#'what do you care what other people think!!' it's SO tiring to always feel like a clown or a stranger in my own home

[hereonlytofeedwormsinmybrain]

Gonna do it for myself just because

It's okay, altough very conditional

My best friend probably. I genuinely love her so much.

Yes and no, but it's somewhat pointless to dwell about. I'm making some small steps to do stuff I'd do differently back then.

Yeah

Single, never been in a relationship beside friendship and I kinda feel I've missed my window for first one. I'm okay with it tho, probably on a aroace spectrum

I feel like I'm gonna age as an old person. I would like to die with clear mind and self sufficient body.

Peach yoghurt with granola

Not really, I started enjoying sports only few years ago, but I'm still insecure about my skills and body. Want to get into boxing next year.

Not anymore

I've never had any physical fight

I like a lot of people, no one romantically so

Yeah, I studied at an art school and have ADHD, so

No actually

Terribly.

Not now. I love pets, but more in an uncle/aunt way. I'm allergic, very sensory sensitive, and leading somewhat chaotic life.

Neutral. I'm procrrastinating updating my CV, so a little bit worried about that

Never made out with anyone, so no

No, I like them, but in the place I live in they are really small and chill, big one stress me a little bit. Not fear tho, and I like cohabitating with them

I was thinking about it lately, when feverish! And: maybe? I would do a lot of things differently if I could go back like eight years, when I was starting my final year of high school. Very different decisions. Would take better care of myself and wouldn't spiral into this years long depressive/burnout episode. Like I said before, I'm trying to do some stuff I should've done before

blank answer

Uhhhhh I have school so probably deal with interior design and graphic programs

I don't want to bring people, either as a birthing parent nor. not sure how to say it? other parent who also made decision? But I would like to adopt one day, if I have this option, preferably older or teenaged kid. Not building my life toward this moment tho

One, cause the other in other ear closed up. I want one in each nostril, but now I'm dealing with allergies and shit so yeah

As in what?

Terribly. Also, kinda repeating question

Nothing really

Don't think so, but I'm also very oblivious. Maybe platonically.

Nope

blank answer

this guy who is guest in my flat rn, really annoying and don't understand "no" in more annoying way, not creepy way. He's leaving tmr morning

My friends, at least my best friend

I like colors in general so baby blue and hues of red maybe

Yeah

Don't remember

Uhhhhhh my therapist probably? I'm not a big crier

Nope, in fact, I'm too fast to cut people off. Working on it too. Only person who got a shitton on chances was my sister up to the moment she broke my heart. We haven't really talked in like. two and half years

Forget

Not really, 2023 was way better, but it was a decent year for sure

Not sure if it counts, cause I've never had kiss with person i actually wanted to kiss, but kissed some friends when I was uhhhh 22?

Nope. Fuckup with question numbers?

I like cooking in general and do it well, but my comfort food I do always when too tired to do anything else is spaghetti pasta with tomato sauce, since I was a little kid

Yes and not, more like life is this huge choices tree, so like every time you make some choice, new options appears. Logical to me

Read some fanfic

Depends on definition of cheating and relationship, but I do believe cheating as in breaking trust of other person who loves you on deep and intimate level is always wrong.

I think I'm more cruel than mean? And often people read me as mean, this the life of autistic person. I feel my core is just leyers and leyers of kind and cruel

No one???? Are you guys okay

Once again, what's definition? But I'm more into bell hooks understanding of love, as set of action rather than feeling, so how do you define realness in this definition

Big summer storm with lightnings and thunder, that brings coolness after warm and lazy day

Yes, a lot! There's not a lot of it nowadays, but I like it a lot when happens

I see marriage more as a buisness/legal thing, but if I'm ever in a long term realtionship, I probably would like one. Illegal for me in my country atm

When a girl or nb person does it. It shortcuts me a little ngl (hoping for someone who would call me this all the time. Spiritually I'm bottom, would love to check it out irl). When guys try it, even in jokes, I got a violent whiplash

Being in mountain. Spending time with my best friend. Sense of calm after big and dramatic emotions or meltdowns. Playing drums!!!! I have my second lesson tmr :)

Yes, I seriously consider this rn! Anecdote: I was a volounteer and I didn't recognized my name on a timesheet and missed my shift (: But honestly I gotta consider it, feels like a lot. Plus gotta check how my parents feel about it, would hate to get hate crimed and cut off financially. You never know with my parents, look point 1.

Yes, cause I fucking hate her and she's my sister's serious girlfriend rn :)

I'm nb, so it's kinda??? but seeing as I'm read as woman societally and describing myself as a lesbian. Well it would be fucking bad, sorry for that man. My guy friend wouldn't do it to me tho, we all have very sibling/familial realtionship and I draw setup for painting for his new girlfriend so!!!! Cute. As to my girl friend, well, would be awkward cause I really don't want to be her "girl-best friends toxic situationship", not gonna happen tho, she's very straight. If happened, yeah but no, love her but she's not great as romantic partner

(Definitions like in 55) Not complete complete, cause I don't act completely myself to anyone, maybe my best friend? But yeah, we are pretty close with my guy friend

Annoying guest

My best friend

I enjoy the idea of and soulmates in media, but in reality it feels somewhat more tragic and creepy. Not really.

Hmmm. Seeing my past suicidal ideation, I would rather live for someone. And I kinda do, actually :)

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[always-just-red]

Hi! Hope you're having a good day!

Just found your blog yesterday and read Onychinus' Finest. I've been STARVED of Kieran and Luke fics, not enough people appreciate them, so I come with a request! (Most of what I'll say is totally optional. I believe in the author's creative vision overall so if something doesn't fit feel free to change and adapt whatever you'd like.)

Either hunter or assassin MC, where they're at a mission, and they're ambushed. One of the twins gets hurt protecting her, maybe even taken, and she just goes on a rampage to get him back. They've never quite seen her so protective and yet so vengeful. She might go by herself? When Sylus wants to plan ahead properly since his own miscalculations lead them to get attacked in the first place. The twins are loyal to him, the other brother won't go without his permission despise his brother being missing or hurt. I'm just picturing her finding a broken mask, half of it missing (she's never seen their faces before.)

Happy ending. 🥺 Just fluffy you know? I want the twins melting into her, one with gratitude for finding his brother and the other just with disbelief and affection that she's do all this for him.

Special mention to any heads on her lap like overgrown puppies, just holding her close. They're sweet boys I think, especially if their guard and masks are finally down.

You can take this as platonic or romantic, she could be with Sylus and still have grown to really care and look out for the twins, or she could love them. (I don't know which ones angstier)

Thank you for even considering this even if you decide it's not worth your time!

AAAAAAA HEY!! You had such a vision for this and it was so fun to work with-- I hope it's everything you imagined! You've always been so so so supportive and kind, so I low-key went all-out on this, that's half the reason it took so long. 😭😭 Think this is my longest fic so far oh my gosh? Love it though, all the action scenes took me RIGHT back to my Assassin's Creed fanfic writing days haha Anyway! This is set in the same canon as the last fic because I loved that dynamic ngl. Not a direct sequel though!

Beneath The Mask

Luke and Kieran x Reader 🎭

Summary: Sylus and Kieran are useless, as always, so you take matters into your own hands

Genre: angst + fluff + ACTION!! *karate chops*

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, swearing, descriptions of violence, injury, broken bones, killing (don't @ reader, she wants her man back!!), but also some humour 😌

| Word count: 4.6k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sometimes, you think you’re the only member of Onychinus who isn’t completely out of their mind.

You’d think it was Sylus, your indomitable leader. Smiles-with-a-knife-at-his-throat Sylus. Has-the-situation-completely-in-hand Sylus. It used to inspire you: that crimson gaze of his, always alight with a fire that’s never, ever, quite out of control.

How does he do it? You’d wonder in awe, like a wide-eyed child enthralled by a magic trick.

How does he do it? You’re wiser, now. You know it’s a lie, now, but you still can’t see through it. It’s driving you mad.

You watch as the man works away at a large, glass monitor, his fingers gliding across the screen with their usual grace. You get glimpses: names, faces, contacts. He’s testing the cords of his network— an intricate web— and he’s hoping someone’s caught something he can sink his teeth into.

He’s been at this for two hours, ever since you dragged yourselves back here with your tails between your legs. There’s a gash on his forehead that hasn’t yet healed, and the blood is still drying, dark on his face. Has he thought to heal it? Or— there’s a smudge on his finger— does he like his guilt a little warmer to the touch?

“We need an order, boss,” you seethe, because you’re tired of standing beside him, unacknowledged.

