#i had no idea what was happening the entire time

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Fawn Instinct.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Implied Dub/Con, Kidnapping, Prolonged Captivity, Social Isolation, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, and No Actual Incest, But Boy If Those Freaks Aren't Trying. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

If it’d only been Bruce, you might’ve been able to live with it.

You didn’t love him, but you could imagine a world where you tried to. Most of it was circumstance; as upset as you were about the whole kidnapping thing, it wasn’t exactly a Herculean feat to endear yourself to the idea of being a handsome vigilante millionaire’s stay-at-home captive-spouse. You had no room in your heart for the stoic, reclusive, untouchable Bruce Wayne, but you could remember the adoration you’d once held for your masked hometown hero, the pride that’d once given you the force of will to all-but carry a half-conscious man in a torn cowl and a familiar suit into your apartment and lie to the cops when they came knocking. If the conditions had been different, if he’d spent a little more time as something more intimate than a stranger and a little less damning than a captor, then maybe, you could convince yourself to love him. Or, convince yourself to try, at least.

But, the conditions weren’t different, and you’d never quite had the time you would’ve needed to align Bruce Wayne with his more heroic alter ego. It’d been doomed from the start – Icarus jumping from his tower, already knowing his wings were destined to fall apart.

That aside, though, there was the more glaring issue: all his fucking kids.

Calling them kids might’ve been too generous, actually. Only Damian and Duke were younger than eighteen, and as far as you were concerned, they were your saving graces – Duke for meeting the bare minimum requirements for human decency and Damian for adamantly denying you were anything but an unwanted burden on his father. The rest were more-or-less adults, as little as you wanted to acknowledge the nonexistent age-gap between you and your gaggle of stepchildren. They were grown. They should’ve known better.

Tim, for example. He had to be… what? Nineteen? It wasn’t the pinnacle of maturity, sure, but he should’ve known you’d be able to hear your own sheets rustling through the bedroom door, should’ve assumed that you’d know he’d know Bruce would be out on patrol until sunrise. He should’ve known to wait until you were in another wing of the sprawling Wayne estate, somewhere far away from the master bedroom, or better yet, skipped rummaging through your things entirely. You knew better than to dream, though.

The door was still shut, but what was happening behind it and who was responsible were both foregone conclusions.  It was Tim, because of course it was Tim, and he going through your meager possessions, because what else would he wait until Bruce was gone to do? Cringing, you rested your shoulder against the steady wood and knocked gingerly. “…Drake? Are you in there?”

Immediately, the rustling stopped. You went on. “I think Bruce is out, if you need him. Is there something you’re trying to find?”

It was a good out. An easy out. Thankfully, he was smart enough to take the bait. A few seconds later, the door cracked, a disheveled Tim emerging with a dark blush spread over his pale cheeks and his hands shoved conspicuously deep into the pockets of his hoodie. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d come out with his dick still in his hand.

Your cheeks ached as you put on your dozenth unstrained, unworried, everything’s-fine-because-why-wouldn’t-it-be smile of the day and moved aside to let him out. “I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he gets home,” you assured, like you couldn’t see the way his bright eyes were fixed to the carpeting. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. You all are just so heroic – it’s still a little hard to believe I’m a part of this at all.”

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, and you pretended not to hear him, cocking your head to the side. When he corrected himself, his voice was a bit louder, a bit clearer. “Don’t worry, I… I found what I was looking for. You don’t have to bother Bruce.”

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s so proud of you and your siblings, after all – it’s practically all he talks about.” A lie, but a fair one to tell. There was no reason Tim should have to know Bruce spent the majority of your time alone with his teeth buried somewhere in your neck, muttering paranoid fantasies about how many different ways you could be killed, mutilated, or otherwise indisposed by the members of his rouges gallery. “Honestly, sometimes, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been here for years, rather than just a couple of months.”

You only realized your mistake when those bright eyes shot to you, suddenly wide and blown out with desperation. A hand darted towards you, and you stumbled out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid Tim’s vice-grip on your forearm, to spare yourself the feeling of something cold and wet sinking into your sleeve. “You’re leaving?” The words seemed to slur together, spilling out too quickly to be restrained or refined. “You can’t leave. Bruce won’t be able to handle it, and Steph, she’ll—I mean, security-wise, we won’t be able to make sure you’re—”

Internally, you were keeping up a steady mantra of ‘Thisissogrossthisissogrossthisissogross.’

Externally, by some miracle, your smile never wavered, only growing sweeter as you cut him off with a chirping laugh. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, and then, after a slight lapse, “Would you mind letting go of me? It’s—uh, it’s kind of starting to hurt.”

As if on a switch, he let go of you entirely, pulling away as abruptly as he lashed out. There was a mumbled ‘I’m sorry’, and he made a swift retreat, disappearing around the next corner before you could so much as think about bringing up Bruce, again. You watched him go, only letting your expression fall once you were sure he was out of sight.

Without further caution, you slipped into your bedroom, glazing over the mess of pulled-out drawers, overturned clothes and scattered dirty laundry in favor of falling into bed, rolling onto your chest, and screaming into your pillow as loudly and for as long as your lungs would allow.

~

You tried your best never to be alone. It was a little draining, to be honest – having to keep a running chart in the back of your mind of who you could trust and who you couldn’t, constantly trying to guess whether it’d be safer to be alone with someone or if you were better off taking your chances on your own – but you’d learned your lesson the first time you’d fallen asleep in the Wayne’s at-home movie theater and woken up to Cassandra spread over you like a human weighted blanket, staring unblinkingly at your face and playing half-consciously with your hair. You tried not to leave yourself unguarded, after that.

Alfred was your first choice, Barbra your second, with Bruce as a distant third. Sometimes, you could get away with loitering near Damian (something you hated nearly as much as he did – you could only stand to be addressed as his father’s “jezebel lover” so many times), but Bruce was at one of Damian’s school events, leaving them both conveniently unavailable, and Alfred would be locked inside of his underground shooting range for another hour and a half, an activity you knew better than to interrupt. Meaning, you were on your own.

Meaning, you’d picked a very bad time to need something to drink.

The kitchen was deathly quiet, but you still made an effort to keep your head on a swivel as you made your way carefully to a corner cabinet, like stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a pit trap, or a flurry of arrows, or one of another million terrible things you hadn’t thought were possible before Bruce dedicated himself so entirely to proving you wrong. Mentally, you reviewed your haphazardly assembled schedule as you fumbled with the wood paneling and reached for a mug from the highest shelf. Tim was definitely out, touring local colleges on Bruce’s behest, Step was supposed to be in class, and Dick—

Your fingertips made contact with cool ceramic half a second before another, larger palm wrapped around yours, a broad chest pressing into your back as your mug was stolen out of your hand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

And Dick was on bed rest with three broken ribs. Right. Of course.

You really shouldn’t have bothered leaving your room at all. Suddenly, dehydration didn’t sound like such a bad way to go.

“Let me get that, baby bird.” You cringed at the petname, but nodded, letting Dick confiscate your mug and with it, your ability to make a swift exit from a conversation you’d rather not have. “Green tea, right? I know it’s your favorite.”

“On the mark as always, Dick.” There was just enough enthusiasm in your voice to overshadow the despair. You waited until you heard the muted click of an electric kettle before turning around and settling against the counter. “I wish you wouldn’t dote on me, though. I already feel useless enough as it is.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’ve been going stir-crazy all week.” He flashed you a quick smile – tooth and beaming – before pulling open the silverware drawer and rummaging through it, like Alfred would keep his teabags with his cutlery. He was topless, wearing the same pair of black sweatpants he must’ve slept in. He didn’t plan to go out, clearly, and it wasn’t like you had much of an alternative. “This is just the basics, too. For a while there, I had your breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack preferences memorized.”

You forced yourself to smile, albeit, not as brightly as him. “…did you, now?”

“Mhm. B had us running in-person surveillance before he finally bit the bullet and brought you home, and—” He cut himself off with a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “And, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Oops.”

Mercifully, the kettle whistled before you could start to consider the implications, and you reached behind you, fishing two bags out of a teacup-shaped jar. It was easy enough to edge him out of the way, but not having to worry about pretending he’d ever made himself a cup of tea meant he could devote more of his energy to talking, so you still managed to lose, in the end. “He’s stingier with the surveillance footage, now. I’ve never seen him so jealous.”

“He can definitely be a little overprotective.”

You tried to keep your tone even, polite, but Dick was like his siblings – quick to action and slow to take a hint. A hand curled around the counter next to you, and you dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into the darkening water. “It’s just us in the manor, right?”

Another spoonful, just to be safe. “I think Alfred is—”

“Out for the day. Wayne Enterprise emergency – I let him know as soon as he finished down in the range.” In your peripheral, you watched his other hand come to rest on your opposite side, caging you in. “I wouldn’t mind the company, if you were starting to get lonely.”

Another spoonful. It’d be too sweet to drink, but anything not to have to look at him. “I’m afraid wouldn’t be a lot of fun, Grayson. Honestly, I was just planning on getting a little sle—”

“That’s perfect,” he cut in, too eager to wait his turn. “I’m a great cuddler.”

You curled your hand around your mug, hoping the warmth would be enough to ground you. Instead, it only burnt your palm, and for a second, you could imagine a world where your teeth weren’t buried in the plush of your cheek, where you didn’t have to remind yourself that turning around and splashing boiling-hot water on an all-but superhero’s face wasn’t a good idea. For a second, you genuinely considered it.

And then, a sound not totally dissimilar to thunder filled the kitchen; loud enough to leave your ears ringing and your adrenaline spiked. You flinched into yourself, but it only took a moment for fear to shift to relief as you noticed the bullet lodged into the wood less than an inch from your head. Your expression lit up just as Dick’s fell.

Without waiting for him to let you go, you slipped away – sprinting across the kitchen and throwing yourself into Jason’s – brave, bold, beautiful Jason – chest. He caught you one hand and finished re-holstering his handgun with the other, laughing as you hugged him as tightly as you could manage. Dick huffed, playful offense failing to mask real agitation, and you felt Jason brace against you. “Jerk off and shut the fuck up, Oedipus.”

Dick’s smile turned uneasy. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

“I didn’t come here for you,” he snapped, as short-tempered with his siblings as you wished you could be. He looked down, holding you that much tighter. “How’s my best girl holding up?”

“I’m just fine, Jason. I do think we have to have a talk about how you treat your brother, though.” You glanced over your shoulder to Dick. “A little privacy? You really ought to be staying off your feet, too.”

Reluctantly, Dick slinked out of the kitchen, hesitant to go but eager to nurse his wounds. You only went on once you were sure he was gone.

“It’s been awful. I found another hidden camera in my bedroom, and I think Tim’s tapping my—”

“I’ll do a sweep.”

He let you go, but you caught his arm. “Please, I know it’s important, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing. It was irrational – the way you let your guard down so quickly around Jason. The mask never slipped around anyone else, whether you were afraid of them or they were one of your rare, precious exceptions. Jason existed outside of the Wayne family, though, outside of Bruce’s corrupting influence. He wasn’t going to hurt you. More importantly, he wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt you, either.

“But I really don’t want to think about that, right now,” you finished. “Just… just for a little while, alright? I don’t want to constantly feel like I’m walking on eggshells, at least not while you’re here.”

Jason stood strong for all of three seconds. With the fourth, he sighed, buckled, and shook his head, his exasperation brimming with affection. “How long until Bruce gets home?”

“Six more hours. He’s not due to check-in for another three.”

“I’ve got my bike out front. How do you think he’d feel about a joy ride?”

And just like that, you lit up. “It’d give him a heart attack.”

Jason pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Perfect.”

~

Unfortunately, Jason’s visits were few and far between. You had to find ways of fending for yourself, in the downtime.

“I miss the city.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, gaze flickering over you before returning to the buttons of his dress-shirt. You sunk that much deeper into the mess of sheets and pillows, taking some small amount of solace in the way the cool silk felt against your warm skin.

(Sex wasn’t something Bruce came to you for often, but when he did, you gave it to him willingly, albeit with no more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary. You rarely enjoyed it and always regretted everything you did or said during the act, but it was better than the alternative. Part of you trusted him, trusted Batman, enough to believe that he’d take your refusal for what it was, that you wouldn’t have to say anything more than ‘no’. The remaining overwhelming majority was able to look around you, to remember the way he’d held you down as he forced a needle stocked with medical-grade sedatives into your throat, and recognize that your opinion probably didn’t mean very much to him. Still, you couldn’t let things get that bad. Even if you had to surrender every other facet of your being, you couldn’t let things get that bad.)

“You hated the city. You said your landlord was a tyrant and that even the criminals were living paycheck-to-paycheck.” And then, after a second of thought, “And that there were more rats in Gotham than people.”

“Well, he was, they are, and you know I love animals.” You pushed yourself up, keeping a sheet bunched against your chest as you slumped against the headboard. “I was tired and overworked – you could see that. But, things would be different if I was staying with, say, my wealthy trillionaire boyfriend in one of the penthouse apartments that I know he has because his youngest son got in trouble for bragging about them in school last week?”

Bringing up his kids was a dirty tactic – the fastest way to get Bruce’s undivided attention. This time, when his eyes shifted in your direction, they stayed there, and he made his way back to your side of the bed. He collapsed next to you and, with no resistance on your end, pulled you into his lap. He didn’t seem to care whether or not his immaculately tailored, freshly pressed suit was creased in the process, but you did your best not to squirm. “You want to leave the manor?”

The first half of a frown tugged at the corner of your lips. “That’s not what I—”

“Elevated pulse, avoidant eye-contact,” he muttered. “Something’s bothering you.”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t wrong, either, but still. You would’ve preferred to be asked.

