Heartbreaking

hey i’m obsessed with lucanis (and spite) as well! I’m wondering if you would be interested in a mourn watcher elf rook x lucanis and have it be the week (or weeks i can’t remember) of rook being trapped in solas’ regret prison. i feel like spite would be pissed and confused as to why rook is missing! thank you and best wishes :)))

Lights Out

Pairing: GN!Rook x Lucanis (x Spite)

Summary: Rook is gone. Lucanis is grieving. Spite is restless.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Really depressing shit, spoilers obviously

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t longer! I felt like dragging it out too much takes away from the visceral gut punch it is.

DATV Masterlist

Hey I’m Obsessed With Lucanis (and Spite) As Well! I’m Wondering If You Would Be Interested In A

Death was all Lucanis had ever known.

It clung to him like a shadow, a constant presence in his life as a Crow. It was his trade, his art, and his curse. The blood he spilled lined his pockets but left scars on his soul, marks he carried with him even when he tried to move beyond the life he once embraced. But death had always been something controlled. Until now.

Rook was gone. You were gone.

He stood in the doorway to your room, once petrified by the thought of how it reflected the Ossuary, now only drawn to what was left of your presence. His hands flexed at his sides, his chest feeling hollow.

The night was heavy with silence, the Lighthouse mourning the loss of its leader. Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his voice a low growl that rippled with confusion. “Where. Is. Rook?” The demon hissed, each word sharp as one of his daggers.

Lucanis didn’t respond immediately. He had no answer, and the truth stung worse than any wound.

Spite pressed on, his voice gaining a harsh edge. “Where. Is. Rook?!”

Lucanis could feel Spite’s frustration growing as he was ignored. Your absence was a gaping void, a wound that bled frustration and fear and loss. There was nothing he could do. The Fade was something so far out of his understanding, even with the demon possessing him. Still, he’d spent days searching, combing every lead, every thread of information he could grasp, only to find himself standing here, fists clenched in futile rage.

“Lucanis!” Spite snarled.

All he heard was you screaming his name as you were pulled into the Fade. He relived that moment every time he closed his eyes. What could he have done different? You had survived against impossible odds, and he had gotten his second shot at Ghilan’nain, somehow killing her. That high was quickly dashed as he watched your wide eyes, saw you reaching for him, screaming for him as you were dragged out of his reach.

“They’re gone, Spite,” Lucanis whispered, barely audible.

“Where?” He demanded, pushing against the boundaries of Lucanis’s mind as though searching for you.

“I don’t know,” Lucanis’s voice was ragged as he huffed, taking a step further into your room and closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “They’re gone,” he repeated.

The faint scent of Nevarran spices drifted around the room, and the lingering smell of your oils. The things you had on a day to day basis haunted him. The Nevarran urns around the room and hastily scribbled notes on Elven architecture and the runes you’d found during the group’s travels.

Lucanis didn’t have the heart to go any further in the room, his back pressed firmly against the door. His chest was tight, and he was finding it almost impossible to breathe, but all he wanted was to drink in your scent as long as it lingered. It was all he had left of you.

He had fought his way through countless battles, defied impossible odds, endured the Ossuary, and survived Ghilan’nain’s wrath, but none of it mattered now. The one light in his life had been extinguished. Every breath hit him like a blow to the chest, the tangible reminder of your presence that made his breath hitch. Every object in this room screamed your name, echoing in the silence that now filled the space.

Lucanis pressed harder back against the door, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He forced himself forward, gripping the edge of the chaise lounge as he sat down heavily. His head fell into his hands as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. He had dared to hope. After years of blood and shadows, he had begun to believe he could have something more---someone more. And now, that hope lay in ruins.

Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his presence a simmering heat that was neither comforting nor intrusive. The demon was quiet at first, an uncharacteristic stillness that only deepened the ache in Lucanis’s chest.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing closer as the grief threatened to suffocate him. He reached out, almost without thinking, and picked up one of the notes you had left on the desk. The parchment was worn, the ink smudged in places, but your handwriting was unmistakable. His thumb traced the curves of your letters, his hands trembling as he clutched the note like a lifeline.

“You were my freedom,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over to streak down his face. “The only thing that made all of this worth it.”

Spite’s presence shifted, his usual arrogance subdued by something almost… mournful. “Rook…” the demon murmured, his voice a low growl that trembled at the edges.

Lucanis’s grip on the note tightened, his teeth clenched as guilt and rage swirled within him. “I failed them,” he hissed,his voice trembling with self-loathing. “I should have done more. I should have saved them.”

Spite didn’t argue. Lucanis wasn’t sure he was listening at all. The demon was restless, his silence heavy, a shared grief that settled over them both. “Rook.” Spite said again, pushing against Lucanis’s skull. He wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t. Spite wouldn’t stop moving, stop searching, looking through Lucanis, looking through the room, searching for his Rook.

