#series: 21

[batfam-belfry]

Damian and Dick being brothers 🥰

[dykealloy]

“we sent yuan away so his feelings could subside” you sent him to gay rizz bootcamp is what you did

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate you — Part 21

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: please forgive spelling errors, I’m still coming out of my illness. I’d also wanted to write more but I suppose it’ll help to have a solid starting point for the next chapter! I can’t believe it’s been a year since the first part of cbmthy went up.

warnings: likely spelling errors; Deliah; reader’s miserable life

word count: 5,738

-Part 20- -Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“I know it’s difficult, but I urge you to tell your family as soon as you are able.”

Madja’s round, soft brown eyes are imploring as she looks into you, and you dip your head.

“I will,” you mumble, frowning into your lap. “I just want time to process it. Besides, you don’t know that for sure—it’s just a theory.”

“A theory that I wouldn’t tell you unless I thought there was a high or definite chance of it happening,” Madja counters, passing you the glass of water. You drink reluctantly. “I know it’s a lot, and it’s sudden… How are you coping?”

You set the glass down when you’ve had enough. “Silver lining, right?”

————

Madja’s earlier question has been echoing through the chambers of your mind all morning. Nagging for an answer until you’ve no choice but to pause, and think. A bench sits overlooking the Sidra, and you take it, choosing to seat yourself for the duration of the thoughts.

How are you coping?

Because you weren’t a while ago. That’s what got Azriel bedridden, although he seems to be on the mend. So, how are you coping now? You can barely feel the gloves around your hands, even when your curl them to scrape the fabric against your skin. There’s nothing more than a slight pressure.

To have no solution for the pain, that you’re permanently damaged… Permanently imperfect, even as a fae. You could have had something. Could have been like Nesta, wielding her Cauldron-Made magic. How stupid of you.

————

His door looms before you, the windows empty and the front garden still. Taking a deep breath you raise your hand to a fist, delivering three muffled knocks to the wood panelling, gloves softening the thuds. You take a step back, and wait. Glance about the small entry, the vines crawling up either side the door, the glass lantern hanging above your head.

The garden is dying, life slowly receding, pulling back in on itself to protect from the descent of winter. Another two weeks and the transition will be clear. Already frost is often crisping leaves and slicking cobbles, ice gleaming over the lip of windowsills and thick rolls of fog floating up from he sidra, basking the city streets in a deep cloud-cover. Sometimes it’s so thick you can’t tell where the edge of the canal lies, and you make a point to offer a generous margin of error. You’re not sure you’d have the will to fight the terrible shock of icy water or the wit to navigate, blind, through the thick mists back to a lowered platform.

You’ll stick behind the guard rails, for now.

Metal scrapes, a latch clicks, the door creaks open. A heavy, golden eye peers out from the relative darkness.

You push a smile to your mouth, weighted, subdued, tentative. “Hi, Bas.”

Golden eyes pause, taking you in from an almost passive standing point. His lips don’t shift like you’d become accustomed to, no half-amused smile curving his familiar mouth and no sweep of warmth across his face. Rather, his lips tighten, as if regretting having made acquaintance with a creature with needle sharp teeth that hook into skin and cling to flesh as it feeds. You’ll stay out of his life if he wants you gone.

You can manage to give him six months of space.

Bas sighs, his broad chest briefly deflating as his shoulders slope and the ice lessens to frost. The door opens wider and an ember of mild warmth begins to glow faintly somewhere in your chest. You take care not to show the visible relief—he hasn’t forgiven you, he’s just opening up for conversation. Maybe now he’ll tell you to stay away, maybe now he’ll tell you not to disappear again, maybe now he’ll tell you you’re forgiven, maybe now he’ll forgive you but he doesn’t want around.

You shake off the thoughts like a sparrow shaking off raindrops from her narrow, nimble wings, fluttering her feathers to rid the dampness from her warm body.