“…it’s your family,” you admitted, feigning guilt. “They’re all—” Horny, depressed, creepy little orphans. “—great kids, but it’s just been so much so quickly, and I think it… I think it might’ve been too much too quickly. For them and for me.”

“They adore you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dick was close to moving back in when I decided it was too dangerous to leave you to your own devices.”

You melted into his chest, sighing. Reflexively, he curled around you – a good thing, if a bit claustrophobic. Bruce liked feeling like a shield between you and harm, between you and the world he couldn’t control. Hopefully, eventually, he’d realize he had more to shield you from than greedy landlords and villains who always seemed to be just out of sight. “It’s not that easy. It’s just been such a rocky adjustment period, and…” You curled your hand around his wrist and squeezed, hoping the force would be enough to communicate what you couldn’t put a word to. “I’m really afraid something bad might happen, Bruce.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. There was a kiss to your shoulder, solemn and lingering, then another to your cheek, more fleeting. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll give you space, if they’re told to.”

If he told them to. You doubted you held much authority, here. “And the apartment in the city? On the highest floor, tall enough to see from Gotham to New York?”

Bruce smiled, and your heart soared.

Then, he started talking, and it crashed back down, dying upon impact. “Once I know it’s safe for you, sweetheart.”

There was another kiss, this one to the nape of your neck, then another, lower down on your spine. A calloused hand slipped underneath the sheet still hugged against your chest, and you allowed it to.

Honestly, it would’ve been kinder if he’d cut you into pieces and fed you to the wolves himself.

~

You made a run for it as soon as the arguing started.

Arguing, not yelling – the distinction was minor, but significant. Yelling would’ve meant an injury, or a mission gone wrong, or something else that signaled a sudden complication that couldn’t be smoothed over with sugar-sweet sentimentality or orders issues with an ice-cold strictness. Yelling would’ve meant Bruce didn’t mind letting you overhear, which usually meant you didn’t need to be involved. Arguing, all hushed whispers and hissed explanations and vague warnings, was different. Arguing meant, more often than not, that they were arguing about you.

It was Tim’s fault, as far as you could tell. Barbara had been the one to find the conspicuously encrypted file on one of Dick’s civilian devices, the one to mention it to Stephanie as a point of concern who went to Tim within the hour, but it was still his fault. He’d gotten Bruce involved, let his need for approval tip the tenuously balanced scales that kept his family whole and you safe. He’d talked them all into waiting until Dick was close enough to confront in-person, stopping by for his weekly equipment pick-up and check-in. He was the reason you’d gotten close enough to hear something about ��pictures’ and ‘inappropriate use of reconnaissance material’ before fleeing to the mansion’s foyer – the only part of the house you could be sure wasn’t occupied. If you were lucky, you’d only be there for half an hour or so, enough time for them to compromise on some non-solution and return to your carefully maintained status quo. If you weren’t, you’d spend the early hours of the morning—

Something small but forceful hit the nearest window, shortly followed by another projectile, then another. The glass was too thick and the world outside too dark to make anything out, but you didn’t need to see anything to know who’d come to your rescue.

Jason.

You rushed to the door, then hesitated. Jason would only get a slap on the wrist for luring you out of the estate, and Bruce could never bring himself to be that strict with you, but now might’ve been a bad time. Tensions were already running high. Your little disappearing act wouldn’t—

A sudden rush of footsteps clattering through the ceiling from the floor above you, hushed voices raised just to the point of audibility. None of it was entirely coherent, but Dick’s came the closest. You managed to make out a half-choked “If you’d just let me—” before someone cut him off.

With your better judgement reduced to buzzing static, you pried open the closer of a pair of huge, mahogany doors and slipped out of the estate entirely.

Of course, Jason was waiting outside, a small stock of pebbles still in his left hand and, of course, you threw yourself at him, letting him catch and spin you twice before setting you back onto your feet with an airy laugh. A pitch-black sports car was waiting at the end of the driveway, the engine purring loudly enough to drown the rest of the world out. “Rough night?”

“You have no fucking idea,” you muttered, breathless. “I don’t care where we go, just get me out of here.”

There was a reason Jason was your favorite. There was no argument, no prying, just his arm around your waist as he herded you into the passenger seat. Fifteen minutes and a little over fifty miles later, the mansion was little more than a dull glow on the horizon, and you could pretend you’d stopped thinking about Bruce entirely.

There was no effort to make conversation, as bad as you felt about pulling Jason into your prolonged tryst with self-pity. Instead, you sunk into the leather of his seat and fixed your gaze on the passing landscape, clinging to any detail you were able to latch onto as it flew by. It was possible, between the subways and boarded-over windows and perpetually overcast skies, to go days without seeing the sun in Gotham. Still, your life had felt brighter there than it ever did in Bruce’s estate.

Jason turned down a road you didn’t recognize, and you managed to find your voice. “Are we going into the city?”

“Even better.” He flashed you a smile, the engine purring as he accelerated. “You’ll like it, I promise. Just sit tight.”

As if you had much of a choice.

Road gave way to forest, forest to empty plains, and empty plains to the dilapidated remains of what you could only label as a long-abandoned amusement park – like Disney World if there’d been some terrible, possibly nuclear accident followed by twenty or so years of absolute neglect. Jason’s car glided past the rusted remains of an iron gate, past the corpses of rides buckled under their own weight, and came to a stop in front of a paint-stripped merry-go-round almost entirely sheeted be vines and weeds and overgrowth. You let out a low whistle as he threw the gear shift into park and, for the first time in any vehicle you’d ever shared with him, pulled his keys out of the ignition. He’d always left the engine running while visiting the mansion, but then again, you’d always been pretty eager to make a hasty escape, too.

“I love it, Jason. I’ve always wanted to get tetanus from a broken down carnival.”

“A fair, actually,” he corrected, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket. Like he expected you to try and steal them while his back was turned, or something. “My parents used to take me here, before I met B. There weren’t a lot of Ferris wheels after that.”

There was a short lapse, the sound of lips moving against teeth. You made the mistake of humming, of glancing over to him, of leaving yourself open for another question, and Jason, as nice as he was, was more than happy to take advantage of you. “So, when did you and B start…”

He trailed off, drumming his fingers against the wheel. You filled in the rest with a breathy chuckle. “When did I start sleeping with your dad?”

He jabbed an elbow into your side. “First of all, you can admit you’re fucking him or call him my dad, but you’ve gotta pick one.” You opened your mouth, already ready to spit out some dumb joke about what Bruce would’ve preferred to be called, but Jason cut in, sniping your stupid joke out of the air. “Secondly, answer the question. I get enough of your diversions back at home.”

“Being a buzzkill must run in family,” you sighed, but gave in quickly enough. “It happened once before the whole kidnapping thing, when he was staying at my apartment and sleeping off a broken leg. I hadn’t even seen him without his mask on at that point, but I figured it was a sign – destiny, or something.” You did your best to smile, slumping against the door. “It was dumb. He gave me a couple weeks after bringing me to the estate, mostly because of the crying and stuff, but things started up again pretty quickly.”

“Do you… like it?”

“Do you like asking about your dad’s sex life?” He flinched back, and laughing, you went on. “I guess I don’t care. There’s not a lot else to do.” You swallowed. “Would it matter if I didn’t?”

For someone with so many questions, he didn’t leave a lot of time for yours, the hypocrite. Moving on swiftly, he asked, “And the others, have they…?”

“No.” And then, after a beat, “Not yet.”

He seemed to relax, at that. His back was still straight, his shoulders still squared, but his grip on the wheel loosened, his jaw unclenching ever so slightly. You tried the handle – locked. Obviously. As if you’d ever get that lucky.

His voice was soft, sweet. The kind of tone you’d use on a child, or an animal, or a doll. “This would probably be easier in the backseat, right?”

“Let me out.”

“So you can go where,baby? It’s just us out here.” He laughed, resting a hand on your thigh. You slammed your shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. “Hey, hey, this doesn’t need to get rough. I’m not going to be like Dick. The others – they’ll do it wrong, treat you like a cut of meat they have to get to before anybody else. I just need to make sure you get out of this in one piece.”

Nails embedded in leather, body crammed as far from him as you could force it be. You weren’t hyperventilating, but only because you’d stopped breathing entirely. “Let me out, Jason.”

“I love the way you say my name. It’s pretty, and delicate – just like you.” He sighed, shook his head. “I know you don’t get it, but I’m just trying to take care of you, like you’ve been taking care of me for the past few—”

“Stop acting like I’m your mom.” A sob fractured the final syllable, another bubbling up from deep in your chest a moment later. Your body was beyond the point of rationality, but the soft, preservational part of your mind wasn’t so beyond the point of seeking refuge. There was a way out of this, as ghoulish as it seemed. You couldn’t stop it from happening, but you could make it better. You’d regret it in an hour, when it came time to explain yourself to Bruce, but what happened in an hour didn’t matter, not if you couldn’t survive the next few minutes.

You might’ve done it, too – or, you might’ve tried, at least. You wanted to. You planned to. And yet, when you opened your mouth, there was only one thing you could seem to say. “I don’t want to do this, Jason.”

His nails bit into your thigh, his smile easing at the corners. For a second, you almost thought he’d pull away. For a second, you almost thought he’d sigh, straighten back up, and admit this was all part of some cruel, unfunny joke that the two of you would remember fondly, later on.

Then, he laughed and leaned forward, lips brushing against the top of your head. You felt him speak before you heard his voice, but the cloying reverberation alone was enough to tell you that you would’ve been better off never saying anything at all.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

[jeffandcyrusgetrevenge]

Suddenly obsessed with this idea, wow.

The vision flashing before my eyes is that when they do the setup for his tv wife spraining her ankle on the way home from the football game (?) (is that what happened? it’s been like 20 years since I watched this movie) he helps her but he only has eyes for the running back. At first the execs don’t clue in, they just think he’s not that interested in the girl they set him up with, but soon it becomes clear he’s harboring a serious crush. They tell the running back to go with it, but the actor who plays him is straight and kind of weirded out by the whole thing, so every interaction is stiff and awkward. Under the radar, an actual gay actor they hired to play a local loner has a few moments of gay solidarity with Truman via the Shared Look of Gay Understanding™️. The show editors finally realize something is up when they come across a very fleeting attempt by Truman at a kiss (guess who wasn’t gonna waste time pining after Mr. Running Back forever) that Local Loner kindly but firmly brushes aside. Unfortunately for him, he gets promoted to series regular after this and is instructed to return Truman’s affections. He becomes the fake TV boyfriend, and his obvious discomfort in the role gives the story arc a flavor of “see how miserable gay people are?” Eventually he gives his notice, and gets written off the show going off to take care of his ailing mother in a different state. We never hear from him again. Truman is sad and lonely. He’s sort of half-closeted, where his friends and family kind of know and kind of don’t — he never felt secure enough in that relationship to talk about it much. That’s when the network hits him with the Slutty Hunk, a borderline sleazy muscle bound gentleman who works at a construction site near Truman’s office and wolf whistles at him every morning. Truman does not care for this. Truman decides to take a vow of celibacy. The network puts a series of hot men (& women) in his vicinity but nothing seems to take. They’re all too thirsty. Truman craves connection.

Meanwhile, the actor that played Local Loner has joined a small group of political activists protesting the show, and the fact that he had such a big role in Truman’s life at one point is brought up again and again — sometimes to call him a hypocrite, sometimes to point out how deep his motivations are. The media loves drama. He always insists that it was wrong for the network to put him in that situation, and it was wrong for him to go along with it for so long. Conservative pundits take this and run with it, spinning it into a homophobic lecture about the shamelessness of the liberal media. Local Loner has to set them straight — in his first official coming out, at a time when most gay actors dodged the question at best, he takes a stand and says, No, I’m gay, and there’s nothing wrong with that — but lying to a man about his whole entire life and filming him for the entertainment of the masses, putting him in fake relationships and breaking his heart just for ratings — THAT’S wrong.

I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore but that’s what came to me lol

What if the Truman show did a queerbait arc

[bokettochild]

You ever think about how Sky's entire world got turned upside down like...days before what was essentially his highschool graduation ceremony? And, like, my dude got the Skyloft approximation of a full ride to college by winning that one race, but by the time he's saved the world, it doesn't matter at all- this thing that mattered so much just days ago- because not only has he learned more than most of the professors know, but also the school is basically going to be abandoned now

They're going to the surface, they're going to live there. Sky- finished his adventure and saved his best friend, and his reward was losing everything he'd ever known in life EXCEPT Zelda.

No one treats him the same; he's the hero now. He knows things they don't. He just got out of highschool and now his teachers are suddenly the ones coming to him to ask how the world works. He was going to be a knight and he is now, butt his experience is so drastically different from all the other knights around him.

He's this huge world now, this place he only is beginning to understand, and because he's the hero, because he's been here longer, he's the one everyone else comes to with questions. He's their leader now,w hen before he was a lazy teenager they always chastised with warmth, trying to teach him to grow up.

He's still a kid, still younger than the knights, the professors, but he's also the only person whos got much of an idea what's happening other than Zelda. That's got to be weird for everyone. People will come to him with things but they'll doubt him because he's still young, or they'll want to teach him something only to decide not to because he's the hero, he doesn't need their instruction.

Like, the game ends all bitter sweet, but let's be real: by leaving Skyloft, he loses his home, his plans for the future, any conception e previously had of the world, the other half of his soul (his best friend and companion!), his childhood, and probably any sense of freedom he had now that he's got the fate and security of his people on his shoulders now.

And then he somehow ends up meeting the chain. All capable people, who (like his professors, his teachers, his neighbors) know what's going on even if he doesn't, who can handle themselves, who can protect themselves, who knows more than him and are better (seemingly) at this hero gig than him, and Sky? He can finally relax. He's silly again. He's taking naps. He's able to zone out without consequences. he doesn't need to be in control and he's fine with that. He's happy with that. As long as all is well, he's content to just exist here, just for now.