“You have your order.” He types out a message. Dismisses another. “Wait.”

“I meant an order that isn’t complete bullshit.”

He shoots you a glance, his eyes embers of warning. “Careful, sweetie. You forget yourself.”

Your fists ball. “Oh, spare me.”

“What would you have me do?” he mutters, gaze returning to the screen. He isn’t rising to the challenge, or should you say— stooping to it. He’s so goddamn noble.

“They have Luke, Sylus.”

“I know.”

“So let’s fucking do something! Let’s go back, let’s get him. They caught us off-guard last time, that’s all. They got their hands on some Ever tech, so what? We know that, now. They don’t stand a chance if we just—”

“Charge in there, guns blazing?” Sylus finishes for you, lips curled in derision.

It sounds stupid out loud, and he wants you to hear it. You do; you don’t care. “We don’t need all of this,” you beseech, your hand waving over the monitor. “We have you, boss.”

“Me?” he chuckles, and it’s so, so bitter.

Is that the guilt you’ve been looking for? It isn’t enough. His eyes are still pools of calm— spilt blood, unreciprocated. How does he do it?

“We have to do something,” you say limply. “Please, I can’t… I can’t do this, Sylus. All this nothing. Tell me what to do. I’ll go back alone if I have to. Just say the word and I’ll—”

“Look at this,” he interrupts, stepping away from the screen so that you can take his place before it.

It’s an order, even if it isn’t the one you want. You roll your eyes as you obey, and you begin to scour the intel he’s gathered. Eyewitness accounts, rumours, surveillance footage— some courtesy of Mephisto— and it’s all centred around two things. One: the aspiring new gang you’d set out to dismantle earlier, and two: a link to Ever. A solid link to Ever. 

“They didn’t steal Ever’s tech,” you release on a sigh of understanding. “They’re working together.”

“Mmm.” Sylus’s hand clears the screen before you. “We should have known. I should have known.”

Your mind is so caught-up by the revelation that you almost miss the confession.

“This was my mistake,” he continues, watching you. “And you are all my responsibility. Believe me…” He taps the screen and live surveillance footage springs up: an outside view of the compound you’d raided earlier. “I want to burn that place to the ground as much as you do.”

But… “No collateral damage,” you murmur, eyeing the guards on patrol.

“No collateral damage,” Sylus nods. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, boss.”

And maybe he is burning with just as much anger. Maybe the fear is making his heart drum, and the guilt making his skin crawl. It’s the same, old trick, isn’t it? Done to death:

The mask without a mask— just where does he hide all that?

Maybe he doesn’t.

There’s only so much faith you can have in something you can’t see.

…

Clink.

You slot a bullet into the magazine of your pistol, then follow it up with another. Clink. Then another. Clink. You’ve never relished this quiet— not like Sylus does. To him it’s an art. To you: a chore. You glance about the armoury, and you’ve never resented your shelves of options quite like this before. Antiques. Prototypes. So many means of dealing death.

You’ve never seen the beauty in it, but a shot through the heart means something different to Sylus than it does to the rest of you. It can be intimate. Symbolic. He can die for something, someone, and he can do it over, and over, and over again. How poetic.

You holster your loaded weapon, then reach for another.

“What’re you doing?”

The voice makes you jump. “Gods, Kieran. You want a bullet through your head?”

“No.” He misses the meaning of your words. “Why— wanna shoot me?”

“Right now?” you ask cynically.  

He laughs like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Liar. You’ve finished loading the second gun so you slide it across the table to him wordlessly. The beak of his mask lowers as he regards it; he doesn’t pick it up.

“You’re being weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s cool. I like it.”

You roll your eyes, wandering over to a rack of weapon attachments. There are different sights. Silencers. (Is that how you want to play this? Quiet?) “I’m going back for Luke,” you state as you muse it over. “You want in, or not?”

The rest is implied: Sylus doesn’t know. He isn’t coming. All of that’s evident from the fact that you’re here, rifling through his precious collection, and not ensnared in the tendrils of his Evol somewhere. A toddler could connect the dots. Kieran will get there. Give him a minute.

It takes half a minute. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. An ambiguous apology.

“It’s fine, Kieran.” He was never going to come with you. “I can do this alone. I can—”

A weight lands on you, tackling you into the weapons rack, and you land on the floor amongst the attachments you’d just been perusing so calmly. The weight stays on you, pinning you: hands are on your wrists, twisting you around. “Kieran!” you protest.

The man pulls away, leaving you slumped in your new, uncomfortable seat.

“Wha—” You try to stand up but you’re jolted back; your wrist is fixed to something. You turn your head, eyes widening as they fall on the pair of handcuffs you’ve been restrained with. They’re padded— lined with a soft, velvety material. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“Boss’s room. Luke and I had a bet,” Kieran shrugs, now towering over you.

“You win?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

You’re still trying to squeeze your hand out of the cuffs. You pry at them. Twist and wriggle your fingers— none of it’s any use. You glance up at Kieran, admitting defeat with a sigh. He brushes his hands together in a ‘job well done’ sort of gesture, his eyes fixed on you, well— you have to imagine they are.

Instead of windows to the soul you’re faced with red-glass imitations, impossible to read, and you’re tired of all the guessing.  

“How do you do it?” you ask with a quiet desperation. “How do you act like everything’s fine?”

“Boss will come up with a plan,” the twin says simply, like he hasn’t really thought about it.

“And what if it takes too long? What if we’re too late? I mean… think of all the shit he knows, Kieran. Everything about us, about boss— it’s priceless. Do you really think they’re holding back?”

Kieran huffs. “You worried he’ll snitch or something?”

“I’m worried they’re hurting him!” you snap. “What the hell is wrong with you!? He’s your brother! He could be dead and you’re acting like, like..”

Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him hopelessly. There’s nothing to see— no tension in his body, no harsher rise and fall to his chest, betraying a nervous, racing heart. All the usual signs are missing. He isn’t shifting on his feet like he does when he’s anxious. Is he that good at pretending, or…

Does he really not care?

You shake your head, looking down at the floor; you’re so sick of red eyes. He’s crazy. Sylus is crazy.

There’s nothing for it, then.

“You know what?” you chuckle dryly, under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. This isn’t all bad, I mean… when’s the last time you and I had any one-to-one time, huh?”

Kieran is silent. He lowers himself slowly until he’s crouched before you— forearms resting on his knees. His head tilts inquisitively: Go on.

“Maybe,” you lilt, “this is an opportunity.” You’re practically whispering, and the man leans in, not wanting to miss a word. Your free hand reaches for a horn of his hood and you use it to pull him closer; he doesn’t even resist. “How about we…” you speak into his ear, “go look through Luke’s stuff?”

Kieran draws back, those false eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you think, for a second, that you’ve gone too far.

“You’re the best,” he breathes out, suddenly fiddling with the handcuffs, slotting the key into the lock. “Just… the absolute best.”  

Got him.

The cuff springs open and you’re on top of him, tackling him to the ground and pinning his arms by the side of his head before he can think to stop you. “Oh,” he grumbles, going still beneath you, and it sounds like his eyes are narrowing, “you’re not the best. You’re sneaky.”

His compliance lasts all of a second, and then he’s fighting back— using his strength to throw you off balance and wrench his wrists free. He rolls on top of you, trapping you just as effectively as you’d done him, and he laughs like a child, having ever so much fun.

With a grunt of effort, you manage to push him aside. You turn onto your stomach, scrabbling away as you look for space, opportunity, and— if you’re being honest— something you can throw at him. A hand connects with your shoulder and you thrust your elbow backwards on instinct. It hits something hard.

“Ah, shit! Wait, wait, wait… time out.”

You freeze instantly.

Kieran’s voice is different; it’s acquired a clarity that tells you his mask his away from his face. Don’t move. You stare down at the floor with a patience that’s almost sacred. He’s taking a while, though…

“You ok?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His voice is different again, like he’s holding his nose. “Nosebleed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

You sit up with your legs crossed while you wait, but your eyes are still trained downwards. You can hear Kieran’s breath, a little ways behind you— so much clearer without the mask— and the intimacy is always sobering. Realising he’s vulnerable, knowable, and all you have to do is turn around. 

He doesn’t rush, though: doesn’t scramble to pull the mask back down, or insist you keep looking away. The silence, the stillness— all of it is trust.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye; he’s set the mask down on the ground while he bleeds.

“I’m worried too,” he admits softly, and you’re not sure what’s more foreign: his voice, unhindered, or the honesty it carries. You don’t want to scare either away, so you do nothing. There’s more: “I can’t leave boss, though. Who else has he got?”