Inside the fire is lit, crackling in the hearth. Dried rosemary and herbs still hang in bunches from the thick wooden beams of the ceiling, patchwork quilts still hang over the back of plush armchairs, small, plump pillows still tucked into either end of the sofa and you sit yourself near one arm, knowing Bas usually takes the armchair to the left of the fireplace. Not directly in the way of the radiating heat but close enough to be warmed by the rolling waves as they spill out into the low-ceilinged living room. You meet his golden eyes. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” Bas nods his head. “Been doing some thinking. Sure you have too, yeah?” He takes his seat but doesn’t lean back into the cushioning. Instead he braces his forearms on his knees, feet shoulder-width apart and the fire reflects in his strong, golden eyes.

You lick your lips, placing your gloved hands in your lap. “I’m sorry for using you like that.”

Bas cocks a brow. “Just jumping straight into it, huh. No preamble.”

“I understand if you’re angry with me. If you’re upset with me. I feel that you’ve been there for me a lot…more that I can say. Through a lot of stuff I haven’t been brave enough to talk about, too.” Your eyes are hot on their surface, burning from the heat of the crackling fire but you blink away the heat, swallowing. “I was in a bad space, when I left. And I wasn’t thinking right.”

Bas snorts. “You weren’t thinking at all.”

He pushes off from his knees, settling himself at last back into the armchair. Long legs stretch out over the thick, patterned rug, arms crossing behind his head and legs crossing at the ankle.

“I’m sorry, Bas.” You tell him, firmly. Looking into his fierce gaze. He’s always been more straightforward. You’ve managed to be more straightforward with him, too, and it’s been a perk of your…friendship. “Will you… Can you forgive me?”

Silence hangs in the air, his features unmoving, eyes holding that fierce glint in their golden irises. Seconds tick by and neither of you say anything. The room grows hotter, denser, and you shift in your seat. It’s sweltering. It’s been a minute.

Your eyes lower and you nod your head. “Okay.”

You rise from your seat, straightening out your skirts, unsure whether your cheeks are burning from humiliation or the fire. “Thank you for hearing me out,” you tell him, nodding your head once before finding your own way out.

“You aren’t going to ask for my side?” Bas calls from his seat, bringing you to a halt. You turn, looking at the outline of the back of his head, the muscles in his arms are tense and his fingers are pushing into his skin. You keep to the entryway, unsure whether he’s being sincere or whether he’s waiting for an argument. You’ve never known him to be manipulative, but he’s always been ready for a brawl in the past. Bas turns his head, and piercing golden eyes bore into you.

“What’s your side?” You ask, softly.

Bas snorts and makes a sharp gesture with his hand, telling you to sit. Your lips purse but you follow, returning to the seat but this time discarding an outer layer leaving you in a top and skirts. You’re here for a conversation—not a brief exchange where nothing’s said.

“Did you even listen to me, last time you were here?” Bas asks. “Where did you go? Who did you meet? Why did you think it was a good idea to just—” He bites off the ending, his frustration and anger bleeding out. His arms brace themselves back on his knees, body hunching over as his brows narrow, exhaling in a harsh hurry. “Talk to me. You got to talk to me instead of just vomiting up a bland fuckin’ apology like that. ‘I’m sorry for using you like that’? ‘I was in a bad place’?” He stares at you, hard. “Are you kidding me?”

“I- What do you want me to say, Bas? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry for making you angry. I’m sorry for not telling you where I was going-”

“‘I’m sorry for making you feel like shit, Bas'. ‘I’m sorry for not only leaving and not telling you anything, but also then coming back and not telling you anything either, Bas’. ‘I’m sorry for creating something private and safe and then letting everyone in to tear it to shreds, Bas’.” Golden eyes gleam with heat, boring into you. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Those would have been a good fuckin’ start.”

You lick your lips, trying to buy yourself time to comprehend the words he’s spat out. Beats pass, but you have no idea what to say. You’re sorry. You regret the way things happened. They won’t unfold like that again. It all feels so insufficient when his eyes are so fierce on their surface but the tears are making them glassy. “You were my fuckin’ treasure,” he rasps. “And you fuckin' walked out without a word.”

“Bas I’m sorry,” you whisper. Heat prickles your eyes, “I just needed to get out.”

Bas laughs a wet laugh, “Fuck off with that.” His thumb and middle finger span across his eyes, bracing his temples. “You know I stopped seeing other people?”

Silence hangs in the air. Blood cooling in your veins.