But the moment that peace and security of being with other heroes is threatened? Yeah, that's when the god-killer comes out.

......

Anyways, yeah, I think Sky's more than just a big softie and sleepy-head. Man has issues he is avoiding with the power of ignoring them and sleeping, but on some moments (like Miss Her, or the Sunset arc) we see that he slips sometimes.

Long of the short: I have Sky brainrot these days :)

[jenosonlywife23]

No Nut November Regrets

summary; nnn with jaehyun but he actually regrets it cause his about to enlist and his devasted cause he should have used those days to bang you up teehee!!!

a/n; Lets pretend he still hasnt enlisted lol.

-------------------------------------------------------

Jaehyun’s pacing your bedroom like a man possessed, muttering to himself with his hands in his hair.

"Are you okay?" you ask, half-laughing at his dramatic behavior. He’s been acting weird ever since he got home.

"No, I’m not okay," he blurts out, turning to face you with a look of absolute despair. "I’ve made a grave mistake."

You tilt your head, trying to stifle a smile. "What, did you lose a bet? Forgot your phone at the gym again?"

He stares at you like you’ve missed the point of life itself. "Worse. I wasted an entire month."

You blink, thoroughly confused. "A month on what? Your skincare routine? 'Cause, babe, you look amazing—"

He groans, cutting you off. "No Nut November."

There’s a beat of silence before you burst out laughing. "Oh my God, that’s what this is about? Are you serious?"

"I’m dead serious!" he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "Do you know how much time we could’ve spent—" He stops, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to find the words.

"Spent...?" you prompt, clearly enjoying his struggle.

He sighs deeply, his ears turning red. "Banging," he finally mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You choke on your laughter, clutching your stomach. "Are you actually upset you didn’t? What happened to self-control, proving something to yourself, all that motivational crap you were preaching?"

"That was before I knew I was enlisting!" he practically yells, throwing himself onto the bed like a soap opera heroine. "I thought I had time. But now? Now I’ve got weeks—weeks, baby! And I just... I feel like I’ve betrayed us both."

You sit beside him, trying to hold back your laughter. "So, let me get this straight. You’re mad because you spent thirty days not having sex with me, and now you think you’ve wasted your youth?"

"Exactly!" He sits up, his expression so sincere it makes you want to both laugh and kiss him. "I thought I was doing something noble. But now all I can think about is how many times we could’ve—"

"Jaehyun!" you cut him off, cheeks burning.

"No, listen!" he insists, gripping your hands like he’s about to deliver the speech of a lifetime. "We could’ve been doing it every night, every morning, maybe even on lunch breaks. Do you know how much catching up we have to do now?"

You’re crying with laughter at this point, collapsing onto the bed. "You’re ridiculous."

He flops beside you, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. "Ridiculous and horny," he declares. "And I’ve got no time to fix it."

"Well," you say, leaning over him with a sly smile, "we’ve got tonight. Think you can make up for thirty days in one go?"

He peeks at you from under his arm, his eyes narrowing like he’s accepting a challenge. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

[blackmagecat]

Time to tell you all a horror story. My own personal nightmare I’ve been living with for almost 2 years now.

[TW for pregnancy/childbirth trauma, stillbirth and infant mortality]

The minute I started my baby registry on Amazon was the minute I signed my soul away to unending torture. I lost my daughter at 34 weeks of pregnancy due to little blood clots that formed in my placenta that apparently nobody had been able to detect (but that's a story for another time...) Anywho, the algorithms had already been in full swing by that point, recommending and advertising every baby product under the sun.

But here's the thing. Those ads don't go away just because your baby is dead. In fact, they stick around, and assume that your kid is still there, growing. These things are so targeted, they have been literally serving me ads based around the relative age of my assumed-to-be-living child.

Do you have any idea how fucked up it is to have to watch your non-existent child age and grow in daily, targeted ads? To watch actors pantomiming milestones you'll never get to experience? And for what? To sell me diapers I can't buy?

Worse still, I think the algorithms are finally catching on that something happened to my daughter. Lately I've been getting ads like this:

They don't know what happened exactly, but you'd best believe they're ready to sell me something once they figure it out! My husband has also been getting St. Jude's ads left and right also, where previously he had next to none. Now it's every third ad on each YouTube video he watches, and that's been going on for weeks.

I wish it were illegal. I wish there was something I could do beyond praying that the VPN or ad-blocker I'm using will shield me. I've reported ads as often as I could, but my reasons are rarely listed in the little dropdown menu. I always end up picking "Other."

I can only imagine how many others are out there going through the same. Is it too much to hope we can all get together and file a class action somewhere, somehow? It's one thing to come across a random billboard, or actual TV commercial. I'm responsible for my own reaction to that. But its another thing entirely to have companies stalking you and using your personal history and trauma as a persistent, blunt force tool to make you spend money.

Also I've said this before but advertising is an industry that should be considered as pointless and harmful as fossil fuels.

[aesthetically-dying101]

Not you.

A/N: yeah so atp this is basically a nanami account idk man, ive been mulling over this idea and just.. couldn't not write it.

warnings: she/her usage, mostly fluff and all, rival to lovers? kinda. Things aren't what they seem. i used a bunch of jargon, but idk what the hell it means so... usage of one or two of Y/N

Nanami Kento was a figure who commanded respect the moment he stepped into any room. As the head of the Financial Department, his reputation preceded him. A man of few words, Nanami always carried himself with a certain gravitas, his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair giving off an air of authority.

He was stoic, often leaving the office before anyone had a chance to catch up with him, and in all the time that anyone had worked with him, Nanami had never once mentioned his personal life.

There were rumors, of course—whispers about his wife, about how he was always so distant and so professional. The office was filled with speculation.

Who was she? What was she like? Why did he never speak of her? The only thing anyone knew for certain was that Nanami Kento had no patience for distractions, and his world revolved entirely around his work.

And then there was you—the head of the Operations Department, responsible for overseeing the company’s logistics, product development, and strategic planning.

Your department was vital to the company’s success, just as Nanami’s was, and your work ethic was practically legendary. You were efficient, meticulous and well-put-together—your image just as carefully crafted as Nanami’s.

But unlike Nanami, you didn’t just command respect, you earned it through your quiet authority, your quick intellect, and your ability to get things done.

You rarely discussed your personal life either, but that wasn’t for the same reasons. The office gossips had often speculated about your marriage, or rather, the lack of concrete information about it. You spoke of your husband in passing—always vague, always careful. When asked about him, you would smile softly and say, “He’s a wonderful cook,” or, “He's the best thing that happened to me,” but you never mentioned his name.

To the other employees, you and Nanami were like opposite ends of a magnet—both incredibly powerful in your respective positions but always repelling each other in public.

It was simple, you hated each other.

Allegedly.

*-*

The conference room was filled with the soft hum of hushed conversations as the remaining members of the board filtered in, the meeting about to begin.

The room, with its glass walls and sleek wooden table, seemed to swallow the light, the air thick with unspoken energy. The usual quiet before a presentation had taken on a different tone today—a sort of heavy, expectant stillness.

Everyone knew what this meeting would be like. The air was thick with anticipation, the feeling of two titans preparing to clash.

At the head of the table, Nanami sat with his usual impassive expression. His eyes, sharp and cold as always, scanned over the presentation materials before him, making quick, methodical notes in the margins of his tablet. His hands, large and steady, moved with precision, his posture impeccable. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a slight edge to his usual stoic appearance—his jaw set tighter than usual, his gaze flickering over the documents in front of him but never staying too long in one place.

Across the table, you did the same. Your posture was straight, your fingers tapping lightly against your own tablet- though your eyes remained focused on Nanami as if assessing him.

The subtle tension between the two of you could be felt by anyone in the room who dared to glance between the two of you. You had worked with Nanami for long enough to know how he functioned, but still, there was something about this moment that made you feel the familiar bite of competitive energy.

This wasn’t just business. It was more than that. This was your rivalry—your game.

“You two ready?” The CEO’s voice broke the silence, and everyone turned their attention to him, but all eyes remained glued to you and Nanami.

A brief, almost imperceptible glance passed between you and Nanami before you both nodded.

Nanami spoke first.

“I’ll start with the financial outlook,” he said, his deep voice calm and unwavering. His tone was confident, measured—his usual professional self. No one could ever accuse him of overacting or raising his voice unnecessarily.

That was his strength. Efficiency, precision.

You watched him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you mentally prepared yourself. You knew exactly what he was going to do—reel off the statistics and the metrics, the numbers that made sense but lacked the full scope of the opportunity you were about to present. You weren't going to let him walk away with this meeting.

You wouldn’t let him win.

Not today.

“Based on the projections, our current approach remains sustainable,” Nanami continued, pointing at his presentation slides, his finger steady. “We will continue with conservative growth, minimizing risks while maximizing short-term profitability.”

The numbers slid onto the screen with ease, each one perfectly in place, each calculation undeniably sound. You couldn’t help but appreciate his work. His plans were always tight, methodical—there was never a flaw. But there was also no room for expansion, no room for daring leaps.

That’s where you came in.

With a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you leaned forward, picking up where he left off.

“I agree with the numbers,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying through the room. “But sustainability doesn’t always mean profitability. If we’re talking about the long-term viability of the company, we need to look at diversification.”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, then continued, your eyes never leaving his.

“You’ve kept it safe, Nanami. But we’re not here to play it safe. We’re here to grow, to expand. You can only play it safe for so long before the market overtakes us. I say we invest in new international markets, even if it means taking on a bit more risk upfront.”

There was a slight shift in Nanami’s demeanor. A tightening in his jaw. A flare of something in his icy blue eyes. But his expression remained unreadable as he flipped to the next slide.

“And what about the supply chain issues in the Southeast Asia region?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. He wasn’t backing down. “Any suggestions for how we mitigate that risk?”

“More diversification,” you shot back without hesitation, your tone smooth, but firm. “We can’t afford to rely on just one region when there are so many variables outside of our control. What we need is a more global approach—one that doesn’t put all our eggs in one basket.”

The tension in the room was palpable now.

Everyone could feel it. The subtle undercurrent of animosity, the way your words were calculated to provoke, the way Nanami’s responses were sharp, measured, never losing his composure.

There was a reason everyone in the office avoided the two of you when these meetings happened. The air seemed to hum, charged with an energy that made everything else feel distant.

A low murmur swept through the room as Nanami gave his final response.

“Diversification is too risky at this point. We don’t know enough about the regions you’re suggesting, and I don’t intend to make decisions based on speculative information.” His voice was calm but firm. “Without concrete data, we can’t afford to gamble the company’s future.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And I’m saying we won’t have a future if we don’t take risks. Sure, we can stay on this safe path, but it’s the same one we’ve been on for years, and it’ll eventually stagnate.” You leaned forward, pushing the point. “We need to be ahead of the curve, Nanami, or we’ll get swallowed up by the competition. The world doesn’t wait for us to get comfortable.”

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Nanami’s counterattack.

“You’re assuming the worst-case scenario,” Nanami replied, his voice still calm but with a subtle bite to it. “I don’t deal in worst-case scenarios. I deal in facts. And the fact is, our company is thriving just fine as it is.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled slightly, leaning back in your chair with a controlled breath.

“That’s because of people like me, Nanami. People who know that thriving isn’t enough. We need to evolve.”

It was a quiet challenge. A call to the very heart of his cautious nature, the kind of challenge that stirred something deep in both of you.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one dared to speak, sensing the standoff between the two of you. You both knew the stakes. Your points were valid, and his were just as solid. But in this game, it wasn’t just about who was right—it was about who could bend the other to their will.

And with that, the meeting continued, but the energy in the room never quite settled. The board members watched in silence, accustomed to the tension between you and Nanami by now, though none of them fully understood the true nature of the competition, of the rivalry between you two.

It wasn’t just about the work.

It never was.

And as the presentations came to an end and everyone began to file out of the room, Nanami gave you one last glance—his eyes not cold, but something else. Something unreadable, but familiar.

“Good work,” he said, almost as if he were conceding a point, though his tone remained neutral.

*-*

The day had been long—longer than usual, filled with presentations, sharp glances and the undercurrent of competition that was familiar but still exhilarating.

As the office began to empty, you found yourself walking down the hallway, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It had been a long day, but the tension that lingered between Nanami and you after the meeting was… intoxicating. And, as always, you had a feeling you’d be running into him soon.

And by "running into him," you meant, of course, you were about to collide on purpose.

As if on cue, you turned a corner and found yourself standing in front of the conference room. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see the faint outline of Nanami’s figure inside.

You paused, your heart picking up pace, knowing what was about to happen.

This wasn't just a coincidence, it never was.

You pushed the door open, slipping inside with a barely noticeable smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Late-night work, Kento?” you asked, playing it cool, but the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Nanami didn’t look up right away.

He was leaning over a set of papers, reviewing something quietly, and for a brief second, he gave no indication that he had even noticed you’d entered.

But you knew he had.

You always knew.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but with a certain edge to it, “-didn’t expect you to be so punctual after our little ‘debate’ today.”

You took a slow step forward, your heels clicking softly as you closed the gap between you.

“Oh, I’m always punctual. You know that.”

Nanami glanced up, his gaze narrowing slightly as his eyes met yours. That familiar, teasing tension was already swirling between you. You could practically feel it crackling in the air. And, just like every time before, it was like you were the only two people in the world.

You leaned against the table, crossing your arms casually.

“So, what’s the verdict on my very risky ideas from earlier? Did I win, or are we still battling it out?”

His lips quirked slightly, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood from the chair with slow deliberation, locking eyes with you as he did. There was a dangerous, playful glint in his gaze now.