“Spite…” Lucanis said wearily. “Spite, they’re gone,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

“Rook!” Spite pounded against Lucanis’s mind, screaming as though it would do anything to bring you back.

“Spite, enough!” Lucanis yelled finally, hands tangling in his hair. “Rook is gone! Gone! The one good thing---” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish. The anguish in his chest was too much, a wound that refused to heal.

Lucanis pressed the note against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he fought to contain the sobs threatening to escape. For a long moment, he simply sat there, the silence of the room broken only by his ragged breaths. The scent of you lingered, faint but persistent, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace.

Spite shifted again, his presence like a smoldering ember in the back of Lucanis’s mind. “Lucanis…” the demon growled quietly.

Lucanis’s hands stilled, his breath catching. “I know…” he whispered. “I know.”

You were gone.

And he didn’t know if you could come back.

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

A/N: I'm not crying, you're crying ;-;

Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis Tag List <3

Tag List: @cirillabelle

More Posts from Tallullahmae and Others

tallullahmae

3 months ago

This- this is iconic and I 100% agree apart from the fact that I have an older brother and it would go very similar to this apart from you have missed out one thing Jason would 100000% say smthn along the lines of ‘I have no intention of doing anything you suggest.’ And then do it.

Tim: hey, look at this article need you to drag them

Jason: first of all

Jason: do I look like I have time to read some bullshit written by a literal stalker. Second of all eww why would I do smthn for you. Shitty replacement.

Tim: stfu zombie.

One hour later

Tim: thank you for your counter article it was very nice - also calling them a coward for not apologising for the fact that their last article was racist for calling Damian Bruce’s ‘exotic,’ son nice touch.

Jason: fuck you I was gonna post it anyways you’ve just got okay timing.

Tim: you love me

Jason: gay.

Jason: I ment that to be read as a slur btw.

Tim: you are also gay.

Jason: your point is?

The last 5 parts of the conversation is a 100% re-write of a literal conversation I had with my cousin.

Family is weird.

I physically need Jason Todd to have several popular accounts as a reviewer of, honestly, anything.

New article in Gotham Gazette? A famous five-star reviewer already wrote a comment on what unethical methods the writer had used, along with debunking the rest of the article. And guess what? It has more likes than the original post.

New restaurant opened? Another famous critique just finished polishing a very detailed post regarding everything inside it — the decor, the cooking techniques, the service (he almost never picks up on waiters, though). It is so on the spot that, honestly, the owners can't even argue with the review.

New movie? Uh-uh, be sure you write your characters properly. New vigilante? Get detailed information on your methods of work and fighting style — and, hey, it might be even useful. New book? Be careful, someone is about to kick your ass on the Internet, unless written worthy.

The funniest part? No one assumes that it is the same person.

And the batfamily? Well, they have no time for this. Expect for... Tim.

Tim, sending a link to Vale's article: Hood. Drag her ass.

Jason: lol

Jason: give me, like, an hour–

Tim: Had I told you you are my favourite?

Jason: i might have an idea, yeah

Tim: Hood. The new restaurant is so ass. They are also homophobic and stared at me and Kon the whole evening like we killed someone. Do something.

Jason: sec

(The restaurant gets closed in, like, two days after that)

Tim: Jason. Bruce pisses me off this week.

Jason: LOL

Jason: wake up, birdie, the new article shitting on Batman's technics just dropped

Tim: YAY

13K notes View Post

tallullahmae

4 months ago

I’m so sad… time for an x reader fan fiction

6K notes View Post

tallullahmae

2 months ago

Thank the lord people are learning

u know what? i'm always gonna describe reader as being smaller than jason because, unlike the other characters with decided, specifically agreed-upon heights, he's just ambiguously large. so you can imagine whatever you want. you want him 6'0? great, he's 6'0. you're a tall girlie? perfect, he's 6'2. you're 6'2? bam! he's 6'6 now. you can do whatever you want guys. the world is your oyster.

1K notes View Post

tallullahmae

3 months ago

jason todd x gn!neutral reader

a/n: inspired by this incredible piece of art by @jjenthusee, part of the february acts of kindness challenge

“dance with me,” you say, slipping off the couch and extending your hand.

“hm?” jason todd hums, finger marking his spot in his book as he looks up at you.

“dance with me.” the music fills the apartment like a physical thing, a neighbour’s practice session with their trumpet seeping through the walls.

“what, now?” he asks. you nod and hold out your hand again.