“The hunter?”

“Nah,” he dismisses. “She’s hot stuff, y’know? A lot of players in that game.” He taps at his mask idly. “Heard one of them’s a doctor.”

You’re quiet again. Thinking.

“Boss always has our back,” Kieran asserts. “We have to look out for him too… That’s the job, right?”

He’s not really asking you; you came to this late, after all. It was their job long before it was yours.

You’ve nothing to do but look at your hands and listen, biding your time. The passing seconds are still restless, useless, but the sensation slips when you feel hands on your waist, pulling you back. Kieran’s arms wrap around you. His chin settles on your shoulder, and you close your eyes.

“Stay,” he says. “Please?”

His pain is harder to sit with than your own. Minutes ago, this was something you wanted. Now it’s just another wound you don’t know how to stitch up; too deep, too late.

You let your head rest against his, but you don’t say a word.

…

This was easier when you were relying on Mephisto’s guidance and not hazy, disjointed memories. The last time you were here you were running, Kieran at your side and Sylus not far ahead. You weren’t thinking about what corners you turned or what directions you travelled; you were thinking about everything behind you. Shouts. Gunshots. The subtler rush of your leader’s Evol, still crackling, still faltering, courtesy of whatever technology your attackers had managed to appropriate.

It all happened so quickly.

Every corridor feels longer, now. Each moment— slow. Your body is aching. You’ve lost count of how many encounters you’ve had, but there’s a new bruise or scrape for every body in your wake. None of it has been easy. You ran out of bullets just getting inside this damn place, and the rest has been messier: up-close and personal.

You’re catching your breath, so you toe the rifle of your last adversary, lying a short way from their limp, open hand. They never got a chance to use it, and you were lucky; it would have been loud. Every guard in this run-down labyrinth is looking for you. The last thing you need is to send out a homing beacon.

Glance around. Try to work out your bearings.

This was once a police station. Old-world. Eroded beyond recognition, almost. These places were the first to fall victim to the backwards evolution of the N109 Zone. The bones are the same, but the skin is different. Every wall is scrawled with anti-Association sentiments.

It makes you smile, despite everything.

Your footsteps are deliberately quiet as you carry on down the corridor, turning into the next room— you’ve been tackling them one-by-one. There’s a narrower corridor before the room opens out, and then…

Cells.

A short line of them— five in total. Your heart wants to beat faster with hope, but your mind is holding it back: insisting this is wrong. It seems abandoned. Forgotten. You walk by the first cell, and then the second. Nothing. The third. Nothing.

There’s a sound behind you, and you almost don’t hear it. You spin, only to find a hand wrapped around your throat, tight and unforgiving. A guard thrusts you up against the red-brick column that divides two cells, and you’d cry out in pain, but there’s no breath to carry it. Your eyes water. You try to prise the hand away, and it’s desperation that possesses you— not skill or experience.

You kick out and hit nothing, but the second time, you catch the man’s shin. He shouts, his grip failing just enough for you to slip your fingers beneath his. A few seconds of advantage. You grasp his wrist, using your other hand to wrench his forefinger backwards— crack. He staggers with a cry and then you’re dodging his frenzied attempts to recapture you: weaving behind him, seizing the back of his neck. Your foot trips his. He’s teetering, off-balance, and you use the momentum to crash his head against a bar of the cell.

Metal rings out. Flesh splits.

The guard crumples at your feet and you almost go down with him. Your lungs are pulling for so much air that it makes your throat sting. Adrenaline laps your limbs, celebrating in sheer, ecstatic disbelief; you’re alive.

Someone wolf-whistles and you swear you feel everything stop.

Your gaze shoots up, lit by hope, but it’s quickly snuffed out. A young man is watching you from the fourth cell, his arms threaded through the bars. There’s a shameless grin as his eyes flit over you. All of you.

“Fuck off,” you sneer as you step over the guard. You turn to leave.

“Rude.”

Your eyes go wide. You spin back. “Luke?”

The man cocks his head like you’ve asked a trick question. “... Yeah?” It takes a drawn-out moment of you staring at him, motionless, for him to recognise your confusion. “Oh, right. Here—” he draws up his hood and the horns are missing, so he emulates them with pointed fingers— “this help?”

You lunge forwards, trapping him in a hug through the bars of his cell; you barely notice the separation. He chuckles as he hugs you back: “Miss me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale in relief, even though he was definitely setting you up for a joke. You break away from him, forcing yourself to look at anything but his face. Gods, his face. Pretend you don’t already want to look again. “Are you hurt?” you ask. “Did they—”

“Nope!” he interrupts with what sounds like a smile. “I told them everything.”

You glance up; you can’t help it.

He winks at you. “I lied. Glad you got here before they figured that out, though. Sheesh, that would not have been fun.” His hands wrap around the bars. “Can you get me out of here?” He tugs at them. “Pleeease?”

Right. “Yeah.” You glance around. You just need to find the—

“Key’s with the dead guy,” Luke says. “What a jerk, huh?”

It still feels like there are hands on your throat. “Totally.” You wander over to the body, bending down to rummage through the man’s pockets. After a brief search, you produce the key.

Luke slow claps. “My hero.”

You laugh softly as you return to the cell, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The twin strides through, giving a little bow as he passes, then stretches his arms like he’s just been set free from a much smaller cage.

“So…” He speaks in a sing-song sort of voice, sniffing the air like it’s sweeter. “Where’re boss and Kieran?”

“Um. Home?”

Luke narrows his eyes at you— vaguely resembling the slits of his missing mask. “You went rogue?”

You wince. “I did go rogue.”

You’re still being studied warily. Luke has raised an eyebrow and it’s so starkly expressive; is this a look he gives you often? You have a feeling it is. Then he shrugs and it’s gone. “That’s hot,” he quips. He crouches down beside the dead guard, lifting the body and puppeteering one of the arms to wave at you. “Look— this is gonna be you when boss finds out.”

You cross your arms. Luke laughs, dropping the man back down with a thud. “Just you and me then?” he clarifies, holding a hand out to you.

Are you supposed to know what to do with it? “You and me,” you confirm. Your hand goes out too.  

Luke slaps it gently one way, then another. He entangles your fingers. Pulls back. Does a few more slaps in sporadic directions, and— is this a secret handshake? You don’t have a secret handshake.

“Nice,” he beams once the ritual is complete. “Let’s go, let's go!”

…

Luke is hanging close to the wall across from you, waiting— listening— as you both brace yourselves behind the turn of yet another corridor of the rival base. He sneaks glances around the corner.

“Anyone there?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t press on, either, because it’s odd; you’d both thought you’d heard something. This isn’t your usual strategy— playing it safe. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke err on the side of caution, but he’s concentrating, even closing his eyes so he can listen harder.

You take advantage of the moment in a way you shouldn’t: letting your gaze linger on his face. Even with his hood up— shadows lowered like a veil— he’s still a stranger to you. You want to know him; you know him already. He’s been smiling at your jokes forever, but tell him one now, and it’ll be the first time.

His eyes open, meeting yours. Could he sense you watching? He grins, poking his tongue out at you.

“Stop it.”

“You stop it,” he retorts. The coast must be clear, for he comes away from the wall and rounds the corner with a spring in his gait.

You sigh as you stand to follow him. One less-enthusiastic step forward, and something snakes around your ankle. Your gaze drops like a stone, but it isn’t fast enough. You’re hauled into the air, voice failing, vision swimming as the world flips upside-down and you’re strung up from the ceiling. “Luke!” you manage in warning.

Are those his footsteps, coming back? You’re facing the wrong way and you try to lift the lower half of your body so you can reach for your ankle, but you’re already exhausted. Your muscles burn. After a few, futile inches, you give up, going limp.

There are footsteps behind you. “Oh, hey boss!” Luke exclaims.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

An unwitting pendulum: you can’t keep your body from turning, ever so slowly, until you’re staring the right way down the corridor. You can’t see much of it, though.

Sylus is in front of you, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his eyes.

“Hey, boss,” you echo reluctantly.

He says nothing, and behind him, Luke slides a gloating finger across his own throat: you’re dead! And you’re turning, still. Sylus lifts a hand to the top of your head and swivels you back to him. “What happened to that trust of yours, sweetie? Hmm?”

You half-laugh, nervous. He doesn’t seem quite as amused.

Releasing your head, he steps back with a huff of disappointment as you start a slow rotation once more. He taps a finger to his chin pensively, like you’re a masterpiece he’s convinced might be a forgery, now that he’s looking more closely. “Reckless little thing, aren’t you?” he tuts.