“We both know you’re stubborn,” he said softly, a challenge laced in his tone. “But you do make a good point every now and then.”

Before you could respond, Nanami turned and locked the door behind you, the soft click of the lock reverberating through the room.

You raised an eyebrow, the realization hitting you like a slow wave. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Kento,” you teased, but your voice softened.

He didn’t reply at first. Instead, Nanami took a step closer, closing the distance between you until there was only a whisper of air separating you. His hand reached up, fingers grazing your cheek, his touch delicate but firm. The tension between you felt so thick it could’ve suffocated anyone else in the room, but not you two.

You thrived in it.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your lips, “I do love how much you push me.”

“And I love how much you push me,” you whispered back, your voice low and steady, heart pounding in your chest.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could fully register what was happening, his hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a force that sent your pulse racing. Your lips met in a sudden, heated kiss.

No words. No preamble.

Just pure, undeniable fire.

The kiss was a clash of desire and frustration—a mingling of rivalry and affection. You could feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded by tangling your fingers into his shirt, tugging him even nearer.

Between kisses, Nanami murmured softly against your lips, each word barely audible but intense.

“You were right, you know. Your presentation was damn good. Risky as hell, but good.”

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips even as you kissed him back.

“Yeah? I know. I did well.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. “You always do,” he muttered, his voice soft and warm despite the heat of the kiss.

His hands moved to your face, cupping it gently as he deepened the kiss, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw. The intensity of the moment was enough to make you forget everything around you. In this room, there was no competition, no rivalry—just you two. Just him. Just the way you were always meant to be.

And then, between frantic kisses, his voice dropped into a breathless whisper. “Marry me.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you with the same affection that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Marry me again,” he repeated, his voice thick with sincerity. “You already have my heart, but I want to do this all over again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and joyful. “You already asked me, Ken.”

He grinned, his hands pulling you closer again. “Then let me ask you again. Marry me.”

You held up your hand, showing him the ring that already glimmered on your finger. “You really don’t need to ask. I already said yes.”

Nanami pressed his lips to yours once more, his kiss warm and tender this time, as if every part of him was soaking in the quiet joy of the moment. In between kisses, you heard him whisper,

“I don’t care. I want to ask you every day.”

And as the kiss deepened once more, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the competition, all the tension, all the heated moments between you—they were all just a reminder of how much you really loved each other.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

A/N: yeah so idk my brain just couldn't not think of this. i might remake this into a longer fic bc I LOVE this premise so much

Masterlist

:)

[tkomptgoedluv]

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt1. here | pt.2 here | pt.3

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,494.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots ���

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all that you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

[rxmxa]

The Leo-Aquarius Axis Redefined pt. 2 ⚡ 🧪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Part One on the Leo-Aquarius Axis (Good to Read for Reference)

I was watching some intense video footage with my friend after something really brutal and chaotic happened in my neighborhood. Watching it alone was overwhelming because there was so much violence and chaos happening back to back. But then I re-watched it with my Aquarius stellium friend. And when I say stellium, I mean stellium. This girl is an Aquarius Sun, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Rising, with a Capricorn Moon and Uranus in the 10th house. She is genuinely the smartest person I know.

What I didn’t fully realize until that moment was just how good Aquarius energy is at processing information. Aquarius is an air sign, which means it thrives on mental challenges and intellectual stimulation. But it’s also fixed, which gives it a steady and sustained focus that doesn’t waver. Symbolically, Aquarius is the Water Bearer. It pours out knowledge, deep and distilled, offering it to the world. In moments of chaos, it feels like Aquarius processes everything at light speed, distills the important parts, and hands you the answers in such a breezy and nonchalant manner all like, “Oh, you didn’t notice that incredibly specific detail?”

While we were watching the footage, she kept pausing to point things out. She would say, “Look here, see his hand? Notice how he flinched.” Then she would rewind and say, “Listen again, did you hear what he said? He said ‘xyz.’” By the end of the night, mostly thanks to her, we had pieced together the timeline of what happened.

It was a heavy experience, but it also got me thinking about something I had written before about the Leo-Aquarius axis.

In that post, I said:

“If you are struggling to shine and develop your self-expression (Leo), look at the opposite of that (Aquarius), where you might need to release and let go of pressure. Especially internal pressure, since air sign energy is so connected to our thoughts and intellect. This sets the stage for success that feels aligned with your most genuine self.”

At the time, I was so focused on this idea of detachment leading to success that I wrote:

“The 11th house (Aquarius) rules your profits from your career, while the 5th house (Leo) rules your creativity and hobbies. Think about how many people have created art (5th house) without worrying about success or money, only to find widespread acclaim and rewards (11th house). In interviews, they always say, ‘I never imagined this would happen. I never imagined I would reach so many people.’ Why? Because they had detached. And that mindset can take you far.”

While that’s absolutely true, I realized I hadn’t fully considered the depth of this axis.

Aquarius isn’t just about letting go and hoping for the best. You don’t magically detach and suddenly see success show up in your Leo house.

Yes, you need to release expectations in your Aquarius house. But Aquarius isn’t about not caring. It’s about caring deeply for the process itself. It’s about learning for the sake of learning. Aquarius is the mad scientist energy, the inventor, the one who experiments and explores because it’s fascinating and because it feeds them.

Wherever Aquarius is in your chart, that’s where you need to step into that energy. It’s where you become the mad scientist, endlessly curious and driven to learn and discover. You absorb information, try new things, and gather knowledge for the sake of it. That process becomes the fuel that allows your Leo house to shine.

Aquarius prepares and strategizes, and Leo performs and shines. Success aligns when both energies are flowing together.

Aquarius builds the blueprint. It is the blueprint. Then Leo distributes it to the world. That’s where success or even monetization comes in. But it’s always at your pace, and always through doing what you love.

How I Applied This in My Own Life

This realization hit me on such a personal level because I have struggled with 6th house themes my entire life. My weight, my routines, building habits, staying consistent. etc. No matter how hard I tried to force structure into my day-to-day life, it just never clicked. I would start strong, burn out, and then spiral into frustration.

But when I stopped trying to force myself into systems that didn’t fit me and leaned into my Aquarius 12th house energy, everything shifted. I stopped seeing my habits as rigid checklists and started treating them like little experiments. I became curious, open to trial and error, and focused on the process instead of the outcome.

Suddenly, my 6th house started to thrive. My health (gut health, mental health, lost 15 pounds) improved, my daily routines felt sustainable (set boundaries at work), and consistency became something I didn’t have to force anymore. It became second nature to be this new version of me.

The Leo-Aquarius Axis Guide

If you’ve ever felt torn between wanting to shine like Leo and strategize like Aquarius, my guide will show you how to:

Identify your Aquarius Lab and your Leo Stage in your chart

Create a sustainable cycle of preparation (aqua) and performance (leo)

Use both energies to create confidence, clarity, and success

get the guide here: ✨ [Mastering the Leo-Aquarius Axis] ⚡ 🧪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Con mucho amor, Ramona 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[zanarkandfayth]

I'm just answering these because I want to, and skipping the ones that wouldn't be relevant or I don't feel like answering lmao

01. How many fics have you worked on since January? Hmm, five? I finished the Noct & Gladio one, I've been working on the rewrite of the aftermath one, I started the one inspired by @quartzguts fic Lost Signal (go fucking read this if you haven't), I did some more backstory for the college au, and I edited the secret one.

02. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? I've been trying to do a sliiiightly closer POV than before. I think it came out nicely enough in the Noct & Gladio fic. Definitely a challenge for me though.

05. What ships captured your heart? Ignoct still has my heart forever and always, but I've definitely had a growing fondness for Gladnoct. More platonic than romantic but I don't mind the romantic.

07. Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year? I mean I guess the Noct & Gladio fic is the first time I've written a fic centered on the two of them. I thought about writing a fic for Sword AF, and for Breath of the Wild, but I didn't. I'm unlikely to for either fandom, tbh. Too many for ffxv to focus on.

08. What fic meant the most to you to write? Aftermath fic, even though I'm not finished with it. I've been basically writing it since 2019 and it's the most in-depth fic I've ever written and I've put so much fucking work into it and it's over 600K I'm super proud of it even if it's slowly killing me and the fandom will be 100% dead by the time I'm done.

09. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on? college au, my self-indulgent beloved. I have no idea if I'll ever successfully write you, but I love you nonetheless.

10. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing? lmao I only finished the Noct & Gladio one so I guess that by default.

11. What fic was the most difficult to write? the one inspired by Lost Signal. I have it all plotted out and I'm excited to write it but fuuuuck when I tried back in the summer it was not cooperating. and then writer's block just came knocking in general. I've got one finished chapter and I low-key hate it so I'm trying to ease back into things with working on my rewrite of aftermath fic before I attempt this fic again.

12. What fic was the easiest to write? I mean the Noct & Gladio one was pretty easy to write once I kicked my own ass and stopped procrastinating on the battle scene lol.

14. What were your go-to writing songs? I like to listen to a lot of EDM stuff. Especially Industrial but other stuff too. KMFDM, Assemblage 23, Lost Signal, Neuroticfish, Rotersand, Seabound, Lionhearts, Covenant, Wolfsheim, Acretongue, Michael FK... I also listened to Linkin Park and the Ori and the Blind Forest soundtrack.

15. What was the hardest fic to title? only two fics got titled this year... the secret one I ain't sharing lmao and the Noct & Gladio one, which was actually hard to title. Ameliorate. It fits but I kinda hate it ngl. I couldn't think of anything better. I still can't. It's whatever.

16. What's your favorite title of the year? the secret one. I'm so mean for it but as soon as I was done editing I knew I HAD to make that the title. I'm sorry my beloved blorbo. it was just too perfect lmao. one of my mutuals knows what I'm talking about XD it's all good.

21. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story? my ass in 2019: I already wrote a lot of Noct dissociating in Under Grey Skies, I don't need to do it in aftermath fic. my ass in 2024: huh, Noct doesn't dissociate enough in this fic. soooo I guess now that's gonna be a thing. it has very much changed the story, several scenes have been changed/added for it and I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it yet but that's why I'm writing without posting for now. wasn't expecting to do it but we'll see what happens.

22. What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand? no to by hand, I only sometimes do that for notes/plotting. I use scrivener <3333 I bit the bullet at the start of this year and used the money I had left from selling my car/after buying a freezer to upgrade to scrivener 3 and though I miss some things from scrivener 1, I mostly like it. I've gotten a lot more into the organisational features and it's been a godsend for making the rewrite of aftermath manageable.

25. How did you recharge between fics? Killed myself 100%ing breath of the wild. including all 900 fucking korok seeds. and then started playing tears of the kingdom with the intention of 100%ing that too but fuck me upgrading the armour was such a fucking slog even with duping diamonds for rupees and I still don't even have all of the sets collected and the koroks are more annoying this time and hhhhhhh I went back to fic to recharge from that fucking game.

28. If this were an awards show, who would you thank? @ivorydice for letting me endlessly ramble about my fics and helping me with plotting some of them. @quartzguts for writing an amazing fic that has inspired me with one of my own that I will write and finish eventually hrgh. @smallest-turtle for also letting me ramble that one time and for stabbing me in the heart with painful headcanons that made me think more about my own. literally anyone who's read my fics regardless of whether they've left kudos or comments or bookmarked them. anyone who talks to me. anyone who likes my venting as support. all my mutuals for being my mutuals even if we've never had a single interaction.

29. What's left on your to-do list for 2024? to just keep pecking away at the rewrite of aftermath fic. by the end of today I should have 38 of 62 chapters rewritten... send help T^T

30. What would you like to write next year? I just wanna finish aftermath fic for the love of god. pls. also the fic inspired by Lost Signal, and I'd like to maaaaaaaybe (big maybe) write a companion fic to the Noct & Gladio fic, showing Ignis & Prompto's hunt, but I don't actually have any ideas for it rn. so we'll see.

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[tiger333k]

there are a lot of people complaining about Arcane season 2, and yes, I get it, it is a bit rushed at times and it would do well if they did a little extra explaining on some parts but honestly it feels like people are just nitpicking sometimes

example: just saw a video about someone complaining about ep7 about Powder and Ekko getting together, and just, wtf??? yes, I know it's because of Ekko's tip that vi died and I know the characters should've it weird when Ekko woke up and just started pointing about things in the past that they really don't want to be reminded of... but if you found this a problem you really didn't watch the show. the main theme about this alternate universe is forgiveness, powder forgave Ekko (though tbh, it was really Vi's plan to go rob someone the whole time), vander and silco forgave each other etc etc. alt Ekko was slaving away at this project when Ekko (firelight) got thrust into his body. powder said it herself, genius and insanity go hand in hand, Ekko saying random things like this probably wasn't even a surprise. also saw a thumbnail where Ekko and powder were kissing and they put 'cheating' beside the image. hopefully I won't have to explain how stupid this is.

