#i need them to fight to the death and i need one of them to actually fucking die at the end

[infamousbrad]

Captain America 2 is my favorite movie in the whole messy MCU and it is entirely because of this scene and the next few scenes, because we keep cutting to ordinary SHIELD employees who just found out that any minute now HYDRA is in all probability conquer the world, and they will win by killing millions of innocent people, and that nothing the loyal SHIELD employees can do has the slightest chance of stopping that.

And what those dozens of ordinary people do is die trying, unhesitatingly and unafraid and unashamed.

None of those deaths make the slightest amount of difference.

Most of them, unlike the one in this gifset, don't even slow HYDRA down by a second. But here's why it mattered to them: it had to be tried. There was nothing to gain by living, if HYDRA won. And even if you did comply, step aside, and somehow "live to fight another day," you would spend the rest of your lifetime, however long or short, not knowing if it would have mattered. That guilt would follow you into eternity.

I've thought long and hard, for most of a lifetime, about courage and this is what I believe true courage is. True courage is doing what you know is right, saying what needs to be said, even if there's no hope of reward, even if there's no hope of surviving it, even if there's no hope of success, just because you know it has to be tried.

And this movie gets that.

[meadowfics]

movie setting

thanos x f!exactress!reader

you run into your ex boyfriend during the squid games

warnings: death (not thanos, its his bestie instead sorry), some changes in the original plot, angst, reader is a blacklisted actress, one use of "bro" towards reader, even though reader is intended to be female.

you were once one of the most promising actresses in korea, starring in a hit drama that still lingers in people's hearts.

your career was supposed to skyrocket, but a scandal ruined everything.

the scandal wasn’t even your fault. the media twisted the story, painting you as the villain.

companies cut ties, contracts were ripped apart, and soon, you found yourself blacklisted from the industry.

millions of won in debt piled up before you could recover.

with no way to earn money, since you did not need to go to college because of your acting career..your world crumbled around you.

to make things worse, you and your longtime boyfriend, thanos, broke up right before everything went to hell.

you loved him.

maybe you still do.

however, you couldn’t drag him down with you, not when his rap career was still holding on by a thread.

he wanted to fight for you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“i’m not going to be the reason you sink too.”

after that, you disappeared from his life.

thano's drug addiction got worse when you left, but that is something that you did not know about until later.

just three months after suffering, you sat at the subway station after missing the last train of the night.

someone finds you..

the salesman.

he offers you the game. an escape. a chance at redemption.

you hesitate, but when you see the money, you know you don’t have a choice.

that’s how you end up on the colorful, dystopian stairs, walking toward your first game just five days later...

you don’t see thanos first. he sees you.

his breath catches when he spots you a few steps below, dressed in the same green tracksuit, looking just as lost and desperate as the rest.

he almost doesn’t believe it.

his ex, the woman he once held at night, the woman he let go of but never truly moved on from, is here.

“no fucking way,” he mutters under his breath, eyes burning into your back.

you feel it...

the weight of someone staring

when you finally turn, your stomach drops.

thanos.

your ex-boyfriend, the man you broke your own heart over, is right there running up the stairs towards you.

for a second, you do not move, holding up the line.

when he comes closer, you turn away, gripping the railing tightly as you climb the stairs faster.

he’s not stupid. he knows you’re avoiding him.

outside on the field..people notice you.

“wait… is that—?”

“holy shit, it’s her! from (drama series)!”

players start murmuring, pointing, whispering excitedly.

some of them grew up watching you on tv, still nostalgic over your most famous role.

“i can’t believe it! i had the biggest crush on her when i was younger!”

you try to ignore the attention, but it’s hard when people are outright gawking at you.

some are obsessed, borderline unsettling.

“you’re even prettier in person…”

you feel their stares, their fascination.

it makes your skin crawl.

thanos notices too.

his jaw clenches as people circle around you like vultures, bombarding you with questions.

usually, this is outside of his personality quirks.

however, he does not like people messing with his girl.

“so, is the scandal real?”

“did you really do it?”

you keep your head down.

you don’t owe them an answer.

thanos watches, expression unreadable as he stands next to namgyu.

he doesn’t step in. not yet.

when the first gunshot goes off, everything changes.

you’re frozen in place, watching blood splatter as bodies drop like flies.

people scream, run, beg for help, but it’s useless.

panic surges inside you, but you force yourself to keep it together.

“green light.”

you move.

you don’t think, don’t breathe,

just follow the rules and survive.

somewhere behind you, thanos does the same.

he sees you up ahead, your body tense, hands trembling at your sides.

he wants to call your name. tell you to focus.

he doesn’t.

he keeps jumping around like a joke..

its the drugs.

he kind of has a feeling that you will be fine.

thanos watches you as he jumps around in joy, pushing people down as if their lives wouldn't be taken too.

“red light.”

after surviving the massacre, you’re still shaken.

everyone is.

you sit in a corner of the room, trying to calm your breathing, when a shadow falls over you.

you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“señorita,” thanos says, voice lower than you remember.

“you’re really here.”

you keep your eyes on the ground.

“leave me alone.”

he scoffs.

“yeah? and how’s that been working out for you?”

you don’t answer.

“you should’ve told me,”

he mutters after a beat.

“it’s not like that,” you whisper.

he tilts his head.

“really? really bro? ‘cause it sure seems like you wanna be near me again.”

he’s smug. a little too smug.

his ego inflates when you don’t deny it.

you glare at him.

“i’d rather be near you than anyone else in this fucking place, su-bong.”

thano's smirk fades slightly.

nam gyu watches the whole thing unfold.

he sees the way you and thanos look at each other..

the tension, the unfinished business.

it makes him sick.

“you two have history,” nam gyu states one night, arms crossed.

you shrug.

“so?”

“so,” he huffs,

“it’s fucking annoying.”

you raise a brow.

“why do you care?”

he doesn’t answer.

thanos, overhearing, just smirks.

“someone jealous?”

nam gyu scowls.

“shut up.”

despite your best efforts, you start gravitating toward your ex again.

you tell yourself it’s survival.

safety.

being where you are most familiar with..

deep down, you know it’s more than that.

every time you look at him, you remember what it felt like to love him.

you also remember why you left.

he notices the way you linger near him, even if you don’t say much.

“you’re not good at pretending for an actress señorita,” he says one night.

you glance at him.

“pretending what?”

“that you don’t want me back.”

your throat tightens.

you shake your head.

“it’s not like that.”

“sure,” he mutters. but he doesn’t look convinced.

the games are brutal. relentless.

you don’t know if you’ll make it out alive.

one thing is clear:

no matter how much you try to fight it, thanos is a part of you.

and in a place like this, maybe he’s the only thing keeping you sane.

when all of the men went to the bathroom, the dorms were eerily quiet. until the sound of chaos started coming from outside the doors. sounds of metal banding, fists colliding with flesh, grunts of pain, bodies slamming against the walls.

it was impossible to ignore. every player still in the dorm room heard it, heads turning toward the source of the violence, but no one dared to move.

you sat on your bed, your hands clenched into fists against your lap. your whole body was tense, your mind racing.

thanos was in there. so was nam-gyu. you didn’t know what the fights were about, but you knew it wasn’t good.

honestly, you would not have been surprised if your out-of-pocket ex started it all with his bestfriend.

se-mi sat beside you, watching the entrance anxiously. the minutes stretched on like hours, and with every second that passed, the pit in your stomach grew deeper.

one by one, men began filtering back into the dorms, beaten and bloodied. some limped, some had swollen faces, and some had fresh bruises forming under their eyes.

you scanned every face, searching for him.

no thanos.

you exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants. se-mi shifted beside you, glancing over with hesitation before asking,

"do you still love thanos?"

the question caught you off guard. your head snapped toward her, eyes wide in panic.

"do i love thanos?" you repeated, almost scoffing. then, without thinking, you blurted out, "no shit, se-mi!"

se-mi flinched at your sharp tone, and the realization hit you instantly. your expression softened as guilt settled in your chest.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, shaking your head.

"that was mean, you're one of my friends here and I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I'm just stressed."

se-mi shrugged, offering a small, dismissive smile.

"it's fine." she glanced toward the entrance again before sighing.

"i wouldn’t care if something happened to nam-gyu though."

you huffed a quiet, amused breath.

despite the tension, you silently agreed.

then, finally, movement at the entrance.

your breath caught when you saw him...thanos, limping back into the dorms, looking bruised but very much alive.

"su-bong," you breathed, already on your feet before you could process it.

you didn’t care who was watching. didn’t care about the whispers, the eyes on you.

you ran straight to him, wrapping your arms tightly around his body, holding onto him like he might disappear if you let go.

the rapper's arms came around you just as fast, his grip firm, as if reassuring himself that you were real.

somewhere in the distance, you heard someone murmur, "that actress and the rapper are dating?" but it didn’t matter.

you buried your face against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, letting yourself feel the relief washing over you.

he is okay.

thanos pulled back slightly, just enough to press a lingering, warm kiss to your forehead.

you closed your eyes, savoring it.

"see," he mumbled against your forehead, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something more tender.

"i know you wanted me back, baby."

you giggled, shaking your head.

"shut up and go sit down."

you slipped an arm under his to help him walk back to the beds, your focus entirely on him...so much so that you didn’t process the absence of a certain someone.

not until the speakers crackled to life, and the robotic voice echoed through the dorms:

"player 124, eliminated."

silence fell over the room.

your body stiffened.

nam-gyu never came back with thanos.

masterlist

[alaia777]

omg i got sooo excited when i saw this event on ur pinned post, also congrats on 200 eeeee u deserve it! >w< could i pleasee ask for "i want to marry you." with shido? like just chilling with him and then him saying it out of nowhere and we're so confused becuz there is not one serious bone in that mans body LOL, but ofc you can do a different scenario, i think anything u write will be adorbs<333

sorry for my bad english btw :3

hellooo, thank you so so much :’)))) i love your idea so much omg! i hope you like it, and also your english is perfect, don’t worry!!!

the living room floor was a mess of pillows and blankets, the aftermath of your boyfriend’s relentless begging for you to wrestle with him. you had other ways you would’ve preferred to spend your afternoon, but you gave in—mostly because you loved him, but also because you knew he needed to burn off some energy.

he didn’t take it seriously, of course. he never did. instead of an actual match, it turned into him picking you up, tossing you onto the couch, and carrying you around the room while laughing like a maniac. you didn’t even try to fight back in the end, just letting him have his fun.

now, after all that, the two of you were sprawled across the couch and floor, tangled up in the blankets, watching some comedy you had picked out. if he had chosen, it would’ve been something violent and disturbing—probably something that would make you question his taste in movies.

you could see him from the corner of your eye, stealing glances your way every few minutes. it was only a matter of time before he came up with some ridiculous idea—he always did.

last time, he had turned to you completely serious and asked if you two could try communicating telepathically for a whole day. before that, it was if you’d be willing to fake your own deaths and run away together “just to see if we could pull it off.”

but nothing could have prepared you for what he was about to say next.

“i want to marry you.”

for a few seconds—seconds that felt like an eternity for him—all you could do was stare, your mind scrambling to process his words. you searched his face for any hint of mischief, any telltale smirk that would give away a joke, but there was nothing.

no teasing glint in his eyes. no sly grin.

just him, watching you intently, waiting.

“like, right now?”

it’s the first thing that leaves your lips, and honestly—really? that’s what you go with? of all the things you could say, of all the ways you could respond to something this huge, that’s what your brain decides on?

but, to be fair, thinking straight is nearly impossible when your heart is pounding against your ribs, and his eyes—so steady, so intense—are holding you in place, making you want to say yes to whatever he wants, whatever he asks.