There’s maybe a smile, but it’s short-lived; the dark rope around your ankle whips you into the air. You shriek with shock as you lose all bearings, all vision, all sense of reality. You’re falling.

Someone catches you.

“My reckless little thing,” Luke grins, jostling you into a more secure position in his arms. “Mine.”

You want to protest, but your breath is gone.

“You can’t afford her,” Sylus speaks over his shoulder; he’s already taken the lead in guiding you out of here. Mephisto squawks somewhere up ahead, appearing in a cloud of smoke and feathers.

Luke gives a defensive hmph as he holds you a tighter. Then he smiles down at you, and though it’s new, you know it’s far from the first time, and even further from the last.

…

“Are we really doing this?” you ask Sylus sceptically.

“Lighten up, sweetie.” He clicks his fingers.

Not far from you, currently oblivious to your presence, Kieran stands at the door of your leader’s study, still waiting for an order. The air above him changes: it swirls with a dark, scarlet mist. Luke drops out of it, landing straight on his twin’s back.

“What the—” Kieran splutters, but his brother’s arms are over his shoulders, around his neck. “Get off!” he squeaks out.

“No way. I was a prisoner,” Luke chortles. “You have to be super nice to me. Carry me everywhere. Boss said so.”

“He did not!”

And with those words, Kieran flips his other half the rest of the way over his shoulder; Luke lands on the ground with an unceremonious splat. All four limbs are sprawled. “Ow!” he whines.

Sylus has already strode the rest of the way into the room. “Play nice,” he scolds as he steps over Luke, then passes by Kieran.

“Yes, boss!” they chime, stilling obediently as the older man disappears into his study. The moment the doors close behind him, Kieran throws himself down. He wrestles with Luke, both of them laughing and rolling around as they try to hurt each-other.

It makes you think of those old, vintage cartoons you used to see on TV. You can just picture the cloud of dust, the colourful stars and shapes flying with every traded punch. Idiots.

You leave them to it, slinging yourself down on a couch and closing your eyes. Gods, you want to sleep. There’s blood dried to your hands and face, but you’ll shower later. There are grazes and cuts still bleeding, but you’ll tend to them later. Everything can wait.

The room has gone quiet. Too quiet; you open your eyes.

Luke and Kieran stand in front of you ominously, their figures symmetrical. The illusion of reflection is broken by Luke’s absent mask, but his eyes are just as unreadable.

“What?” you cave.

“You went rogue,” Kieran states, and his brother is nodding gravely, like this is a very serious infraction.

You smile. “I did go rogue.” More shameless than last time. “I got a free pass, though. Luke said it was hot.”

Kieran’s mask turns to face his twin, slow and resentful. Luke shrugs. “What? It was.”

There’s an impasse: long enough to make you think they’re having some kind of secret discussion. Both twins look at you. You smile sheepishly. You don’t think you’ll ever really know the entirety of what goes on in those heads, but it’s for the best. You value your sanity.

“You went rogue,” Kieran carries on, as if his speech had never been interrupted, and his authority not just completely undercut. He moves closer, slinking down beside you, and Luke plays the part of his mirror image. “There will have to be a… punishment.”

The word is elongated for effect, and it’s remarkably similar to Kieran’s ‘ghost voice’— which you know, thanks to the time he roped you into that ‘the base is haunted!’ prank. (Sylus did not, in fact, fall for it.)

“Bring it,” you murmur, closing your eyes again. “I just stormed a whole enemy base single-handed. I think I can handle the two of—”

Your voice meanders to a stop as Kieran nuzzles against you. His mask is off; you feel the soft of his face and the bridge of his nose. His breath is light on your neck. You smile, slipping deeper into your seat and then his embrace as his arms go around you. He’s warm. Really warm.

There’s a weight— Luke’s head on your lap— and he hugs you too, arms lower around your waist. His breath tickles your stomach. You hum in contentment, running your hands through his hair. 

He's safe. You're all safe.

They were never going to say thank you; it’s not in their nature. Their language isn't superficial. It isn’t words spoken aloud or feelings worn on the face— it can’t be. A smile is too easily read by the rest of the world, but a smile behind a mask? It’s private. Reserved only for those who’ve learnt to hear it in your voice, or see it in the way your body relaxes when you hold someone you care for.

A language of tiny, intimate details.

Kieran has never nestled his face quite so closely against you. You don’t think you’ve ever known Luke go so long without talking.

[bookskiver]

Tmr characters at school (in my humble opinion):

Newt minho and gally are a trio in PE

Gally takes the sports way too seriously he defo shouts at other students, looking like a tomato by the end of the lesson

Minho is once again just there for a good time. He's effortlessly good at all sports whilst simultaneously caring about none of them (except running of course (and for some reason i feel hockey)) he's the pe teachers fav and for that reason he can get out of any trouble, he defo uses this to his advantage. Also... he gets girls (it's me I am girls)

Newt is just the chill version of minho, does not give two shits about sports but is really good at all of them, hes mainly there to mess around with minho.

When he gets his limp minho is AGGRESSIVELY PROTECTIVE if anyone makes fun of newt he will "accidentally" shove them to the ground and make them eat a mouthful of AstroTurf

And he doesn't get in trouble bc he's the favourite lol

Newt also gets girls... but he doesn't want them he wants the awkward art and theatre kid doodling in the corner of the classroom THOMAS GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE

Thomas outside of school is a certified yapper, but in school, he is sworn to a vow of silence

Newt always chooses him first in PE because he doesn't want thomas to be the last one chosen (and also because he wants to watch thomas do sports newt I know what you are)

Teresa is straight A's and works really hard for them, she's all the teachers favorite and all the students least favorite (they're just jealous teresa 🙄🙄🙄) she has an academic rival (not romantic please😭) and that person isssssssss drum roll please.........

Frypan 💀

And frypan has no idea about this rivalry. He is effortlessly smart, does not revise, and occasionally bunks but still gets all A's. He's also chill with everyone at the school and can keep up a convo with anyone

And teresa gets PISSED

In her mind frypan is out to get her and hates her guts when really he barely knows of her existence

Chuck cannot catch a break bro

He's a year 7, been there less than a year and has been pelted with a panini on more than one occasion (wonder who would do that GALLY)

He cannot leave the cantine without his food being smacked to the ground

Wherever chuck walks, an spilled pot of pasta follows (GALLY)

He sits in the art room with thomas and yaps away whilst thomas draws (he's not technically allowed in there bc he's not an art student, but the teacher feels bad for him)

Alby is a beast at english. He doesn't talk to anyone, not bc he's shy but bc he doesn't fucking like them. Alot of the younger years think he's a teacher

Brenda is top set PE

She's also super into PE theory but doesn't like that class as much bc there's not that many girls in it and she wants to make some more girl friends bc SHES SICK AND TIRED OF THE PICK ME ALLEGATIONS AT THIS SCHOOL

She gets them bc her friends are mainly men (she hangs out with the newt minho gally group) so people just assume she's "not like other girls"

But then she gets into a HEATED debate in English about feminism and people lay off

Sonya INCREDIBLE at art hangs out with thomas alot people think they're dating when really he's dating her brother HAHAHAHA

[slothquisitor]

To Be Seen

Summary: There's a coffee date and some wandering around Minrathous and Lucanis trying and failing to claw his way back to normalcy. Eventual Rook/Lucanis, 4.4k.

Read on AO3.

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It’s late when Camina, Bellara, and Harding return from Arlathan Forest. Camina only knows that it’s late because it had been dark when they’d passed through the eluvian to come back. The Lighthouse is as it always is, bright and glowing in whatever approximation of day it is imitating. She knows she’s tired, but it’s hard to believe she should sleep when she’s greeted by the brightness here. She used to be better at ignoring her brain’s protestations about time having spent years in the eternal dimness of the Necropolis, but this feels like a different beast entirely.

She wanders into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. It had been lightly stocked when they’d gotten here, and over the last week or so they’ve been slowly adding food stuffs and taking turns cooking for each other. It’s still pretty bare though, and she stands staring at the shelves trying to convince herself that any of the options sound good.

The door to the pantry opens, and Lucanis drifts out towards the fire with a quiet, “Rook.” He moves confidently in the shadows like they were made for him. The shorter strands of his hair catch the light, but the shadows of his face are more pronounced, making him look more tired. He’s dressed far too formally for simply hanging around the Lighthouse, but she thinks this is what passes as casual for him. Like Neve, the clothing is just another part of his armor. In contrast, she looks down at her faded tunic and worn pants and does her best to suppress a snort at the marked difference in priorities. 

