#and I would have fucking dropped it and licked my wounds privately but now I'm going to scream about it in front of all these people lol

[eiluned]

Hi! 8 or 16 for the Rook story time prompts, if you want !

Ooh! I'm going to do 8 this time, but I'll circle back around to 16, because it's a scene I've been meaning to write anyway. Thank you for the prompts!

8. A time Rook argued with someone they care about.

This is part of the rookanis novel I'm apparently writing, featuring my Crow Rook, Wren de Riva, who has history with Lucanis. This scene is set after Bloodbath.

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“I’m fine. I can handle this on my own,” he said, clearly stonewalling her; he crossed his arms over his chest and turned slightly away.

It was defensive and a little dismissive, and that part made Wren so frustrated that she could scream. It was always a pull and a push with him, reeling her in with little smiles and genuine interest, like he was still the man she knew before the Ossuary. But the second she got too close, he pushed her away, closed himself off, retreated into the brooding, broken abomination he had become, and it hurt to get jerked around like that. 

“Maker’s balls, you’re so damn stubborn,” she growled, hands balling into fists at her sides. “You don’t have to do it by yourself! You’re not a fucking island, Lucanis. I want to help—”

“Stop pushing, Wren!” he snapped, glaring at her. “I don’t need your help!”

That hit like a dagger to the chest. She hadn’t wanted to put pressure on him, at least when it came to sorting out the complicated tangle of what they were to each other. But she wasn’t just pushing her help on him, was she? She wanted to go back to what they were a year ago, before he was tortured and she lost her home and family and the whole fucking world fell apart. It was selfish of her because he clearly didn’t feel the same way. Maybe those feelings were buried deep underneath all the pain in him, but he didn’t want to deal with them, and she had been pushing him. 

To her horror, tears stung her eyes. She pressed her lips together for a second, trying to tamp down the shame and pain and fear roiling inside her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, because her voice wouldn’t go any louder than that. “I’ll go.”

Turning on her heel, she reached for the door handle, but to her surprise, he caught her hand in his. “Rook, wait—” he began, but hearing him use that name instead of her own just twisted the knife.

“I’ll let the matter drop,” she said stiffly, shaking out of his grasp and mourning the loss of his touch. “Now please, just... let me go lick my wounds in private.”

His eyes flashed violet for a split second, but she didn’t stay to see if Spite would take over. She left the pantry, resolutely staring forward, willing herself to keep it together until she was in the sanctuary of her room.