“if that’s what you want, yes. we could go to the courthouse right now and buy the rings on the way there.”

he says it so easily, like he’s suggesting grabbing takeout for dinner. like marrying you is the most natural thing in the world—because to him, maybe it is.

“it doesn’t even matter how it happens, as long as, at the end of the night, i know we’re carrying the same last name.”

you’re this close to crying.

but then, just as your heart starts to swell, he leans in, brushing his thumb over your cheek with a smirk that’s softer than usual.

“but,” he continues, voice lighter now, “i want you to have the wedding of your dreams. a pretty dress, in a pretty place, with all our friends and family.” he pauses, then scoffs, “not that i care about any of them. i just want an excuse to stare at the woman of my dreams for an entire day without anyone calling it weird.”

and just like that, you’re laughing and crying all at once, because only he could make you question everything you thought you knew about love.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry, but the overwhelming emotion feels like both. this man, with his wild ideas, his way of making everything feel bigger than it is, is making your heart race in ways you didn’t expect.

you wipe away a stray tear, your voice catching as you speak. “you really know how to make a girl feel special,” you joke, wiping the moisture from your cheek.

his grin widens, and he leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “well, i’ve got to keep up, right? otherwise, you’d probably realize you can do better.”

“is that a challenge?” you tease back, narrowing your eyes with a playful smirk. “because if it is, you’re about to lose.”

his smile softens, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, tangled in blankets, a mess of pillows, and the soft glow of the tv casting shadows across the room.

he reaches for your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “i don’t want anyone else, though. i just want you. for real.”

you look into his eyes, so full of sincerity, and feel the weight of the moment settle in. “well, if you’re serious about that, then we’ll figure it out. together. and who knows? maybe one day we’ll have that wedding.”

he laughs softly, but there’s a warmth in it that’s different this time. “we’ll do it right,” he says, “the way you deserve. but first, how about i just get to stare at you for a little longer?”

and with that, the two of you relax into each other, the laughter and tears fading into the background, replaced by the quiet, comforting presence of knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[jubileesstuff]

Ok, imagine Jason wanders in his catatonic state around, and he meets Nico di Angelo. Or more like Nico wanders around, and he finds Jason. Nico immediately knows that something is wrong with Japson. He can sense the death. Nico decides to take the wandering (kind of) zombie with him. I mean, he can't just let this catatonic guy wander around after he escaped the underworld.

Hades or Thanatos never contacts him about a lost soul, so this guy stays with him. He even brings him to camp. When Chiron and Mr. D ask about him, Nico is like, 'Yes, this is my elder brother; he is like a zombie; I found him on the streets.' And that's it. No one questions it. There have been weirder things in Camp Half-Blood. Mr. D doesn't give a fuck; Chiron just accepts it, and the campers are like, 'Ok, cool.'

Slowly Jason regains his consciousness. It starts slow with some talking; he tells Nico his name. Jason recognizes Nico as a little brother, someone he needs to protect, someone who is family, someone who protects him. When they're not at camp, they travel all over the country. Nico and some ghosts train his new brother in sword fighting; Jason learns it fast. In camp, he also learns to fight with a lot of different weapons. Nico has the ongoing theory that before Jason died, he already knew how to fight; he was probably a child soldier or something similar. He was definitely not in the Army, because Jason is too young for that. Soon he becomes one of the best fighters in camp. The Ares kids come up with the theory that Jason was a child of Ares that died and came back to life. The Athena Cabin says the same, since Jason seems to like literature too, so he is smart and he knows how to fight; that means he has to be one of them.

No one can actually prove that. No godly parent claims him; Nico thinks it's because he died and came back

At some point, Nico figures out what happened to him and how he got back. He doesn't want to confront him, but he also knows that Jason has an actual family, and they would probably be thrilled to have him back. But then again, how does someone explain why and how their dead son came back to life? Even if the parent is Batman. (Yes, Nico knows that Bruce Wayne is Batman; ghosts are everywhere, and they love to talk to Nico).

When Jason's mind is completely clear again, Nico talks to him about his family. Jason says he doesn't really want to go back to them because he also sees Nico as his family, and when he can't come along, he doesn't want to go back to his old family. Also, Bruce didn't kill the Joker.

One day Nico and Jason wander around and go to Blüdhaven; some things go south, and they meet Nightwing. Nightwing is like, 'Wait, I know this dude.'. And then he begins to sob. Jason and Nico stand there like, 'This is awkward.'. Now that Nightwing knows, everybody knows. Not too long after they meet Dick (and talk with him), Bruce comes to visit them in New York. Jason and Bruce talk, like actually talk, and not just fight. They come to the agreement that Nico and Jason should move to Gotham with them. Nico is like, 'Didn't Batman have a 'no powers' rule for Gotham?'? Bruce is like, 'Eh, you are my kid now; who cares?'.

This is how Jason and Nico became brothers and chaos gremlins. They love to prank and spy on other people with Nicos powers.

The most unrealistic thing here is probably that Jason and Bruce talk, but Jason learned non-violent coping methods from Will, Sally, and Mr. D. It's a Head canon, this is ment to have plotholes.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

One thing I find very annoying about the fandom is the claims that color saying that he hates nightmare and believes nightmare doesn’t deserve mercy for everything nms done to innocent people, to colors friends and loved ones, and to killer is hypocrisy.

Now this would’ve be an interesting character flaw if it had been true, but the fact of the matter is: it isn’t true. At all.

Killer was a victim of nightmare, being used and manipulated to do his dirty work. Fact of the matter is killer wouldnt have done as much as half as he did if nightmare hadn’t forced him to live and then forced him to work for him. Killer wouldnt have had the means to, because he cannot travel between aus.

Another thing is this: Killer felt horribly guilty about what he’s done and what he did, in Stage 1. But it’s not just that; he expressed a desire to change, he asked Color for help—to save him—because he doesn’t want to do it anymore.

He wants to live, he wants family and his brother back, but he can’t live when he’s forced to do nothing but survive under Nightmare; he can’t change when he’s with Nightmare. It’s literally life or death—and Killer is deeply programmed. He cannot simply decide to change, or who he wants to be, it’s just not that easy for him. Not the same way it is for others.

And yet, despite that, he said he wanted to change and even underneath Nightmare he was trying to. In the Something New Happened comic, when Killer confronts Nightmare before leaving him, he reveals that he’s been not only gathering information on Nightmare behind his back and lying and pretending to Nightmare; but he’s been secretly helping AUs as well.

Even when he’s finally left with Color, it’s implied that he and Color still fight against “bad guys”—regardless of Killer’s personal reasons for why he does it, he still does it.

And even if this wasn’t the case: the simple fact of the matter is that Killer needs help. It’s not a matter of “deserve.” He will fucking die if he keeps working for Nightmare and going on as he is; he will die, and he will be replaced.

Doesn’t matter if he was willing to change or not, this victim of labor trafficking and horrific ‘human’ rights violating types of abuse is begging Color for help; and he’s going to help him.

Nightmare never even shows guilt for what he does, to anyone. Not even in Something New. He refuses to acknowledge that he’s the reason why shit keeps going wrong and why he keeps ending up alone. Which means he refuses to take responsibility or accountability.

Killer left him because he used, manipulated, tortured, trafficked, conditioned, violated and abused Killer. And Killer decided he didn’t want to be what Nightmare wanted him to be anymore. Killer decided to live for himself, and do what he wants for once, and Nightmare’s response was to threaten to murder Killer for this.

Nightmare was upset he was alone again, and he was upset he lost control over Killer and that Color “stole” what he views as his and undermined his control and power.

There’s no realization about what he’s done or desire to change—he blames Killer and especially Color for making feel like that, for making him feel like the bad guy again. Rather than acknowledging the fact that he is a bad guy. It’s always about how others made him feel.

On top of that, Corrupted Nightmare isn’t even the same person as original Nightmare—so something that happened 500 years ago is not his trauma to claim in an attempt to reason or justify his abuse of Killer and his horrible actions. And even if Corrupted was the same person as original Nightmare, his abuse happened 500 years ago.

The whole “cycle of abuse” thing is supposed to be about ending it. Not uwuifying and absolving Nightmare of responsibility for his abuse and horrific crimes against others because he was a victim 500 years ago. His abusers are dead, and he killed them.

So not liking or believing canon Nightmare deserves mercy is not Color being a hypocrite for believing and choosing to help Killer. Nightmare and Killer’s situations are completely different.

And on that topic, in more fanonish depictions or versions of Nightmare where he can be redeemed, it’s not Color’s fucking responsibility to redeem or like that old bastard. Nor is it Killer’s. They owe him absolutely nothing.

All in all: even in more fanonish Nightmare depictions, Color is completely valid to fucking hate and not like Nightmare. Would he hold a grudge against Nightmare? Probably not exactly, given the influence of Kindness and the fact that’s just not how Color is.

Would he be willing to help Nightmare? Possibly, if Killer (or in some cases, Horror and Dust) are okay with it—if he truly believes that Nightmare wants and is willing to change, because he wants to help—but doesn’t mean he ever has to like him.

It’s very obvious that Color doesn’t think or feel this way about Nightmare for absolutely no reason or because of rumors or because the Multiverse “misunderstood” Nightmare.

In fact Color was introduced as initially believing that Nightmare could change, back before he knew this guy. He believed Nightmare loved his brother, even if it doesn’t seem like it, and encouraged Dream not to give up on Nightmare; way before Color knew Killer, and got to know Nightmare more. Before he had first hand experience, and saw the aftermath of the destruction Nightmare can bring.

Which shows someone who doesn’t allow the rumors or opinions of others to cloud his judgement, and prefers to think and came up with judgements on others himself; based on his own experiences and understanding of people and situations.

And the judgment and opinion he eventually came to was definitely not because of a misunderstanding or because of falling for rumors or “anti nightmare propaganda” as is sometimes shown in fanfics—he saw something, heard something, experienced something—likely had many different examples of this something, given the fact that Nightmare is known for replacing Killers—that led him to this particular conclusion of Nightmare’s character.

Let’s not act like it’s weird or wrong to hate the person who fucking abuses and uses and tortures your best friend.

Most people are absolutely a-okay with threatening to kill their best friend’s cheating boyfriend, people will live if color despises his best friend’s literal trafficker and that does not make Color inherently hypocritical.

(Which is an idea that exists obviously not because people want to explore the complexity of Color and Nightmare’s relationship and characters, not because they want to write complex characters and dynamics, but because they want to absolve Nightmare of any wrong doing and have Color realize hes “wrong” or somehow “just as bad” and stop “taking killer from nightmare.”)

We’ve already established just how much both color’s relationships, his morals, and his integrity means to him.

[shivunin]

Breath and Bone

After Rook is injured in the Crossroads, a spell gone wrong makes the injury dramatically worse. With Rook unconscious, Lucanis must help her reach the Lighthouse and safety.

(Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook Ingellvar | 6,360 Words | AO3 Link | CW: broken bones, implied past child abuse)

“It's never enough being one. Why do I hope to contain you: always undoing and undone; every place you touch me changes shape.” —Robert Fanning, “Song of the Shore to the Sea”

“Nice one, Rook!” Lucanis shouted from the other side of the clearing. 

Rook, stepping back from the fresh corpse she’d just driven her spellblade into, did not have the breath to respond. The Crossroads was a dizzy thing, ridden with a resonant hum. When she fought here, she could feel it all through her, as if the place was singing in her bones. It was easy to get lost in that rhythm. It was especially easy when she was fighting like this, Venatori swinging blades everywhere she turned, no space at all to breathe or strategize.

A missile hissed as it passed her, and Lenore summoned a barrier just as a second might have hit. Somewhere behind her, Bellara shouted something she couldn’t hear. Days like this invigorated some of the others, she knew. After battle, Taash or Davrin seemed energized, as if the adrenaline rush of combat clung to them a little longer than the act itself.

