#That is how I’m dealing with all my problems from now on

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ roomates!pb&jj au

#1 - the one where they move in:

summary: Peter decides to trust Joaquin on a new apartment deal, despite Johnny being part of it. Bob says goodbye to his old friends and welcome to new ones.

warnings: swear words. friendly reminder that english is not my first language. please don't copy or repost anywhere.

By the time he finishes packing, Peter was starting to question his life choices.

He could just forget about the whole thing and go back to living with May, he thinks. He’s positive that the other guys would have no problem finding someone else to fill his place.

He remembers being so excited when Joaquin mentioned the apartment, with the dream come true of a cheap rent and a room all to himself.

“It’s perfect! You’ll see! My friend Bob has been living there for two years now, and his roomates are all moving out!" Joaquin completely ignored that Peter was trying to finish a presentation, talking and walking around the commonplace area in his dorm, sharing the good news. “Something about a new job in San Francisco that two of them applied for and the other one is tagging along, I guess. I don’t really know, but who cares? It’s perfect, all three of us can move in with him by the end of the semester!”

“Wait, wait. Did you say three?”

“Well, yeah…” Joaquin looked slightly embarrassed, like he was hoping Peter wouldn’t notice that. “You, me, and Johnny.”

“You have to be kidding!” Peter dropped his computer by his side on the couch, marching in Joaquin’s direction, making his friend step back a little. “I’m not gonna share an apartment with Johnny fucking Storm!”

“Dude, c’mon…”

“No! Doesn't he have a sister living in New York? Why can’t he just move in with her?”

But Peter knew why. It was the same reason why he wouldn’t just go back to live with May and her grumpy boyfriend, Happy. You don’t wanna start what you believe to be your life as a functioning adult living under the same roof of an older-but-still-quite-young relative and their partner.

“I’ll let you know that Johnny didn’t seem too mad about sharing his space with you…” Joaquin told him, smirking. A blatant lie. Peter knew that, he could actually hear Johnny's voice complaining if he thought about it too much.

But… he can’t deny that he could really use the place. And if Johnny did too, then so be it.

—

Bob didn’t know stress cleaning could be so effective.

With both doors open wide, he could just run from one place to another, bringing the new stuff he bought for Joaquin's friends. He wanted to make a damn good impression, and apparently flowers and brand new pillows for the blue couch Yelena and Ava left behind would be the way.

He still can’t believe how lucky he was, that not only would Joaquin move in, but also bring two friends with him.

Yelena was so stressed about a contract breach since she got the job in San Francisco, and even though Ava guaranteed they would figure it out, and Walker actually offered to lend her the money – the first time Bob witnessed him being genuinely nice to Yelena, by the way –, the only time she seemed relaxed was when he got off the phone with Joaquin, with the promise that his friend had it all figured out.

“He said they can all move in by the end of the semester… if you don’t mind waiting a couple more weeks, that is.”

“No, that is perfect, Bob!” Yelena got up, literally jumping from excitement. “I'll call them tomorrow to let them know I'll make it! Oh my god, I have to tell Ava!” she hugged him, lifting him off his feet in a strength he sometimes forgot she had, tiny human she was, before running to the other side of the corridor, crossing the next door without even closing theirs first.

Walker got up from his own place at the kitchen table, closing the door.

“That means you’re going with Lena and Ava too, right?” Bob said, pulling a chair and sitting next to Walker

“You're not getting rid of us any time soon,” Walker grabbed Bob's shoulder, squeezing it a little too tight “But yeah, I guess I am. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I'm not gonna be by myself” he smiled at his friend. Months of a rough patch between them at the very start, now he can’t believe how much he’s gonna miss Walker too. “It’s gonna be fun having Joaquin here. We grew up together, you know?”

Walker hummed, and Bob kept going.

“We've been friends since middle school, actually. and I haven’t seen him in like, 3 years I think?” Bob tried to think of the last time he saw his best friend, and the memoriy of their last shared Christmas dinner with their moms comes up his head “I miss him quite a lot, actually.”

Bob's memories from that conversation were interrupted by loud voices coming out of the elevator.

“Bob?”

“Here!” Bob jumped from the blue couch, running towards the door and throwing himself on Joaquin, hugging him. “Oh my god, hello!”

“Dude! It’s been so long!”

“I know!” They both stepped back, looking at each other up and down before hugging again. “It’s so good to have you here!”

“Thanks, Bob” Joaquin turned to Peter and Johnny's direction, both just staring at them “This is Peter and Johnny, my friends from MIT!”

Peter was the first to grab Bob's hand, shaking it excitedly and dropping his bags in the process “It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Peter. Peter Parker!”

Johnny was much more put together, Bob could tell. He calmly switched his bag to a different hand, giving Bob a quick handshake and nodding his head “I'm Johnny Storm, hi.”

“Alright, let me show you the place, here!”

Bob turns to the door and signs for them to enter, and it shocks him for a second how fuller the apartment looks with four men in it. It dawns on him that this is what life's gonna be like for the next year, and he’s quite content with it.

notes: ahhh! i’m so excited! this is my first time ever doing something like this and i hope it’s okay! ! also, i wanted to say that i sort of plan on writing a reader character into this au, but i’ll take some time for me to proper build the story and their friendship, so it’s gonna be just the four of them for a while! hope you don’t mind <3 anyways there’ll be time for me to talk more about it later, thank you so much for the kind responses i got from my previous posts! let me know what you think! :D

[mrs-delaney]

After the Storm

GIF by hootball

🔥 Request: Need Joe and reader getting in an argument maybe he's being an asshole after a bad game and they are in their kitchen and they absolutely wreck each other on the counter. Bonus if someone cries!!!

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 2.3k words

⚠️ Contains post-loss tension, explosive kitchen sex, hurt feelings, real tears, and two people who love each other too much to walk away. Angsty, explicit, but it ends in softness. 💔🔥

😭 ...and another one 🫣 this one had me in a chokehold all day. hope you like it 💌

📚 read my masterlist

🎤 read Hide — two people, two careers, and one very complicated kind of love

📬 join my taglist for updates, love stories, and late-night feelings

You heard Joe’s keys hit the console table, then his footsteps in the hallway.

Twenty-four to seven. At home. In front of eighty thousand people and a national television audience.

You'd watched every painful minute of it from the living room, watching the way his jaw set tighter with each interception, each overthrown pass. The camera lingered on his face during timeouts - he looked angry, frustrated, clearly pissed off.

When Joe appeared in the doorway, he was still in his game day clothes, his hair still styled but slightly mussed from pulling his helmet on and off. He looked composed, controlled. But you could see it in the set of his shoulders, the careful way he moved—he was wound tight.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting your mug down on the island.

Joe ignored you, moving to the fridge and grabbing a water bottle.

You watched him for a moment, recognizing the signs. The way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. The deliberate space he kept between you. The invisible wall going up brick by brick.

“How are you feeling?” you asked gently, taking one careful step toward him.

Joe’s hand stilled on the water bottle. When he finally looked at you, his expression was perfectly neutral. “I’m fine.”

His tone was perfectly neutral, which somehow made it worse.

“You don’t have to say that,” you said, taking another step closer. “It’s just me.”

“I said I’m fine, Y/N.” Joe took a drink of water, his eyes already moving away from yours.

You reached out carefully, gently touching his arm. “Joe—”

“Don’t.” The word was quiet but sharp enough to cut. Joe stepped away from your touch, not dramatically, just enough to break the contact.

The rejection hit like a physical blow, but you tried again, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to talk about the game. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Joe set his water down and looked at you. “I told you I’m fine. Why isn’t that enough?”

“Because I know you,” you said, frustration starting to creep into your voice despite your efforts to stay calm. “And I know when you’re hurting.”

“Right.” Joe’s tone was flat. “So you know me better than I know myself.”

The sarcasm was subtle but cutting. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Do I?” Joe leaned back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “Because I said I don’t want to talk, and here we are. Still talking.”