Bas laughs. “Stopped drinking after you showed up, stopped sleeping around as much, started getting to bed on time. Started talking with ma again. Started to get better after pa-” He chokes off, a wet droplet breaking on the rug far below. He rubs his eyes shaking his head. Golden eyes gleam in the firelight. “You were good,” he whispers, “a good thing.”

Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. You know what it’s like to feel you aren’t good enough to be trusted. You know how it hurts.

You stand quietly from the sofa, gathering your cloak and scarf. Pause when you pass him—he doesn’t look up, keeping his head cast down, staring at the rug. Your palm settles over his shoulder and you squeeze once, firmly. I’m sorry.

You’re in the doorway, the salty citrusy coastal air mixing with the warm rosemary of his interior when he calls for you once more.

“We’ll be moving to Winter soon,” Bas says through his raw throat. He swallows, hard jaw working. “Ma thinks it’ll be good for us—to visit pa’s Court. Reconnect with the magic there.” In one movement that exudes far too much boyish embarrassment for you to bear, he dries his eyes, rolling his shoulders and standing straighter. “Thought I’d let you know.”

“You’re leaving?” You can hardly hear your voice. Bas shrugs but the edges of the gesture are too sharp to be natural. “Guess Night Court isn’t working for us.” He licks his lips. Nods his head. “I wish you well, from here.”

————

The sunlight is watery, offering an edge of warmth but you’re in a daze. You’re not even sure you know where you are in the city. Just started walking and didn’t stop, feet moving mindlessly over the cobbles, carrying you through streets and alleys, down roads and narrow tracks between shops. With the smell of food you’d guess you’re near a restaurant zone, but…

He’s moving. All the way south to the Winter Court.

Will you be able to visit? Will he even want you to visit? You can admit you’re not the most well-versed on Court politics, nor the most caught up on current affairs, but it doesn’t take much to know the Night Court isn’t a Prythian favourite after the fifty years the High Queen ruled with Rhysand at her side.

You look around Velaris, the street you’re on. Did it look like this during her reign? Before? Did it change during the attack that took so many lives, Bas’ father among them?

Inside your chest your heart is flittering too fast, fluttering against your ribcage, pulsing in your throat sporadically. Where are you? None of it looks familiar. A breeze blows and you catch the scent of the Sidra, somewhat salty, somewhat briny, but crisp. Dampness dredged up from an open-mouthed estuary far from here. It’s only a few streets away, and a trail of cold relief slithers down your spine as you recognise the canal. If you follow the water upstream you’ll probably find your way back to a spot you know—you’ve been heading mostly downhill, after all.

————

Rita’s

That’s a name you recognise. You’re nearby, back in a familiar area at least. Although being lost had been a temporary relief from the tempest tipping and turning inside of your, raging emotion crashing on your banks and you’re unsure what to do with all of it. Even having lost a lot of feeling in your hands you can tell they’re numb. More numb than usual anyway, and the cold is spreading to the rest of your body. You seem to remember the others having spoken about it in a way to suggest its busiest hours would be after dark but you wonder if they might be open during midday—just a familiar place to step into and warm up for a bit.

Well, it’s not exactly familiar. Come to think of it, you’ve only really heard Mor speak of it as someone who’s been inside. It didn’t seem to be a frequent spot for the others.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pray she isn’t inside.

As soon as you step foot within the establishment you feel the warmth on your face, washing over the frozen tip of your nose and the nipped-at skin of your cheeks, lips probably chapped and dry from the cold. The lights are on—strung up around the ceiling, hanging from wall to wall so they look like hundreds of yellow-bottomed fireflies. Paintings hang from the walls, stacked closely together and rimmed in what looks like gold, carefully crafted to carve into swirls at the corners. Pictures of flowers and bouquets, horses and riders with neat hair and long legs, dappled shade on a pair of shoes. Parted lips painted a dusty rose.

There are a few fae about the place—there seems to be a part of the large interior sectioned off for games and socialising, pool tables set up with a piano in the corner and a violin laying on its top, a guitar against the piano stool. Plush settees are dotted about the place, mauve and maroon leather with a healthy sheen beneath the glowing lights.