“Sorry, if I woke you…I realize it’s late,” she says. She’d sort of forgotten that he’s sleeping in the fucking pantry. That’s got to be hard when people also use the kitchen at all hours. 

“You didn’t,” he replies. “It’s easier for Spite to take control while I sleep, so I try not to do it much.”

Lucanis hides his possession well enough, and it’s not a true possession, is it? Not at least when he has control. “So you just don’t sleep?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“That seems dangerous.”

He flashes her a wry smile. “I know my limits.”

She settles for some salted meat and bread leftover from the latest culinary disaster Harding had made for them. It’s not a meal, but she’s not actually very picky about food. She takes a seat at the table and is surprised when Lucanis joins her. She hasn’t really known what to think of their newly acquired assassin. He’s polite enough and clearly grateful to her for rescuing him. There’s just something distant about him, like he can’t quite bring himself to really be around any of them. But that could also be the grief of losing his grandmother. She doesn’t know him well enough to say. 

“I’d offer to make you some food, but you don’t have much that’s edible here,” he says. 

She snorts. “You’ve only been here two days and you’re already criticizing the way we live?”

“Because the way you live is atrocious. Neve only eats fried fish, and whatever it was what Harding made for us…that was…it was…those ingredients should never be put together like that again.” He’s careful even in his criticism as if he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed to say any of this. 

Camina can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “Are you saying you could do better?”

“Yes,” he says, full of confidence.

“An assassin who cooks?” 

He shrugs. “What can I say, I’m a man of many talents, but even I cannot make something edible out of what you have in these cupboards.”

“Can’t say I really gave it that much thought. Food is food.”

He looks like she kicked his dog. “No, Rook. Just…no.”

“I grew up on the streets, and I didn’t always know where the next meal was coming from, so I’m usually just glad there is food at all,” she explains before tearing off a piece of bread. She’s not ashamed of her past, though other Watcher’s faces would tighten when she’d bring up her childhood. 

And maybe it’s a little bit shitty to drop a tidbit of her life casually like that, but she’s still trying to gauge the type of person Lucanis is. He surprises her by not looking sorry or full of pity or like she’s managed to make him uncomfortable. “How did you come to be in the Mourn Watch?”

She doesn’t expect the question, but it’s not unwelcome. “My magic found me when I was nine. As kids we’d swap stories, you know? Of other kids who’d turned out to be mages getting off the streets, making it rich…they were probably embellished, but even the Circles didn’t sound that bad. Not when you were promised three meals a day and a chance of being something. When my magic manifested, it felt like something out of a fairy story. I could have gone to Cumberland or Perendale, but the Mourn Watch wanted me, and I wanted to be in the Necropolis.”

“Even as a child?” he asks, clearly incredulous. 

She smiles. “Oh, the Necropolis is the best, besides, I love dead things.” She doesn’t tell him that the Necropolis had called to her, that she’d dreamed of it even when she wasn’t there. She doesn’t tell him that hearing the Mourn Watch had wanted to be informed if she turned out to be a mage had felt Maker sent. She might not really be a Watcher anymore, but she’ll always love the order. Love what they stood for and what they saved her from, even if she didn’t understand it at the time. 

The admission startles a chuckle out of him. “Says the necromancer.”

“We’re not the worst, allies. You kill them, I raise them,” she jokes. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it? With you being the famous mage-killer and all that?”

“Not unless you’re secretly a racist blood mage,” he says, voice deadpan. 

She grins and then gestures at her ears. “I tried to apply, but they wouldn’t let me in.” That earns a true laugh from him, and she is especially pleased about it. “What about you? Did you always grow up wanting to be a Crow?”

“My grandmother is…was First Talon. I didn’t have a choice,” he replies. “But yes, of course, everyone in Antiva wants to be a Crow.”

She frowns. It’s not a real answer, and it certainly doesn’t feel like the most honest one, but she barely knows him so she won’t press. “Or at least dress like one.” 

He taps his fingers against the wooden table. “Even before the Ossuary, so much of my life was decided for me. It’s…strange to have it back again. Sort of.”

Ah yes, the demon in the room. He’d seemed rather uncomfortable when she’d spoken to Spite before, so she decides to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Well, I know that the world’s ending and there are two ancient elven gods on the loose, but is there something you’re simply dying to do?”

He glances around their threadbare kitchen and smiles. “I would like to go grocery shopping.”

A year locked away, and this is what he asks for? “Just name the time and place.”

The time and place come a mere day later, an evening in Treviso, wandering the market and watching the master assassin buy groceries and strangely enough, little gifts for everyone. Some part of her brain keeps telling her that she should be careful with him, but there’s no denying just how endearing it is watching him pick out the perfect spearmint plant for Harding or remembering that Bellara wanted to try a certain recipe, so she decides to like him anyway. He’s being so nice that she almost doesn’t have the heart to tell him she doesn’t like coffee and prefers tea when they get to the cafe. He makes a small disgusted sound but goes to order anyway, leaving her alone with his cousin. 

“So, Rook,” Illario says, leaning across the table and lowering his voice to something some might be best described as a purr. “How is my cousin, really?”

She’s not sure what’s happening here. He’s wearing an expression of concern, but there’s something too sharp about it. Illario strikes her as a person accustomed to getting his way when it comes to people, and though she’s sitting in a lovely cafe in a beautiful city, she reminds herself she’s surrounded by assassins. “Well, he was trapped in a weird underwater prison for a year. How would you be doing?”

If he is annoyed at her nonanswer he hides it well. “My cousin isn’t the best at being open, and I know what he has been through must have been terrible. But are there…any changes to him? Zara is known for her terrible blood magic experiments.”

So he doesn’t know that Lucanis is an abomination. Interesting. Well, she’s not about to be the one to let the demon out of the bag. “I only met Lucanis a few days ago, so you’re probably a better judge than me on that front.”

“True,” Illario smiles. “But you will tell me if there’s anything I should know? I worry for him.”

There’s something happening here, some play being made, and she knows she doesn’t have the whole picture, but she doesn’t quite trust Illario. He wants something from her, but she’s not sure it’s his cousin’s safety. But she can let him think she’ll play whatever game he’s playing, and maybe she’ll bring it up to Lucanis later. “Of course. What’s more important than family, after all?”

He leans back in his chair, seemingly content. “Too true.”

Lucanis returns with his coffee and her tea. “So Illario, you have something?”

“The Crows I have sent after Zara have picked up her trail. They say she’s gone to Vyrantium,” Illario says. He seems confident, but that doesn’t make any sense. Vyrantium is not a small distance from Treviso. Too far for Zara to already be there if she’d just killed Caterina. 

Something about all this doesn’t sit right with her. Is Illario so desperate for revenge that he’s putting trust in obviously false leads? Is that what this is? “Vyrantium is far. There’s no way she could already be there.”

Lucanis nods in agreement. “Rook’s right. Zara’s given you a false lead, cousin.”

Illario dips his head. “You have better information?”

“We’re compromised. There’s no other way Zara could even touch Caterina. You need your eyes here in Antiva.”

She spends the rest of the conversation watching the two Crows, trying to figure out what’s going unsaid. Lucanis believes there’s someone in the Crows protecting Zara, and Camina has no reason to believe he’d be wrong, only that all his information about the Crows is a year out of date. In the back of her mind, she’s got Varric’s voice telling her that if she doesn’t have enough of the players on the board not to make any sort of bets and play her own cards close to the chest. 

It is only after Illario leaves in a huff, and Lucanis gives her a slightly embarrassed look that she is able to actually enjoy a sip of her tea. It’s nice, bright and citrusy. “He was asking about you, while you were gone.”

“Of course he was,” Lucanis sighs. “And?”

She shrugs. “Didn’t see any reason for me to tell him anything you hadn’t.”

Lucanis looks grateful but says nothing else about it. “I’d prefer not to worry him. He’s got enough on his plate with everything here in Treviso and getting everything he ever wanted.”

“And what’s that?”

“The seat of First Talon. With Caterina dead, he’s the obvious choice,” Lucanis explains. “The Crows thought I was dead until you broke me out of the Ossuary, and I’ve been gone for a year. Besides, I may have been Caterina’s favorite, but I never wanted her seat.”

“Why not?” She hates nepotism as much as the next person who could never benefit from it, but at least in what she’s seen, Lucanis seems to be the more obvious choice unless she missed the part where Illario also had a badass nickname and a reputation for killing Venatori.