“c’mon, it’ll be fun,” you cajole him. the lamplight in the darkening evening gilds him golden. he hesitates and you sigh. “please? the world could end tomorrow or i’ll end up getting called into overtime in a never ending loop or maybe you’ll break a leg slipping off a roof—”

“i’m not that accident prone!” he defends himself indignantly. “i haven’t been injured on patrol in three weeks!”

“yes, yes, and i’m very proud of you darling but my point is, the future’s an unknown country and i want to dance today.”

he laughs at your plaintive tone, but he pushes up from the couch, leather creaking under his shifting weight and grabs a hold of your hand. he uses it to pull you close, a little twirl that makes you gasp thrown in for good measure. you rest your cheek against the plane of his chest, warmth seeping through the cotton fabric of his shirt, and sigh. the trumpet player, whoever they are, aren’t perfect. there’s slightly flat notes and rhythms taken a half beat too fast but in the moment, it’s perfect.

what is decidedly less perfect is coming home the next evening to a crouched figure on the fire escape, the cherry red end of the cigarette the only indication of life. you sigh, then set down your groceries on the counter before going for the first aid kit under the kitchen sink.

“you’d better not be dying out there,” you call out. the figure twitches, then turns to face the music.

there’s blood on his face. no matter how glib you might sound or how many times it happens, it always opens up a pit in your stomach. your fingers tighten around the plastic of the first aide kit.

“oh sweetheart, don’t worry, it’s just a lil’ blood.” he’s aiming for reassuring but it’s landing somewhere north of cocky. you roll your eyes and lean out the window to take his chin in your hand, turning his head gently to get a better look at the damage.

“anything broken?” you ask instead.

he stubs out the cigarette on the little ashtray you’d insisted he keep out there if he wasn’t gonna stop smoking, and moves to join you inside the apartment.

“my pride’s a little banged up but that’s about it. should have seen the knuckle dusters coming,” he sighs, hand ruffling through his hair. in the distance, your neighbour takes up his trumpet again.

“looks like your injury-free record is back down to zero,” you tease, the first aid kit back under the sink. to your surprise, Jason’s standing right behind you, smelling of fresh air and nicotine.

“got anything frozen?” he asks, jutting his chin out towards the groceries still sitting on the counter, abandoned.

“no but—”

“good. let’s dance,” he interrupts you, a half smile tugging at his lips.

“what, now?” you ask, aware of the absurd parody to the previous night.

“no better time,” he insists. he pulls you to the centre of the room, where there’s nothing to stop him from twirling you about. “the world didn’t end, you didn’t get called in to overtime, and I didn’t break my leg.”

“might’ve broken your nose,” you sniff, trying not to let his charm get to you. it doesn’t work. he laughs, head thrown back and unguarded.

“pinkie promise it’s not broken, just bruised sweetheart, like my ego’s gonna be if i can’t you to dance with me.”

you plant a quick kiss on his bloodied cheek and let out an undignified giggle when he tries to dip you.

“i’ll keep coming home to dance,” he murmurs into your ear, pulling you close as he pulls you upright. “s’long as it’s with you.”

the trumpeter plays on, a little more on key and a little less out of time with your heart.

297 notes View Post

tallullahmae

4 months ago

Then reach for it anyways. the memories will lift you up till your hand grasps something else or someone else. Reach for everything and anything because one day you’ll be the one that will be unreachable.

31K notes View Post

tallullahmae

5 months ago

So poor

Reblog if you need this energy

source

674K notes View Post

tallullahmae

4 months ago

Jason Code I

aka when what he says isn’t what he means

“You’re alright?” = he’s not asking if you’re okay he’s asking whats wrong

“You wanna come?” = please go with me

“I’m fine” = i’m irritated

“I’m okay” = ptsd triggered

“You’re good” = i’m here

“Whatever” = yeah, that’s completely fine

785 notes View Post

tallullahmae

6 months ago

Jason is pro-choice

138 notes View Post

tallullahmae

3 months ago

Having a large boyfriend is all fun and games until he figures out he can use the same tactics to move you around as he does with the children he works with (SEN Teaching Assistant) like this stupid mitherfuxker has MULTIPLE TIMES moved me like you would a toddler or a child - yk like hands under armpits.

I’m not small either I am 5’11 and weigh about 12 stone (160 pounds ish for the members of upper Mexico ) and this stupid sexy large man with his pretty brown eyes and his stupid hair that sticks up when he wakes up and his moustache that makes me sneeze when we make out because it goes up my nose calls me SMALL AND CUTE AND KISSES ME ON THE FOREHEAD AND I WANNA MARRY HIMMMMMM

He also made me a cuppa this morning and said ‘tea for my little fairy,’ which makes me happy.

I love him and all my friends hate it when I talk about him bc he’s just dead silent when they’re around (yes 6’5 men with neck tattoos do get anxiety but people don’t think that and they just think that he’s rude) and I need a rant.

I love him