You make your way over to a counter that looks like a bar, nervously approaching the female behind the stand. “I’m sorry—is it fine for me to stay inside for a little bit? I got lost and-” But she’s already nodding understandingly and you’re struck dumb by her beauty. Dark brown hair that snarls about her round face, healthy and rich, full lips stretching into a welcoming smile as she clops to your side of the bar, ushering you over to take a seat on one of the sofas.

“What can I get you? Hot water? Tea? Whiskey?” Her eyes are full and dark, round and pretty as they watch you. “You’re such a small thing! What were you doing out in the cold all on your own?”

“I- sorry. I don’t have any money on me at the moment… I’m after some warmth is all. Sorry,” you say, holding your hands up and shaking them gently as though metaphorically pushing her away. But her smile doesn’t falter for a second, leaning her weight to one hip and folding her arms over her slim chest, “And I asked what can I get you? You’re half-frozen, I should dip you in candle wax!”

“Oh, I-” You swallow thickly. “Then, could I have some tea? If it’s not a bother?”

“Stay right there and don’t wander,” she smiles, nodding her head, “I’ll be back in a moment. Hang tight and don’t freeze.” Then she’s clopping away, heeled feet clicking over the polished wooden floors, thuds muffling when she passes over a rug.

You blink away your surprise, adjusting yourself to Rita’s interior. It’s nice: warm and welcoming. You lay your hand in your lap, peering at the dark green fabric of your gloves, self-consciously fiddling with the fingers. Maybe if they become frost-bitten they’ll turn stiff and fall off. At least you wouldn’t have to deal with their ugliness anymore, but it’d still be all up your arms.

It’s not long before the server is returning, a pinkish ceramic mug cupped in her palm, taking care not to spill anything as she passes it over to you. “Careful not to burn your tongue, it’s piping hot,” she warns with a smile, “unless you’re frozen stiff. Then drink away!”

You manage a grateful smile, murmuring thank-you after thank-you until she’s trotted back to her place behind the counter, a new couple of fae having also come in from the cold. You wait impatiently for it to cool, gently blowing on it from time to time but it’s difficult to hold through your gloves and you have to be careful not to spill any on yourself, or worse, any on the lovely rugs. Raising the mug to your lips, you take a small sip but it’s still scalding. How did she even make a cup of tea this hot? You’ve waited for it to cool.

Sighing to yourself, you shift on the sofa, making to lean back against the cushioning then thinking better of it when you remember your layers. It would be nice to remove them, but you won’t be stopping for long—just waiting to warm up. Until you’re certain blood has returned to your fingers and toes. You try the tea again but only succeed in scorching your upper lip. You’re so preoccupied with willing your tea to cool that you fail to notice the fae approaching from the far end of the room.

A body fills the space beside you and you’re pulled from your thoughts. The female’s lips are a bright slash of blood red, white teeth glittering inside her mouth as she offers a smile. You give a polite smile in return, thinking nothing of it as you return to gently blowing on the steaming liquid.

“You’re new here…”

You blink, then turn back to the female. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost black. Not a suctioning void of darkness, but more like a peaceful midnight or experiencing a restful sleep. They’re enlivening, not draining. “Yes…I heard someone speaking about this place so when I recognised it I thought I might come in to warm up,” you reply, shifting in the seat so you’re facing her a little more.

Black silk trousers cover her lower half, a sheer, silky band hugging her slim waist before flaring into wide, sweeping hips. On her top is a sleeveless, rouge, lace-covered shirt that hugs her full breasts, exposing a sharp but surprisingly deep V of moon-pale skin. Around her collar bones sit pretty pearls, matching the ones pinned to her ears, and you wonder if she’s the kind who’s always so finely dressed or whether you’ve accidentally stumbled in during a special occasion. Blood red nails delicately clasp a stout, crystal glassful of amber liquid and from the smell of it you can guess the contents.

“You’ll warm up faster if you let the heat touch your skin,” she muses, reclining into the far arm of the seat, her crossed legs pointing in your general direction. A stray curl of rich, chestnut hair escapes over her shoulder, flaring outward in a neat curve. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be here for long…” you laugh, gently shifting the mug in your hands.

“Why not?” The female muses, swirling her glass in deft fingers. “We won’t be getting busy until at least six; it’s not even three yet.” She sips from her glass slowly, savouring the flavour. A pink tongue swipes at her lips, collecting the remaining taste. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. It’s what we’re here for.”