“Probably because it was just another thing decided for me.” He takes a deep inhale over his coffee cup before taking a drink. It’s the most at ease she’s seen him since the boat ride back to Treviso when he’d closed his eyes and turned his face into the breeze. 

“You called that blend bitter and sweet like ‘a kiss goodbye’.” She’s teasing him just a little, but there’s such a clear obvious opening there. She’s curious about what happens if she takes it. “So what would a first kiss be?” 

No hesitation. “Honey and lavender cream…sweet, intriguing. And you? How would you describe it?”

He’s flirting back, and that delights her. “Been a while. Might need a refresher.” The Necropolis is large, but the Mourn Watch is not. When she’d been younger it hadn’t mattered, but she’d learned quickly the importance of only pursuing something she was serious about lest she spend the foreseeable future perpetually running into them. 

He chuckles. “I see. You lead an adventurous life.”

She smiles. “Just the one, really.”

“How’s your tea?” he asks, head tilted and dark brown eyes watching her in interest. 

It feels good to sit and flirt and feel like a person after the events of the last few weeks. To not have Lucanis look at her like she’s the only person in the world with all of the answers or that he expects her to know what happens next. “Unexpected and surprising, but in a good way.”

***

This part of Minrathous isn’t familiar to Lucanis. In fairness, most of Dock Town isn’t, but it feels familiar enough. At their hearts, all cities behave the same, contain the same people, or the same sorts of people anyway, and move to the same rhythms. Because cities are just people and people are predictable. He’s happy to defer to Neve for the nuances of this place because he’s not interested in those, he’s interested in the patterns. And how people break them. 

Which is how he notices that they have a tail. The man looks pretty ordinary and isn’t wearing anything that immediately identifies him as any of his usual enemies. They’d picked up the tail in the market outside the Shadow Dragon’s hideout, and he’s been following them through their winding route as Neve tracks down leads on a Venatori deal. Neve’s used to being followed, she points out the tail almost as soon as he notices it. Which makes sense, Neve doesn’t exactly try to blend in. Even if she wasn’t wearing her trademark fascinator, there’s the sharp metallic clank of her prosthetic on stones as they walk. 

“Let’s split up,” Neve murmurs. “Take Rook with you. I’ll be able to lose them more easily by myself, but maybe they’ll follow you. Buy me twenty minutes?”

He gives her a nod and falls back a step so he’s beside Rook. “Stay close.”

Lucanis can see Neve’s plan even before she implements it. At the next corner, Neve makes two hard lefts to double-back the way they came, so he takes Rook right. He’s hoping it doesn’t come to a fight, fighting mages in crowded spaces almost always leads to collateral damage. Rook is damn useful in a fight, but it’s clear she learned by doing not through training, her style mostly relies on being cleverer than her opponents versus winning by brute force. 

And she might be the leader of their group, but she knows when to defer to others’ expertise. Like now, as she quietly keeps up with him. The street curves, and he glances over his shoulder. Good, the tail followed them and not Neve. 

“What’s our plan?” Rook asks. 

He grins and looks over at her. “Neve asked for twenty minutes, so we’re going to lead them on a wild nug-chase.” There’s something familiar about this, something that feels so much like before it’s like an ache in his chest.

Rook’s eyes light up. “How wild are we talking?” 

Their tail followed him and Rook, so there’s a chance they weren’t out for Neve at all. They have a few options: pretend like they don’t know they’re being followed, try to lose them, or try to catch them. 

Spite hovers near his ear. “Or we could. Kill them.” 

Lucanis ignores the lilting sing-song of Spite’s voice. “That depends, how important is it that we know who they work for?” 

Rook shrugs. “That’s a better question for Neve, but maybe they’re connected to her investigation? I’ll never turn down more information.”

So catch them it is. “We’re going to go to that one square, by the Cobbled Swan. You remember it?”

Rook nods. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel about playing bait?” 

“Well, it doesn’t exactly fill me with warm fuzzy feelings. But sure. What do you need me to do?” 

Her job won’t be difficult, and he carefully explains what he needs from her in quick snatches as they approach the square. There’s a bit of concern in Rook’s amethyst eyes, but she doesn’t question him. There’s a trust she’s putting in him, and he desperately wants to deserve it. 

Once they arrive at the busy square, Rook breaks away, slowly and obviously wandering over to the nearest vendor. Lucanis carefully slips into the press of the crowd. He intends to skulk between people, arching back around to catch their tail unaware and pull him into a nearby alley so they can question them. All Crows are trained for this, he barely has to think about the plan. 

He slides between groups of people without a second thought, the movement smooth and practiced. It’s strange, it’s the smallest thing that does it too, someone’s shoulder knocking him into another person, and suddenly the press of people is too much. He had forgotten during his year in that pit just how many people can be contained in a city, in a square. The crowd is loud, but the rushing sound in his ears is louder. Their hands are everywhere and there’s magic in the air, and he feels as though he’s being held down and Dock Town fades away as his vision swims. When it clears he has the lurching feeling that he’s lost time. He’s somehow across the square, tucked into a dark corner. Mierda. Did Spite do this? Did he lose control somehow? 

“Too. Much.” Spite snarls. 

Too much what? He has a job to do. A plan to follow through on; he’s a professional. Where’s Rook? He’s left her unprotected as bait for their tail. He presses onto tiptoes and frantically searches the crowd for her. There’s no sign of her from here, so he skirts around the edge of the market until he sees her. She’s fine. She’s doing a good job of looking casual, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before he’d proposed this plan. There’s no sign of their tail, must’ve gotten spooked or given up on them. It’s his fault. 

He feels the anger building within him, but he pushes it down and tries to make it something useful. Since he can’t catch their tail, he’ll ensure that he loses them. He watches Rook’s movements, guesses where she’s going to end up, and gets moving. He’s able to duck behind one of the stalls into an alley that cuts into another one where he can wait until Rook passes near enough for him to grab her. 

He closes his eyes and listens. The city is loud, so very loud. For a moment, he feels that same sense of overwhelm he’d felt in the square, but he’s prepared for it now. He shoves it down, pushes through it and sifts through a deluge of sound to listen for her footfalls. Time passes, it could be seconds or hours, but he hears her, hears when she’s near enough for him to reach out and snatch her, quick as an adder. 

He pulls her by the arm, a hand covering her mouth to muffle her exclamation of surprise. It is something to see the fear and terror in her eyes fade immediately when she realizes it’s him. Most people wouldn’t find themselves comforted by realizing the person pulling them into an alley is an assassin. The second there is the spark of recognition in her eyes, he releases her and puts as much space between them as possible. “I apologize.”

She waves off his concern and looks around the alley. “You didn’t get him?”

“Change of plan,” he replies, already moving deeper down the narrow alley.

“What happened? Did I mess it up somehow?” she asks. 

He watches the entrance to see if anyone has noticed her if somehow he’d missed their tail and they are still being followed. But there’s nothing, so he turns his attention back to her. She looks so concerned, so clearly sure she hadn’t done what he’d asked her to. He sighs and doesn’t bother hiding his frustration. “No, it was my fault…I…it’s been a while since I was around this many people.”

“Too. Loud.” Spite agrees.

He hates admitting this, but hiding the mistake feels worse. Feels like maybe it makes him everything he fears he is. 

Rook’s eyes do that thing where they go wide in understanding and her eyebrows bunch together in concern. It’s not what he wants. “Do we need to go?”

“No, I’m fine. I can handle it. I just…I didn’t want you to think it was you when it was my fault.”

She nods. “Okay. So what now?”

He wants to fix this. Fix him. It’s not supposed to be this way. He told her he could work, and he meant it. “Neve asked for twenty minutes. Hopefully, we bought her that. We can probably try to link back up.”

“Alright.”

He’s expecting frustration or disappointment or something that never comes from her. She’s in charge, so she should be angry at him. He’d taken initiative, told her what to do, and he’d failed. He could’ve gotten her killed today, and she’s acting like there’s nothing wrong. Like there shouldn’t be consequences. She should be upset with him. 

“You don’t have to let me off easy like that.”

She looks utterly confused. “I’m sorry, did I miss where this was a life or death situation?”

She’s not understanding. In the Crows, there would be consequences for this. “My plan lost our tail.”

Rook shrugs. “It’s not every day I’m important enough to get followed, but maybe you’ll get another chance soon.”

Is she capable of being serious about anything? “Rook…”

“Should we go find Neve?” she asks lightly. 

This close to her he can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the scar across her nose. He’s not often taller than people, but he’s got a good two or three inches on her. “I’ll follow you.”