Ekko didnt just kiss powder and go 'I can fix jinx'. he doesn't want to change jinx into powder, he even admits that jinx has something good that powder doesn't, jinx's ideas can change the world. what Ekko learned from the alt universe and powder is forgiveness, to look at the past and move forward, leaving a few things behind, leaving behind hate, anger, for the present, for the future. he learned to forgive jinx, so they could build something new.

also adding the fact that it wasn't vi's death that changed everything, it was the act of a child, the fact that someone had been killed that points out how dangerous hextech is, and that's why it was never developed.

personal opinion here, I don't think it was just the death and the letter that changed everything, I think it was little details leading up to the moment silco forgave vander, the moment everything went right. it wasn't one spontaneous event that changed it. we don't know what happened in the alt universe, we don't know if the fight went differently, or if slico had done anything different... maybe he never developed shimmer, maybe he wasn't so set on revenge. we don't know, so maybe don't jump to conclusions so quickly?

another point: jinx didn't just magically lose her trauma because of Isha, dunno what you guys were thinking.

jinx in season one had obvious mental issues, and we always see her drowning out the noise with blaring music. the reason why she was like that was because of her internal conflict, of powder and jinx clashing. jinx was trying to forget the past, and powder was the one that kept remembering it. powder was the one that kept trying to insist it wasn't her fault. powder was the one that held on to everything, and jinx hated powder. and in S1E9 we see her let powder die.

she accepts that she is a jinx to people she loves. the voices stop calling her a jinx, because she already knows this. she accepts this. jinx ruin everything. jinx is a curse. it isn't a case where some kid comes in and changes everything, jinx isn't healed in season 2, she just accepts that she is a catastrophe.

the only thing Isha changes is that jinx learns to love powder through Isha, and maybe even lets a bit of powder come back through. and that's why, when Isha is thrown into Stillwater, the voices come back before jinx takes control again.

three: Caitlyn was done dirty, her entire character was ooc

no it was not. you just saw it through a different lens and decided you didn't like it.

like it or not, Cait has always been privileged. she goes where she wants, does what she likes because she has the kirramman family name to protect her. Marcus says it himself in S1, we just chose to ignore it because that's when cait was doing what we thought was right, investigating and helping Vi, although she was not an enforcer, had no right to be there, we liked it because, well, because we hate Marcus, and she was actually doing something right back then

till season 2, where she gasses Zaun, goes all hitler, and... acts exactly how she acted in S1. she does what she wants, goes where she likes, to achieve one thing: get revenge on jinx.

cait has never lost a parent, she has never learned to cope with such a loss, so she reacts in a wrong way, reacts so drastically that we feel is out of character, its not. we merely see her previous traits painted in a different light and y'all decided you hate it.

I could go on forever honestly, but these three points got on my nerves the most, so I decided to say something about it. there.

this is way too long, my god.

[thesummerstorms]

The gingerwort truffle tea hits Rook a lot harder as soon as it has time to enter her blood stream. Around the time she starts humming some Marcher drinking song in Assan's direction, Davrin ends up cutting the picnic short and taking her back to the Lighthouse.

He's a little guilty, sure. He'd meant to give Rook an opportunity to relax, not to put her out of her mind with a hallucinogenic tea. Still, he can't help but laugh a little, especially as Rook keeps trying to have friendly conversations with Assan and the passing Crossroads spirits the whole way home. Her words are growing more slurred, though, so he's glad they don't accidentally stumble on any Venatori or Antaam on the way.

Lucanis walks in to the library just as Davrin is trying to get Arsinoë to settle down on the library couch. He's dressed for a trip - back to Treviso maybe, Bellara had made a comment about spices that morning- but as soon as he spots Arsinoë, his steps falter.

Crows are a paranoid bunch, so Davrin is ready for questioning. Rook and Lucanis are both professional assassins. He knew as soon as he realized what was happening that he'd probably have to talk someone down, reassure them of his intent.

In fact , the general plan had been to find either Neve or Lucanis, explain what happened and throw Rook at them, then find a seat where he would still be able to watch out for her and make sure there weren't complications, but where he was also well out of "clinging" range. Rook's arm had been thrown around his shoulder a little more closely than necessary on the walk back.

What Davrin is not prepared for is how Rook's eyes go wide when she sees Lucanis. The way she immediately stops trying to baby-talk Assan and grows pale and quiet. The crack in her voice when she blurts out- "Please don't tell Viago. Lucanis, please."

Davrin has seen frozen rivers warmer than the sensation that shoots down his spine. Rook's tone... This isn't some recruit embarrassed about being scolded. Her shoulders shake slightly beneath Davrin's hand. Assan lets out a little distressed chirp and rubs against her leg, but for once Arsinoë doesn't respond.

"I knew what was in the cup before I drank it, I promise. Don't tell Viago."

Lucanis's face has twisted up and, really, it isn't exactly a secret that he's sweet on Rook. Davrin is expecting to see his own horror mirrored back at him. A snarl, maybe, if anger draws Spite too close to the surface.

Instead Lucanis sighs. Not a flash of violet or a hostile glare thrown Davrin's way or a flinch away from Rook's pleading expression. Just a sigh.

Resignation, Davrin realizes.

Lucanis moves forward, crouching beside the sofa and ignoring Davrin entirely now as he speaks softly in Antivan. Davrin doesn't catch any of it except for "de Riva" but Rook is arguing back in the same language, so it doesn't seem to be having much effect. She keeps repeating herself - "por favor", he knows that one too- and if he were a betting man Davrin would put money on it being more or less the same refrain as what she said in Trade.

Rook leans forward earnestly, big grey eyes and too wide pupils. Lucanis asks her a question, his tone gone coaxing, and she shakes her head. Then he stands up and Rook puts her head in her hands.

"Hey, listen-" Davrin says tamping down the nervous twitch in his hand before he can reach before his sword. He steps in front of Lucanis instead, because whatever Rook is so worried about, he was the one who thought this whole mess would be a good idea. "Lucanis, it was just a tea. Rook's just having a bad reaction. Why does she keep asking –"

"Not now," Lucanis growls, gesturing with a short jut of his chin back in Rook's direction. "Ask later. Not now."

And okay, Davrin can understand that. If Arsinoë is this freaked out, no point in spooking her further. But he still doesn't understand why Lucanis is leaving, walking out the double doors of the main building and back out into the courtyard. Davrin trusts himself, sure, but Lucanis doesn't feel the same way, historically speaking. Yet he's walking away?

Arsinoë doesn't notice, all her earlier mirth evaporated like the morning dew. Assan is still making little worried squawks, looking back and forth from Rook to Davrin as if he has picked up on her distress and is demanding Davrin fix it.

Except Davrin doesn't know how because he still doesn't get why Arsinoë is so suddenly upset. He doesn't think it's just the tea, or surely she wouldn't have been so cheerful on the way back from Arlathan.

"This is some weird Crow shit, isn't it?" he says, mostly to himself since Arsinoë is too out of it to respond, "What the fuck." Then, he raises his voice a little. "Rook? You okay? Arsinoë."

At the sound of her name, her actual name, Arsinoë flinches.

What the fuck.

The doors creak open again. He hears the distinctive thunk of Neve's prosthetic against the stone floors followed by a sharp inhale as she catches sight of Arsinoë

"What's going on here?" Neve demands. Her reaction Davrin understands; immediately, she's at Rook's side, hands already starting to glow faintly with what is likely healing magic. "I thought you were headed to Arlathan. Was there trouble?"

"Not exactly," Davrin grimaces, watching as Rook (predictably) lifts her head a little at that last word, the one they all like to pretend he doesn't know Neve has taken to using as some sort of pet name for their glorious leader. Normally that would be his cue to take Assan and flee, but now he's just glad the Rook is reacting to something.

"Neve?" Rook asks, shifting in her seat, then gently pushing at Assan to make room for Neve to settle beside her. "Neve, you shouldn't drink the tea."

"The tea?" Neve asks, reaching up to brush a stray curl out of Arsinoë's face, "What tea?"

"Mmm. The tea. Ask Assan. My head is starting to hurt."

"Ask... Assan?" Predictably, Neve places the back of her hand against Arsinoë's forehead, a slight chill creeping into the air. Even more predictably, she looks back sharply at Davrin.

"Look, in my defense, Emmrich said it was fine. I drank the tea. I'm fine. But Rook..."

What Neve would have said to that, Davrin will never know because the doors open again. Lucanis strides in, too rushed to walk carefully and silence the clinking of his weapons. In his hands, he holds a clay pitcher and one of his own favorite cups, one of the ones from that fancy tea set.

Lucanis hesitates briefly, staring openly at the way Arsinoë pressing her face into Neve's hand, the way Neve is pulling Arsinoë closer, bracing her. His expression goes dark and yet when Neve catches his eye he nods, seeming... grateful?

Weird Crow shit.

"Arsinoë, you need to drink this. Hopefully it will help." Rook shudders against Neve, but Lucanis persists. "Viago is back in Treviso, I promise. He needs to know nothing, but you need water."

"Wait, Viago?" Neve asks, "The Fifth Talon? What does he have to do with this?"

"That's what I want to know," Davrin agrees. It's not like he ever though the Crows were great people, but it doesn't explain why Rook is reacting like this just from seeing Lucanis, why she keeps begging that no one tell the man who is supposed to be her mentor that she... what, accidentally been drugged? That doesn't seem like something a thirty year old assassin should be afraid of, much less to this extent.

Maybe it is the tea. It has to be the tea. Because why else would Rook be acting this way about Lucanis? Normally she's the first to reassure him, to seek him out and assure him that the demon shoved inside his skull doesn't scare her, but now she's refusing to take a cup because he poured it.

Lucanis looks wounded at that, brown eyes gone unreasonably soft and sad. Finally, he hands the cup off to Neve and unbuttons his Crow-purple cape, shrugging it off to the floor. Rook's shoulders slump a little at that, and Lucanis must take it as a sign because the next thing Davrin knows, the man is putting a hand on Rook's knee.

(It occurs to him again that maybe he shouldn't be here, but worry roots Davrin in his spot.)

"Rook, it's just water. I promise, cara. If Emmrich wants to give you a potion, I promise to check it first, but this is just water. I give you my word."

It's probably a sign of trust that despite the fact Rook gets somehow paler at the mention of "potions", ultimately she caves and lets Neve help her raise the cup to her lips. Lucanis reaches for the pitcher again, and she lets him pour more into the cup before her head slumps against Neve's shoulder.

For a moment, the three of them who are sober sit (or crouch or stand) locked in a moment of awkward silence. Arsinoë is never this touchy, at least not when Davrin's around. And even if it's different when she's in private with Neve and Lucanis, it doesn't make her behavior less strange.

"Lucanis," Neve asks finally, when Arsinoë seems to show no further reaction, "What is going on?"

"Rook is House de Riva," the Crow replies as if that answers everything somehow, then adds "They're famous for their poisons, at least since Viago became Talon."

"Esma too," Rook mutters from Neve's shoulder without opening her eyes.

"And the Talon before Viago had a knack for them as well," Lucanis agrees, hand back to hovering over Rook's knee as if he's still uncertain his touch will be welcome. "Though not as much as Viago."

"She said something about daily doses of venoms at the breakfast table," Neve remembers. She looks about as happy about that as Davrin feels.

It takes effort not to turn that discomfort back on Lucanis, but it wouldn't be fair to snap at the man when he's looking at Rook like that. "So what... Rook was more sensitive to the tea because she grew up being poisoned? Is this some kind of bad interaction or-"

"No." Lucanis replies, the reconsiders. "Well, some of it, maybe. But that's not why she was asking about Viago."

Davrin's hands twitch with the need to grab Lucanis's overly decorative lapels and demand a clearer answer, but Neve-

"She's afraid of being punished. Her teacher is a poisoner, and she let herself drink from a tainted cup."

Neve's voice quavers on the word punished, unable to hide entirely behind her normal stoicism, but her eyes are hard, with a glint like steel. Davrin just feels cold again as Lucanis nods in confirmation.

"Yes. Crow houses do not all train their Fledglings the same, but none of them tolerate stupid mistakes. If a de Riva found themselves so easily poisoned, without even checking, I would not doubt that the next cup from their seniors would be punishment and lesson both."

"Bastards," Davrin bites out, thinking of Uncle Eldrin and the berries. The cramps and hallucinations had been the lesson, not the preface for more punishment to come. Intense punishment, if Rook's reaction isn't just the heightened emotions caused by the tea.

Lucanis is still looking at Rook with those wounded eyes, still not-quite-touching, even though she seemed to relax when he shed the cape. But the resignation has crept back into his voice like a weight, and he only shrugs at Davrin's swearing.

"Thus is the life of a Crow. We can't afford to make mistakes. Our teachers know this."

"You won't do it twice," Arsinoë agrees, sound almost like she's quoting something. "Because you remember." Sitting up just enough to sip at the cup again, she still hesitates, eyes fluttering as she glances at Lucanis, waiting for his nod of reassurance before drinking.

Davrin's gut churns at the careless way she says it, at Lucanis's total acceptance.

(He was the one who poured her the tea. It was his idea to ask Emmrich about the truffles.)

"Well." Neve says. "I dare say we've all learned some things today. No need to tell Viago. Or anyone else."

"No," Lucanis agrees.

Rook gives a little sigh at that before her hand darts out to catch Lucanis's. "My head still hurts," she complains.

Davrin turns towards the staircase immediately, suddenly sure he wanted to be far, far away from all this. "I'll go find Emmrich. Assan-"

But the griffon had dropped into what Davrin recognizes as a guarding stance, as if set to protect an injured member of the flock. Well, for once Davrin has no compunctions about leaving the feather brain behind with the Crows. And Neve, of course.

"Assan can stay here as chaperone."

He takes the stairs two at a time, all but bolting towards Emmrich's study. The last glance back before he darts into Emmrich's hallway, he sees Neve helping Arsinoë pull Lucanis out of his crouch and towards the little two seater.

[mystictf]

In the Blink of an Eye

Reader x Bucky Barnes

531 Words

A/N: So this idea came to me as I was sorting through my daughters clothes (she's not a newborn but still makes me emotional every time she outgrows her clothes).

Banner/Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

You sat cross-legged in the middle of the cosy living room, surrounded by a colourful array of tiny clothes that your newborn son had already outgrown. The soft, ambient glow of the lamp on the side table cast a warm hue over the scene, and despite the tender chaos of it all, the room felt serene. Each little onesie and tiny sock in the pile seemed to tell a story of firsts - the first day home from the hospital, the first smile, the first time he wrapped his entire hand around one of your fingers. 