It wasn’t like that for Lenore. Death was a familiar friend; killing was an entirely different creature. She had long since accepted its necessity. That didn’t mean she loved the fight. Quite the contrary, in fact. If there had been any other path for them, she would have taken it a hundred times over by now.

She ducked nimbly, drawing a miasma of death from the ground to drive the nearest foes back. They choked and gagged at its touch, so familiar to Lenore, and staggered away from her. 

The field had been whittled down somewhat. As she watched, Bellara waved her arms to draw the attention of an assailant. When the warrior turned to fight her, Lucanis appeared behind him as if from the air itself and drove a blade neatly between his ribs. 

This! This was what she’d been working toward! It was so heartening to see that their group combat practices were paying off, that their techniques and strategies were interlocking so effectively. She would have to bring this up to both of them later, because it deserved to be pointed out. She would—

Something struck her leg, midway between her knee and her ankle. There was an ominous crack somewhere in that region and an answering swell of pain. She’d made the first, most basic mistake in combat and taken her attention from her enemies. Luckily for her—for all of them—her instincts had been honed by the constant fighting, too, and she reacted without thinking. Lightning arced from her hand and spread, striking the one who’d hit her and spreading to the two behind him. One toppled immediately, arms splayed, eyes hollow. The other shook, caught in place as the power coursed through them, and crumpled to the ground a moment later. 

“Nice try, filth,” said the one before her, and swung his blade at her again. 

Not good. She could barely put weight on her leg, which would dramatically hinder her maneuverability. The pain was getting to her already, crawling from her leg to her chest and choking her lungs. She couldn’t think straight; needed to do something to fend him off. Something—

He swung again, and her shield flickered into existence just before the blade would have connected with her forehead. Her reserves had been drained by the lightning, and they drained further as he added a second hand to the hilt of the blade to bear down on her. 

Lenore gritted her teeth. Her head felt fuzzy, her face clammy. She hadn’t the strength to hold him off now. She barely had the breath to hiss between her teeth, let alone call out to one of the others for help. Healing magic was out of the question—she’d never had the knack of it. 

None of them could heal, really; up to now, they’d mostly been working around this with potions. Not for the first time, she wished she’d formed the sort of bond with a spirit that might’ve given her this skill. Alas, her talents lay elsewhere—her hands had always been for death, never life.

Wait. There was an idea. 

In the Necropolis, inhabited skeletons often encountered the sort of damage that cracked a bone or two. There were spells to mend them when this sort of thing occurred, and materials to patch missing pieces if necessary. She’d learned those spells when she’d been an apprentice, but hadn’t needed to call upon the knowledge in years. 

Her bones were still covered in living tissue. It would be risky to try this herself, but she had little choice. In a moment, he’d break through her barrier. If she could just remember—

“Give in to me,” the Venatori demanded. “Kneel!” 

Lenore panted with effort and dragged the words from her memory. The shield dimmed around her, bright where it touched the blade and nearly insubstantial everywhere else. She had so little energy left. This would take most of it; she’d only have one shot at patching herself up. She had to make it count. 

“Rook’s hurting!” Bellara yelled somewhere beyond her. 

Rook tensed, sucked in a breath, and spoke the words of the spell. Several things happened in quick succession: 

Devoid of the power it took to sustain it, her shield faltered and the sword broke through. Lenore ducked to her right, taking her weight off her injured leg, and hammered the base of her staff into the Venatori’s throat. 

As she moved, the spell took effect. Pain swelled within her and broke like a wave, the bone in her leg mending itself over and over again until it had multiplied itself enough to break through the skin. She screamed without knowing it, without really hearing it, as if the pain itself made a tunnel from her leg to her throat and poured itself forth from there. 

Bolts laden with electricity shot from somewhere in the distance, hammering into the unbalanced Venatori’s back. He stumbled, nearly tripping over one of the many spurs of bone now projecting from Rook’s leg. 

“Rook,” Lucanis shouted from what seemed like a great distance, “hold on!” 

She’d no idea what she could possibly be holding on to when the whole world was shuddering like a freshly reanimated corpse, but she tried anyway. She must have fallen at some point in the chaos because her hands scrabbled at stone and dirt now, not thin air. If her leg hadn’t hurt so badly that it eclipsed all other feeling, her head and tailbone would no doubt be aching from the impact.

The Venatori, now bleeding profusely, staggered to his feet. Behind him, a violet blur felled first one, then another of the remaining Venatori who stood between Lucanis and Rook. There were few of them left, which was probably good. It still wouldn’t save her if she fell to this one right now. 

Her staff had fallen behind her. Rook dragged herself backward, scrambling for it. Her hands were slick with something and they moved slower than they should, as if the air itself was more viscous than it ought to be. Every time she tried to grasp the smooth wood, it slid away from her. A flash of teal and brown flickered at the corner of her eye: Bellara was running toward her from the other side of the clearing. Even as she identified her friend, another Venatori darted into Bellara’s path and blocked her from view. 

Only five left now. If she just held out—

The violet blur spread tenebrous wings and shot closer, impossibly fast. Fast enough? It was hard to say. Everything looked—felt—so very strange. Her head pulsed in time with the wound in her leg.  The Venatori lifted his sword and swung, a blow that would connect precisely with her breastbone. At last, at last, her hand wrapped around the polished wood of her staff, though it fought to slip from her grasp.

Unbidden, her mind began to recite, in clinical and removed tones, precisely what would happen to her body when the blow connected: if her sternum did not collapse, one of the sternocostal joints would. The force of the blow would penetrate her chest, likely striking her heart. If it did not, it would certainly rupture the pleural cavity and steal her breath away. The latter would not kill her immediately. She’d tended plenty of corpses that’d taken at least one more blow to die after this precise strike. If she hung on for long enough, one of the potions the others carried could still heal her. If not…

If not, she’d already shown Emmrich exactly where she wanted to be buried. 

Behind the Venatori, Lucanis—or maybe Spite—struck down two more Venatori; they fell before him like sheaves of wheat before the scythe. She might be impressed at his accuracy and speed if she weren’t possessed by mortal terror. Perhaps Emmrich would be able to coax that thought from her corpse after she—after— 

The blade whistled through the air, a silver gleam meant for her heart. At that precise moment, Lenore finally grasped her staff and summoned another barrier. It failed almost immediately, but held just long enough to arrest the sword’s motion in midair. The Venatori grunted and lifted the sword again. 

This had to be it; she had nothing left, not even a drop of magic.  Rook took the staff in both hands (it was so heavy; so heavy that she almost couldn’t lift it, though she’d been wielding it for months now) and held it over her chest. It was a poor shield, especially when she was shaking so hard she could barely see straight, but it was better than giving up entirely. 

“For Razi—” the Venatori began, but the word was cut off abruptly. 

Between one blink and the next, the air was filled with that purple glow, illuminating her attacker from behind. Even now, Rook held her staff in shaking hands, warding as best she could against whatever blow may yet come. It wasn’t necessary; already, blood trickled from her attacker’s mouth, still open to speak a syllable that would never come. 

When his body dropped, it fell to the side and away from Lenore. Lucanis stood behind him, his face like stone. Spite’s wings spread from his back. His knife dripped blood onto Rook’s boot. She looked at that instead of her—instead of the bones branching above it. 

There was no clever comment, no regards from the Crows. Instead, his eyes held hers. 

“Can you walk?” Lucanis asked, eyes gleaming with the telltale sign of Spite’s ascendance though it was undeniably his voice she heard. 

“No,” she managed through gritted teeth. 

Behind him, Bellara shouted as the last of the Venatori fell. Lucanis must have seen her leg by now; his face grew more grim, eyes pinched at the corners. She could hardly look at it herself, though she could see the jagged, pale sections from the corner of her eye. 

Lucanis stepped closer and crouched, neatly blocking her view of whatever she’d done to herself. Without meaning to, she reached for his elbow and squeezed, far harder than she would have under any other circumstances. She couldn’t have said what kind of comfort she sought then; there was nothing he could do for her and both of them knew it, though he was already reaching for the vial at his belt. 

“Bad idea,” she told him, lifting a hand to clear the sweat from her brow and realizing at the last minute that mud, blood, and something green dripped from her hand. She used her elbow instead, though it wasn’t much cleaner. When she drew her arm away, new red streaked over the fabric. 

“Why?” Lucanis asked. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and lifted it to her forehead, carefully dabbing at something there. His face was so very grim. She did not like it; did not like that she was the cause. 

“What I did—” gorge rose at the back of her throat. Lenore swallowed and tried again. “Healing is the problem. It might make it worse. Unless you’ve got something for—for pain or sleep…”

“No,” he told her, tucking the vial away. “Only this. Can you bear it until we reach the Lighthouse?” 

“Don’t have much choice,” she said. Bellara rushed into view, face already paler than usual. 

“Rook, that looks really bad,” she said. “What can I—is there anything I can do?” 

Lucanis rested his hand over Rook’s at his elbow and looked up at Bellara. 

“I am going to carry her back. Can you find something to keep her leg stable?”

“I—yeah. Yes. Give me just—give me a few minutes. I have an idea.” 

Bellara darted off again, flitting from body to body. After a moment, she perched near the collapsed pile of metal that’d once been a guardian of the crossroads. Something pulled Rook’s attention to a pile of rock floating past and she watched its slow, gentle path across the sky. It was not engrossing; it was something she had seen dozens of times by now. Nonetheless, she could not look away. For a moment, every other sound was drowned out by the rush of her blood in her ears.

“Rook?” Lucanis said. “Rook. Can you hear me?”

It took some effort to unclench her teeth. Lenore nodded instead, turning her head to look at him. He’d leaned closer while she’d been distracted. He reached for her hand now, apparently unbothered by the muck still caking her palms. 

“Hold on,” he said. “As tight as you need to. I am here. I will stay.” 

At last, she managed to part her lips. Her mouth was dry, but she didn’t dare reach for her waterskin. Any movement felt like it could upset the delicate balance she was maintaining. An ounce more pain and she would be lost. 

“I will pass out,” she told him as clearly as she could manage. 

His hand tightened around hers—surprising, since she had his hand in a vice grip and couldn’t seem to unclench her fingers. She hadn’t expected him to hold her back. Sweat dripped into her eyes, stinging as she blinked it away. 

“When you lift me,” she clarified. “It’s—going to jostle the–the wound. I won’t be awake. That’s good. You can move faster if you aren’t worrying about my comfort.”  

“I understand,” Lucanis said. “Don’t try to talk. Rest now; we will do what we can.”

“Stupid,” she told him, and took in a shaky breath. Bellara was moving toward them again, something golden in her hands. “My fault.”

“Leave it,” he told her. “You can blame yourself later.” 

“Got it,” Bellara said, skidding to a halt beside them. “This will hold your legs in place. There’s a bit that should keep anything from hitting the, um—pieces directly. I’m going to put this on now, okay?”

“Wait,” Rook said. The adrenaline was wearing off; she was thinking less and less clearly, the pain echoing and magnifying with each passing moment. “Tell—tell Emmrich—the spell is the one for—for mending bone. He’ll know—so stupid, tell him I’m sorry—”

“I’ll tell him, I promise,” Bellara said, her voice soothing. Briefly, she rested a hand on Lenore’s shoulder. “I’m putting the brace on now, alright? I’ll be as quick as I can.” 

She couldn’t help the noise she made when Bellara reached under her leg to fasten the brace. Without thinking, she turned and pressed her face against Lucanis’s knee to muffle the cries, uncomfortable as it was. All the while, his grip on her hand held steady. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Bellara chanted, her voice strained. “Almost done, just a little more—sorry!—almo—”

Between one syllable and the next, the universe blinked.

Now, the wind rushed through her hair. They were no longer in the same clearing. Instead, the Crossroads sped past on either side. The ache in her leg had intensified, though she could feel from the tight band around her thigh that the splint was still in place. 

“How close?” Lucanis asked. 

“We approach the requested destination, Dweller,” the serene voice of the Caretaker responded. 

Warm leather curled more tightly around her shoulders and the scene resolved itself into something that made sense. Lucanis held her at the prow of the rowboat, one foot braced on the bench before them. She turned her head to see him better and found him examining her already, his face solemn. 

Something about his chest looked odd, but it took her a moment to place it: he’d removed the blade and all the vials from his armor there. Why? Nothing made sense. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and his brow furrowed.

“For what, Rook?” 

What could she say? She turned her face into his chest instead, closing her eyes for a moment. It would be easier, she decided, if the world would just stop spinning. 

“It was a stupid mistake,” she mumbled against his chest. 

“You’ve said that,” he told her. “More than once. I will tell you again what you told me after Weisshaupt: we all make mistakes, Rook.” 

She tried to hold onto his words, but they scattered to the winds. His grip on her shifted slightly, his hand curling around her shoulder. 

“Look at me, Rook. You have to stay awake. You have a concussion. That’s why you aren’t thinking clearly.”

Staying awake was a singularly unattractive prospect. Everything hurt; the dizziness was only getting worse and she’d made the mistake of looking at her leg again. Just the sight of it, bone jutting from her leg in three directions and curling in on itself like the horns of a halla, was enough to make her stomach lurch again. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. 

Through his armor, she could hear his heartbeat. 1, 2, 3, she counted, 1, 2, 3—like a waltz, played in double time. She couldn’t remember why she was apologizing. Had she played a waltz for him before? She’d played for him—for all of them—but she couldn’t remember—

“I’m sorry,” she told Lucanis again, and the grim lines branching from the corners of his eyes deepened. She wanted him to never let go of her; when she turned her face into him again, the world felt quieter.

“Don’t apologize to me, Rook,” he said, and the universe blinked again. 

|

It was quiet in Rook’s room, for which Lucanis was grateful. There had been far too much noise in the infirmary from when he’d carried her there to when Taash had brought her here. Neve’s sleeping spell yet held her; Rook’s face was still, though the space between her eyebrows remained faintly creased. If the spell had not failed when Taash had rebroken her leg and Davrin had set it, Lucanis did not think it would break in the face of too much noise. Even so, he was relieved that she was here, in her own space, and that the others had gone away for a time. 

“Why does she still sleep? Wake her up,” Spite said from the head of the settee she slept on, peering down at Rook’s drawn face. 

“Waking will hurt her,” Lucanis told him. “Her leg is still broken.”

“Then fix it, if it’s broken,” Spite said. 

Lucanis ignored the demon and leaned forward, glancing at Rook’s leg. The cold spell had reduced some of the swelling, though it was still visible under the second brace Bellara had brought her. The damage was clear beneath the metal and leather: her skin gone red and purple around the break, sliced to ribbons where the new growth had speared through it, dried blood still caked in the creases of her ankle where Lace hadn’t quite washed all of it away.

Like most Crows, his knowledge of healing was limited to the most basic necessities. In a fight, it was better to remove your opponent from the battle than to stop moving and patch up your fellows. He had studied certain medical writings in training, but only to better identify the weak points of his opponents. At most, he might’ve been able to bandage her wound long enough to get to safety, or perhaps offer one of the potions he kept on hand. In this—the bone jutting from her skin, the way she’d cried out when he’d lifted her from the ground, the tear tracks still visible on her cheeks now—in this, he’d been of no use at all. 

Even now, he was not entirely sure what she’d tried to do. Emmrich’s explanation had mostly been different versions of a horrified “why that spell” or “what an incredibly inadvisable course of action.” Lucanis had not disagreed with either statement, but he had not found them especially enlightening either. The necromancer had undone her spell, at least. He was glad of that.

“She smells all wrong,” Spite said, still peering at Rook. “All wrong.”

All the long way back to the Lighthouse, Spite had been uncharacteristically helpful. He had slipped beneath Lucanis’s skin seamlessly, as he once had in the early days in the Ossuary. He had done nothing but help speed them along, pushing their body faster than Lucanis might have been able to alone. It had seemed that they were, for once, of one mind, one mission: bring Rook somewhere safe and get her the help she needed. Everything else had been peripheral. 

It was…quiet now that the others were gone. This was a relief. It also meant he had far too much time to think. He might almost—almost—be grateful for the distraction Spite provided now. Whenever he turned to look at the fish, the water behind him, his stomach turned and his hands shook. As long as he faced forward, he could still pretend to ignore it. 

“Wrong,” Spite repeated. “Blood and elfroot and pain. Not like Rook.”

Lucanis sighed. He had not enjoyed carrying her back, though he would do it a hundred times over if she ever had need of such assistance again. It had been a fraught thing, willing her eyes to open again even though she would go on apologizing to him every time they did. He had a great deal of experience trying to hold still, but it had been worse to know that every involuntary shift of his body had caused hers pain. 

He had not liked carrying her, but it had been—he had felt—something to hold her pressed against him, to wrap her in his arms. She had clutched him to her, hands snarled in the belts at his chest, face pressed into his body. He had wished, on that long ride back, that he could curl himself around her and shield her from what she’d done, though it was a useless impulse. 

Useless and foreign besides; he had never felt such a thing before and did not know what to do with it now that he had. 

Now, his hand rested beside hers on the bed, close enough that he could feel the faint movements of her body when she breathed in and out. When Emmrich had finally deemed it safe, Lucanis had administered the healing potion to her himself. He’d slid a hand under her neck to tip her head back and ease its passage into her throat. Though he was no longer touching her, he could still feel the memory of the softness of her skin against his palm. 

Once, he had watched Rook tune her violin on one of the balconies outside the main tower. She’d struck a tuning fork against her knuckles and held it between two elegant fingertips, eyes closed to listen. The tone had spilled out into the air long after she’d touched it, humming until she finally set it aside to turn the small knobs at the top of her instrument. 

Lucanis supposed he did not feel so very different than that tuning fork now. The touch of her skin still hummed inside him, though he had long since let go. He could not help wondering if he should reach for her hand now, if only to still that hum. 

 “She needs to rest and heal. Then, she will smell like herself,” he told Spite.

Spite crouched, his nose an inch from Rook’s. Slowly, Lucanis’s smallest finger brushed against Rook’s.

“She should smell of incense,” Spite told her, as if to remind her. “Leaf-rot. Rosemary. The rest is wrong.” 

“She doesn’t smell like rotting leaves,” Lucanis said, as he had a dozen times before. Spite bared his teeth. “I don’t know why you always say that.”

“You’re wrong. She smells of sweet rot. Always. Only Rook ever does.” 

What use was there in arguing? It hadn’t swayed the demon yet, though they’d had this argument more than once. Lucanis shifted in his chair and found his hand resting against Rook’s. Should he let go? Leave? Work on finding a healer in Treviso they could bring her to? 

Her hand was so still, soft and cool in his.

When he had been a boy, there had been an illness (he could not recall what it had been; a fever, perhaps) and a dark room, bed hung with dark cloth. It had not been in Villa Dellamorte, but the home his parents kept. It had been—warmer, he thought. Less marble, more carved wood. One night, Lucanis had lain in the dark, ill and horribly lonely, and he had woken to find his father’s hand in his. What a comfort it had been, to know that he was not alone in the dark with his pain. 

Lucanis ignored Spite and curled his fingers around Rook’s. There were calluses on odd places near the first joints of her fingers. Musical in origin, he supposed, not caused by her staff. He had not seen them before, but now he could feel scars across her palms, across the backs of her hands. Where had she gotten them? He wondered if she would answer, should he ask.

It had seemed…foolish, potentially dangerous to hold her hand in most of the places they’d visited. What if one of them needed to draw a weapon? Precious seconds might be wasted in untangling themselves from each other. Beyond that, she would be a target if anyone knew that he wanted—that he thought—

“You will make sure she’s fixed,” Spite said, voice abruptly louder, and he leaned across the bed to put his face near Lucanis’s. “She won’t stay like this. It isn’t right.”

“Yes,” Lucanis agreed. “Neve is looking for a healer who can help. Emmrich has already undone the worst of whatever she did to her leg.”

Spite had been with Lucanis for more days than he’d been able to count, but he still had difficulty reading the demon’s expressions. He did not even know if they were facial expressions or if that was just how his mind interpreted Spite’s existence. On someone else, he might have thought the narrowed eyes and sneer meant displeasure. On Spite, it must have been approval instead because the demon winked out of existence a moment later. It was a relief when he was gone, as if some imperceptible background noise he never really heard had finally ceased.  

“Don’t worry,” Lucanis told Rook in the ensuing silence. “The others will find somebody to help. I’ll wait with you until they do. It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”

She would have laughed at that. She liked to laugh, his—Rook liked to laugh. 

Her hand didn’t move in his. Still, he did not think he was imagining the growing warmth in her palm. Lucanis reached for the cup of coffee he’d set aside and sipped it without letting go of her. Whatever came next, he would be there. 

Even if nobody else had heard it, he’d made her a promise.

|

The first thing Lenore felt when she woke was the warmth wrapped around her hand. 

Pain followed quickly, but she’d been braced for that. She had not been braced for comfort and was less sure about what to do with it. 

“You’re awake,” Spite said, and Rook opened her eyes to look at him. 

The demon sat in a chair beside her bed, one foot propped on the seat while the other rested on the ground. He was the one holding her hand, of course. 

“I am,” she answered, studying him. “Did Lucanis fall asleep there or did you walk him here?”

Not what she was asking, really. What she meant was, which one of you decided to wait beside me while I was out? It would have been harder to ask that; harder still to admit to him how much she wanted to know. Better to sidestep it entirely. 

“Here,” Spite replied. “He promised. To stay.”

“And you didn’t want to make a run for it while everyone was distracted?” 

The ache in her leg was…significant, but better than she remembered in her awful, cluttered recollection of the moments following her injury. A cautious glance downward revealed only the usual quantity of bones. Nothing twisted past her shin, bones projecting outward and curling around each other like halla horns. She almost wished she believed in a god so she could thank them. 

“He promised,” Spite replied, as if it was the obvious answer. 

“Does Lucanis know that you keep his promises?” she asked, smiling at him. 

Spite smiled back slowly, each side of the mouth creeping up in turn, as if testing himself to see if he could. 

“No,” he said. “Are you. Fixed?” 

Mentally, she felt along her body. Her head felt better, she thought, though her leg was a miserable tangle of pain. The rest of her was stiff, as if she’d been lying still for a very long time.

“Not all the way. Something still hurts down there. But better than earlier, yes.” 

“Good. Your pain. Was wrong.” 

Wrong?

“Did it bother you to carry me around?” 

Rook thought to push herself up, try to sit, but thought better of it. She’d have to let go of his hand if she wanted to move and it hardly seemed worth it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her hand. Actually—now that she was thinking about it, she couldn’t remember a time when anyone living had held her hand for longer than the time it took to lead her where she was supposed to be.

“No,” Spite replied at once, and looked as if he would go on. Abruptly, his face went blank and Lucanis blinked himself awake. 

“Rook,” he said. “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” she said. 

Now that she was awake, he would take his hand away. She was certain of it. She held very still so he wouldn’t notice that they were still holding onto each other. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. His forehead creased as he leaned closer, shifting until both feet rested firmly on the ground. 

“I’ve been better,” she said, but he did not laugh. “Feeling a little stupid. I feel like I should apol—”

“Don’t, Rook,” Lucanis said, lifting the hand that wasn’t holding hers as if to halt the words. “I think you’ve apologized enough. If I never hear you say ‘I’m sorry’ again, it will be too soon.”