He’s hypervigilant as they retrace their steps back towards where they’d broken away from Neve, but even so, he feels the cold trickle of fear sinking in. He wonders, not for the first time, just how much Zara has taken from him and if he’ll ever feel like himself again. 

He has tried to take comfort in the routines and rituals that he had shaped his life with before the Ossuary. Exerting a rigid control over what little he can. And there is some comfort in it, some ways in which he feels like his old self: same clothes, same blade sharpening ritual, cooking the same foods. He’d made dinner for the group last night, and Spite had been quieter than ever before. It had been a relief to find something that felt exactly the same as before.

He snaps back to attention when Rook bends to drop a few coins on a beggar’s plate. He very nearly yanks her back. Does she not realize how vulnerable she makes herself? How likely it is for the gratitude she’s met with to just as easily be a knife? 

Somewhere in his mind, he hears Illario taunting him about being paranoid.

But then the moment is over, Rook has dropped her coins, offered a smile, and moved on. Helping seems reflexive for Rook. Casual even. He’d been surprised at it the other night in Treviso too, when she had tossed him a wyvern tooth dagger she’d purchased him with a grin and a tease to buy himself something too. She’d had no way of knowing the hole her kindness had filled and hadn’t sought gratitude or praise or any of the things he might have expected. The gesture had caught him by surprise, had come so unexpectedly he hadn’t been able to smother it down, hide it. He’d told her something true, something vulnerable, something dangerous. 

Wanting things is dangerous in his line of work. Worse even if anyone sees you do it because then they know a weak point. He’s spent most of his life keeping his list of things he’s allowed to want slim, and he has seen enough of the world to know that it being a choice is a privilege in itself. A good cup of coffee. Well-made food. Tailored clothes. These are the things he’s allowed to want, simple, inviolate. The problem with wanting things is that they can always be taken away. 

He knows this. And yet. 

He finds himself wanting. Simple things really: Neve’s gratitude when there’s hot coffee in the early morning hours, Bellara asking for advice on a recipe, Harding making a joke with him instead of a threat, and the easy approval in Rook’s gaze all the while. As if bonding with these people, enjoying their company…was all she wanted of him to begin with. Those things are probably fine, so long as no one else sees him wanting them. 

He hangs close to Rook and hopes he won’t have to do much more to keep her safe. And then Neve is there looking smug enough to tell him that she’s got a lead, and they’re off again and when she asks about their tail he lets Rook respond. 

“We lost them in the square.”

He can’t decide if he’s more grateful or insulted by the omission. Perhaps it’s a bit of both.

[the-thieves-gambit]

Hazel eyes rolled as she thought of plenty of interesting people. She was just a husk of interesting things, not interesting herself. It was how she was raised to be and the very last thing she would admit to anyone was that she did enjoy his visits, they helped her sometimes see things that she hadn't considered. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I already did that mountain and don't feel like doing it again?" She hadn't but Elizabeth was also trying to create a little bit of distance.

There he went again, saying things that made her feel, strange. Convincing herself that he meant that because she was in Hawaii with Dolly and his family nearby, that was what he meant. That he couldn't wait to be back home with the people he cared about. The small twinge of an accent made her smile. "I'm not insistent, I just thought you two would like each other is all. Forget it." She sighed as she snuggled against Dolly, scratching behind her ear. "Sully?" She laughed it all off as a notion of someone falling asleep. "Not sure if you actually watched it, things didn't go well for those two. I'm sure that you would want something better than that."

Elizabeth didn't make it a habit to keep up with pop culture and popular things, the only time she took the time to watch and research things was when her target was a fan of it. There was no easier way for an in than to talk to someone about something they loved. It just happened that one had loved Sci-Fi, she remembered the hours of watching X-Files and Star Trek just to try to get their attention. It paid off in the end but it was now knowledge that she would never forget.

"Ah, I had wondered what that was. I had assumed she had smelled something or trying to find something." Dolly had done it a couple of times and Elizabeth had just chalked it up to a dog thing, a maybe she saw or heard a squirrel thing. It was easy to forget that Dolly had been trained before. "Nope, never been. Never long enough in any place to do things like scouts. I'm sure I would've crushed it though."

There was something about not letting a person rest when they were dead that it made her irrationally upset seeing as she didn't know the actress personally. "I guess but keeping those conversations from ever beginning feels like a disservice to her."

This talk made her remember their talk at the lighthouse. He always seemed to find a way to open her up to things she hadn't talked about before to anyone else. Things she hadn't pondered before and things he wanted to share with her. "In Iceland, people believe that when you dream about a loved one they are comforting you in a way. Coming to bring you happiness and care for you. That the connection you share with them is still as strong even if they are no longer physically there anymore. I'm sure it's Nana telling you that she's still watching over you." She wasn't sure where that had come from, she never had actually believed those things growing up, just listened and absorbed all her dad had told her. At his confession that he did in believe, she smiled. "You are in the wrong department."

Dolly falling asleep in this position kept Elizabeth from getting up, not wanting to wake the pup up, forcing her lay in bed and actually sleep. With a small shrug, she acted like he hadn't read her so clearly. "I think maybe your hair is just a little too long. Maybe I don't like your long hair." Or those dimples but that would be another lie and she was too tired to try to pretend to not to be lying. "Ah," she knew exactly where, she pretended that the thought of Wally looking like Smokey the Bear didn't amuse her. Him in flannel sounded like a funny idea too, never having seen him in that before. "Near the border, huh? If you have a moment, you should see Tahoe. People think it is too touristy but it's actually really pretty and there is also a mansion there that's a state park now." She was spouting suggestions now, trying to keep from thinking about how she missed the woods and also how much she missed him. A feeling that she hated at the moment.

"A gift? No, I don't need any, please don't. It's okay." A warm feeling came through her knowing that Wally had thought about her enough to not only get information about her case but to consider getting her a gift as well. "Not much, I have a couple of appointments tomorrow and if we can squeeze it in we might go down to the beach for a while. Also going to check out that hotel with those Disney characters, as thinking about having Anna, and Charlie come out with Orion sometime and that place seems nice."

To keep him talking so he could tire himself out and fall asleep, she decided to keep talking about this week he had suggested. "Okay, tell me about Wildfire. And that giant cave, that's not me agreeing to it, just me wanting to know more about it."

"No one is as interesting as you are," he let out an amused chuckle at that. "Is it really a bother? I see it as a helpful sit and chat, keeps you from boring yourself to death looking at files over and over." He shrugged slightly even though she couldn't see him and smiled. "Yeah, you're right maybe I shouldn't skip leg day so often. But funny coming from the girl who doesn't want to hike up the mountain near my house because of how steep it is." The banter was what kept him entertained and no one did it like Liz did. She kept his mind on its toes and he liked that. "I hate to break it to you again but I'm not interested in meeting someone else. I don't want anyone else. All I want and need is on the other end of this line." He made sure to make it clear otherwise she was liable to think he was talking about someone else. "You think anyone else would match my vibe as well as you do? No ma'am." Wally laughed knowing his slight Louisiana accent came through. "Why are you so insistent on me finding someone else anyway?"

"Still no secret that the CIA and FBI boys don't play well with each other. I'm actually surprised Marson let this happen. He's got FBI in his department. Think he'd be disinfecting that office every time." He laughed and sighed. "Well, if I'm Mulder than you're definitely Sully. So, you'd be getting an invite to your own wedding."

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "No need to thank me. It was easiest the best decision I've made. She likes you and that is more than enough for me to let you dogsit. She's a good judge of character," hearing her low bark made him chuckle telling her what a good girl she was. "She may be a great tour guide. I should look into that. Did she do that nose thing when you guys were out on a walk? When she stands on her hind legs and starts sticking her nose up in the air. That's her trying her tracking skills out. She has only done that twice with me and once with my sisters. Wonder if she did it with you."

The condom method had him in a quick laughing fit as he couldn't get a word out for a second. After that he caught his breath and couldn't help but smile affectionately at her words. "Wise words there. I guess when you put it that way, makes sense. Also makes you sound like a girl scout. Don't tell me you were one before?" He was but it was for a very brief time in his life. It was also where his agent call sign came from. "Hey, but really. I wouldn't let you down. I give you my word if you trust me, no harm will come to you or your legs on adventure week." He wanted to say he was always thinking about her but refrained. "Of course. I mean it is an important case for you so why wouldn't I keep a lookout for anything that could help you."