As you lifted a small blue romper from the pile, your heart swelled with a mix of warmth and nostalgia. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rush of emotions that came with watching their baby grow so quickly. Moments were passing like sand slipping through fingers, and you were caught between pride and longing for time to slow down. Just then, Bucky quietly entered the room, having just managed to lull their little one to sleep. His super-soldier training had taken a back seat to learning the art of gently rocking a fussy baby to sleep, and tonight, he’d succeeded a little sooner than usual. As he approached and saw you sitting amidst the woven memories of the past few months, he immediately sensed the wave of emotions enveloping you. “Hey,” Bucky said softly, kneeling beside you and draping an arm around your shoulder. “What’s going on?” He gently brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his eyes reflecting a familiar understanding and empathy. You let out a small, tender laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I didn’t think it would happen so fast,” you admitted, gesturing to the little clothes. “Just look at how tiny he was. And now -” your voice caught for a moment “- he’s already too big for these.” Bucky nodded, pulling you closer. “Yeah, I feel it too,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head. “Every day he’s doing something new, and it feels like it’s all happening in the blink of an eye.”

You sat together in a comfortable silence for a moment, absorbing the bittersweet nature of watching your son grow. Then, Bucky spoke again, his voice laced with warmth and reassurance. “But you know, we’ve got so many more firsts ahead of us. First steps, first words, first time he asks for the keys to the car,” he chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. You chuckled too, feeling a sense of reassurance anchored by his presence. “You’re right,” you agreed, the tears subsiding as gratitude took its place. “And right now, he’s tucked safely into bed… our little miracle.” “Yeah,” Bucky echoed, his gaze drifting towards the soft glow coming from the baby monitor. “He’s our future.” With that, you leaned against Bucky, feeling his heartbeat sync with your own - a steady rhythm that suggested you were both exactly where you needed to be. Together, you began folding the clothes, not as mere remnants of the past, but as cherished memories you would always carry with you, looking forward to all the stories yet to be written. 

[wandasaura]

okay but what was R’s best orgasm that happened last Christmas? 👀 from your latest fic

this is from two months ago… i have no idea what fic we’re talking about so i’m just gonna tell you about ducky’s best orgasm… so… i hope thats okay with you

well to start, it’s somewhat of a competition (war) in the maximoff-romanova household. natasha claims that from her perspective, she gives you the best orgasms. she will analyze the patterns in your behavior over the course of months, just so when the conversation gets brought up again — which it inevitably always does — she can clap back at wanda with admissible proof that physically, she provides the best orgasms. she will also never shy away from bragging about how you turn to absolute mush in her arms after a scene, how you come undone so beautifully and give yourself to her entirely. because while she’s trying to factually assert her superiority, she’s also just a lesbian fucking her girlfriend really good… like really good (verbatim what she screamed across the living room at wanda during one rehashing).

wanda doesn’t even bother to bring her own facts to the discussion despite knowing natasha will pry at her like she’s on the stand for murder, she’s so confident in herself that she lets natasha just argue at her, sometimes natasha’s been going at her with facts for something close to three minutes, and wanda will just get so fed up with her wife that she sets her glare on ducky, accent thicker than all hell, and simply remind ducky of her title, of how she’s mommy. poor girl folds instantly every time and natasha just stomps away in frustration, although she’s literally thinking about wanda gives her some of the best orgasms of her life… which then prompts her to think that she really couldn’t pick between ducky or wanda.

this is natasha’s roman empire actually. she’ll randomly be sending emails and will just sit there and contemplate how ducky and wanda give her pleasure in such different ways. in the soft moments she steals with ducky, ducky always gravitates towards her thighs, while wanda will take her time up top. and then she gets horny and ends up texting wanda, which then just leads to them all teasing each other and pissing each other off because all three of them are meant to be doing their actual jobs… i’m telling you it’s literally all in good fun though. they’re lawyers… i think they just have a fear of losing their skill if they stop arguing and rebutting… poor ducky actually, sometimes they’re just so… in it… she knows she’d never survive actually seeing them in action

but ducky! she is just like natasha when it comes to organizing the facts and fantasizing about fucking her girlfriends on the daily . she will tell you when the best orgasm of her life occurred specifically (because she’s the only one who actually knows how to directly answer a question, or rather, the only one who didn’t endure like seven years of law school and cannot be bothered with stupid banter), but she has three categories and events.the first category is natasha, the second category is wanda, and the third category is the orgasms when they do it together.

natasha’s best orgasm was in the winter time the semester after they extended the contract. ducky was stressed, exhausted, overworked, honestly you name it, the poor girl was it. she was at the point where she had so many things going through her mind, and she was so tired that she was energized. she was staying on campus because the workload was getting to be too much to balance with a commute and an internship, and in a few weeks she’d somewhat stopped communicating with wanda and natasha. they talked on the phone, sometimes they’d go up to visit ducky whenever their breaks aligned with a gap in her schedule, but she was so preoccupied with a million other things that she just couldn’t give them a piece of her. she barely was herself with the sleep deprivation and the stress. she turned up at the house at eleven, searching for wanda. she was an absolute brat to natasha, huffing and rolling her eyes, getting annoyed when she kept being told that wanda was busy — which she was. there was a major issue in a contract that needed immediate attention. definitely not the kind of thing they could delegate or allow to sit on a desk — but ducky just wasn’t getting it. natasha was full on daddy mode at that point, and after an hour of teasing and edging and spanking, she finally let ducky cum as wanda walked into the bedroom.

wanda’s best orgasm is on the shore. they’d both been woken up around the same time in the middle of the night and been unable to fall back to sleep before tourist season, and so they’d sporadically decided to make a trip down to the shore to make the most of their early start to the day to see the sunrise. all they brought was a towel… which it is not ducky, nor wanda’s, proudest moment that they got so caught up in a makeout session that wanda fingered ducky on a towel in the middle of a public beach (granted it was empty) at 3 in the morning. it wasn’t even the most physically overpowering orgasm, but it was the way wanda somewhat collapsed on top of her afterward and nuzzled her face into her neck, giggling and mumbling about they’d just acted like horny teenagers. it was a rare moment where it was only wanda with ducky. it’s so hard for wanda to let go of everything, of mommy, of lawyer, of dominant. she craves the control, the discipline, and she panics when she doesn’t have it, so she’s always compensating for something, trying to mask the vulnerabilities she doesn’t want known. ducky just felt so loved in that moment, she doesn’t care that wanda’s also eaten her out until she passed out… but it’s also definitely up there.

and the best together orgasm was on her birthday. they’d been teasing her all fucking day. like all day. wanda woke her up by fingering her, natasha then insisted on showering together and washing her body for her, which was just a lot of lingering touchy feely, and then wanda had laid her accent on thick all through breakfast, uttering the most sickly sweet near condensing praise out of nowhere. thats what really got ducky, was how they’d be having a conversation and wanda would just… absolutely melt her brain. and then at lunch natasha snuck up behind ducky, hugging her tight, and not so subtly grinding her strap into ducky’s ass. and then wanda AND natasha had been touchy feely annoying teases during dinner and the drive home. and then took turns fucking her when they got home. to the point where she was basically mush until the following afternoon? yeah ducky thinks about that a lot

anyways ducky’s actual answer is wanda. she refuses to admit this tho. wanda literally knows tho

[4linos]

takeout and true love.

han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis: jisung’s cooking mistake leads to an unexpected christmas dinner of takeout, but an honest conversation helps clear the air, reminding both of you what truly matters.

wc: 1338

part 4/8 holiday series. 🎄

It had been a long day, filled with both anticipation and unspoken stress. You'd spent hours in the kitchen, carefully planning and cooking the perfect Christmas dinner. You knew how much this meant to both of you, especially Jisung, who had never experienced Christmas in this way before. The idea of making a particular memory for him, the two of you together on this special day, filled your heart with both joy and anxiety.

You had everything planned out, from the appetizers, main dish, and side dishes, all perfectly planned. The main dish was a golden-brown roasted turkey stuffed with herbs and spices and gleaming with a rich glaze that would undoubtedly impress. The table was set, candles flickered, and Christmas music played quietly in the background. You could already envision Jisung's eyes lighting up as he saw the feast you had prepared for him.

But, as excited as you were about the dinner, there was also a sense of stress. You wanted everything to be perfect, and the pressure to get it perfectly began to weigh hard on you. This wasn't just about the food, you realized; it was about showing Jisung how much you cared, how valuable the relationship was to you, and how much you wanted this Christmas to be memorable.

As you worked in the kitchen, Jisung entered, eyes wide and full of eagerness. He smiled, as he often did when he was excited to help, his enthusiasm palpable. “Can I help with anything?” he asked, his voice hopeful. You’d hesitated at first. You loved him, but you also liked doing things yourself, especially when it was something you cared so deeply about.

Still, his persistent offers and puppy-like eyes made you relent.

Maybe this is something we can do together,

you thought, feeling a bit guilty for trying to handle it all on your own.

You assigned him a few easy tasks, but as you continued to juggle the various dishes, you couldn't help but notice that Jisung, despite his best intentions, seemed to be too enthusiastic and careless with things. When it came time for him to help with the turkey, you reminded him to be cautious, this was the main course, after all. But, eager to prove himself, he ignored the time, the heat, and the careful steps you had had mapped out.

And that was when it happened: the smell of burnt meat filled the air, choking out the savory aromas that had once made you feel so proud. You felt your stomach drop. Whipping around, you saw Jisung’s panicked expression as smoke wafted out from the oven. He fumbled with the mitts, pulling out a charred, unrecognizable mess that had once been your perfectly seasoned turkey. It was ruined.

“I—uh—” he stammered, his voice laced with guilt. “I think I turned the wrong knob…”

It wasn't only the food that felt ruined; the entire evening. The stress that had been building up all day suddenly erupted. You couldn't hold it in any longer. All of the little irritations you had been suppressing, the pressure to make everything perfect, and the dread that everything would fail to meet expectations, came rushing out. “Why didn’t you just leave it alone?!” you snapped, “I told you I’d handle it! I’ve been working on this all day, and now it’s completely ruined!”

The words came out sharper than you intended, cutting into him, and the look on his face told you everything. He wasn’t angry. He was just… hurt. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, his eyes faltering. It was like you’d slapped him without meaning to.

You felt a rush of guilt hit you almost immediately. You knew that this wasn't his fault. He was just trying to help. Instead of recognizing his gesture, you unleashed your frustration and disappointment on him.

Eventually you decided to give up on the ruined dinner completely. There was no purpose in recovering something that couldn't be repaired. You ordered takeout, nothing extravagant, just something to fill the void where a grand dinner should have been. It did not seem right, but it seemed like the only option.

As you both sat in front of the dazzling Christmas lights, the room was now illuminated solely by their soft glow, and the image was distant from what you had imagined. The lights, which should have been the finishing touch, now appeared to mock you. Instead of warmth, they heightened the tension in the air, the discomfort hanging between you two like a heavy curtain. The dinner, while good, didn't give any consolation. It was only a diversion. You could not concentrate on it. The taste of sorrow stayed in your mouth longer than the food did. You felt ashamed of your reaction. This was not the night you had hoped for, and you were aware that you had ruined it.

You couldn’t stay silent anymore. The guilt gnawed at you, and you knew you needed to make things right. This was supposed to be special. You couldn’t let it end on this note.

You turned to him, your heart heavy, and spoke softly. “Jisung… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the day with my attitude. I… I’ve been so stressed trying to make everything perfect, and when it all went wrong, I didn’t know how to handle it. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were just trying to help, and I snapped at you. I feel terrible.”

For a moment, Jisung said nothing. He simply looked at you, his hand laying on the table, fingers nervously tapping. Then he carefully grasped your hand into his. The warmth of his touch caused your heart to throb even more. "It's okay," he said calmly. His voice was soft and compassionate, not angry. He smiled, but it was gentle, mournful, and full of something deeper. "The food isn't important. "You're what makes Christmas special for me."

His words hit you harder than you expected. You had been so caught up in the idea of perfection, in the little details, that you had forgotten the most important thing of all: he was here, with you, and that was enough.

The dinner didn’t need to be perfect for it to be meaningful. What mattered was the time you spent together, the way you cared for each other, and the love you shared.

You realized, suddenly, that everything you had worked so hard for, the flawless meal, the immaculate decorations, the perfect Christmas wasn’t what made the holiday special. It was the connection you had with Jisung. It was the way he showed up for you, even when things weren’t perfect. It was how he loved you, even when you were stressed or frustrated or snapped at him.

“You’re right,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you looked at him. “I got so caught up in trying to make everything perfect that I forgot about what actually matters. I’m sorry for taking it out on you. You make Christmas special, not anything on this table.”

Jisung squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a calming gesture. “And you make my Christmas perfect, no matter what happens.”

Jisung pulled you onto his lap and wrapped you in his arms as the Christmas lights shed a warm glow over the room. "I love you," you said softly, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "I love you, too," he said, laying a kiss on your temple. "Even if you yell at me over burned food." You drew back to swat him lightly, but the laughter that bubbled between you felt like the greatest gift of all. Christmas may not have gone exactly as planned, but as you sat in Jisung's arms, you realized it didn't matter. You already had him, so that was enough.

[vaguely-concerned]

insane actually how this entire conversation is recontextualized once you know what has actually happened, and the perspectives both people involved are working with. these two are Not having the same conversation and they have no idea. they have no idea!!! I'm going to throw myself into the ocean.