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“Hm,” Lucanis said, the corner of his mouth twitching. Some strong emotion suppressed; not a smile, she thought. “Emmrich called it…perseveration. He said that those with head wounds often repeat phrases or thoughts, and you’d happened to choose that one.”

“You disagree?” Lenore asked. 

His thumb traced something on the back of her hand, slow and soft. She repressed a shiver at the sensation—so comfortable, so easy. It was like they touched each other casually all the time, which they certainly did not. He had made his interest clear—clear enough for her, at least—and yet they had still remained largely hands-off until now. 

“These marks on your hands,” he said, and paused. “I have seen others like them.”

“Have you?” 

The urge to snatch hers back and hide it under the blankets was immediate, the effort to ignore it not inconsiderable. Lucanis lifted his own hand, angling it so the light shone over the scar tissue there, criss-crossing his knuckles and the back of his hand in straight, silvery lines. Thicker than the ones on the backs of her hands, yes, but mostly the same.

“You are not a Crow,” he said. “You were not trained the way I was. Emmrich’s hands are largely unscarred. Those are very old—before you left the Necropolis.”

“Correct on all counts,” Lenore told him, and turned their hands so hers was pressed against the blanket and out of sight. 

He watched her for a moment, free hand settling slowly on the cot beside her leg. She wondered what he’d read in her face. She wondered what he wasn’t saying nearly as much as she hoped he wouldn’t keep talking about it.

“You do not have to apologize to me,” he said at last. “I was glad that I was the one with you when you fell.”

“You shouldn’t have had to carry me back,” she told him firmly, shifting her weight onto her elbow. Her grip tightened on his hand. “I’m meant to look after myself better than that. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” Lucanis said, squeezing her hand in turn. “Stop. I would do it again.” 

He was so very close—she hadn’t noticed him getting closer—and she still felt so awful, so grateful, and his hand was so warm in hers—

“Lucanis,” she murmured, as if speaking too loud would ruin something precious and fragile, “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

Lenore hadn’t been touched or held in so long. She had almost—almost—convinced herself that this didn’t bother her, that she didn’t care. She’d been wrong, though; she cared a great deal. Cared like a plant cared for watering, like strings longed for a bow. Before she could change her mind or retreat from him again, she was lifting her face to his and kissing him.

|

Lucanis could count on one hand the number of times he had kissed somebody, and nearly all of them had been in the process of completing a contract or training for the same. They’d all been more or less the same to him, the experiences blurring together into the same dull sensation, all duty and never desire. 

This—Rook’s face upturned, her soft mouth pressed to his—was like none of those other times. He hardly had time to recover from the shock of it before she was pulling away again, eyes searching his face. Too fast; not enough time to understand. He needed more.

On instinct, he reached behind her and cupped the back of her neck as he had before, carefully pressing her close to him once more. Her lips were soft and surprised under his, as if she had expected him to pull away. When he kissed her, she made a surprised sound and squeezed his hand.

 Had he worried that it was Spite, not Lucanis, who wanted to kiss her? Had he somehow believed that touching her would quiet the hum of fascination under his skin? All ridiculous, all incorrect; this was something entirely different. His hand fit at the back of her neck perfectly, as if it had been shaped precisely for this. He was barely kissing her, but the faint pressure of his mouth against his was almost overwhelming. He was already touching her, already holding her to him, and yet he was hungry for exactly that—as if the touch by its very existence required more of itself, required more of him. 

Too much. He withdrew, though he didn’t let go of her yet, and found her eyes still closed, her lips softly parted. 

What was he to do with this? He wanted to press his thumb to the pulse beating at her throat, wanted to lift her from the bed and hold her again, wanted to kiss the hand he held in his until—until what? 

“You should rest,” Lucanis told her, his voice so quiet he found himself surprised he’d said it aloud at all. 

Rook nodded once, eyes still closed, and pressed her lips together. When she moved, he could feel the shift of her spine under her skin. Would it feel the same if he held her hand while she moved, while she played her music for him, when she drew magic from the Fade? Would it feel the same with his hands around her hips, or her—

The thought was strange enough, foreign enough, that he let go and climbed to his feet. For a moment, Rook held very still, face still tilted. Lucanis took a step back, lest his hands betray him and reach for her again. 

“You’re still healing,” he told her, and took another step back when her eyes fluttered open. Her eyelashes were so fine against her skin, her eyes so warm and soft in the pale light of the water. He wanted to look closer. Instead, he stepped back again and wished he had something to do with his hands. Anything that would remove the sensation of her hand in his, her mouth so sweet against his. 

“I’ll check on you later,” he went on. “Somebody needs to start dinner, and a note from Teia and Viago arrived while you slept.”

“Lucanis,” she said, her voice soft and quiet. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Thank you. For staying, I mean. Both of you.” 

“Of course, Rook. Anytime,” he said, and slipped from the room before she could take him up on the offer. 

“Coward,” Spite hissed. 

Lucanis, striding briskly away from the door so he would not turn around and open it again, found he could not disagree.

[nakylvr]

RED TERROR

megan skiendiel x fem!reader

summary: megan's worst fear is losing you after it nearly happening once. she was able to save you once, but will she be able to save you again?

warnings/tags: angst, hurt no comfort, major character death, established relationship, spidey!megan, violence, language, not proofread

clock tower. running. fighting. chaos. you. hundreds of feet in the air.

there was hundreds of thoughts running through megan's mind as she tried to swing up the clock tower only to be pulled down again before she could get anywhere, her head hitting the ground with a dull thud. her mask was ripped in half, showing the right side of her face, and she swore that she had multiple ribs broken by the third time she hit the ground.

just get to yn, she kept repeating in her head that was throbbing. just save her.

getting up off the ground, megan quickly shoots a web to the top of the tower, and goes up before she can get hit again. when she lands at the top, she's breathing heavily, cowered over as she tries to see past the darkness, only really being able to see out of one eye.

"yn," she lets out a sigh of relief when she sees you. "don-don't move, okay? let me go to you." she says softly, slowly taking a few steps forward. "you're gonna be fine, i promise." she doesn't know if she's reassuring you or herself at that point, glancing down and seeing your feet near the edge.

the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight, and both of you know megan doesn't have much time left before you end up falling once the clock hits twelve. and then, the bell dings. once. twice. and you're falling.

"shit!" megan exclaims, instinctively jumping down after you.

there's at least fifteen feet between you two that only keeps growing the further you fall, and megan shoots a web out to try and reach you and grab you. your eyes are wide with fear staring up at you, tears falling from your eyes. she peers down at you with her one good eye she can see out of, the web going further and further out but not reaching you quite just yet.

get to her. get to her. get to her. make it, please make it. please please please.

and then,

crack!

just as the web reaches you and grabs ahold of you, your body jerks and your neck makes a sickening noise. megan drops down the second after, her hands grabbing you and immediately her eyes go wide.

"shit, shit, shit, yn, can you hear me? yn? yn?" she starts panicking seeing your eyes stuck open, your head falling limp in her arms. "no, no, no, no." she starts shaking you, her hand going up to your face that was already losing its warmth. "no, no, no, no. fuck, please no. please." she pulls her mask off her face, tossing it aside and looking down at you.

"baby, please wake up, please." tears start flowing before she can stop them, holding your body close to her even though you can't feel it. "please, please don't leave me. i-i can't do this without you. please. yn, please wake up." she rocks back and forth with you still in her arms, crying uncontrollably while mumbling to herself.

sirens are heard from afar, but megan can't find it in her to detach herself from you. her arms secured around you like you would wake up.

"i'm so sorry," she sobs. "i'm so sorry, baby i-" she can't get any other words out, her crying making it difficult for her to even breathe with the wounds she had. "wh-what am i supposed to do now? i don't k-know what to do, yn. i n-need you. please wake up, please."

when the sirens get louder, megan's cries get quieter, now just incoherent mumbling as she continues to rock back and forth. she can hear yelling from outside, and she doesn't know what to do. does she leave? does she stay and possibly get arrested? does she bring your lifeless body along with her?

when she looks down at you again, she sees the necklace around your neck, her fingers carefully taking it off and tucking it away. "i'm so sorry, baby. i love you so much, so so much. i always will, i swear." she presses a quick kiss to your forehead before gently laying you down. she puts her mask back on and runs off the moment the police enter.

swinging through the city, tears still fell from megan's eye through the ripped mask as she tried to keep her breathing regular. she swung up onto the top of a high-rise building, sitting down on the edge and taking her mask off. almost as if on command, thunder booms above her, and it starts raining a few moments later. she would make a sarcastic comment if it were any other time, but all she did was sit there in silence as the rain poured down on her.

pulling the necklace out, megan stares at it as it dangles between her fingers, the rain falling on it coating the blood of her fingertips off of it. she clutches it in her hand tightly, holding it against her chest with tears building in her eyes again.

megan sat there for a few hours, crying her eyes out before eventually returning home. she didn't sleep that night, or for the next few nights. every time she closed her eyes all she could see was your lifeless eyes staring back at her, the tears that were falling down your face as you got closer and closer to the ground until you hit it.

she stopped wearing the suit from that point on. she put it in a box and shoved it in her closet to leave for months. she ignored all the crime that happened in the city, turning off all the police radio scanners she had. she didn't leave the house except for the day of your funeral. she could only stay for a bit before she left, getting overwhelmed and starting to break down by the time your parents started talking about you, going to her car to sit and cry for another hour.

she thought you were still there at times. she would text you funny videos forgetting you would never respond, that they would always be left unread. she would find herself going to your house when she was injured badly only to find your bedroom vacant without you, but all your decor was still up as if you would come back. she would reach for you in the mornings when she would wake up, only to touch sheets and blankets, never another body. she would see things that would make her think of you and buy it, realizing that she couldn't give it to you, that she wouldn't be able to buy any gift for you again.

sophia kept coming by to make sure megan was okay, but the ginger would say the same thing every time. "i'm existing." but she never truly felt like she was living the day you fell from her grasp. she tried to go out, meet new people, make friends when lara would drag her out of her house, but it never went anywhere. she could never stop thinking about you. every time a girl was interested in her, she backed away and would stop talking to her, still never getting over you. she couldn't. she had her whole life planned out, with you. not anyone else. she couldn't fathom the thought of being with anyone other than you. she didn't want to be with anyone other than you.

megan could never get over you. no matter how hard she tried. if she tried at all, that is. she was convinced it was going to be you two for life. with all the other different dimensions she had been in, and you weren't there — she was certain she would have you in this one. but she was wrong. and that's what ruined everything in the end.

[caylabryn]

I’m really conflicted, because on one hand of course I don’t want people to die. But on the other hand so many people and communities that I love are being directly attacked and I don’t feel like I’m in a place to hold space for the people who voted for this.

Even if they were never taught better or didn’t know any better. We tried to teach them, we tried to warn them. It’s not our fault that they refused to listen.

I might not be celebrating their deaths or their hardships, but I feel completely apathetic about them. Other people need us to care about them and to fight them. And those people and those communities are who I’m focusing on.

I see so many people feeling all smug at those "damn conservatives who will finally see the mistake they made!" And you know a while ago I would've agreed, but seeing it all now, I can't. I can't be happy, I can't be smug, there's nothing to celebrate.

People are gonna die, conservatives, democrats people who didn't vote...

People are gonna and ARE starving, losing jobs, get into poverty and god. I can't even feel like we have any gotcha. This is horrible.

I don't want people to die because they were never taught better, because they were uneducated and/or manipulated. And the thing is, I'm not even American, but I just know, everyday looking at the news, that things are getting bad, and they're getting bad for all of us. It hasn't reached me yet, but how long till it does?

To everyone who lives in America, I wish you luck and a strong will. Don't give up. And now more than ever you need to be united, don't let them tear you apart, because they will try. Though times ahead, but we will get over them.

[sorceressofthesky]

Something I find really compelling about Zaundads is the fact that you can clearly see the division between their ideologies in the way they show their love. When Silco and Vander were still a pair, Silco loved Vander for his brutality. He loved Vander because he was angry at the world; because he was fierce and tenacious and capable of devastating violence. He respected Vander's willingness to fight for the cause and his loyalty to their shared ideals. And we know from Silco's parenting of Jinx that when he loves someone, he uses them. That's not to say this is a good or bad thing, but just an observation. He loves people for the potential he sees in them - in Vander, it's his capacity for violence, and in Jinx, it's her capacity for chaos and destruction - and a big part of how he shows love is by fostering that potential. Creating the means and motivation to use it. He lives by the notion that "there's a monster inside all of us", which started with his perception Vander, and extended to Jinx later on. He sees a monster in himself too, but he's not a naturally violent person, so he surrounds himself with people who he does see as strong and capable, and channels his indignation through the people he trusts most.

Meanwhile, when Vander loves someone, he's gentle with them. He has this innate protective instinct that drives him, and he's capable of summoning his brutal side when his world is under threat, but his default is care and affection. With his kids, it comes out mostly in the form of guidance; being a calm voice of reason when it's needed. We don't see it as much with Silco given the lack of insight into their past, but we do have hints of it in the flashback - with both Silco and Felicia. Silco already has a bowl of soup and a cup at the start of the scene, which, based on context clues, were most likely prepared for him by Vander. Vander also pours drinks for the three of them, and upon finding out that Felicia is pregnant, he replaces hers with a non-alcoholic option. His automatic response to her distress is to comfort and console her ("you're going to be a great mother"). In contrast, Silco listens silently for most of the conversation, and contributes in the only way he knows how - by agreeing to continue the fight for Zaun, no matter the cost.

And I think, ultimately, this would have always created a division between Vander and Silco. Whether or not Felicia and Connol were killed in the explosion. Whether or not the kids were even in the picture. It was inevitable that somewhere down the line, Silco would keep pushing the limits, and he would reach one that Vander couldn't exceed. Felicia's death might have been the catalyst for the betrayal, but it seems like the ideological rift ran a lot deeper than that - particularly noting the line from Vander in S1E3; "You had my respect, the Lanes' respect, but that... that was never enough for you." The phrasing makes it sound like he was already fed up with just how far Silco was willing to go for justice.

Vander regretted the violent way he went about the split, but I don't get the impression that he ever regretted the actual decision to part ways with Silco. Which actually creates another interesting contrast in itself, because Silco's perspective was the complete opposite. Silco had already forgiven Vander for the drowning incident by the time they met up again. The murder attempt was brutal, and Silco is unquestionably traumatised by it, but he never stopped respecting Vander, nor does he ever ask why he did it. Because that isn't the part he's hung up on. He understands why Vander went about the betrayal in such a vicious manner. Anger and violence were what he loved about Vander in the first place, and as such, Vander trying to drown him was consistent with everything Silco knew and respected about him. The Vander he didn't understand was the one who gave up on fighting out of fear of what he might lose, and that was the Vander he resented.

Reconciliation is definitely possible between them, and that's clear even without regarding the S2E7 AU, because it happens in the main timeline. Silco is given a choice between his dream and Jinx, and the first place he goes to deliberate is the Vander statue, because finally, he does understand. He understands why Vander bent to the Enforcers' will just to keep his kids safe. But he only understands it because, by that point, he's lived it himself. In an alternate timeline scenario, if Silco were to forgive Vander, there would need to be some other catalyst that triggers that understanding. It would take a lot more than simply reading an apology letter - not because of how terrible the apology was, but because Vander was apologising for the wrong thing.

[theoreticallybread]

i genuinely believe that if not for bruce, dick and steph are the ONLY batkids that would have taken up crimefighting.

dick’s entire origin story is filled with rage and despair, he watched his parents fall to their deaths and learned that they had been brutally murdered because of something that wasn’t even their fault! his pure rage fueled his creation of robin. even if bruce hadn’t taken him in, i can tell you that he would have gone after his parents’ killer himself, and probably wouldn’t have stopped trying to rid gotham of crime even as he matured and grew a sense of empathy towards all victims. dick was already the angry robin, it only makes sense that he would have done something even without the cape.

no matter what anyone else says, jason was NOT violent. he loved being robin with all his heart because it gave him magic. it is clear to me that he hated the thought of harming innocent people especially through his time at ma gunn’s place because of his resistance to the thought of being turned into a hurting machine like the other boys. and yet as soon as bruce takes him in, he becomes just that: a child soldier. if bruce had not taken jason in, i think he would have been much happier. he knows that the deaths of his mother and father, while tragic, are not something he needs to avenge, and all he looks for afterwards is food and a roof over his head. he is not a character built on revenge, he is introduced to the concept by bruce when he is trained to defeat evil with his fist rather than his words. jason would have been an amazing teacher if he wasn’t red hood, and he would be able to help people in crime alley just the same, by providing support and a good foundation for them to accomplish things.

tim drake did not want to be robin. the only reason he ever became robin was because he needed to protect everyone who faced the wrath of an angry bruce. he is an observant person and he noticed how much harder bruce was hitting after jason’s death. he knew that bruce needed someone else out there with him to stabilize him and prevent him from doing something he’d regret. tim tried to get dick to fill that role, but when he refused tim took it upon himself instead. he’s responsible like that. tim drake most likely would’ve been a successful businessman if he wasn’t a cape because of his smarts and ability to read people.

steph is the only other robin i believe would have still worn a cape if not for bruce. she found out about her father’s wrongdoings and immediately her sense of justice told her that she needed to stop this from happening. she would be unable to stop herself from trying to protect innocent people with or without bruce, just because of her absolute need to do the right thing.

cassandra and damian are similar in the fact that they were raised as human weapons and weren’t allowed to be their own individual people. i firmly believe that they would have managed to break free of their oppressors even without bruce’s existence for talia to rely on in regards to damian. after so much time spent fighting and being used, i think they would have tried to find an identity outside of this. they probably would’ve have ended up as similar people to the ones they are with bruce in the picture, but i doubt that they would have continued to fight as much outside of absolute necessity because of the bad memories surrounding it. if they did fight, it would be in self defense and for themselves, not in accordance with what someone else wanted them to do.

duke is complicated, because while he does have a great sense of justice and is also a meta, i don’t think he would have continued to pursue the path of a vigilante for very long. i haven’t read a ton of stuff with duke, but i think i can safely say that he would have taken a step back from everything to support himself and take care of his parents after what the joker did to them. he probably would have taken up a career that involved aiding people in a more peaceful way, similar to jason.

anywho thanks for coming to my ted talk :)

[hrrtshape]

How do I script friends? Because in this reality I have almost no real friends, but how do I script my friend in my DR, how do I script their personality?

okay. friends. let’s cook.

dont ya worry !!! you are not an abandoned victorian doll in an attic. you have friends, you deserve friends, and now we are just handpicking them like we are gods in a character creation screen. which, we are.

so: how do you script them? easy. start with vibes. how do you want them to make you feel? safe? challenged? like you’re in the best teen movie ever written, except the director is god and the cinematography is breathtaking? write that down. “i have friends who make me feel ___.” that’s your foundation.

then, EYESHADOW. their actual personalities. imagine you are directing a heist movie and you need a team. the mastermind (someone who plots, who schemes, who always has a plan). the chaotic one (a human firework, stupidly funny, would fight a goose for you). the soft one (reminds you to eat, cries at poetry, the kind of friend who buys you little trinkets just because). the sibling energy (teases you, defends you to the death, would absolutely commit minor crimes with you). mix and match, create your perfect ensemble cast.

lastly, the chemistry. AKA. LIPS. write down how you interact. do you have late-night phone calls where you psychoanalyse each other? do you all share clothes like one giant communal wardrobe? do you have inside jokes that make people question your sanity? script the details, the rituals, the magic of friendship.

and then? it’s done. sealed. LASTING SPRAY. the universe takes your order, and now you just walk around knowing these people exist for you. because they do. somewhere, somehow, you have already met them.

and that’s it. enjoy your new besties. tell them i said hi.

[lovelymindescape]

Crazy Thanos x reader idea here! (fem reader if that’s alright <3)

I’ve seen the Ghost!Thanos AU everywhere and I was wondering if you’d be able to do an x reader around that? Maybe the reader sees him before the guards take him away and the she goes to Namgyu to take some of the drugs he stole. After that, she keeps “hallucinating” Thanos and having conversations with him and such. Except it’s not just a hallucination, he’s actually haunting her because he left too much unsaid before he died

Haunting Shadows (Ghost!Thanos x Fem!Reader Fic)

pairing — ghost!Thanos(choi su-bong) x fem!reader

Summary - Years of Friendship and secret mutual feelings for eachother are ruined, when he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and started a fight , which ended deadly. And now you're living with the consequences.

warnings - Nam-gyu being a various drug dealer (in this he has more than just the ones in the cross), a little ooc Thanos (he for once was quiet and unspoken but sadly about his feelings). Violence and Death , so typical squid game. Major Character Death. Paranormal Themes. Psychological Horror. Drug Use. Mental Distress. Cold/Unsettling Imagery. Emotional Angst. Maybe a little Fluff

author’s note — I made it just one significant moment , where he haunts her. But I think you can tell that the memories are haunting her mind before , thats why she takes the drugs, then the haunting becomes more prominent , ignore typos, English is not my first language

The dorms were suffocating.

The air was thick with sweat and the lingering stench of unwashed bodies. The makeshift beds crammed together, the restless turning of players who couldn’t sleep—it was all too much. But it wasn’t the heat, the exhaustion, or the looming fear of the next game that had you on edge. It was the silence.

The silence where his voice should have been.

Thanos was gone.

You hadn’t seen the guards take him away. Not completely. But you’d caught the aftermath—the bloodstains on the floor, the way the other players whispered his name like a ghost story.

You’d stood frozen, your hands curled into fists at your sides, your mind refusing to comprehend what had just happened. He was dead. And you didn’t even know his last words. The thought was unbearable. That was why you found yourself sneaking through the dimly lit hallways, slipping past sleeping bodies and keeping to the shadows. You weren’t sure what you were looking for.

Solace? Distraction? No.

You knew exactly what you needed. Your feet carried you to the bathroom, the only place in this hellhole where the guards didn’t watch as closely. The flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting eerie shadows across the cracked tiles. And there, leaning against the sink with a smirk that could cut glass, was Namgyu.

You had known where to find him. He always lingered in the bathroom late at night, giving out stuff to players who needed something. And tonight, you were one of them. "Well, well," he drawled, eyes scanning you up and down. "Didn’t think you were the type to come looking for me."

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression unreadable.

"I need something". Namgyu tilted his head, his grin widening. "Don’t we all?" You clenched your jaw. "I'm serious."

"I can see that."

He pushed off the sink and took a step closer.

"What are you looking for, sweetheart? Something to take the edge off? Something to make you forget?"

Your stomach twisted.

Forgetting sounded dangerous. Forgetting sounded wrong. But remembering was worse.

"Something strong," you murmured.

Namgyu raised an eyebrow. "Strong enough to knock you out, or strong enough to make you see God?" You hesitated. You didn’t want sleep. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams meant reliving the moment Thanos was taken from you.

"I don’t want to sleep," you admitted.

Namgyu studied you for a moment before chuckling under his breath. "Ah. You want the fun kind, then."He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small packet, holding it up between two fingers.

"This should do the trick."

Namgyu’s grin widened.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

He pressed the packet into your palm, his fingers brushing against yours.

"Enjoy the ride, sweetheart."

You didn’t say thank you. You just turned on your heel and walked out of the bathroom, clutching the small packet like a lifeline. You didn’t care about the risks.

You just needed to stop feeling.

The pills hit fast.

You sat on the edge of your bed, your head spinning, the world around you warping at the edges. The dorm was a blur of muted sounds and shifting shadows.

You welcomed the detachment, the feeling of floating just above reality. But then—Then, something changed. The air turned cold. Not the usual damp chill of the dorms, but something deeper. Something unnatural.

And then—A whisper.

"Did you think I would leave you so easily?"

Your breath caught in your throat.

That voice.

Low.

Familiar.

Impossible.

You turned your head, expecting to see nothing but shadows. But then—A flicker. A figure standing at the edge of your vision.

Thanos.

Your heart stopped.

He stood in the darkness, his form flickering like candlelight, shifting between presence and absence. His eyes—piercing, burning—locked onto yours. He looked exactly the same. The same intimidating stance, the same quiet intensity. And yet, there was something different. A weight to him, something heavier than death itself.

"You're not real," you whispered, your voice trembling. Thanos tilted his head. "Is that what you think?" Your breath came in shallow gasps.

"This is just the drugs."

"Is it?"

He stepped closer, the air growing colder with every inch between you shrinking.

"You've been running from this," he murmured. "From me."

Your hands gripped the thin blanket beneath you. "You’re dead."

"And yet, here I am." He was close now.

Too close.

You could see the faint shimmer of his form, the way the dim light of the dorm flickered through him. He wasn’t solid. He wasn’t whole. But he was here.

"Why?" The question barely left your lips.

Thanos studied you for a long moment before speaking.

"I left too much unsaid."

Your chest tightened.

"You don't have to do this," you whispered. "You don’t have to haunt me."

A ghost of a smirk flickered across his lips.

"I’m not the one keeping me here."

You inhaled sharply.

"You are."

"I’m not the one keeping me here. You are."

Your chest ached.

You wanted to argue, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong. But the truth was bitter and undeniable—you had been holding onto him. Clutching at the memories, the lingering warmth of his presence, the things you never got to say.

And now, even in death, he was still here.

"That’s not fair,"

you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of restless bodies in the dorm. Thanos didn’t look away.

"Neither is dying before you can say what matters."

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket beneath you.

"Then say it."

Something flickered in his expression, something softer, almost hesitant.His gaze burned into yours, and for the first time, there was no barrier between you—no games, no danger, no pretense. Just the truth you had both been too afraid to face.

"You mattered to me,"

he said, his voice quieter now, rougher.

"More than I ever let on."

Your breath caught in your throat. He had always been guarded, always careful with his words. You had spent so long wondering, second-guessing, overanalyzing every moment between you.

But now, there was no room for doubt.

"You mattered to me too," you admitted,

the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Thanos exhaled, something unreadable flashing across his face.

"I know."

You swallowed hard.

"Then why didn’t you say anything before?"

A bitter smile ghosted his lips.

"Because I thought we had time."

Your vision blurred.

But you didn’t.

You never did.

And now, it was too late.

Except… maybe it wasn’t. Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, your fingers trembling as they passed through the space where his hand should have been. A cold shiver ran through you, but you didn’t pull away.

Thanos stared at your hand, then back at you.

"You don’t need to hold on anymore," he said gently.

Your throat tightened.

"But if I let go, you’ll—""I’ll be free."

The words were heavy, final. But there was no sadness in them.

No regret.

Just peace.

Your breath trembled as you looked at him, memorizing every detail, every piece of him that you had been so afraid to lose.But he was already gone. Not in body—not yet—but in the way he stood, the way his form flickered at the edges, lighter than before.

"You were never alone," Thanos murmured.

"Not then. Not now."

Your chest ached.

You nodded, even though it hurt.

"I know."

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say more. But then—The flicker grew stronger. His form shimmered, breaking apart like smoke in the wind. The warmth in his gaze lingered, even as his outline faded, even as the cold dissipated.

And then—Silence.

Final this time.

You exhaled shakily, your head falling forward, your hands curling into the blanket.

He was gone.

And yet—You weren’t empty.

The weight had lifted.

The ache remained, but it was different now.

Less suffocating.

Because for the first time since he left, you knew.

You knew he had cared.

You knew he had loved you, in his unspoken way.

And that was enough.

That was peace.

For him.

And maybe even for you.

The End.

Divider: @cyberangel-graphics

[merrinla]

Tricked the game and brought Lucanis to fight the dragon in Minrathous. Despite the fact he shouldn't be there, he has his own comment that naturally works. Neve, on the contrary, doesn't have a single line during the attack on Treviso even in the cut content. I wonder if the city choice was always planned. Because I can't imagine the circumstances under which Lucanis would save Minrathous instead of his city.

When the player has to choose which city to help, two blighted dragons are mentioned. But in Minrathous, everyone is still surprised by the blight.

Rook (Grey Warden): She's blighted! And the blight feels really weird—the gods corrupted her! Davrin: I feel it, too! We didn't plan on her being blighted—how should we handle this? Davrin: She's blighted! There's a strange feeling to it—the gods corrupted her! Tarquin: It's covered with blight, Rook! The gods corrupted the thing! Bellara: We didn't expect a blighted dragon! What do we do now? Neve: Blight! That's unexpected. What should we do? Lucanis: Blight was unexpected. What should we do? Harding: We weren't expecting blight! Now what do we do? Rook: What we came to do!

Lucanis also has a line in the cut dialogue when the dragon was flying away from Minrathous. More like generic, but also voiced and the condition state that he must be in the party.

Rook: We got it! She feels that! Rook: Come on! How do we keep it here? Rook (Grey Warden): The blight I feel in her is so… wrong! Davrin: It feels so strong. The gods will control her eventually. Davrin: The blight I feel in her is so wrong. Rook: That screech. What the gods did to her is just unnatural. Bellara: She's going to be a problem in the future. Harding: There's no way she's gone for good. Neve: She's going to be a problem in the future. Lucanis: She's going to be a problem in future. Rook: We need someone who knows dragons. Who can keep it in reach. Rook: We need someone who knows dragons. Rook: Come on, let's check in with Maevaris and Tarquin.

Previously the Venatori summoned the dragon through a ritual. This was mentioned by Maevaris, who met Rook upon arrival in Minrathous.

Rook: Okay, let's hope the Shadow Dragons have the lay of the land. Maevaris: Never doubt it, Rook. Rook: Good to hear. Maevaris: Tarquin and the others have the Venatori isolated. Rook: And the dragon? Maevaris: The Venatori prepared a ritual to call it. We don't know how far they got. Maevaris: Pick your team and join Tarquin. The rest of us will keep the Venatori away. Maevaris: Get going, Rook. Knowing Tarquin, he's probably getting antsy.

Conversation with Tarquin near the dragon arena was different.

Tarquin: We really kicked the hive, Rook. The Venatori aren't going to make this easy. Rook: Suggestions? Tarquin: Jump in and kick harder. And get ready to stare down a dragon. Tarquin: We're not letting the cult hand it over to the gods. Tarquin: You ready to jump in, Rook?

Dunno if Tarquin took part in the arena fight, but he had quite a bit of commentary on what was happening.

Tarquin: We're keeping them scattered! And we're going to kill their toy when it arrives Tarquin: Keep up the assault! We can take this from them! Tarquin: Get ready, Rook! Dragon's on its way! Tarquin: Rook! We have a problem! The dragon! Tarquin: Dumat's breath, what have they done? Venatori Commander: They mean to stop us! Your Lord demands death! Rook (Shadow Dragon): And the Shadow Dragons demand you shut it! Rook: Not with Shadow Dragons at our backs! Venatori Commander: Witness! Witness the handiwork of immortals! Rook: We still good, Tarquin? Tarquin: No! But if it was going to be easy, we wouldn't need you! Venatori Commander: The beast comes! It will serve!

The battle with the dragon was divided into two phases. We see the first one in the game. The second one was cut. Under Tarquin's direction, Rook had to avoid the dragon's attacks and deal with the Venatori who controlled it.

Tarquin: The Shadow Dragons will give us some guidance! Tarquin: Get this right, and you drive that thing off and keep the city safe! Rook: And if we get it wrong? Tarquin: Won't live long enough to regret it! Tarquin: All right, Rook! Watch the Shadow Dragons, they'll give direction! Tarquin: Get it right, take it down—and the city's safe! Rook: And if we get it wrong? Tarquin: Regret's only for the living! Tarquin: You can't hurt it! Focus on the cultists! Tarquin: The dragon's too strong to fight—we have to drive it off! Tarquin: It can't be hurt! Break the cult's control! Tarquin: No use fighting it! We have to drive it away! Tarquin: Get after the Venatori, not the dragon! Tarquin: Got a problem here, but you can still fix it! Tarquin: They're rallying! Keep at it! Tarquin: Just a small setback—you can recover! Tarquin: We're with you! Give it another shot! Tarquin: Keep at it! You can try again! Tarquin: Keep going! You're on the right track! Tarquin: That's the way! Tarquin: You're doing it right! Tarquin: It's going well! Tarquin: You got this! Tarquin: You're tearing it up! Tarquin: The Venatori can't believe you're a match for it! Tarquin: You're beating it! Tarquin: This is the fight we needed to see!

After the dragon fight, Rook could talk to Maevaris and Tarquin.

Maevaris: Just head back the way you came. We'll see you safely back to your Lighthouse. Tarquin (Rook Shadow Dragon): Well done, Shadow Dragon. Makes me wish you'd never left to hunt down that elf. We could use more of you around here. Tarquin: That was impressive, Rook. Gallus was right about you. Tarquin: The Viper enjoyed causing chaos among the Venatori. Maybe a little too much. Rook: I didn't see the Viper. Tarquin: He enjoys that, too. Also a little too much. Tarquin: Another time, Rook.

According to the naming in the code, there should be Elgar'nan in Minrathous, not Ghilan'nain.

There are also cut lines from Rook and Neve.

Minrathous is saved Rook: Elgar'nan wasn't getting his way and he didn't want to waste a dragon. Coward. Minrathous isn't saved Rook: Yes, I'm a Shadow Dragon. And I thought the Shadow Dragons could handle this. Neve: The Venatori? Elgar'nan and his blighted creature? All at once?

So the meeting with him should have happened earlier.

Meanwhile, not much cut content in Treviso under attack. Rook told Teia who was behind the dragon. And it seems Lucanis was helping the crows fight off the Antaam while Rook and the others were in the arena with the dragon.

Rook: You should know, we think the dragon was sent by the gods. Teia: Is that why it never attacked any Antaam? Teia: All those lies about protecting Treviso, and then they sell themselves to monsters. Teia: Lucanis and I will repel them. The rest of you must focus on the dragon.

Teia: It's wounded! Lucanis: Then we strike harder! Teia: The Crows rule Antiva! Lucanis: And Treviso will be free!

[honeybeedewdrops]

It Was All a Lie | In-ho x Reader

Summary: It all comes crumbling down durning the attack of the players.

Warnings: Blood, Death, Guns, Shooting

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You knew from the moment when you laid eyes on In-ho you were screwed because how can on man be just so handsome.

When you found out he had a wife you pushed your feelings down not wanting to be the cause of a couple to break up. However after the 6 leg pentathlon you and Young-il had a moment where you kissed and he told you that he lied because he didn't know who he could trust. After that night you stopped pushing your feelings down and pursued them.

From the second Gi-hun mentioned his plan you were on board. With your father being a retired marine and you being the oldest you were taught how to fight and shoot at a young age.