When she switched to video the last thing he ever expected was to see her in his hoodie. All cozy like. That was a sight that would surely give him nice little dreams. She looked exceptionally beautiful and he had no words to express that. His smile though, did give him away since his eyes gave her the shimmer they did when she amused him. He'd recognize his furball against the sleeve of his hoodie. It had been his favorite one because it gave warmth but now it became his favorite because she wore it.

Locking eyes was like two stars collided with each other and a clusterfuck of lights surrounded them. He smiled softly as he saw her face that he had missed for a few days now. "I agree but I also have to say that her murder is still a novelty to every agency. That and the Black Dahlia. She was a sex symbol and no one wants to let her rest. Most people don't know she was more than the ditzy bombshell she played on screen. But that conversation a lot are not ready for." Hearing her take on ghosts was refreshing, it felt like he was actually getting a look inside her mind. He hummed to show her he was listening and arranged his bottom half to fit under the covers better.

"That's an interesting take. I mean, I know I miss nana so sometimes I can see her in dreams. Sometimes I can hear her laugh in the hallway. No one laughed like she did." Nana wasn't his grandmother, he didn't share any blood with her but she had seen him grow up. Diana's mother was Nana to him and forever would be. He had told Liz about Nana when she had passed so he didn't need to explain it further than that, she'd know who he was talking about. "I believe merpeople exist. Fairies too. It would take someone who has zero creativity to not believe that we weren't the only entities around. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they aren't here. Yeah," he nodded and sighed. "I do believe in ghosts. I don't want to see one but I do believe in them. It'd be hard not to since I know people who have certain gifts. Not a psychic, they're not always real but I do. Just like people out here get jobs to help others. I believe there are a few who are born to help ghosts find their way." His mind going back to Jax and Matt. What Wally believed easily, wasn't the case for his dear friend and brother.

His eyes held the same curiosity they always did when something caught him off guard. Her request wasn't outlandish at all but it still made him chuckle and happily abided. His hand popped up from under the covers and fixed his bang. He tucked it behind his ear and the other side framed his face a little better. "Better?" His hand made a show of his face and smiled showing off his dimple on his cheek. "Might it have something to do with the hair obstructing my eyes?"

He scrolled up on his phone to show his calendar and read through his schedule. "Traveling to Forest City. Sierra County folks are always so welcoming but I'll have to leave the suit behind. I'll get to look like smokey the bear out there. I'm just shadowing tomorrow it seems but still walking a whole hell of a lot. I'm kind of excited to see the giant trees and see what the small town has to offer. May buy the second gift I've gotten for you. Souvenirs and the like. I've seen ten penny makers on my journey so you know Annie is going to be a happy little camper. Got a cool little handkerchief for Dolly. And for you, well that is what you'll see when I get back. What's on the agenda tomorrow for you two girls?" When he looked down he saw Dolly's head resting on her chest and that sight had him silently take a picture.

[autisticlee]

"good people are out there you just need to get out and find them"

cool thanks. but i'm too tired to keep ~going out and looking for them~ i'm too tired to keep trying, using up all my energy, getting super overwhelmed and burnt out after just a couple weeks of trying as hard as I can, met with other people barely trying back or not being very responsive, and needing to recover from it for a year or more each time because it overwhelms and burns me out so bad. I get nowhere no matter how hard I try, all i get is uselesss advice from people i try to befriend who dont want the responsibility of friending me. i'm tired of trying beyond my limits and causing more issues for myself. or dealing with issues I get from meeting the "wrong" people. if the "right" people exist, why can't they find me? why does it have to be only my job? i'm too tired and overwhelmed and burnt out to do it!!!!! the right people will just easily help and be there for me right? so I guess i just have to keep waiting for them for all eternity????? i'm tired of waiting. give me more than "just wait/keep trying/don't give up" because those instructions unclear and my useless attempts are very discouraging and exhausting and i'm so overwhelmed that i'm losing the ability to even socialize at a minimum at all now!!!!

if humans are meant to be social creatures and we require positive interactions with each other to stay healthy, then why do humans ostracize their own? why do some of us struggle so much and are denied any help and instead blamed? why can't I be given advice on how to live a lonely life without anyone else by my side instead of being told "one day! keep trying! you need people because it's essential to being human!" even though i've been waiting for "one day" for 25 years and could wait 25 more, or even longer? I don't know what i'm doing wrong or how to improve it so waiting is all I have. what if I wait forever?

[glitterghost]

Some days (nights) just feel like loss

[medicinemane]

Honestly a lot of the time, it's not even about people having to agree with me, it's about needing to know that they actually heard and listened to what I had to say even if it didn't persuade them

Just... some basic indication that there's enough respect to give a shit about what I said, and also to make sure that they disagree because they actually disagree and not cause they just didn't bother listening

It's all I really ask

[vorareromantic]

silly little vent in the tags

[yelloworangesoda]

gotta get off the internet and only interact irl with people who were 30 before they got their shit together i cant keep doing it like this

[tvrningout-a]

i should've switched to writing original stuff ages ago bc i could've been overcoming writer's block if i did :' )

[clorofolle]

Ughh I hate that my city has a fanbase. I hate that the most important virtue here is being alert and cunning. I hate how this city is "the most hospitable and warm 😊", but only to people who fit right in.

I hate that I got snickered at the whole time at the market I was shopping at. And then they tried to make me pay more than what I owed. And I got catcalled but in a making fun of sort of way. All because I wore a too colorful shirt and don't have a nice haircut. They mistook me for a tourist, or just thought I was stupid. This happens to me very frequently, but when I voice my experiences I get scoffed at - except for the few weirdos I know who get exactly the same treatment.

And like, look. I could stick to the richest parts of my city that are streets of just cafes and restaurants and souvenir shops and bnbs and tourists. But what if I want to actually Live IN my city? I've been trying to understand how tf to fit in for 24 years here, I've been swindled and robbed and got laughed at while wearing anything from colorful patterned shirts on out of style pants to white t-shirts tucked in perfectly usual skinny jeans. I don't understand what is it that I give off that tells people "she's weird, she's foolish, she doesn't understand" but I hate that they take advantage of it. I want a city that is kinder.

[relaxxattack]

i really liked these additional comments and thought they deserved to be in the post

every time i post about male favoritism in the fandom i feel like i need to wear a shirt that says "i am not trying to tell you that it is wrong to like davekat i literally also like davekat if you come away with the assumption that my message is to stop liking the boy ships in homestuck you are missing the overall point which is arguably more detrimental than never having interacted with what i was trying to say in the first place" flashback to that person in my inbox like "just admit that you don't like davekat it's pretty obvious based on your posts that you have a problem with it" do i need to draw them holding hands or something to get you guys to trust me and engage with what i'm saying. would it help if i also threw in a subway surfers clip

[aberooski]

I love Taylor. I always have and to some degree I always will. She means too much to me and is such an important figure and source of joy and light in my life when I desperately needed, and a connection to my own father that I need desperately, to deny that I will always look on her fondly to some degree as silly as that may seem sometimes and to some people.

But that doesn't mean I don't/won't/can't be critical of her or be disappointed or disagree with choices she makes or has made, because I absolutely have been and I absolutely am.

My problem is that I always, with every fiber of my being, look for and try to see the best in people and believe in people until I absolutely can't anymore. Unless it's something truly reprehensible and irredeemable, my brain simply cannot comprehend the idea that one bad decision or mistake trust me I know she's made more than one lately can automatically invalidate or negate anything and everything good a person has ever done. I've genuinely tried to understand it and unfortunately, I can't wrap my head around the concept. I give grace to a fault. I get sad when I see things said about her in a negative light even when I completely understand and even agree, because I have so much love for her in my heart. It's that tride and true naive, blind optimism in me I guess.

But I do not in any way think she's a perfect person, I know she isn't, because nobody is. Some are just better at hiding that than others. She makes mistakes, she's wrong sometimes, she is a human being who messes up. Sometimes in big ways. And unfortunately she's messed up a few times over the last year or so and that makes me sad. It disappoints me because I love her so much, and I do want and expect better of her. And in the process of that, it makes me very sad that I feel like I have to hide the facet of myself that does still love her despite my disappointment in her or risk making people upset with me now because I'm so afraid of upsetting people. I'm terrified of doing or saying the wrong things I try so hard to do the best I can every day and it's disappointing to see her slip up. It's sad. It makes me very sad.

It's a complicated time to love her right now. I hope, in my heart of hearts, I sincerely hope that sooner rather than later it won't have to be that way anymore. Not just for me, but for all of us who feel that complexity or conflict of emotions.

[omotelie]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO