m not sure I know what to do with quiet.”

Mark sits back, staring up at the same sky. “Quiet’s scary when you’re used to chaos. It lets you feel everything you were trying to outrun.”

You peek over at him. He meets your gaze.

“But it’s also where you remember who you are,” he says, softly.

You glance away again, but not because you’re withdrawing. More like… giving yourself a second to breathe.

“I saw myself once,” you reply gently. “Not in a mirror. Not in combat. Just… walking. In some other version of all this. Normal. Human. I didn’t even recognize her.”

“What was she like?” he asks.

You think about it.

“She smiled more,” you say. “She didn’t look over her shoulder. She laughed without scanning the room first. She seemed… light.”

Mark swallows. You can hear it.

“I’d like to meet her,” he replies gently.

“She’s probably buried under ten layers of trauma and poor decision-making.”

He smiles again. “So is everyone.”

You both fall silent again.

But this pause feels different.

It seems like a beginning.

A soft start. A crack in the wall you’ve spent your life bracing against. You don’t know what you’ll construct from it. You don’t even know what you want yet. But for the first time, you want something.

You desire this.

The quiet.

The talks.

The calm understanding of someone who isn’t frightened to sit with you.

In the distance, William calls out, laughing with Rick as they cross the field, silhouetted by lamplight. You hear something about 'the most cursed book cover of all time' and 'a goat wearing a tuxedo.'

Mark rises, extending you a hand without a word.

You take it.

And as you walk back toward the noise and the city and whatever comes next, his hand remains near yours. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel.

You’re not alone anymore.

The hum of city life comes back up like it had only halted for you. The air is colder now, just enough for goosebumps to lift on your arms. Somewhere nearby, a vehicle horn blares as someone laughs too loud.

You and Mark fall into stride side by side again, more out of habit than intention. William and Rick are a few feet back, giggling over something half-whispered and foolish. They’re trailing, leaving you room, whether on design or by mistake, you don’t know. But you feel it. That soft, thoughtful spacing.

The walkway is uneven in spots, cracked from too many winters. You snag your toe on a slab and Mark immediately reaches out, not grabbing you, not dramatic, just steadying, like he was already halfway to catching you before it occurred.

You straighten yourself with a tiny nod. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

“When I first got my powers,” he adds, voice low, “I thought I had to prove something. To my dad. To me. I wanted to be the person who could do everything. Save the planet. Be the good boyfriend. The good son. The ideal image of someone I didn’t even understand yet.”

You gaze at him, but say nothing. The quiet around you listens for you.

“And for a while, I could juggle it,” he continues. “The superhero stuff. School. Eve. My mom. All of it. But it never really… fit the way I hoped it would.”

He exhales, and you detect something heavy in his breath. Like he’s been holding it in for longer than he imagined.

“It’s easy to lose yourself in all of this,” he continues. “To forget what it feels like to be human.”

The truth in his words rings too loud, too near.

“I wasn’t raised in a house. I was raised in a program. I didn’t receive dinner tables and family vacations. I got tactical assessments and biometric scans.”

Mark turns to gaze at you, his brows pinched together in that way they do when he’s listening and hurting at the same time.

“I think the worst part?” you add. “I didn’t even know I was missing anything. Until lately. Until now.” You gesture weakly toward the coffee shop you left behind.

“Until you.”

That hovers in the air longer than either of you probably wanted it to.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t break eye contact.

You see the struggle on his face, clear as day. Not guilt, precisely. But cautious. Thoughtfulness. Like he wants to hold what you just gave him, but he’s frightened of breaking it.

“I’m with Eve,” he adds finally. Gently. Carefully. “I care about her.”

You nod. “I know.”

You truly do.

He swallows, his voice smaller. “But this? You and me? I… don’t know what to label it.”

You grin, sorrowful but real. “You don’t have to call it anything. I’m not asking for a name. I just… needed to tell you.”

He nods, glancing down at his hands.

Behind you, William and Rick are still hovering just out of grasp, like a reminder that the world keeps moving no matter how delicate the moment feels.

Then Mark’s phone buzzes.

He examines it, and his stance adjusts just slightly. A spark of tightness in his jaw. He doesn’t show you the screen, but he doesn’t have to.

He answers.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softening. “Yeah, I’m still out. Just with William.”

You glance aside as he says. Not bitter. Just cautious.

Because you already know the weight of lives you’re not supposed to enter into.

Mark hangs up swiftly, placing the phone back into his pocket without remark. For a long second, you both sit in quiet.

“My mom's checking in,” he adds finally. “Just making sure I’m okay.”

“She’s good at that,” you say. And you mean it.

Mark watches you, like he’s waiting for you to close the space between you again or maybe waiting to see whether you’ll drift further away.

But you don’t move.

Instead, your feet hit the sidewalk where the sounds of the world hums softly again. “We should catch up.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The walk back is peaceful, your steps in sync without trying. William and Rick glance back as you rejoin them, but neither says anything. William only flashes you a knowing half-smile and nudges Rick with his shoulder.

Mark walks behind you, just close enough that your arms nearly brush again, but not quite.

There are no confessions. No conclusions.

Just breath.

And space.

[nataliescatorccio]

"The white face is very important. There's a reason why I do the white face." Chappell Roan for 'Faces of Music'

[eggsdrawings]

the kaminari and mina friendship is underutilized and i think we need to change that

[egophiliac]

Is lanterns event is the shortest right? We dont even have the perfect or grim, only Riddle Jack Kalim and Deuce. Whole event it just Riddle character development in Tangle theme. Also prove that miss roseheart is suck and Riddle is ready to free.

it was one of the shorter ones, yeah! (if you don't count, like, Master Chef or the other ones that aren't really story-based.) I thought it was super cute though! :> especially given how we were in the Halloween + main story gauntlet for a while there, it was a nice easy little breather. honestly I think it was mostly about just seeing everyone come together to make fun of them help our boys be the prettiest tower princesses of all. 💐 (if for some reason this involves Jade refusing to take off the deer mask, so be it)

(and, you know, we finally got a knitting scene, so of course I'm happy)

[kendyroy]

THEY’RE MARRIED

[polybrains]

I looove sprite redraws

[soelvfiskart]

[Fhjy ep 19 SPOILERS ]

Mary Ann going berserk over her strawberry plush getting burnt, is the realest shit ever

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Fiddauthor divorce arc speedrun <3

After 30 years of searching for his lost brother through demonic rituals and summonings, Ford has become a bit of a notorious demon collector over the years. He's made a LOT of deals with MANY different demons over the years; from minor and harmless little entities to big and powerful overlords. Most of the time, these deals aren't really a one-way situation, so a lot of demons have a strong grip on him just as much as he does on them. It often ends up being a mutual sort of destruction, as in: "I know I'm but a mere mortal trifling with things I couldn't begin to fathom, and I know you will destroy me eventually; but I don't care as long as I get to destroy you too." He just needs to live long enough to find his brother.

The red hands are essentially pieces of himself (his soul, you could say??) that he wields as his method of restraint to the demons he has "tamed" so far. They act as a leash to contain each demons' powers, and he can loosen or tighten his hold on them as much as he wants. The number of hands required to contain a demon really depends on their individual strengths, but 3-4 hands are already very energy consuming.

YES, I gave all of his demons stupid names. SUE ME.

[icantbotherwithusernames]

Gravity Falls but Bill’s “i like Mabel cuz she’s an agent of chaos” opinion is actually correct

aka a drawing of my au that has been living in my brain rent free for the past several months

[cyani07]

ctommys

[shroompette]

Maine Coon Cat!König living alone in his den, generally unbothered until Bunny!Reader shows up during a storm, seeking shelter under the overhang of his home. Wet, cold and with an injured leg, König takes pity on her and brings her inside.

MCCat!König who doesn't really have many veggies lying around, but he does have some fruit. He watches Bunny!Reader's cheeks grow chubby as she stuffs them with bananas and canned nectarines. Poor thing, she must have been starved. He gives her a can of strawberries as well, which she neatly tucks away in her raincoat. He does not question her about it.

MCCat!König who, after he feeds Bunny!Reader, carefully rolls up the fabric of her pants to inspect and disinfect the nasty cut on her calf, taking the opportunity to give a closer look to her as a whole. He finds himself enchanted with the long, fluffy ears that droop around the sides of her head. Even wet, they still look enticing, cotton-soft and he wants to brush them, rub his cheeks against them, kiss them, pull them, bite them-

MCCat!König who manages to make Bunny!Reader a little nest to sleep in out of spare pillows and blankets, the crackle of the flames dancing in the fireplace lulling her to sleep. He watches her for a while and nearly purrs with delight when she rolls over in her sleep and reveals the round little scut that he'd like to use as a stress ball.

MCCat!König whose big ears twitch as he hears the sound of his front door opening in the morning, knowing Bunny!Reader must have slipped out into the woods again and it makes his heart pang just a little before he resumes his everyday life.

MCCat!König who is absolutely flabbergasted when a week passes and there's a knock on his door behind which stands Bunny!Reader and her three little buns. Without a word, she ushers them inside before disappearing into the woods. He isn't sure what to do. He has half a mind to run after her, but he fears leaving the buns alone would give them an opportunity to cause mischief and he'd rather not come back and find his den on fire. He stays, letting them sit in his big lap and play with his tail that sometimes tickles them on their twitchy little noses, so similar to their mother's. They're very messy eaters too - they seem to love strawberries, little fingers and cheeks sticky with their juice.

MCCat!König who is equally relieved and enraged when Bunny!Reader finally shows up hours later with a satchel of herbs and veggies for her babies who are currently bundled up in the nest he reassembled. He is about to tell her off, inform her that he isn't a babysitter when she stands on her tiptoes and nuzzles his nose ever so gently, difusing his anger completely. He barely blinks before she's off to check on her buns, satisfied with the state she finds them in - alive, with full bellies and sleeping.

MCCat!König who slowly gets used to Bunny!Reader dropping off her kids at his doorstep and watching them for a day or two before she comes back and expresses her gratitude via soft gesture such as nuzzle or a cheek kiss.

MCCat!König who sometimes makes Bunny!Reader stay in the den with the buns to go on a veggie/herb hunt himself, just so she can spend some quality time with them. He can not pinpoint the exact moment he became so whipped for her.

MCCat!König who starts leaving the nest out permanently because he knows Bunny!Reader won't stop coming around and neither will her buns anytime soon (he'd miss them greatly if they did).

MCCat!König who lets Bunny!Reader sleep in the spare cot (that he built just for her) in his room until she decides one night that sleeping beside him would be more comfortable. He does not try to object this in the slightest, not when he can finally feel her fluffy ears against his face.

MCCat!König who regularly grooms the buns' hair and furry ears and Bunny!Reader's as well with his coarse tongue, thinking he's displaying dominance over her. He has no idea she thinks she is the one in charge by letting him groom her.

MCCat!König who's suddenly not alone anymore. The quiet days of his den are over as it's now filled with laughter and chattering of the three little buns who have began to call him "Papa". He never knew two simple syllables could bring him so much joy...and then there's Bunny!Reader, with her genius manipulative tactics that involve licks, kisses and adorable tiny stomps of her feet when she wants something done her way. He would not trade her for anything in the world.

MCCat!König who slowly starts thinking his den is too big for just the five of them...and that perhaps he and Bunny!Reader should start working on some kitten siblings for the buns.

masterlist • pt2

[nessacousland]

It's starting to drive me nuts how often I'm seeing the claim that the "southern" Chantry and its relationship with magic have zero influence in the north.

The Chantry schism created the Imperial Chantry vs. the Orlesian Chantry. Imperial because it’s only a thing in the Tevinter Imperium. That’s one country in the north.

Yes, we only get to see the Mournwatch in Veilguard, but have we forgotten the College of Magi in Cumberland? The philosophical heart of the Circle of Magi? Where they used to elect the Grand Enchanters? How about the Circle of Perendale? There’s an actual wartable mission about Perendale's mages who barricaded themselves in for fear of what the general populace will do to them!

Remember Zevran mentioning the Circle in Antiva and how the templars there were watching the mages like "a jealous husband guarding the chastity of a wanton bride"? Remember Josephine's line "little but the Chantry ties Orlais, Nevarra, Ferelden, Antiva, and even Rivain to a common cause"?

You think Brother Genitivi - a Fereldan Chantry brother - would call the Anderfels a nation that produces the most devout priests if they didn’t give af about the Orlesian Chantry? The place where they carved a giant statue of Andraste into a mountain?

Rivain, sure, the Chantry’s influence there has always been minimal (though ironically, the aftermath of the Dairsmuid Circle's annulment is the only time we actually see the Chantry’s influence up north in this game). But Nevarra, Antiva and the Anderfels?!

Sorry, no, there's an entire list of known Circles of Magi readily available online. Don’t freaking try to tell me that people everywhere were letting their mages cuddle wisps and shit, and it was only Orlais, Ferelden and the Free Marches that didn’t get the memo! Of course there have always been cultural differences, but "we're in the north now" is a piss-poor excuse for Veilguard's absence of any palpable faith.

It damn well should have mattered who we put on the Sunburst Throne.

[riddleseth]

It’s nearly 4 am

[tapeworrmart]

What if James was always onimously soaked through as a nod to his ending

[dailyjadenep]

Troll jade and human nepeta perhaps?

[adaume]

👔 Suit picking!