“I’m sorry—you work here?”

“I’m the owner.”

Your brows raise. “You’re Rita?”

The woman laughs through her lips, eyes twinkling faintly. “No. Rita was a friend.” She winks as she says it, like it’s some funny secret she’s decided to share between you. “And we’re all friends here, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. Stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you.” You flush at her warmth. How welcoming she is.

“Who told you about Rita’s?” The female asks, drawing you again from thought. You pause, unsure how to label your relationship with Mor. Instead you simply settle for giving her name. “Mor,” you answer, shifting in your seat before offering an unsure smile, “she’s a…friend.”

The female nods like she’s understanding part of a larger puzzle. You suppose it makes sense though—you’ve gotten the impression Mor is somewhat a regular, of course the owner would be familiar with her. Anxiety begins to crawl up your spine, bone by bone, piece by piece. What if she knows who you are—what you’ve done to upset Mor. But instead the female’s eyes twinkle, sparked by something.

“A friend of Morrigan’s,” she drawls, elegantly settling deeper into the cushioning, finishing off the knuckle’s-depth of her whiskey, knocking it back like it’s nothing. “Well then, you can call me Deliah.”

————

It wasn’t until the clock had struck five that you’d realised how long you’d been speaking with her. She’s a master of conversation, and you were swiftly swept up and away, almost forgetting your tea entirely, warmed beneath her attentive gaze. When you’d finally gotten up to leave, she’d wrapped you in a warm embrace, like you’d been friends for much longer than a few hours, and had pressed a departing kiss to your neck before you’d wrapped yourself in a scarf and headed back out into the much colder outdoors.

But still, the icy winds bite at your throat and nip at your cheeks, and you hug your cloak tighter to your body.

————

Night has fallen by the time you reach the River House, carefully hanging your cloak upon one of the iron hooks and removing your shoes. A surge of voices sound from your left—coming from the living room with windows overlooking the front lawn—and you quickly slip past into the kitchen searching for something to eat before tiptoeing up the stair to bed.

You don’t want to touch what Bas had told you—that he’s leaving. What if you hadn’t visited? What if you had put it off? What if he had decided not to tell you? What ultimately persuaded him to let you know? After all, he’d only mentioned it when you’d been leaving…perhaps he hadn’t intended to tell you, but something good in him had known the kind of emptiness you’d feel if you went to him one day to find the house packed up and empty? With no trace of him to be found?

The thought alone has a pit opening up in your stomach, eyes pressing together hard to keep tears at bay. He wouldn’t have done something like that, surely. Had you hurt him so badly?

For someone you had thought close to leave so abruptly without any notice…no reasons, no goodbye…just gone. How many methods of torture the mind could create with that. How the unknowing would surely swallow you whole. Regret feeding off every second, wishing to have a second chance.

Guilt weighs in your stomach.

“You’re back.”

You snap back to reality, ice flooding your veins as you spot Mor stood the other side of the kitchen counter, poised to pop open another bottle of wine. Your throat closes up but you nod, walking further into the room—it would too childish and obvious to exit as soon as you’d seen her. Her caramel eyes drop back to the cork, skewering the nail through the stopped and twisting. “Looking for something?”

“Just a bite to eat,” you manage, eyeing an apple in the fruit basket. Buttered bread with something on top would have been nice, but an apple will be great, too. Cool, and crisp. Hopefully not too tart.

“There’s food next door,” Mor tells you, neither of you really looking at the other, and you pluck the apple from the basket. “Olives, bread, cheese, grapes, wine.” She lifts the bottle, gesturing to the second one she has on the table beside her. “Probably apple slices and raisins too-”

Silence beats between you, and then fabric is rustling. You look up to find her almost upon you.

You jump when her hands rip the scarf from your shoulders, staring wide-eyed in…shock?

“Mor?” You ask, slightly defensively as you take a step back. “What-”

She grips your arms tight, pain flickering up through your flesh and your stomach clenches. “Stay away from her,” Mor hisses, her nails digging in through the fabric of your gloves. A low moan of discomfort escapes your mouth and her eyes again widen, inhaling sharply as she drops your arms. Mor recovers quickly, a mask sliding into place that’s cold and icy, not even a fragment of the previous hurt you’d seen to be found. “I don’t know how you met her, how you ran into her, and I don’t care. Just stay away from her.”