“I’m worried about you,” you said, your voice smaller now. 

“I don’t need you to worry about me. I need you to listen when I tell you something.”

You felt your face flush with a mixture of hurt and growing anger. “So caring about you is the problem now?”

“Caring would be respecting what I asked for.” Joe’s voice stayed level, which somehow made it worse. “This isn’t caring. This is you needing to fix something.”

"You literally do this every time!” The words burst out of you before you could stop them. “Every single time something goes wrong, you just shut down and push me away.”

"Maybe because you always make it worse," he said quietly. "You can't just let me deal with things. Always have to make it about you."

The accusation hung in the air between you, so unfair and cutting that for a moment, you couldn’t find your breath.

“How is caring about you making it about me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You tell me."

“You know what, Joe, you are the problem!” The words came out louder than you intended, months of frustration finally boiling over. “You only want me around when everything’s perfect. When you’re winning, when you’re happy, when it’s easy. But the second you actually need someone, you turn into whatever this is…"

Joe’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Maybe I don’t need someone.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Is it? Because I told you to leave it alone, and yet here we are.”

“Because I give a damn about you!” You took a step toward him, anger now overriding caution. “Because I want to support you!”

“I didn’t ask for support.” 

“So what am I supposed to do? Just pretend everything’s fine?”

“Yeah.” Joe’s eyes met yours, unflinching. “That would be nice.”

“You know what fuck you dude,” you said quietly.

Joe raised an eyebrow, looking at you, unsurprised.

“No, really I mean it, fuck you, Joe.” Your voice was stronger now, anger burning through the hurt. “I rearrange my entire life around your schedule. I watch every game, I celebrate every win, and I bite my tongue when you come home in a mood. I should pretend everything’s fine from now on?”

“Yes.” The word was matter-of-fact, as if it were obvious.

“So just act like nothing’s wrong? Ever?” You stepped closer, frustration radiating off you in waves.

"Yeah," Joe said. "That would work."

"You push everyone away the second things get hard. You'd rather be miserable alone than let someone in."

Joe’s mask slipped for just a moment, something raw flashing across his features before he could control it. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me! Help me understand!” The words came out desperate, pleading. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you only want a girlfriend when it’s convenient.”

Joe was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying your face. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but devastating. “Maybe you need me to need you. And when I don’t, it pisses you off.”

The words hit like a physical blow, so precisely aimed that you actually took a step back. “Are you fucking kidding right now?”

Joe groaned. "Why can't you just let me handle a bad game without making it into a thing?"

Tears pricked at your eyes—not from sadness but from pure, overwhelming anger. How dare he take your love, your genuine concern, and twist it into something selfish?

"I can't believe you just said that."

Joe didn't respond.

"You know what? Fuck this."

You shoved his chest hard, not to hurt him, but because you needed him to react, to show some emotion. Your palms connected with solid muscle, pushing him back a step.

Joe’s hands shot up instinctively, catching your wrists before you could push him again. His fingers wrapped around them, firm but not painful, pinning them against his chest.

Suddenly, you were closer than you'd been all evening. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you could see the way his pupils dilated slightly as he looked down at you. All that anger and frustration hung heavy between you.

For a second, neither of you moved. You could feel his heart hammering against your palms, could see the careful control in his face starting to fracture around the edges.

Then Joe kissed you.

It wasn't gentle or apologetic. It was hard, urgent, like he was trying to channel everything he couldn't say into the press of his mouth against yours. You kissed him back desperately, pouring all your anger and hurt and need into it.

His hands released your wrists only to grab your hips, lifting you onto the kitchen counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“I hate you right now,” you breathed against his mouth, even as your body arched into his touch.

“I know,” he said back, but his hands were already working at the hem of your shirt.

Your breathing was ragged as fabric got pushed out of the way. When Joe's mouth found that spot on your neck, the anger turned into something else entirely.

Fabric got shoved out of the way. The marble counter was cold beneath you as he pushed you back, but his mouth was warm as it moved across your skin.

But then, just as you were losing yourself in the sensation, Joe slowed down.

His movements became more deliberate, more controlled. Instead of the desperate rush you expected, he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours.

“What?” you asked breathlessly.

"Nothing," Joe said, but you could see something different in his face.

His hands slowed down and became more deliberate, as if he were making a point.

His mouth moved to your breast, staying there until you were squirming. When his hand moved between your legs, he took his time.

“Joe,” you gasped, trying to pull him closer.

“Please,” you whispered.

Joe’s eyes met yours, and there was something dark there. “Please, what?”

You tried to rock against his hand, seeking more pressure, but he pulled back slightly. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “I’m taking my time.”

He built you up slowly, methodically, until you were panting and desperate. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, when that familiar tension was about to snap, he stopped.

You made a sound of frustration that was almost a sob. “Joe, come on.”

“What?” He asked it so casually, like he hadn’t just left you hanging on the edge.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” But there was the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth now.

You stared at him, breathing hard, recognizing this for what it was. After a day of losing control on the field and in the argument, this was where Joe could be in command again, where he could make the rules.

“You’re being mean,” you said, but your voice came out breathy and desperate rather than accusatory.

"Am I?" Joe's fingers started moving again, building that pressure back up with devastating precision. "I thought you wanted my attention. So here it is."

The reminder of the fight should have made you angry, but you were too far gone to care about anything except the way he was touching you. He brought you to the edge again, and again he stopped.

This time, you actually whimpered.

“That’s better,” Joe said quietly, and there was satisfaction in his voice.

By the fourth time, you were shaking. Tears of pure frustration and overwhelming sensation gathered in your eyes. “Joe, please. I can’t—I need—”

“What do you need?” His voice was soft but implacable.

“You know what I need.”

“Tell me.”

“Please just—” Your voice broke. “Please let me come.”

Joe studied your face for a long moment, taking in the tears, the desperation, the complete surrender. Something shifted in his expression then; the control was still there, but tempered with something softer.

"Need you," you gasped, pulling at his clothes.

Joe didn't argue. His hands were rough now, urgent, pushing fabric out of the way. When he freed himself and pushed into you, you both groaned at the sensation.

There was nothing controlled about it anymore. He fucked you hard against the marble counter, his grip tight on your hips, pulling you into each thrust. The cool stone pressed against your back while his body covered you, hot and desperate.

"Shit," he breathed, his control slipping entirely.

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, meeting each thrust. After all that teasing, all that careful precision, this was what you both needed - raw, unfiltered, desperate.

Joe's control was completely gone now. His breathing was ragged, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. One hand gripped the edge of the counter for leverage while the other held you steady.

"Joe," you choked out, tears still on your cheeks as you got close.

"I know you can come now," he said roughly. 

That broke you completely. You came sobbing, your body clenching around him as tears streamed down your face.

Joe followed immediately after, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep and came inside you with a low groan. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, both of you breathing hard, completely spent.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just held each other as you came down from the intensity.

When you finally came back to yourself, you found him watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. The anger from the fight was gone now, replaced by something that looked almost like regret.

His thumb brushed away your tears. "Hey, you're okay."

You nodded, not trusting your voice yet.

Joe helped you sit up, his hands surprisingly gentle as he smoothed your hair back from your face. For a moment, the kitchen was quiet except for your ragged breathing and the soft hum of appliances.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "About what I said, how I treated you. And thank you - for letting me... for trusting me with this, even after I was such an ass."

"I know," you whispered, still catching your breath. "Just... next time maybe skip the part where you're a complete ass first and get straight to whatever this was."

Joe actually laughed at that, leaning down to kiss you softly. "Deal," he said against your lips.

He helped you down from the counter, steadying you when your legs wobbled slightly. "Come on," he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Let's go upstairs and let me take care of you properly."

As you made your way to the bedroom together, Joe stopped halfway up the stairs, turning to look at you with an expression that was completely different from the cold mask he'd worn earlier.

"I love you," he said quietly. "Even when I'm being an ass. Especially then, actually."

You smiled, reaching up to touch his face. "I love you, too. Even when you make me want to murder you."

[petalbcrnes]

❀﹒﹒⇅﹒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐃𝐀𝐘﹒∿

⤷   🥝 ﹒ the bat-boys taking care of you when you’re sick !!

　　﹕   (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈)   ┈ #directory #rules .

　　┊   ♡   ﹒  my throat hurt this morning and all i wanted to do was curl up in small ball and sleep all day,,, but alas i have exams :⁠-⁠( i managed to write general hcs for the bat-boys today <3 i use medicine jargon here, i’m not sure it’s correct so don’t get mad at me </3 i tried to use as many sources as i could.

↦   ⟡   ∬ incl  ﹒  jason, dick, damian, tim & duke.

❛   ꜝ   ┈   ✺ cw  ﹒  sfw all the way. of course there is being sick described and also some prescriptions + meds.

𓏲𓏲⠀⠀.. ⠀You’re sick with a nasty cold that’s left you feeling miserable and exhausted. What started as a scratchy throat yesterday has turned into full-blown congestion, aches, and that foggy-headed feeling that makes even watching TV seem like too much effort. You’ve been trying to tough it out, but when your boyfriend finds out you’re unwell, he immediately springs into action. ✶

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ︶︶

Panics internally but tries to play it cool externally. Jason’s top priority is you and your comfort. The moment he hears your sniffles and coughs a switch is flipped in his brain. Getting sick is not something to freak out about— he knows that, but he just can’t help but worry so much.

Googles your symptoms obsessively and convinces himself you’re dying three separate times. He’s surfing the web for any kind of information to make you feel better. He mjght freak himself out a little by the information he finds, but for you he tells himself to get jt together.

Shows up with comfort food from your favorite places instead of medicine. Not that he doesn’t understand the importance of taking the correct medication. He just wants you to feel comfortable while recovering.

┄　🗨️　So I got your favorite soup, some of those crackers you like, and—... okay, I may have bought out the entire bakery section because I didn’t know what you’d want.

Reads to you in his deep, soothing voice until you fall asleep. You might have mentioned how his voice helps you relax. He remembers everything you tell him so he tries to use every way to soothe you— one of them being his voice. He’ll have his hand softly caressing you to bring you comfort as well.

Hovers awkwardly because he wants to help but doesn't want to overwhelm you. He’s trying. He really is. To Jason, all of this is fairly new— the domestic feeling of making someone tea to warm them up, tucking them in bed and checking their temperature. It’s new territory in the relationship.

Makes surprisingly good tea because Alfred taught all the boys basic care skills. Even if Jason might lack skill in making more detailed and harder dishes, simple tea he can do.

He gets in contact with Alfred. Jason asks him for advice— which blend of tea should he use? Any particular medicine he should buy? Alfred indulges him. It’s all very soft.

Jason gets genuinely upset that he can’t fight your illness for you. He’s used to dealing with his problems quickly and efficiently. Now he needs patience. It’s all different with you. He cant afford to have you in any more discomfort.

┄　🗨️　I just—... I hate that you’re hurting and I can’t do anything about it. I can fight criminals but I can’t punch a virus.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 ︶︶

Goes full mother hen mode and calls in sick to work immediately. Detective Grayson? Oh, he’s not available. Nightwing? He’s getting someone else to protect Blüdhaven tonight. You need him right now and he’s not leaving.

Shows up with half of CVS pharmacy because he wasn’t sure what kind of sick you were. He’s making sure he has all the medicine you need. He buys all sorts of medicinal tea blends— even though those test awful, he’s reminding you how much you need it and how it’ll help you recover.

┄　🗨️　Okay, I got DayQuil, NyQuil, regular Tylenol, extra strength Tylenol, throat lozenges, and—... wait, do you think you need a humidifier?

Attempts to make chicken soup from scratch despite never cooking anything more complex than cereal. Listen, he’s trying. Trying so hard for you.

┄　🗨️　The recipe says 'simmer gently' but I don't know what that means so I just... made it really hot? Why is it bubbling like that?

Keeps checking your temperature every twenty minutes “just to be sure.” He’s always near you, hovering over you and watching every twitch and move.

Insists on helping you move or just straight up carrying you everywhere, even just to the bathroom, because “you need to conserve energy.”

┄　🗨️　No, no, don’t get up! I’ll carry you. What if you get dizzy? What if you fall? I’m not risking it.

Puts on your favorite comfort movies but talks through all of them because he’s worried about you. He wants you to distract yourself from the sickness. At the same time his anxiety is through the roof. To calm down he talks to you.

Tucks you in so tightly you can barely move, claiming it's “maximum comfort optimization.” You’ll look like those blanket burritos after he’s done.

Texts the family group chat asking for medical advice and gets 47 different contradictory responses. Gives up and just calls Alfred or Bruce.

Falls asleep sitting up in a chair next to your bed because he refuses to leave your side.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ︶︶

Damian might be more reserved when it comes to freely showing his feelings, but in this situation he’s not afraid to show how much he cares. It all comes naturally to him— he knows every step he needs to take to make sure you are recovering.

Brings you homemade remedies that are actually surprisingly effective. He made them himself. His knowledge of medicine might surprise you a little.

┄　🗨️　This is a traditional remedy. Not only does it taste good, it is affective as well. No, you don’t get to refuse it.

Sits stiffly in a chair nearby, claiming he’s “just reading” but clearly watching you. You feel his gaze. It’s like a comforting blanket.

┄　🗨️　I'm not ‘hovering,’ I’m simply ensuring you follow proper recovery steps. There’s a difference

Alfred the cat somehow ends up curled up with you because Damian thinks pets are therapeutic. He’d let Titus join in too, but the bed’s getting a little crowded. He leaves Titus with you, trusting him to be on alert.

Makes you traditional healing teas his mother taught him about. For example: Chamomile (bābūnaj) for reducing stress and anxiety, alleviating pain and discomfort, and also improving sleep and insomnia; Cardamom (hāl) is said to help digestion and increase saliva flow. Pretty expensive as well. But only the best for you.

He makes you get-well cards but leaves them on your nightstand without saying anything. Listen, he’s showing you his affection for you in everyway. Plus, the cards are beautifully done.

Insists you follow his very specific recovery regimen because “I know what's best.” He’s well versed in this type of situation and knows how to help best.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄 ︶︶

Creates a detailed spreadsheet of your symptoms, medications, and recovery timeline. He has everything planned out. A little overboard, but still collected about it all.

┄　🗨️　Your fever peaked at 38.6°C at 3:47 AM but it’s down to 38.1°C now, which suggests the acetaminophen is working effectively.

Sets seventeen different alarms to remind you to take medicine, drink water, eat, etc. He understands if you feel to tired for it all, but he still reminds you the importance of it all and is right next to you everytime you take your medication.

Researches your illness so thoroughly he could write a medical paper about it. Tim is already smart. He’s even more invested in this topic because it concerns you.

┄　🗨️　So, I’ve cross-referenced your symptoms with twelve medical databases and created an optimal recovery schedule. Medicine every four hours, fluids every thirty minutes. Seems easy enough.

Brings his laptop to work from your bedside so he can monitor you constantly. He’ll work while keeping an eye on you.

Orders everything you could possibly need online for same-day delivery. He’s making sure you two have everything. Nothing is overlooked.

Makes you the perfect cup of tea/coffee because he’s memorized exactly how you like it.

Tries to stays up all night watching you sleep to make sure you’re breathing okay. He does fall asleep, of course. It’s endearing, but it worries you because he might not be getting enough sleep. He relents after you ask him to rest.

Documents everything “for future reference” in case you get sick again. He’s making sure the two of you are 100% ready to take care of eachother if any of you get sick again.

┄　🗨️　what if I miss something important? What if you get worse because I wasn’t paying attention?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 ︶︶

Brings sunshine energy to your sick day, literally and figuratively. He’s probably the most collected bat-boy in this situation alongside Damian. He’s not freaking out. He knows you need him right now.

Shows up with your favorite comfort snacks and a playlist of feel-good movies. Your comfort is number one on his list of his so called ‘very affective recovery plan.’

┄　🗨️　I brought comedies, but also some documentaries in case you want something low-key. And snacks! Lots of snacks.

Uses his light powers to create soft, warm lighting that doesn’t hurt your head. His light feels so warm and soft. It isn’t too much. It’s just the right amount.

┄　🗨️　I can adjust the lighting if it’s too bright. Perks of dating someone with light powers, right?

Tells you funny stories and jokes to keep your spirits up. Makes you laugh even when you feel terrible, which somehow makes you feel better.

┄　🗨️　You laughed! That’s the first time you've smiled all day. See? Laughter really is the best medicine.

Brings you flowers or plants because “they brighten up the room.” In reality he’s the one lighting up the room.

Checks in via text constantly when he can’t be there in person. Feels a little guilty he can’t be with you all the time. The check-ins soothe his worry abit.

Makes sure you’re getting enough vitamin D by opening all the curtains. He’s making sure you’re getting some clean air as well. There’s fresh water by your bedside table all the time.

His genuine concern and sweet nature makes being sick almost worth it. Celebrates with you when you start feeling better like you've won a major victory.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

﹒   ♪   ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

[mullermilkshake]

The missing mother

Part 18 <- Part 19 -> Part 20

Hae-in is missing. She's in the most unsuspecting place.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags. - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Pregnant reader, emotional distress, restraints, needles, arguing (kinda), medical stuff, (TW) high risk pregnancy

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST CLOSED

I wanted to make this chapter longer, but I felt the end was a good cut off point and didn't want to put just some filler in that didn't help advance the plot, but I hope you still enjoy it. 🤗

So, Jong-in disrupted Jinwoo’s moment with you, because he couldn’t find his bit on the side?

Because that’s all Hae-in was to him, right? Now the man had another hunter pregnant, he’d probably toss her aside too. Hae-in most probably saw her worth and disappeared with her baby to get away from all the dramatic shit.

Just like now, with Jong-in on Jinwoo’s doorstep, worse for wear and looking dishevelled after some kind of all-nighter, but in truth, he looked hungover.

“You can’t find her?” You asked, your hand holding your belly for comfort.

Jinwoo wanted to kick himself, he hoped at least this time, you would actually listen to him and stay in the bedroom. Of course not. He adjusted the door to keep Beru hidden, casually leaning against the door with an invisible huff he forced himself to choke down.

“I went to see her this morning, to check on her. But she wasn’t there, she told the doctors that she was going out for an early walk this morning like she's been doing the entire pregnancy, but she hasn’t come back. I’ve been losing my mind trying to look for her, I didn’t know who else to turn to. I apologize for how late it is.”

You lost your baby mama and now decide to make it our problem? 

Jinwoo didn’t want you getting involved, not with Jong-in. Any time together was far too much in his eyes and a recipe for disaster.

“We’ll help you, right Jinwoo?” You watched him with cautious eyes, telling him a message with your expression.

Not asking. Telling.

“We’ll help, but you can stay at your place. I can use my shadows, so there’s no point in everyone going out at night.”

“You want me to just wait here?” Jong-in was ever the polite one, even if he was reacting to being turned away.

Jinwoo nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want you to do, there’s no point in getting worked up. I’ll find her.”

He would essentially still have to traipse out and look for her manually if Igris couldn't find her, he just didn’t want Jong-in sniffing about. The shadow he used initially was sitting nestled in Jong-in’s shadow, Not Hae-in’s.

You, however, must have caught on to that.

“Jong-in, can you wait outside for a moment?” You walked up and closed the door before he could answer, your brows together with a hidden scowl. “I know that you need to be close or something to put one of your shadows on people, just like you put Igris on me. What’s your deal? You’re coming off as really combative.”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m not, I just don’t see the point in us all going out in the dark. Hae-in’s capable. We can’t treat her like she’s made of glass and fragile, neither of you are. So, I’ll go and look for her, I'll have my shadows patrolling the city, something will pop up eventually. It’s late and you’re exhausted.”

You yawned as he said that, but shook it off. “No, there’s something else. You always get tense around Jong-in and I just… I can’t tell what you’re thinking. Care to tell me why?”

What could he honestly tell you? That he was growing a type of hatred towards the man like a tumour, every second you were in his presence. Or that he'd thought of many ways to make him disappear or suffer just to put a smile on Jinwoo's face. Sometimes fantasising wasn't enough, and the only reason he hadn't done anything yet was because of you.

If you knew the sort of dark things he kept a lid on, you would leave him in a heart beat.

Yeah, none of those explanations were acceptable.

“Will you let me go do this if I don’t say anything?”

“No.”

Jinwoo whispered, forgetting that Beru still stood there, awaiting the drama so that he could finish his show. “Because he’s in love with you. You just never noticed.” 

“Me?!” You matched Jinwoo’s volume, but shouted in a hushed tone to scold him. “He’s not in love with me, are you for real right now?! There’s no evidence to substantiate that, there never was.” 

Were you for real?

"It’s there written on his face every time he looks at you, you just don’t see it. He was disappointed that he was never paired with you, he told us that he wanted that but settled for Hae-in.” 

Okay, Jong-in never said that, but the only people currently in the room that recalled the conversation that day was Jinwoo, so who was counting?

You wanted to speak and you even stuttered a little, your mouth moving and closing into utter speechlessness. The cogs were turning in your brain, realisation perhaps? If an opportunity presented itself, Jinwoo had to take it. To drive the wedge that had already grown distant between you and Jong-in further than ever. To sever it completely.

“I’m sorry I’m naturally defensive around someone who's in love with my girlfriend.”

“But… Why is he so upset about Hae-in then? It doesn’t make sense- I saw yesterday that she was head over heels for Jong-in now, it was so obvious. Even with the other woman he's paired with. Why would you feel like that? They have literally nothing to do with us."

Jinwoo couldn’t exactly say that he was territorial and growing more and more possessive over you as time went on either. It took everything in his power not to lose himself like did in the beginning with the headquarters staff member.

Okay, Okay... The first guy really was a fluke. But I'd do it again.

He lied when you asked him if he’d kill for you. While it took him by surprise, it was more headway than he thought was possible this side of the pregnancy. You were still independent a lot of the time and owning your own thoughts.

Yet you still asked him.

It was a given that he would kill for you, but what he wanted to say to you, was that he would abstain from killing, which he had done since. It never made his impulsive thoughts easy to deal with, and despite it all, he managed it.

Because it was for you.

“I feel like that, because I’m in love with you. You’re pregnant and we don’t need the extra drama he’s bringing on our doorstep. I’ll go and find her, because it’s Hae-in. And it’s for you. Not for him.” 

Was it a dick move to say that? Yes. Did it make him better in his head that you knew part of the truth now? Definitely.

Jinwoo opened the door before you even made a sound. Jong-in still stood there like a petrified deer in headlights. “I’ll go find Hae-in, you go get some sleep. I’ll let you know when I find her.”

The night should have long since been over. Jinwoo should have had you in sprawled in bed all fucked out after one thing leading to another, which it would have done had Jong-in not knocked. Then, Jinwoo would have laid in bed with your head on his chest, entangling his fingers in your hair waiting for the twins to move so he could feel it.

But Jong-in robbed that of him.

“Then I’m coming with you, you aren’t going on your own.”

Before Jinwoo could protest, you left the hall towards the bedroom, Beru still stood behind Jinwoo getting antsy but still remaining silent.

“Beru, go and watch your show.” He ignored the little happy dance Beru did and tried not to pay attention to the almighty thud on the couch.

He’ll trash the apartment at this rate. 

Coming back to Jong-in, he didn’t seem to notice anything. But he was getting on Jinwoo’s nerves just standing there, not being his usual self, like he cared. “I’ll come with you-”

“It’s fine. Get some rest.” And he closed the door on him without another word.

When you emerged, you took note of Beru’s position on the sofa and Jong-in's lacking presence. “Where did he go?”

“He went back to his apartment. It’ll be better if I just go- Igris, come out here.”

Igris appeared on cue, wisping out of your shadow and kneeling at Jinwoo’s feet. “Go and find Hae-in, let me know when you do.”

The shadow vanished, Jinwoo took the opportunity to take a glance at the spyhole through the door to await Jong-in’s departure. He was no longer there, whether he did as he was told, or went back out to find Hae-in was another matter Jinwoo did not care to think about.

He just couldn’t stand the man. In the eyes of everyone else, including you, he’d done Jinwoo no harm. Even so, it was the potential to ruin everything that Jinwoo had worked for that turned his stomach at the man who otherwise did absolutely nothing.

“Alright, we’ll go together. But if it gets too much, you’re coming straight home.”

“Jinwoo, I’m pregnant, not unwell. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

There’s that attitude I admire. Shame it's coming at the wrong time. “Alright then.”

By the time Jinwoo grabbed his jacket, you were half way out of the door. He turned to Beru who was still in the same place, eyes peeled to the screen of two characters dancing, or were they fighting? He wasn’t sure, but he called to him like a father ensuring the teenager left in charge wouldn’t burn the apartment down.

“We’re leaving, keep the noise down and come back to me when your show is finished.”

“Yes, Sire!”

Hae-in was probably off somewhere to get some peace and quiet, you made weird comments about the facility from what you had heard. How noisy it was, the lack of privacy due to constant tests that Hae-in mentioned, poking and prodding her with large needles. whether it was entirely true and not an overexageration because of exhaustion and other contributing factors were to be revealed.

However, that could have been you last night had Jinwoo not thought on his feet. Never would he allow you to go anywhere. Never. Never. 

By the time the elevator made its way up to the floor, you were already stepping in, anxiously biting at the dead skin on your fingers and tapping your feet like it was making the elevator move faster. “I knew it was a bad idea Jong-in letting her go to that place. She’s all on her own, it must be so lonely. Why didn't he fight for her?”

"Fighting requires effort. It depends how much pressure he's under from the association."

"You fought for me."

Jinwoo snapped his gaze at you, surprised at your forwardness, slipping your hand into his like a real real couple. It nearly made his heart explode. "I did. I always will."

You never let go, but you dropped the deep inhale too were keeping in your chest. "Why did all of this get so fucked up? I mean, from what I've seen of Hae-in, she seemed so calm and steady. running off like this is unlike her, I guess."

Anyone could pull there jerk reactions from a hat under the right circumstances, even docile hearted Jong-in. "What would you do if you were in her position? Where would you go?”

The question caught you off guard, Jinwoo saw it but how you watched him closely, your body closer yet you said nothing at first.

“I would… I’d go to the place I felt most safe if I was feeling lonely.”

“Which is?” He knew already, well, he hoped. Jinwoo wanted to hear it from your lips.

“Home... In the apartment. With you.”

"It's home to me, too.," Jinwoo smiled, he wanted to kiss you, and he almost did, but the pit of his stomach twisted.

It was Igris.

“He found her. That was too quick to have found her- hold on to me, I’ll exchange- I’m sorry, but it’s going to make you sick.”

“It’s fine.” You didn’t need telling twice, vigourously shaking your head like it would dispel the link from your brain to your stomach.

Jinwoo held you close whilst you clung to him, and he switched places with Igris.

What the- This is the association facility. 

You let go immediately and heaved, hunching over the nearest trash can. A miniature one in the corner invited you, Jinwoo shook away his astonishment on Jong-in’s part and held your hair back. Moaning into the metal container made it echo, your groans of how unfair things were, something about your mana and that you really weren't ever doing that again.

Jinwoo's attention fell on the walls of the facility, cold and modernised with a blinding white artificial overhead light that barely peeked through the overwhelming stench of rubbing alcohol and bitter antiseptic. The linoleum stuck to Jinwoo's shoes, almost crispy from the overuse of cleaning substances and misused adhesives under the mislaid grey carpet that was just as dull as at the illness posters on the wall.

How the fuck did Jong-in not look in the place Hae-in was living in?

Idiot. 

“Let me go! Stop it!” The room at the end of the hall.

It’s where you instinctively ran to, holding yourself and wiping your face with your sleeve as you did so. Jinwoo followed close behind and prevented you from entering into the commotion.

Hae-in laid in bed, restrained to the side bars in wide eyed tears mixed with the perspiration of an athlete across her forehead. She noticed you first before Jinwoo.

Well, this was anticlimactic, she was here all along. 

“You came- you came! You have to get me out, they’re crazy!”

She tugged through gritted teeth, and hissed at the red swelling over her jittery wrists. Hae-in naturally relaxed a fraction in your presence, you rushed over and tried the restraints, noting the padlock on each cuff.

“Holy shit- Jinwoo, help me!”

“You have to get me out of here- I can’t be here anymore. I want to go back to the apartment, help me get back to Jong-in, I don’t want to be here anymore!”

Hae-in thrashed around at Jinwoo’s hesitancy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help her, it was because something didn’t sit right. If she was here the entire time, then why did Jong-in come to the apartment looking for her?

To get time with you? No. Jong-in’s had plenty of other opportunities to speak to you about other things and he hasn’t, he’s just picking odd times. There has to be something more to this. 

“Jinwoo! Snap out of it and help me!”

Shit. The room stood still for Jinwoo, not for anyone else in the room. He came over and took a look at the locks, an easy break with his bare hands, he managed one with no effort.

“I’d stop that if I were you-”

“Oh, fuck!” You gasped and pawed at your chest, turning and slipping between Jinwoo’s arms. “Doctor, I didn’t see you there.”

She smiled, though it never reached her troubled eyes. “It’s alright, I get that a lot. I didn't mean to scare you.”

The dark pits under her eyes looked right back at Jinwoo, diabolical in nature to make her dishevelled appearance. A running theme tonight. She did her best to adjust her lab coat and smooth down her hair, but undid everything by rolling up her sleeves.

“Stay away the hell away from me!” Hae-in kicked off the bed covers into a slumped pile on the floor and yanked the digging chain on her other wrist.

“Hunter Cha.” The Doctor slipped a clip into her hair, rushing to open the medicine box on the wall. “Please. You need to calm down, this isn’t good for you or your baby.”

You blinked rapidly, they gaze between Hae-in and the medical professional. “What is going on, doctor? She’s hurting, you need to let her go. This isn't good for her.”

“I will, as soon as she calms down- we found her by the bay, wet and barely dressed, shivering to death. She’s extremely stressed and her pregnancy has become high risk, she needs strict bed rest or she could end up labouring early- Hunter Cha, you're putting your life at risk, your baby's life, please take a deep breath, your blood pressure is through the roof!"

She was distressed and sweaty, wiping away what perspiration she could from her forehead before preparing a syringe to which Hae-in recoiled at. She was hysterical, pulling at the restraint which could dislocate his arm at any time.

“Hae-in, calm down.” You said. “The doctor’s trying to help you, let her help you. You’ll pop a blood vessel like this!”

“No, no, no, no! Get that away from me- I don’t want it, I want to go back- let me go back!”

“Hae-in!”

The doctor came round to her free arm and tried to catch it swinging for her face. “I’m so sorry, I really am- your health is at risk, you need to listen me and calm down. I really want to help you.”

She snatched her arm at the first chance she got and held it to inject her, Hae-in amped the reaction like the doctor was radioactive.

Jinwoo was curious. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. “Hae-in, what’s gotten you so upset?”

She was struggling for breath behind her distraught tears and wails. “They want- they want to take my baby away!”

What?

Part 18 <- Part 19 -> Part 20

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @kamiliora

@yessirr7 @aussie-boys-wife @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

@minkuro @misakicchi @lovingyeet @soft-dots @gina239

@sabrina-senpai @tsukimoon-chan @afkmylajah @livelaughlovekuni @keiva1000

@delusionillusion322 @dreamingoftomorrow @gina239 @blxuqueenie @stardust0709

@chahaezii @athanasia10 @crutoyu @thetruepair @lostpsycho13

@dragoonsuki @sashagaming1012 @maria-trisha @dyavorange @mommydelicious5272

@shortchubbytat @celesteelysia @forgotten-moon94 @sleepyamaya @applepi405

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[isaqlare]

jealous guy

— art donaldson x fem!reader

cw : 18+ mdni— face sitting, apology/makeup gesture, words of reassurance, reader receiving, begging.

art was usually a sweet boy, needed attention, reassurance and you could deal with it, infact. You loved it, you loved how needy he was for you.

one thing you couldn’t deal with though was jealousy, the way he acted and that’s what had you upset.

he attempted to grab your hands to keep you from walking away but you just kept snatching them away, angry and upset. “Baby, baby I didn’t mean it okay? I was upset and I was being an ass. Come here, please baby..baby!” He whined at you.

It all began when Patrick came to visit.

Patrick, Art’s longtime friend, and your friend too, was a bright presence that afternoon when he showed up. His easy laugh and casual confidence filled the space immediately. You were excited to see him, and so was Art! or so you thought.

But as the hours passed, you noticed a change. Art, usually relaxed and warm, became quiet and tense. His smiles were forced, his laughter brief and hollow. Every time Patrick spoke, Art’s eyes narrowed just slightly, a flicker of something dark passing over them.

and it kept being like that, his glares between you and Patrick, his fake laughs becoming more visible to you, though Patrick didn’t seem to notice.

and it was like that for the entire time Patrick had been visiting, you made a note to ask him why he was being so odd.

one day, you were practicing with Patrick. It was his last day visiting, He had asked you to practice since art was in a shitty mood, you weren’t sure as to why but you’d make sure to ask him later.

as you and Patrick finished up, art was sat on the bleachers. Staring at you both with sharp eyes and later that day, Patrick was ready to go. You smiled and gave him a sweet hug but art? just gave a nonchalant..”bye.”, earning an eyebrow raise from Patrick and when Patrick had finally gone, art was preparing to walk to his side of the room.

you stopped him before he actually walk away, he turned around and looked at you with an annoyed huff, you quickly guided him to your bed and sat down with him.

you raised an eyebrow before he gave you a look, “what’s your problem?” you scoffed, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Nothing.”

“clearly something’s wrong so tell me what it is.” You spoke firmly before he huffed, “it’s you and Patrick.” He grumbled. You wanted to laugh right in his face, “me and Patrick?”

“Yeah, you and Patrick. Like I said, if I didn’t know you guys. I’d think you both are dating, that’s how close you guys are being.” He grumbled, you shook your head. “What? What are you even talking about?”

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you two were somehow hooking up.” He mumbled, making you furious. You scoffed, “do you not hear how fucking ridiculous you sound? how—when would I have time for that when you’re constantly trailing my ass like a dog.” You spoke firmly, “and what kind of girl do you take me for? I—some slut?” You scoffed.

“well if the shoe fits.” He spoke, making you stand there in shock and that’s where you both were now.

he attempted to grab your hands to keep you from walking away but you just kept snatching them away, angry and upset. “Baby, baby I didn’t mean it okay? I was upset and I was being an ass. Come here, please baby..baby!” He whined at you.

“I can’t believe you have the actual audacity to think of me like that, you’re a fucking asshole.” You scolded him and he nodded, getting on his knees for you. “yes—yes baby, I’m such a asshole. I didn’t mean it.” He whimpered, making you scowl.

he gently kissed your legs through your jeans, before placing a small kiss right on your crotch. “Please baby..” he huffed, reaching for the fly of your jeans, gently unzipping your jeans which you allowed him to do.

his fingers tugged at the waistband of your jeans before gently sliding them off. he groaned as soon as he saw your legs leaning in and kissing your plush thighs, burying his face in them, making out with them.

“I’m so sorry baby, im such an asshole..” he spoke breathlessly against your thighs before he looked up at you from where he was. Placing another kiss on your clothed crotch, his hands trailing from your thighs to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze.

“your ass is so fucking perfect, you’re so fucking perfect. You’re mine, you’re mine right, baby? right?” He whimpered before reaching for your panties, his fingers ghosting over the fabric. “Yeah baby, yeah I’m yours.” You answered breathlessly , he grinned before he gently guided you back to your bed.

he quickly pulled your panties down, his eyes half lidded as he stared at your bare body. “fuckk..” he groaned, not hesitating to give your folds a quick lick. Biting his lip at the taste of your juices.

he quickly laid down and he had a grin on his face, you knew exactly what he wanted and it was something he usually asked for. You bit your lip as you hesitantly straddled him, he quickly grabbed you by your hips and made you sit right down on his face, his mouth now moving with strategy against your sopping pussy.

his nose hitting your clit as he continued, making you moan louder than ever. You moaned as you began to ride his face, his big hands on your hips, running down to your ass.

“art!— oh my..fuck!” you wailed, your hands going to the headboard infront of you to keep you steady. Your moans growing progressively louder. he could feel you clench around his tongue, he knew you were close.

“mmph—fuckk!- ah! Close!” you whimpered, he gave your thighs a few sweet rubs before you finished, you groaned and you rolled over next to him. He panted and looked at you, leaning over and you both shared a small grin.

“cmere.” He mumbled before pulling you close, giving you a sweet kiss. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean that baby. you forgive me?” he spoke sweetly and quietly. “Okay, I guess I forgive you.” You giggled before looking down at the tent he now had in his pants.

he gave you a small laugh before raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “Did you wanna—“

“No.” you cut him off with a giggle, he replied with a whine.

[transmutationisms]

So, I’m becoming increasingly interested anti-psychiatry but there is one thing I’m really struggling with that I’m wondering if is something that you’ve ever struggled with/been bothered by or had to find some way to deal with. I have a brother who doesn’t believe in mental health. Like, the concept of mental well-being. He doesn’t believe in medication or therapy either. But, he also doesn’t believe in germ theory, or vaccinations, or frankly, most science. He isn’t explicitly a flat earther but he also argues that it hasn’t been proven either. For most of my life, I’ve argued with him about the mental health stuff because I’ve struggled with depression and adhd (or, I guess, the handbag of symptoms that gets called depression and adhd). I’ve had to insist “No, I can’t just go for a walk,” and “No, I don’t just need a planner.” So now here I am, learning about anti-psychiatry, finding a lot of it resonates with me, and also finding out a lot of what I have been told is scientifically proven, is not scientifically proven at all (like schizophrenia being genetic, for example). I guess what I’m asking is, is my brother right in this specific issue? Is the concept of mental health or mental well-being bullshit? And whether it is or isn’t, do you ever find it difficult to reconcile that being anti-psychiatry is going to make you look like an anti-scientific conspiracy theorist? I’ve had this same thing happen to me with fat-acceptance and still struggle with the fact that if I try to explain to anybody that the way we’ve been taught weight loss and weight gain work, and the way we perceive fat medically is largely false or unproven, people look at me like I said the moon-landing was faked. It’s especially difficult because I’m a teacher at a university and I feel like I have no choice but to just play along there when these things come up, or else my credibility as a teacher could be drawn into question.

right so this is rather precisely the problem with treating Science as intrinsically an arbiter of Objective Truth lol -- you can't just make metastructural rules about how to know when a scientific assertion is true, you do actually have to evaluate what is being argued & on what evidentiary basis. science is a human form of knowledge-production & it is fallible to the same biases and ideological commitments and weaknesses as any other human inquiry, & the scientific establishment can and sometimes does rally behind all kinds of nonsense -- like psychiatry. the difference between psychiatry and germ theory isn't that psychiatric claims are structured differently or are patently nonsense on the surface, it's that the underlying epistemological principles of psychiatry are circular, the evidence is consequently lacking & always will be, & its assertions continue to be clung to & defended because they are economically useful whereas germ theory has an extremely robust evidentiary base supporting assertions that are demonstrable & have borne out in both lab and real-world observations & trials. incidentally, treating germ theory like it must be true simply because Science Says So is imo not in fact good for scientific literacy & communication bc it results in many people having very little understanding of how to defend or evaluate it when it's on the ideological-hygienic chopping block. & it also leads many people to vastly misunderstand the incredibly slow & piecemeal process by which germ theory was even assimilated into mainstream scientific thinking in the first place: hygienists for decades after pasteur were perfectly capable of 'accepting germ theory' while in practice operating off a number of environmental-miasmatic principles, smth i would argue many people still do in practice today. im sorry i don't have a generically Im Pro Science answer for you here, i don't actually think science should be exempted from the same rigour & consideration we apply to literally any other form of inquiry and knowledge-production.

[familiarscars]

lost in control. ⋆ bad omens ⋆ 02

adult content ⋆ minors do NOT interact.

Noah | Before.

Those who choose to die hardly ever think about the wreckage their absence leaves behind. Selfish? I don’t know if I’m that convinced. But brave? Maybe.

It takes a lot of courage to feel ready enough to break through the chains life imposes and choose your own end, even if at the end of the current the only detour leads straight to death. You just go.

Everything fades. Turns dark. Over. Gone.

And the ones who stay? The ones who stay are the ones who have to deal with the mess. The pain’s no longer yours, no longer your fucked-up chest or your mind in collapse. Now it belongs to the others.

To those who weren’t brave enough.

With no effort at all, I let the last flower fall over the crystal-studded marble tombstone. Her name engraved, the smiling photo — all of it made me feel the same revulsion every time my eyes landed there.

I was stiff, unmoved, like a locked door — days without showing any decent human reaction. Nothing touched me deep enough. Nothing pierced through. It was like apathy had already rooted itself at the bottom of my insides.

My therapist always says everyone grieves in their own way. This is mine.

“It’s raining, honey.” She says it like she doesn’t feel the fabric of my suit getting soaked by the drizzle. “How about we go? I was thinking we could grab lunch and then maybe talk to that buyer interested in…”

I didn’t bother answering until I heard her voice start to fade.

“I’m sorry, Noah… It’s been a month and I thought it might be good for us to start clearing out that room. But it would be much easier if you helped me.”

“I already said not to touch anything yet.”

What a stupid thing — keeping my dead sister’s stuff in a dusty room like she could somehow be disappointed by the invasion, by the furniture being sold, by her clothes donated. Like she still existed enough to care.

I heard organs rot with time. Maybe her heart was still in there.

“It’s just that I thought…” She pushed. “That it’d be better this way.”

I wish I could remember that she’s a grieving mother too. That she also lost a daughter she thought was at the peak of her perfect life. That she also woke up to my screams that night, ran to the bathroom, and saw me holding a lifeless body in my arms.

It’d be easier if I could think that way. But I can’t. Empathy doesn’t belong to me now because selfishness has taken almost everything. I see nothing beyond what I feel — and I feel too much.

It’s like what I carry is heavier than what the world can hold, and everyone else seems small, shallow with their pointless problems. No one understands me and I don’t understand anyone.

My therapist says that’s part of grief too.

“Can we still have lunch?” If I wasn’t such a coward, maybe I’d face her with a better answer than silence. “If you don’t want to go to a restaurant we could order something.”

She was trying to spend time with me, definitely afraid I might be next.

“I’m not hungry. But enjoy your lunch.” I snapped, stepping back before turning toward the crypt exit.

“It’s just…” The sound of her voice cracking made me freeze mid-step. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

I took a deep breath and stared at the gray sky pouring drizzle into my eyes. From the corner of my vision, I saw her small fingers nervously playing with her expensive purse’s keychain, awkward like admitting that had cost her a lot.

It’s not like my mother to be vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not good company today.”

Or ever.

I didn’t wait for her response and walked firmly toward the cemetery gate. Outside the gates, the air felt different — more breathable, less oppressive. Life outside moved at a rhythm that wasn’t mine. Speeding cars, people in a rush, loud laughter, shouting, honking, music…

I stopped on the sidewalk, pressed my index fingers against my temples. My head was throbbing with the flood of stimuli per second. I forced my breathing to slow down, trying to keep moving while dodging the rushing bodies.

From the noise behind me, it seemed like everyone was heading downtown, where some loud music was blaring. Normal events or distractions for those still pretending everything’s fine.

Everyone was going the opposite direction and the constant pressure of bodies brushing against my arm only fed my bad mood. I started bumping into them on purpose, wanting them out of my way.

Shortness of breath from the suffocating atmosphere like a pile of sheets strangling my windpipe. I was choking on too many people, too much heat, too much noise.

I desperately searched for a gap, a space, any exit to somewhere empty, until something — or someone — crashed into me.

I looked down, expecting disgust, until…

“Shit…”

Even under a baggy hoodie and hiding beneath the hood, the voice was unmistakably female. She handed me my phone before it hit the ground.

Our eyes met, even though I didn’t want them to. Green, intense, confused — there was a storm behind them, triggering a hypnotic wave like a spell cast on impact. The purple bruises high on her cheekbone made that narcotic color stand out even more. For a few seconds, I forgot where I was. Forgot the chaos.

She smirked. A crooked, mischievous smile — like a wicked child.

“Watch where you’re going, rich boy.” She winked.

And vanished into the crowd like a hallucination. A vision conjured by my insomnia.

"I get the feeling you have a serious issue with women," said Ruffilo, shaking his head. "Or with fidelity... did your father cheat on your mother a lot?"

"If there’s one person who has no problem with women, babe, that person’s me." Folio winked at him with irony. "And what the hell does my father have to do with it?"

"Folio really doesn’t have a problem with women. He is the problem in their lives."

Disgust in human form — Jolly — cut in with his usual bitterness, eyes still locked on the menu.

"I think I’m getting a burger."

"I didn’t really get what you meant by that… Joakim." Folio narrowed his eyes at the man, who kept reading the menu like it was today’s newspaper.

"It’d be weird if you did."

"Okay, but I didn’t do anything wrong this time, alright? When I woke up, she was crying with my phone in her hand. So it was her fault for being too nosy."

"Notice the this time," Jolly added, doing air quotes with his fingers.

I was watching the conversation from the outside like some background character in my own story. I poked at my pasta with such disinterest it was starting to make me nauseous.

I hadn’t had time to stop at home and change clothes — I still smelled like flowers and cemetery dirt.

They say your scent reflects who you are. A personality trait in liquid form.

"Leaving this useless-courtroom drama behind…" my voice cut through the noise at the table for the first time. "How was the meeting with the Divine Records guy, Ruffilo?"

From their reactions, I think they’d just remembered I was even there. Total surprise.

"Well…" Ruffilo adjusted in his seat and exchanged quick glances with the others before looking back at me. "It didn’t go as well as we hoped."

"What do you mean?"

"I showed him the demo, but the guy didn’t even listen for two minutes before saying it sounded just as generic as everything else he’s heard." His shoulders sagged. "It’s fucking bullshit."

"It’s fine… we’ll figure out what we can change."

It wasn’t fine. Especially not when I’d already said that line three times this week — even I didn’t believe it anymore.

"I don’t think it’s bad. We’ve got identity, talent, all that shit…" Jolly seemed to be thinking out loud, not really talking to anyone in particular. "But something’s missing. And it’s not like we’ve got time to figure out what."

"I agree. Social media’s helping us with reach, but we can’t rely on that alone. If the money we put in doesn’t come back soon and I have to hear one more time at home that I should study or get a real job… I swear I’m gonna bite one of your legs off."

We all turned to Ruffilo at once.

"This topic makes me anxious," he mumbled, taking a long sip of juice.

"Or we could just do what we should’ve done from the start," Folio snapped, impatience seeping through every word. "Seriously, Noah, it makes zero sense for us to go around humiliating ourselves, pitching demos door-to-door, when we could’ve already walked half the damn road. My dad offered help. Jolly’s stepmom has contacts. Why the fuck am I running around like a goddamn water filter salesman when I’m a fucking drummer?"