You knocked out one of the guards grabbing his gun and started shooting. The guards started to retreat and you lined up with Gi-hun before he asked for more help and you all headed out. As you started heading out the door in-ho stopped you. "Y/n I think you should stay" He said grabbing your arm. "No Gi-hun needs all the help he can get besides I know what i'm doing" In-ho sighed "I just don't want to see you get hurt" "I can handle myself, now let's go we are waisting time" You say and In-Ho let's go of your arm.

You guys made your way up the stairs following the unmasked guard. The voice of some women rang out repeating "all players it is bed time now please return to the dorm if not all players will be eliminated" It was starting to annoy you. Finally Gi-hun destroyed a speaker making the halls go silent. "Get down" He shouts not even a second later and shots started to fly. "Cover me" 120 shouts and runs to a better vantage point. You shot as many times as you can but not enough to waste ammo. "Hold fire" Gi hun shouts. It was quiet for now "Is everyone ok?" Gi-hun asks "yeah" you nod. "alright then let's go up" You help 120 shoot out the cameras before following the rest of the group. "Your a good shooter" 120 compliments "Thank you" you say walking away trying to stay alert.

"How much farther?" Gi-hun asks the guard. "Is this even the right way" Gi-hun asks as the guard trembles. "The entrance to the management area is around that corner and the control room is right above it" he said. "Move it then" Gi-hun said "Wait" he said going for his pocket. "What are you doing" "I need my mask to pass security." and he took out his mask. There was a pause and then the kid was shot through the head making you all get down.

You flinched as you were slashed with blood but every once and a while would shoot oof a round. "I'll go look for the management area" Gi-hun said "will you be able to find it should I come with?" In-ho asks "I'll go with Jung-bae. I need you to buy us some time" In-ho nodded. You watched as Gi-hun took off. You checked you magazine and you were almost out.

"Damnit, I'm almost out of ammo" You shout. "Here" In-ho says throwing you some more. You reload and start shooting again. "Are they close" You ask Young-il. "I think so" You continue to shoot then you hear the words back up "Y/n you me and two others will go help Gi-hun and Jung-bae, there should be magazines on the dead guards someone go get them and bring them back here while the rest cover" Young-il says and you all move out.

You follow close behind In-ho, you peak slowly around corners to make sure there is no one. Soon you find Gi-hun and Jung-Bae. You finally find them round one last corner "Gi-hun! did you find the control room?" In-ho asks "I think it's right up there, but we can't go this way. I want you guys to find another way." In-ho agreed "can you guys keep their focus on you" In-ho asks and Gi-hun nods.

Gi-hun gives In-ho another magazine before you took off following In-ho. It took a few minutes but you guys had found where the shoot out was. In-ho motion you three forward and you all began to creep forward you in front. "Gi-hun we found it, start attacking and draw their attention. Then we'll hit them from behind" You look to in-ho who nods once you hear the shots start more wilder.

You hear three shots from behind you and then two you turn and see the two dead players and In-ho's gun at one of them lying dead.

Your eyes got wide “young il?” you ask confused. His eyes met yours and you could see he was fighting with himself but ultimately he raised his guy towards you. "i'm sorry but I can't let you go in there" “Young il please don’t do this” you say as tears gather in your eyes "I love you Y/n but here in the games love is a weakness” 

A shot rang out, pain was all you felt as you looked down to see blood pooling out of your stomach. You slide down the wall and a single tears runs down your face “I really do love you” In-ho says caressing your cheek and that was the last thing you heard and felt before shutting your eyes. 

In-ho gave you one last look before heading off to deal with Gi-hun.

[littelovelunette]

Sevika x Older girlfriend HCs

Contains nsfw themes, fluff, mentions of addictions

After a long while of contemplating I finally decided Sevika would probably go better with Visha, rather than Coco.

Here, Visha is older than Sevika by a few years.

Headcanons:

ꪆৎ Visha stays on Sevika's lap when Sevika gambles, she can and will help Sevika cheat to make her win

ꪆৎ Visha complains a lot about her own hair fall, the constant clouds of smoke in Sevika's apartment and Sevika snoring— One kiss to the lips and she'll grin, “But I still love you…”

ꪆৎ Both of them are unfiltered as fuck

ꪆৎ Both of them have a high libido

ꪆৎ Visha has thick thighs that Sevika loves marking, squeezing or biting

ꪆৎ Make up sex after fights

ꪆৎ They both can't cook— they usually make something together though

ꪆৎ Visha can and will team up with Jinx to prank Sevika

ꪆৎ Sevika gets submissive around Visha whenever Visha showcases her strength, power or simply flirts with her hardcore

ꪆৎ Both of them forget to drink water

ꪆৎ Sevika retorts Visha has a caffeine addiction if Visha says Sevika has a gambling addiction— both of them are right

ꪆৎ If someone upsets Sevika, Sevika glares and Visha roasts the person. But if someone upsets Visha, Sevika will beat them to death.

ꪆৎ They act more like best friends than lovers

ꪆৎ Visha has an obnoxious collection of rings and Sevika finds it endearing, she gifts Visha a ring every other day

ꪆৎ “GURL,” that's all Visha gotta say to get Sevika's attention, she just knows it Visha loves to gossip

ꪆৎ Both have taken a bullet for each other before

ꪆৎ Sevika never underestimates Visha and knows Visha doesn't need protection

ꪆৎ 8/10 times Sevika will win a brawl against Visha, mainly because Visha won't play dirty. If she did, her odds of winning her higher.

ꪆৎ Visha would help fix Sevika's mechanical arm purely for her own ego boost.

ꪆৎ Visha tries to convince Sevika to adopt Jinx and Isha every other day

ꪆৎ Sevika doesn't see Visha cry too often, when she does, she gets a little awkward and it feels like her heart breaks too because she cherishes the woman

ꪆৎ Visha likes babying Sevika when they're alone

ꪆৎ Both the women respect each others' public profile and won't ever do anything that harms their image

ꪆৎ Visha barely moisturises so Sevika has to do it for her (not that Sevika does it herself)

ꪆৎ Both of them have a super busy schedule

ꪆৎ Both of them skip foreplay

ꪆৎ “If you tease me one more time, I swear, I'll cuff you to the bed and make you cry before I even think of letting you cum,” Visha will say if Sevika gets too cocky

[avonnimimi]

Red Waltz

The Series. Part 1 | 2 | 3 |

☥| a/n: hi my babies!! i had this idea literally at 1am today and now it’s 5am, hope you enjoyyyy. @twinklestarslight MEN AND MINORS DNI

☥| content: Silco raised Vi, dancer/assassin reader, death, fighting, shimmer, yall idk im tired. lmk if i missed anything.

"There are thirty of our comrades dead, a few left injured," Commander Kiramman huffed through clenched teeth, her breath heavy, her eyes like stone. She sighed. We all stood in line, the air thick with a kind of tension that curled around us like a vice. You never got called out unless it was a situation that burned deep, this was that kind of call.

Most days, the hours bled by as you sharpened your blades, listening to the low hum of steel on stone, the steady rhythm grounding you. But now… now it felt like the air itself was holding its breath. You could feel the weight of the silence, pressing on your chest.

"I think it is time for us to stand down," Commander Kiramman said, the words flat, almost hollow. Her voice didn’t carry the calm assurance it once had, this was something else, something colder. She looked at us, but it was like she wasn’t seeing us.

Gasps rippled through the room before whispers filled the gaps, suffocating the quiet. The heat of our bodies, the weight of what was to come, was suffocating. The clock ticked in your ears as if it, too, was counting down.

"We will deploy Swan. She already knows her duty." Kiramman’s gaze settled on you. No hesitation. You nodded, your fist tight against your chest in salute. She barely flinched. "You have three days."

Three days.

The night swallowed you whole as you crept through the undercity, the blackness of your attire blending with the shadows. Every breath you took was a prayer, each step a whisper on the broken ground beneath you. The sound of your daggers softly tapping against your thighs was the only company you had as you moved, your body swaying with the wind like a dancer, light, silent, waiting. Waiting for something to snap.

One by one, you took out henchmen, slipping through the cracks of their defenses like smoke, every kill clean, methodical. But with each fallen body, the taste of bitterness lingered. The reminder of what was lost, of comrades forgotten, of the devastation left in the wake of Vi’s rampage through Piltover’s enforcers.

It almost hurt, but you didn’t have time for that now. Not when your life hung by a thread. Not when your mission felt like it was pushing you closer to the edge with each breath. Sentimentality would get you killed.

A loose pipeline caught your attention, a split second too late. You cursed yourself, but before they could spot you, you pulled yourself up, climbing with the ease of a shadow, your movements sharp, precise. Your back straightened, poised, like you were carved from stone.

Two men entered, their voices low, muffled by the clamor of the undercity, but you caught the words that mattered. You knew exactly who controlled what, and there she was—Vi—right at the heart of it all, tangled in the very fabric of this nightmare.

You didn't waste time.

You dropped silently behind them, your body folding like a spring. The world slowed as your daggers sang through the air, once, twice, three times. The first man collapsed with a gurgle, his face still frozen in surprise. The second lunged at you, his movements erratic, twitchy, too fast, too wild. Shimmer. You could smell it on him, thick and sour.

You sidestepped, your foot catching his ankle, tripping him as he came forward. He hit the ground hard, and you didn’t hesitate. Your blade sank deep into his back, a quiet promise to make it quick.

With the job done, you pulled your blade free, the steel whispering in the silence. You slipped the knife back into its sheath and grabbed your camera, snapping pictures of everything. Blueprints. Shimmer. Cash. Bodies. Whatever you could.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. You needed to move faster, but you didn’t know why.

The next stop wasn’t far, but the air felt colder as you approached. You slipped into another warehouse, careful as you slid through a gap in the roof. You weren’t sure if this was luck or just pure instinct, but you didn’t question it. The darkness swallowed you, and you moved like it was a part of you.

You perched above, hidden, waiting, your breath steady, your pulse thudding in your ears. Below, figures gathered around a table. The flicker of a dim light cast sharp shadows against the walls. You leaned in, closer, the wooden beams creaking beneath your weight, and for a moment, you froze.

Vi. She was staring right at you. But could she see you? You swallowed the knot in your throat, trying to steady your breath. No… no way. She couldn’t have.

But she kept talking. Her plans, her next moves, the meetings in this very place. Every word dripped with malice, a plan unfolding, a scheme that would lead to more bloodshed.

Her presence was undeniable. You had never seen her this close before. She was beautiful, in a way that made your skin crawl. Her skin, etched with intricate Zaunite symbols, was marred by the shimmer pulsing beneath it. You could see the gauntlets in the corner, the ones she’d stolen, the ones that had cost Jayce his life.

The memory made you flinch.

The next night, you found yourself in the same spot, poised, waiting. But something was different. You could feel it in the air, the way it shifted, how it pressed on you, making your skin feel too tight.

Vi had already spotted you. She knew. She had always known. The moment you made that noise, that mistake, she saw through you.

She watched you, calculating. She let you get close. Too close.

The meeting ended, and the others dispersed, but you stayed hidden in the shadows, your body coiled, ready to retreat. You thought she had gone, that maybe you’d made it through. But you didn’t count on her silence.

You untangled yourself from the shadows like a spider leaving its web. You grabbed your camera, ready to take the final round of pictures, but something was off.

It was too quiet.

You heard it then, a voice. Low, sweet, dangerous.

“Y’know, sweetheart, if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.”

Your heart dropped. Your cover was blown.

You tried to spin, to trip, to escape. But it was too late. She had you. Her grip on your ankle twisted you, holding you upside down, almost mocking you.

You pushed yourself off the ground with your hands, using every ounce of strength to break free, landing softly, poised like you had been taught. You reached for your daggers, eyes wide. She was right in front of you.

Vi.

And for the first time in your life, the future felt uncertain. Could you escape her? Would you survive?

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2025