You’re breathing heavily, a light sweat on your skin but the light pain’s vanished as quick as it appeared, leaving you feeling cold and tingly all over. Flesh once again fading to numbness. “I don’t…Who?”

A small beauty mirror materialises out of thin air and she flips it open, showing the dark red imprint on your throat, a stamp of a woman’s lips. Deliah’s lipstick must have been pressed into your skin. A flush of regret rises up from your stomach and you slap your palm over the skin, hoping to conceal the blazing proof that you’d visited Rita’s. She’s never claimed it as her space, but it’s Mor’s domain.

“I’m sorry,” you splutter, trying to explain. “I was just cold, and I got lost, I didn’t mean to intrude, I swear I won’t go there again, I just needed somewhere to-”

“I don’t care where you go,” Mor hisses, a tissue appearing out of thin air, tipping your jaw to one side. “Stay in Rita’s all day if you like it. But don’t get involved with her. Does she know you know me?”

You nod your head, shame warming your cheeks. Mor sighs, rubbing harshly at your neck to remove the stain. It doesn’t take intelligence to tell she’s frustrated.

After a while Mor pulls away, the tissue a dark rouge colour, blood dried and faded to black. “I’ll talk to her. Tell her to stay away from you.” She turns, tossing the tissue in the bin. She shoots you a hard look over her shoulder, “Don’t go near her. Do you understand?”

You nod again.

Mor sighs, and you can hear her lips purse. “I’m serious. She’s a bloodsucker.”

“I won’t go near her,” you say, reaching for the apple and shifting it between you palms. “I promise I won’t this time.”

Silence hangs in the air, and you think you feel the tension disperse. She nods, once. “I believe you.”

Your lips press together, and you peer at the apple, turning it around in your hand to shift your awareness from the weight of Mor’s gaze. At last it lessens, and you look up to see her walking away, heading out of the kitchen and probably for the living room, where it sounds like the others are. She pauses on the threshold. Looks over her shoulder. “You can join these ones too you know. It’s not just the dinners people spend time together.”

You look at one another quietly, but before you can reply she’s vanished off into the hallway, the voices rising a few seconds later when she reaches the living room.

You can join these ones too, you know.

The waxy red of the apple shines beneath the faelights.

It’s not just the dinners people spend time together.

————

You pause in the doorway. One foot in the room with all of them, the other out in the hallway, already poised to depart. You feel it as attention openly shifts to you, not coming in, but not leaving either. For the first time, you’re openly wanting of their focus.

Your skin prickles as you feel the room quiet, but you’ve already taken the first step which you know from having heard so many people say is the hardest. It’s a lie. You know from experience it’s never the first step that’s the most difficult, but the one you have to make in the present. The present is always the worst.

You meet the blue-grey eyes of your youngest sister, Nyx held to her front, Rhysand at her side. “Will you sit down, for this?”

Feyre stiffens, and you can feel the room itself grow stagnant. The air that had previously been alive and bubbling growing colder. Even the warm lighting, the fae-lights and the candles seem to have dulled. A nervous laugh rattles her shoulders, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so serious.” Your features remain solemn, and the little mirth she had left in her eyes winks out. Feyre settles on the arm of one of the big, cushy armchairs, Rhysand sliding in beside her.

You swallow thickly, fierce, lionlike eyes passing through your head. Your head bows. “Madja believes she knows what’s wrong with me.” You clear your throat, and correct yourself, “With my magic.”

Silence hangs in the air, and you have to force yourself to continue, fingers leafing together. “It is a little serious,” you say, glancing briefly to Feyre with a tired, guilty smile, “so I’ll try to be as cohesive as possible.” Feyre nods her head, and you last a small breath before starting.

You lift your chin to dress the room.

“I only found out I had magic about two months ago. It caused me a lot of pain, and still does when I try to use it, though not as much as those initial attempts.” Your gloved fingers wring together. “After some poor experiences, the side-effects of my magic became apparent. You might have noticed I’ve been wearing gloves a lot lately—it’s not a new fashion craze.” A half-smile appears on Elain’s mouth and you could kiss her cheek for it. “Rather, it began to damage my body physically, externally. My hands became dry, and…there were some other things I’ll leave out, but there was obviously something wrong with them.”