Here we were again, debating the same old shit.

It was hard to make him understand that his family’s money wasn’t his. And accepting that kind of help opened the door for outsiders to stick their hands in everything — to boss us around, give opinions, tell us how we should act. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want anyone making decisions for us.

"Because that’s what grown-ups do, Folio. They work. Alone. They don’t go crying to daddy the second a door shuts in their face…" I slapped my hand against the table, sharp and cold. "But you’d know that if you’d grown the hell up."

He pulled back, hit by the weight of my words.

"Go fuck yourself!" he spat.

"Alright, alright, let’s not fight about this again," Jolly jumped in, cutting through the tension. "Folio’s got a bit of a point, Noah. I don’t think it’s fair to refuse help and force a harder path just because you’re too proud to accept anything that comes from your parents. We’re not buying a career or paying people to like us. But acting like suffering makes us more authentic… that says more about you than the rest of us."

My whole body tensed in a split second.

When my eyes met his, Jolly didn’t flinch. He rarely did — not with dirty looks, not with rudeness.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"He’s talking about your need to do everything on your own, to glorify hard work while looking down on any kind of help. Your habit of judging us as immature just because you were forced to go through a bunch of shit too early — like it’s wrong for us to not have as many fucked-up problems as you. But look, man… I’m not responsible for the life you had."

"No… actually, that’s not what I meant at all," Jolly quickly denied, trying to walk back Folio’s words.

A knot tightened in my throat before I could even react.

What the hell did my friends think I was?

"Nick, apologize," Ruffilo said quietly, his tone reprimanding.

"Why is it always me who has to apologize? Noah's been treating us like shit for a month and you all just stay quiet, like grief gives him a free pass to be an asshole!"

"That's enough, Folio!" Jolly snapped, eyes wide—drawing attention from the other tables.

I didn’t stay to hear the rest.

If it were any other day, maybe I would’ve snapped back with a punch. Just one, well-placed, to shut him up for good.

But not today.

Not now.

Staring at my reflection in the restaurant's bathroom mirror, I ignored the distant murmur of people socializing just outside.

Maybe he was right.

I was letting this shit get to my head in a way that made it harder and harder not to explode on whoever happened to be nearby. My chest was a ticking time bomb—counting down a tight, suffocating clock, launching shrapnel at anyone who dared get close.

Like a defense mechanism. Or a weapon.

My mom.

My friends.

Myself.

That's what grief—or trying to survive it—does to those left behind. It turns you into something unrecognizable. Despicable. Grief doesn’t want to share space in your chest with anything but guilt, bitterness, longing. Hate. It traps you in a tiny box, too cramped even for your own body, like the discomfort is part of the penance.

To make you wake up every day knowing you don’t even belong to yourself, and force you to face that with every move.

Everyone reacts differently… but I didn’t want this to be mine.

After a long breath, I patted my pockets for my phone.

I needed to make a call. Fix at least one of the things I messed up today. I needed to call my mom.

Scrolling through the contacts, my fingers stopped mid-air.

I froze.

Something was off.

My pockets. I checked again—faster this time—hands frantic, heart already on high alert. What was missing? Then it hit me like a blaring siren.

The crowd.

The shove.

The girl with the narcotic eyes.

"Watch where you’re going, rich boy."

That bitch stole my wallet.

@chey-h ; @nyriastark ; @xxkatsatwatwafflexx ; @deathrye ; @zozaline ;

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[redhotarsenic]

It’s so fucked that the main source of unease I felt building up over the past several months was me feeling pressured to perform femininity to be seen as desirable to other people. It was never ever said said out loud in that space but I could FEEL it and I never knew until it was pointed out to me.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Solas

[automatic-midnight]

My biased, really unpopular take is that I think rit/su/maya is an objectively boring ship.

[korovamlecznybar]

life is falling through my fingers more that usually

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[thewingedwolf]

one goofy ass thing i like about my job is we all really like having staff feedback after programs (like after in service, after summer reading, etc) because it just makes it easier to make it actually helpful and easier next time around and that’s all we want right, like PERSONALLY i don’t want to be anxious about a program and dreading it all year, which means i get to do what i Love which is offer my opinion constructively so i can be like “i think some people just don’t understand paylocity, it is a little confusing & for them, going through that app is this scary time sink so they don’t open it ever.” and no one is taking it personally because five other people wrote in “beanstack scares me” and “i’m not using teams” and we can just adjust our expectations of our older coworkers instead of writing people up for it akskd.

[novaimperia]

★ asking roommate!sukuna if you can sleep with him because you’re scared

“no.”

the door slams in your face, grazing your nose ever so slightly. you don’t know what you were expecting when you knocked at 2am — maybe you weren’t thinking at all. the booming thunder outside was dizzying and your feet raced you out of your room and down the hall in record speed before you could even process the rattling of your bones. 

you knock again. the door swings open. he is not happy. 

sukuna’s sporting a scowl, piercings glinting from the hallway light, as he glares down at you. he’s shirtless and wearing boxers that hang low on his hips, revealing sharp angles and thick lines of ink. on any other occasion, you would have swooned to yourself but now’s not the time. 

“please, s’kuna. i can’t sleep on my own like this.”

his brow quirks up. “and that’s my problem because?”

fuck. 

he’s not listening. you can’t even blame him — it’s late and he’s already warned you he’s not the sweet type, that you shouldn’t treat him like a boyfriend, and he doesn’t cuddle so unless you’re up for spreading your legs, you should keep your distance. but you thought since you guys have been having dinner together, going out for errands, and even building inside jokes that he might feel inclined to do you a little favour. 

“y-yeah, you’re right. sorry.” you jolt when the next rumble sends the apartment swaying. “oh! fuck. just…sorry. night.”

scrambling back, you clutch yourself tight, resenting the shudders running through you, like the storm has wormed its way in and is eating you from the inside. 

“ah!”

two huge arms wrap around you, lifting you up, back, and tossing you onto a bed. you bounce once. twice. sukuna makes an exasperated noise and runs his hand through his hair. “you’re an annoying little shit. you better not snore or i’m kicking you out.”

then, he’s climbing in behind you, lying on his stomach, faced buried in his pillow and paying you no mind. you’re in his bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you’ve been here before and will be again. it did occur to you that things might get awkward, but the way he’s not even the slightest bit tense and letting you hike up the covers over both of you even though he runs hot tells a different story. 

minutes pass by, you still can’t sleep. the storm is suffocating. just as your eyes flutter shut, a flash of lightning breaches the blanket of his curtains and a fierce roaring follows shortly after, shaking the bed frame. shit.

“quit shivering. can’t fucking sleep when you’re on vibration mode.”

“sorry.”

he opens one eye to judge you. “you scared of a little thunder? embarrassing.”

“yeah.”

grunting, he mutters something, as if scolding himself and throws an arm around you. sukuna rolls you two over so he’s on his back and you’re on his chest. he’s warm and hardened with muscles, yet you melt into him as if he’s a teddy bear. he smells nice too. 

you’re rendered confused, unable to reconcile his actions with the relevance to anything that had transpired in the last ten minutes. but…you hear it. or rather, you don’t. his body is shielding you from the sounds outside, distracting your senses with the feel of him, bare, against you. the thunders are washed away by the beating of something inside his chest.

quietly, you quip, feeling the need to cover up the heat rising to your cheeks, “i didn’t know you had a heart.”

sukuna scoffs. “yeah, neither. now shut up, don’t want to deal with your grumpy ass in the morning.”

maybe you are closer than you thought. though you won’t bring that up to him, knowing how defensive he gets. unspoken and subtle, you’re content with the way he shows his loyalty. it’s sincere and consistent and that’s all that matters.

so, you find yourself falling asleep dreaming of a fire engulfing you, drowning all else away, and laying a gentle kiss on your head. 

[thenevarranaccord]

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.