I couldn't decide if I like the stoic or purple option for the last dialogue choice better -- in the purple one it seems like harding thinks rook is deliberately if unusually clumsily trying to cheer her up and take both their minds off varric's death, and her reaction is so warm and quietly charmed and protective; she's looking directly at rook as she says 'I could focus on the people I can help now, *looks away* instead of those I couldn't'. but I think I have to go with the stoic one for rye, if nothing else then for the dramatic irony of having the mage go 'I'm just saying that no one is safe forever, even with magic' and not consciously know what he's actually saying -- what harding is hearing, that this conversation is maybe what makes her think that the subject is still tender enough that rook doesn't want to talk about it yet. 'oh. he does blame himself too he is feeling it even though he doesn't show it most of the time :('. (he IS feeling it and maybe that's what's shining through but he doesn't understand that he is. sick and twisted.) and so they never talk about it. because she's so kind that she takes what she thinks is a signal that it's too much for now seriously and then she's dEAD and they'll never get to talk about it. howling with grief of course in case you were wondering this is awful. and the first time around you have no way of knowing the many levels this conversation is working on at all. I knew the big twist already at this point in my first playthrough (I love a spoiler spoilers give me emotional security), but I still didn't get half the subtleties going on here because some of them are so specific and only make sense when you've been through the whole context. aaaaah

(of course the stoic option could also be read straight in a different setting/with a rook of a different temperament as 'neither of us could have done anything, shit just happens sometimes', depending on your read! but with a mage rook saying this and especially with rye it does very easily take on an undertone of 'well, I already had magic in that moment. and I couldn't protect him either'. which like. fucks me up ngl)

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part IV (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Word Count: ~ 5.2k

Rook is trapped in the Fade. Spite is determined to get her out. But the truth of the prison is slowly unravelling itself.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Madeleina Mercar can’t sleep.

And this is quite unusual, because for the last few nights – really, ever since she can remember being at home, she has simply woken up to the next day. Every night was a dreamless slumber, shuffling her between moonlight to sunlight with little fanfare. Not so much as a violent twitch of her body while her mind convinces it she’s falling off a ledge.

Since Spite’s visit earlier, something hasn’t felt right. There’s not one thing she can really point a finger at. It was more of an ill-defined uneasiness that started bleeding into her interactions with her parents.

Later in the afternoon, she went to help her mother with the shop as she always did. It was only today that she realized that there were never any customers. Eurydice baked the bread and croissants and tartes every morning and arranged them neatly onto silver display trays. Each day, they went un-eaten, and Madeleina had no idea what happened to the excess, because she certainly never saw her mother carting in boxes of those leftover pastries into their home.

When she asked her mother about it as she was sweeping the floors (that never seemed to have any dust on them), Eurydice had simply returned a blank stare and asked her what she would like for dinner.

Madeleina had blinked, confused at the sudden shift in subject.

“Um …” she began, and really thought hard about it. Her face scrunched in concentration.

What had she eaten lately?

She remembered … well, she only remembered her favourite meal. Dolmades and vegetables with Tzatziki on the side. The same thing, every night.

“I want spiced lamb stew” she answered a few moments later. Madeleina didn’t even remember what her mother’s lamb stew tasted like but certainly wanted the opportunity to.

Her mother had nodded, airy and light, as if she hadn’t even heard, then went back to fussing over the displays that would certainly go unnappreciated.

Madeleina doesn’t question it until she’s sitting at the dinner table, and she doesn’t smell spiced lamb stew – she smells Dolmades. Sure enough, the stuffed grape leaves appear in front of her, with a side of grilled carrots and eggplants, and Tzatziki dip. As they had the night before. It was as if the conversation in the bakery earlier hadn’t happened at all. Since her mother didn’t acknowledge it, Madeleina didn’t either. She wordlessly ate her Dolma and ignored the sensation of the food turning to ash in her mouth.

Later that night, her father told her a story, before he went off to work for the evening. The same story, every night. Always The Sleeping Princess. And after Spite had tried to retell it in his own disjointed way, evoking all those strange memories as he did, she couldn’t help but notice how stilted her father’s delivery was tonight.

Almost as if he was reading from a script he couldn’t deviate from. A character in one of his own stories.

Had it always seemed that way and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was he becoming … different?

She desperately wanted to say something but her lips wouldn’t make the words. Just like at dinner. Would it even matter if she did, or would he brush her off like her mother had?

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, Madeleina listened and nodded at the appropriate times while he spoke, as the figures of the Princess, the King, the Demon, and the Hero danced behind her eyes, brought to life by her over-active imagination.

Madeleina’s eyes fly open as a memory starts to take shape in the back of her mind.

A memory of stories brought to life by magic. Her magic. In front of an ornate hearth, in the company of a man who’s face she still cannot see. A man whose name is as familiar as breathing, and yet entirely foreign as well. The phantom smell of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon lingers in the air, even now. She hasn’t been able to stop smelling it since Spite left. Wherever they are, it’s warm. Safe. Comforting. A private little haven for the two of them, forged first in blood and comradery, then molded into something tender and sweet with time and trust.

Lucanis.

Home.

Madeleina shakes her head.

No, this was her home.

A sleepy little village tucked safely between a forest of great Sycamores and the Hundred Pillars. A bakery that she tends with her mother, while her father plays at the tavern down the street every night.

A bakery without any customers, she reminds herself.

Madeleina tries to blink the thought away, but Spite’s words keep nagging in the back of her mind like a small dog yipping and snapping at her heels.

The young mage takes a slow, deliberate, inhale and closes her eyes, trying to focus harder on that memory.

She needs to figure this out. If there’s nothing to be worried about and she can go back to her regular, day-to-day, mundane life.

A day that repeats like turning wheel, a snake eating its tail.

Madeleina pushes the thought to the back of her mind, and with some reluctant effort, she’s back in that elusive memory.

Madeleina sees the stone hearth again. She can feel the hard, wooden chair beneath her. The warmth of the fire spreading like a wave across her body. As before, she tastes something sweet and familiar on her tongue - cinnamon and dough. He’s sitting across from her, partially shrouded in the dark. His voice is muffled, as if he were speaking under water.

Madeleina shuts her eyes tightly tries to focus harder. Spite’s words come streaming into her consciousness, guiding her down the turbulent river of her thoughts.

You show him. Wonders in front. Of his eyes. Stories brought to life. With magic. He measures nights. By your tales. Days. Waiting for the next

When she remembers Spite’s words, something strange happens.

She opens her eyes to find her chest glowing, as if someone set her heart alight with blue flame. It flickers weakly in the dark, almost like a beacon. There’s the sensation of being tugged towards some unknowable, far-off direction she couldn’t pinpoint. It’s stronger now than it was before. She’s almost afraid she’ll fly out of her own window, trying to find whoever is pulling at her heartstrings. Acting on instinct alone, Madeleina places a hand over her chest, inhales deeply once more, and concentrates on the strange sensation in her chest.

The scene bleeds into her mind’s eye again, a bit sharper now than it was before the sudden interruption.

The fire feels warmer, a balm to her sore joints and muscles. The desserts on the table smell fresher, sweeter than they did before. The leather of her father’s journal in her left hand feels rough, and weathered with time that shouldn’t yet have come to pass.

Her free hand flourishes across her vision, and right in front of her eyes the castle from The Sleeping Princess blinks into existence in sharp, striking detail.

Stories brought to life with magic. Just as Spite had said.

“It’s incredible, Rook” The man across from her breathes.

His voice is low, soft and gentle. Each word a velvet-soft petal falling upon waiting ears. The sound practically wraps around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s morning. She could live in that feeling.

Madeleina blinks in the memory.

His face his clearer now, coming into clear focus. Rimmed in the contrasting warm orange glow of the fire and eerie blue light of her magic, Madeleina drinks his features in like a madwoman dying of thirst, and he an oasis in the sand.

His eyes draw her in first. They’re big, and the most beautiful shade of earthen-rich brown she’s ever seen. She could fall into them for an eternity and be content to drown in their warmth. His black hair is styled into a mullet and feathered at the sides – almost like the wispy wings of a bird. His beard frames a strong, square jaw. His features are accentuated by soft lips, and an aquiline nose.

Breathtakingly, devastatingly, handsome. Words are inadequate, and so her body settles for a releasing a soft breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She continues moving through the motions of the story, bringing every figure and every scene to life with a wave of her hands, like she was the director of a theatre production.

“Well, go on” He motions to her eventually, with an expectant look flickering in those perfect brown eyes. At some point, the illusion she had been maintaining disappeared into the ether. She was too busy studying him like an art piece from one of the old master’s to have noticed. Lucanis is resting on his forearms now, practically at the edge of his seat.

Lucanis. Waits for what happens next.

He waits for you.

Only you.

Madeleina grins widely, pleased by his reaction. “Impatient, are we?”

He smirks, and she’s undone at the sight. “Spite wants to know how it ends”

She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest, “Oh? And you’re not the least bit curious?”

Lucanis’ lips quirk into a little smile, and her heart melts into her stomach. “I might be” he adds, as he takes a sip of his coffee.

That same melted heart is somehow solid enough to able to thrum erratically in her chest, flitting about like a crazed hummingbird trapped in a cage. A faint smile works its way onto her lips but she’s afraid the quickened rise and fall of her chest will give her away. So, she does the only thing she can think of and takes a sip of her own coffee. She’s not really thirsty, but the cup is large enough to hide the blush spreading across her face. The coffee is a bit lukewarm by now, clearly forgotten over the course of the story the two were enraptured in.

Satisfied that blush is gone and the pounding in her chest has settled, she sets the coffee aside and wrings out her hands.

“Sorry, I was feeling a bit parched there. On with the story”

A lie, a terrible lie. But a needed one.

As her free hand flourishes the figures into being once more, the memory cuts off abruptly. She opens her eyes and grips the fabric of her shirt through the thick blanket.

The warmth of the fire dissipates slowly, receding like a tide and although she’s under the covers, Madeleina feels cold. There’s no smell of coffee or cinnamon anymore. Lucanis is gone, and in the wake of his memory, a horrible realization settles in.

A piece of her heart is living outside of her body, somewhere far beyond her reach.

And she has no idea how to get to him.

“Lucanis”

She whispers his name like a prayer in the dead of night and hopes that wherever he is, he’s listening for her.

~*~

Lucanis Dellamorte has been sleeping more than usual these last few weeks, which was quite paradoxical because he wants to spend every waking moment making sure Rook’s rescue plan goes perfectly. He’s convinced he’s driven even the patient, kind-hearted Professor mad with his meticulous planning.

Unfortunately, it’s easier for Spite to traverse the raw Fade and keep an eye on Madeleina while he’s asleep. So, Lucanis acquiesces and lets himself drift into a dreamless slumber as Spite monitors the situation.

Once they told the group of the danger and time was running out, everyone was firing on all cylinders. It was a cacophony of organized chaos in the Lighthouse until the Veilguard was geared up and ready to head to Arlathan Forest through the Vir’Evas.

The entire trip through the Tevinter countryside to rescue Rook has him so on edge he’s lucky to get a few uninterrupted hours, much to Spite’s annoyance. He puts on a calm demeanour for the group, but each day that passes, given what he knows is happening inside that prison, Lucanis grows more agitated. Spite can feel it too. The demon’s … fear, for lack of a better world, is palpable under his skin, rolling across his body like a passing thunderstorm.

If the other members of the Veilguard have noticed, they have the good graces not to say anything.

The group is speeding along verdant hills in a large Dalish Aravel with Strife, Irelin, a few Veil Jumper mages, a sizeable quantity of Lyrium, and a few Resonance Amplifiers.

Bellara and Irelin are holed away in their own little corner, still furiously studying the Resonance Amplifiers and coming up with all sorts of far-fetched theories on how to … reverse their something, so they’ll weaken the veil instead of strengthening it. He may have spent a good portion of his career hunting mages, and he did know his way around a sordid variety of dangerous magic, but the finer points of magical theory are lost on him. Their chattering, as a result, filters in through one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, the amount of magic they’re using to try and get them to work is making the backs of his eyeballs itch something furious and is a lot harder to ignore than talking. He tries to blink the sensation away to no avail, so he settles for getting up and moving closer to Davrin and Assan’s corner of the Aravel.

The Griffon squawks excitedly at his approach. Lucanis gives him a quick smile and ruffles his head. Davrin is still working away at his wood carving. A wooden chess piece, Lucanis has noticed.

A little Rook.

The sight of has his heart squeezing in his chest.

He and the Grey Warden have settled into an easy friendship, one brokered by Rook, of course. She had that effect on people – was able to make them see past petty differences. Madeleina eased tension just by existing. Like a little sun, catching everything in her orbit and bathing it in her light.

Although he still thinks Davrin all too pretentious and self-righteous, he does have one endearing quality that Lucanis has come to appreciate. He can tell when is the time for words, and when is the time for silence. And Davrin is more than content to let Lucanis sit beside him in companionable silence as he continues carving his wooden figurines.

Assan stands on his hind legs next to him and watches the Tevene countryside roll past them.

He wiggles his hind legs and looks into the air, then to Davrin expectantly. His right ear flops as the Griffon tilts his head, pleading.

Davrin smiles and gives him a quick nod towards the air above them, “Just don’t go too far, boy. Stay where I can see you”

The Griffon needs no more encouragement, and a moment later, he’s leapt into the air and flying circles overhead, squawking delightfully.

Lucanis watches the young Griffon joyfully, freely flying through the air. With Spite’s wings, he could be up there too. But the absence of Rook is like a stone in his chest, keeping him and Spite grounded.

“Incredible, isn’t he?” Davrin remarks offhandedly, while he carves out dainty triangular designs on the side of the Rook tower.

Lucanis didn’t realize he was still staring up at Assan, basking in the sun, and gliding on an air current just to the west of the Aravel.

He makes a noncommittal hum of agreement.