You try to keep your voice steady, try to keep your hands from shaking as you pinch one tip of a finger and begin pulling the glove from your skin. The patchy, discoloured flesh of your arm appears, scabbed and flaky, skin ashen where it’s begun to peel. You remove the other, and fold them over your hands, clasped together at your front.

“After I…After the House Of Wind happened, the dryness spread further to my shoulders. I’ve lost almost all sense of touch in my hands, and most of my arms are numb, but they still hurt a lot if I knock into something.” Are you taking too long? Is this stupid? You try to imagine finding Bas’ house empty. “Madja’s been very attentive, an absolute blessing, and she’s figured that my magic wasn’t existing externally, because it was festering internally.” You pause, lips trembling, but swallow past the lump in your throat. Your voice is hoarse when you add, “For two years.”

The room itself shifts—Feyre sitting straighter; Nesta leaning forward, Cassian squeezing her hand tighter; even Mor’s shifted in her corner, no longer slouching against the wall; only Elain is frozen still.

“What does that mean?” Feyre asks, her voice like a finger dragging through sun-softened butter.

“Madja says she can’t reverse the damage; what’s happened to me. That two years is too long for her to even attempt to undo.”

“So…what?” Feyre’s voice is quiet, softer than you’ve ever heard it. “It’s going to keep spreading? There’s no way to remove the pain?”

“Kind of.” You nod, shifting on your feet. You can’t help wanting to look into a hazel set of eyes in the far corner of the room. You wonder what he’s making of this big speech. Whether it’s all stuff he already knows, and he’s waiting for it to be over already. Old news.

“Madja says she can’t erase the pain. It’s always going to be there because it’s been able to sink too deep.”

Feyre’s hand is covering her mouth; Nesta’s expression is focussed but her knuckles are white where she’s gripping Cassian’s hand; Elain’s eyes are wide, and her skin is sickly pale.

You bite your lip, shifting once again in the doorway. Shifting to stand just over the threshold, teetering on the edge of the living room and the dark, empty corridor.

“She’s given me about six months to live.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think someone, somewhere, had plucked the final string of the harp and frozen time. It’s unnerving—being in a room filled with living statues.

You almost flinch when Mor pushes off from the wall. It’s not a sudden movement by any means, if anything it’s more subdued than you’ve ever seen her, but with a swift look around the room, locking gazes with four pairs of eyes, she takes her drink with her and makes to pass you, exiting the room. Cassian glances at Nesta, squeezing her hand tight before standing; Rhysand remains still, his and the High Lady’s eyes glazing before he’s pushing a kiss to her temple, scooping up Nyx and following after Azriel and Amren.

You almost crumble now it’s only you and your sisters.

It’s too much for you to bear.

You’d thought you were okay with your silver lining.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

Wound care - a good reason to get close to one another and express that you care (Part 3/?)

Semantic Error

About Youth

Fish Upon The Sky

21 Day Theory

Bed Friend

Some More

KinnPorsche

Bad Buddy

My Ride

Senpai, This Can't Be Love

Part of my favorite bl-tropes collection, as always in no particular order.

[khaopybara]

bibi's favorite hot ray scenes

anonymous: top ten seductive/hot ray moments according to you?

[respectthepetty]

Waiting for a Choice?

Nobody talks with Day. All of the interviewees talk about him but none of them actually speak to him. Mork was the first one to go back-and-forth with Day by asking him questions, and Mork looks at Day too. When he entered the room, his comments are at Day. Before that, everyone treated Day like a ghost merely haunting the room.

And even though this game of 21-questions is horrible, Mork says the silent part loudly.

Because to Mork, this is all about choices. He believes his sister chose her fate and abandoned him in the end. To him, he had no choice in the matter. She decided their futures for both of them. Even though she is dead, he has spent an entire year not living.

Day's family does this too. Night tells Day they are at the Society when they are already there. It's an afterthought to tell Day where they are going, and he doesn't ask Day if he wants to go in either. It is "where will you wait?" Where will you wait while everyone else goes about their lives? Will you wait here or there? Those are his options. To wait. He is allowed to wait while everyone else lives, but he can't participate.