“A little young to have seen so much, though” The assassin remarks, after another few moments of silence, recalling the fight with the Gloom Howler in the Cauldron. Remembered Assan's squeals of terror as the Gloom Howler had him in its claws, about to be blighted with Arch Demon blood.

Davrin’s lips quirk, “Not unlike a certain illustrious leader of ours”

Lucanis hadn’t given much thought to Rook’s age. It was just another thing in a growing list about her he thought he’d have time to ask about. Her age, her birthday, bothering Neve about what kind of jewelry she likes (or if she even likes jewelry), her favourite flowers, more of her favourite food and drink than he’d already gleaned from their time together. He wanted to know it all. To know her in her entirety.

But he didn’t ask those questions. Not her age or her birthday or her favourite flowers or her taste in jewelry. She was definitely younger than him by a good margin, but the gap between them could span as large as a decade, for all he knew. Madeleina certainly had the recklessness of youth. That he’d seen in spades, because she was constantly hovering at the edge of death’s door and he was constantly pulling her back by the scruff of her neck.  But she also possessed a wisdom well beyond her years, and he never once factored her age in as a detriment to her ability to lead the team, although she might disagree.

“I expect in these times, that’s become more and more common. Growing up faster than one’s years.” Davrin murmurs, nicking some decorative dots on the tower’s side with the tip of his blade. “I don’t envy the decisions Rook’s been forced to make. I’ve a good five or six years on her and I don’t know that I would’ve fared any better even with that experience on my side”

Lucanis didn’t quite know what to say, so he let Davrin continue talking.

“All this to say,” The Warden shoulders him gently, “Try not to worry so much about Rook. If there’s anything I can say with confidence, it’s that she’s not going to let anything keep her down. Including some weird, nightmare-inducing Fade prison that’s trying to siphon her memories and – “Davrin stops abruptly when he sees the frown spreading on Lucanis’ face, “… I’ll just be quiet now. You get the picture. She’s tough, don’t worry”

He looks down at his wood carving and continues working at it, glancing up at the sky every once in a while, to make sure he can still see Assan.

Lucanis sighs and closes his eyes. He tries to focus on things he can hear and smell to keep his thoughts from winding him up like a children’s toy. The rustling of the leaves on the wind, the smell of pine and oak, the sound of Halla hoofbeats beating against the ground and low grunts of effort as they pull the aravel through the woods.

Try as he might to distract himself with this world, his mind continues to cycle back to Madeleina in the Fade. The very idea that the Fade prison could cause her to forget about him, forget about all their time together, as absurdly terrifying. It makes his skin crawl, and Spite rattle angrily in the back of his mind.

He’s mid-way through thinking about how he’s going to wring Solas’ neck the next time he sees him (and he isn’t entirely certain the thought only came from him), when Lucanis feels a pinch in his chest. Like someone was plucking a thread attached to his heart. He closes his eyes and reaches for Spite through their shared connection, much easier now with the newfound alliance.

Spite. What’s happening?

The demon bristles behind his eyelids.

Calling. To us. Through the Fade.

Is she in danger? He asks quickly. Lucanis can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waits for the Demon’s response.

Don’t. Know. Spite replies after a thoughtful moment. Go. To sleep. I will. See.

Lucanis blinks as a hand waves in front of his face.

“Lucanis?” Davrin snaps his fingers for good measure, “Hey, Lucanis. You alright?”

He shakes his head and waves off Davrin’s concern, “I’m fine – it’s just… Spite and I sense something off with Rook.”

Davrin frowns, his brown eyes alight with concern. He sets his blade and wood carving down, before leaning closer to Lucanis, “What’s going on with her?”

“I don't now. Spite needs me to go to sleep so he can investigate”

He ignores the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach and tries to settle into his spot on the wooden floor of the aravel. It’s not the most comfortable place to fall asleep, but with about a year of sleep deprivation to catch up on, the bumpy ride on dirt paths hardly poses an insurmountable obstacle.

He turns to Davrin, “Watch my back?”

Davrin grins, “Do you even have to ask?”

The Warden claps him gently on the shoulder before quietly returning to his whittling, “Just make sure our friend’s alright. I promise not to let trouble disturb your beauty sleep”. Davrin huffs, “Maker knows you need it”

Lucanis rolls his eyes. As much as he wants to quip back, the feeling that Rook is in danger in the Fade has him desperate to let sleep take him as soon as possible and reigns in the impulse. The assassin draws his legs in to his body and rests his head in his arms, before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

Assan squawking overhead as he flies in circles, the wind whipping the trees and the sound of soft hooves beating on gravel soon fade away into a dreamless slumber.

Wait for me, Madeleina.

~*~

Spite Dellamorte hates the Fade Prison with an intense, all-consuming passion, even though he is Spite and not Passion. He doesn’t completely understand how that works. There’s still a lot of things about existing in the material world that are confusing to him. Sometimes, he doesn’t know how much of him is him, and how much of him is Lucanis. The edges between the two have blurred significantly since they made a new alliance. So much so, that his human host seems to have put new emotions in front of him to grapple with that weren’t there before. More things that aren’t him, on top of the memories from Rook’s journal that also are not him.

Regardless, Spite was determined to answer her plea for help.

The young Demon flies circles around her home inside the Fade prison. The journal’s essence flickers in and out, just a little weaker than before. Then, an emotion he’s felt from Lucanis bleeds into him, one they both know all too well from their time in the real Ossuary – fear. Fear that it won’t be strong enough to get him out. That he could be trapped in here, with her, unable to open the door that frees her.

He has to be the one that opens the door.

Spite ignores the thought as much as he can, and lands softly on her windowsill. He peers into her bedroom, expecting her to be doing something mundane, like she was before. Instead, he finds Rook sitting on the corner of her bed, with her head buried in her arms and knees pressed close to her chest. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. He can hear soft, muffled sobs escaping from the narrow space between her face and her arms.

Spite is Spite, he is not comfort or compassion. But Lucanis’ nature has once again, made him feel things he’s not supposed to be feeling. He doesn’t want to see Rook crying. He hates the sight of it, actually.

Spite taps on the glass several times, harder than he normally would, to make sure she hears him above the sound of her soft sobs.

Rook looks up at him, her green eyes bathed in a sea of red. Her face is puffy and tear streaked. She looks awful. Rook shouldn’t look awful. He doesn’t like that she looks awful.

Smells like. Salt and Lavender. Not right.

He taps the window again.

Rook wipes the tears from her face with her arm and slowly walks to the window sill, before unhooking the latch.

Spite ruffles his feathers and flits to perch on the back of her chair, as he did before. Madeleina closes the window and sits back down on her bed slowly, sniffling the entire time.

“Rook” He croaks, tilting his head. “Why. Are you crying.?”

Rook inhales sharply and closes her eyes before exhaling. “S-Spite …” she whimpers his name, and he hates how that sounds.

She draws her knees in close again and frowns deeply. “W-why do I keep seeing Minrathous burning? P-people being h-hung in the s-street” she takes a shaky breath between words. "E-every time... I look ... in the m-mirror - I s-see it ..."

Rook has a distant look in her eyes, like she’s staring through him at not at him.

“A v-voice in my head … it’s … it says … it’s my fault” She cries softly, and wipes her nose with her sleeve again, “He s-says I l-let them take the city … t-the dragon…”

Rook grips her head and shuts her eyes tight, and then takes a ragged breath. “It won’t stop! It won’t stop…” She raises her head and looks at him with pleading eyes, “Spite, how do I make it stop?” Her face crumples as more tears threaten to spill from her eyes, “S-Spite … help me… it w-won’t stop … my head…”

Spite tilts his head and thinks.

She’s starting to remember things, but not the right things. He’s rightly quite confused. Solas’ prison so far has been showing her what she wants to see - her parents, her childhood home - familiar things that would presumably function to keep her from wanting to leave. Why would it be showing her a blighted Minrathous? What purpose would that serve?

He remembers the day they found her in the music room, days after she’d returned from visiting Neve in Minrathous.

Smells like … cheese and salt. He had thought, as Lucanis brought her a cup of cioccolata calda to share.

They sat beside her, and she quickly wiped her hands of the remnants of the cheese wedge she’d been eating and moved over. He remembers Lucanis’ fretting over her mental state very well. Locked in their pantry, he thought of little else.

Knowing Treviso was safe brought him little relief every time he watched her go into the infirmary to talk with Varric’s ghost because she couldn’t cope with his death. When she stopped coming to dinner, he started drinking more coffee and staying awake even longer worrying over her. Pacing back and forth, paralyzed with inaction, with uncertainty on how to help her.

It turns out he was severely overthinking the problem.

All he had to do was tell her a story.

Maybe Spite had to do the same, like the first time he came. She was only remembering the bad that came from that decision. It figures the Dread Wolf’s prison wouldn’t want her to remember the good she did during that time.

“This place. Doesn’t want you. To know what. You saved.” Spite begins, “Minrathous fell. But Treviso. Lived to see. Another day. Because of you.”

Rook releases the name on a soft breath, “T-Treviso?” Her brows furrow in confusion, “I … I’ve n-never left Tevinter…”

Spite preens and plucks at a loose feather as she speaks.

“Saved Lucanis’. Home.” He squawks, “He trusted you. Above all others. And you saved him. There when he. Needed you most. And he will. Never forget.”

Rook’s eyes flash with recognition at the name, “Lucanis – tell me about Lucanis. P-please, Spite. I think… I think I remembered him last night – his face, his voice … but it’s gone again”

If Spite looked like Lucanis, he was sure his face would split in a satisfied grin.

He was going to break apart the Dread Wolf’s prison, memory by memory. He would open the door for her and pull her out.

“He came. To you. In the music room. After the Dragon. Took Minrathous”

She closes her eyes, as if trying to picture the scene herself. He can see her eyes flicker back and forth behind closed eyelids.

“He wants. To help you. Like you. Helped him. With Treviso. With Caterina’s funeral.” Spite says, “He helps. Only way he knows how. With a story.”

Rook’s fingers grip the edge of her bed tightly, and her lips press into a hard line, deep in concentration.

“I smell something warm… chocolate?” Her nose wrinkles. “Warm chocolate… like before…”

“Cioccolata. Calda.” Spite corrects her gently, although his own pronunciation of the word is a bit clumsy, “He knows. You love it. He makes it. When he knows. You’re in need.”

Her lips part in a sigh, as if she’s taking a sip in her jumbled memories.

“T-tell me more… please …” Rook whispers, biting her lower lip, “I want to remember him”

“He tells you. The story of how. He became the Demon of Vyrantium. The Wigmaker. And his. House of Horrors. Of blood magic and demons. And freeing slaves.” Spite recites the memory as he had seen it through Lucanis’ eyes. “A story. For a story. He always. Wants to help.”

A small smile creeps at the edges of her lips, “I remember him… I remember him telling me about a terrible pickup line Illario used on a guard”, Spite tilts his head as she giggles, “I couldn’t believe it actually worked, you know”

Rook wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, before opening them both. Her green eyes crinkled at the corners as she erupted in a warm smile. Like they did when she would tell them stories.

She swings her legs off the edge of the bed and comes to stand in front of the little Demon.

“He’s important to me… isn’t he? You both are” She whispers quietly. Rook touches her chest, and a faint blue glow erupts from where her heart should be. His chest is alight with its twin flame.

Spite merely nods and flutters his tailfeathers in response.

“He waits. For you. Only you.”

“You said that before” Rook nods and looks around her room, “You also said this place isn’t my home”

Spite nods wordlessly.

“Then what is it exactly? Why… why am I here?”

“A prison. Made by the Dread Wolf. To keep you in. Away from. His plans.” Spite nearly hisses the words out, rage bubbling in his chest. He puffs up into an angry little ball as a result. “A prison. To make you forget. Forget us. Lucanis.”

Rook grips her chest through her shirt and frowns. “The memories they … they come and then… then the day repeats and I forget ... I think…” She releases a shaky breath, “I think I’m living the same day again. And again. And again.”

If Spite could scowl, he would be scowling harder than he ever had in his entire existence.

“Spite” Rook leans in closer, so close he can feel her breath on his feathers. Her eyes are wide with panic now, “Spite… help me… I don’t – I don’t want to forget but each day I think I’m losing more of myself- “

She turns abruptly when the door opens, and Spite is startled enough to let out a surprised squawk. He flies out the window quickly before he can be spotted, leaving Rook to deal with the intruder. Spite hovers outside her window for just a moment, and sees a tall woman pull her into a tight embrace.

The woman, who resembles an older Rook with straighter hair and brown eyes, seems to be looking straight at him. The eyes are soulless and empty. Yet somehow, there is a warning lurking beneath that hollow gaze. She grips Rook tightly, as if to signal to him she will not the girl go.

The sight of it chills Spite to his core.

The Demon calls on whatever essence of the journal is left and propels himself out of the Fade with dizzying speed.

Each day I think I’m losing more of myself -.

He would not let that happen.

If she loses herself to this prison, he will find every scattered piece in the Fade and put her back together himself.

The Dread Wolf will not win.

Demons do not fear Gods.

-----------------------------------

Wooooo okay, well that took a lot longer than I thought. Once again big thank you to @teawithshakespeare (honestly my honourary co-author at this point for how much time I spend rambling in their DM's about this story), and @juneiper-art and @thewardenisonthecase as well for letting me bounce ideas for this chapter off them. I appreciate u guys.

Also, the Fade prison is doing weird things now! It's changing and reacting! Freaky stuff. But then again, the Fade's a freaky place.

I'll give bonus points to whoever can guess which movie I'm sort of loosely basing this off of haha.

I think this part of the fic is coming to an end in maybe another chapter or two.... I really just wanna write the Rookanis reunion :')

Anyway,

As always, thanks for reading! Appreciate all the love and support for this fic <3 MUAH!! See you next time!

-Rookie