This is a place for the Blind, yet Day can't go in, and when he does, the receptionist pities him, and his brother gets upset.

By all means, this place should be THE place for Day with its "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've always wanted" inspirational word vomit, yet all the people stare at him.

Then, on the way home, Day's mother tells Night to speak to Day about the documents even though Day is sitting right there hearing the entire conversation.

Being a caregiver to a family member is extremely difficult. Mostly if animosity already exists.

And even though it's an English translation, the use of "have" is the subtle shift in a family relationship to a caregiver dynamic. A brother has to take care of his younger sibling. A brother now has to rely on his older sibling. Regardless if Night wants to help, he has to. Regardless if Day wants Night's help, he has to take it. They don't have a choice.

When Day exits his car, a point he made to Night, Night hesitates to go after him because they are in the middle of traffic and in the middle of a fight. Yet Mork runs into traffic to get Day, and for the first time in the episode, Day gets asked questions: "Are you okay?" and "Where are you going?"

It hasn't mattered if Day is okay up until now. It hasn't mattered where Day is going because he has to go where he is told. He doesn't have a choice. According to everyone else, he is a living ghost. He has been stuck for a year regardless of what he wants, so even when he gets home, his mother asks him one question without waiting for a response before immediately asking Night what happened.

So Day returns the small gesture of conversation to Mork by asking another living ghost if he has anywhere else to be.

Which jump starts their second game of 21-questions.

Because neither is telling the other what to do. Similar to their first conversation, it's a shit show, but they are both engaged in this shit show. They are not being told to participate. They are not being told what to do. They are being asked questions and they can decide to answer or not. They get to choose. And they chose each other.

Which leads to the mom finally asking Day a question.

Mork is going to be crap at taking care of Day at first, but Day doesn't need someone to take care of him. He needs someone to see him. Day isn't a ghost of his past. He isn't haunting his own story. And he isn't okay. He is unhappy because he has nowhere to go and nothing to look forward to . . . according to the people with lives. He is waiting.

So the guy who is also stuck with ghosts from his past haunting him simply asking questions is enough of a reminder that they are both very much alive, so they must make a choice to actually live.

Which is why Mork asking Day, not his mother or brother, but Day when he starts is very important.

Because these two are stuck in the present with pasts that haunt them. But now they have a future of endless choices.

They just have to ask the right questions.

No, not that!

Much better.

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the super amazing and talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 🦇

Blood of the Covenant (Preview)

Jon’s neck snapped over to where a silhouetted figure perched silently in a tree above. Had it not been for the scattering of birds, their frantic flapping and squawking, he may have never even noticed the presence up above. The figure crouched, hidden within the dark branches, like a predator observing, waiting to strike its prey. Jon felt a chill run down his spine as realization dawned on him. “just- just make it quick.”

Jon closed his eyes tight and waited for something that never came. Gathering his courage, he slowly opened his eyes and frantically scanned the area around the tree. The figure was nowhere to be seen. His body relaxed slightly, but before he could let out a breath of relief, the figure suddenly emerged from the underbrush, clutching a limp rabbit in his hand. Jon's breath caught in his throat at the sudden appearance and he couldn't help but shudder with fear.

“Tt,” he clicked his tongue and Jon immediately registered the sound as annoyance. He wondered if fear in its prey was becoming a nuisance for this particular vampire, it would have been almost laughable, if he wasn’t scared shitless right now.

Aside from the pounding in his chest, Jon watched on in silence as the creature expertly built a fire with dry twigs and leaves. The orange flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. As the sun descended below the horizon, the fire became the only source of light, the sky now painted in shades of deep blue. The heat from the flames grew more intense, warming his skin and filling the air with the scent of burning wood. Jon’s eyes followed every move as the vampire gracefully skinned the rabbit, then with precise movements, drained the blood from the small animal. Jon’s throat tightened as the creature was skewered onto a freshly sharpened stick and placed over the embers. The smell of cooking meat filled the air, making Jon's stomach growl in hunger. The vampire seemed to have quite the sick sense of humor, subjecting him to such torture. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind off of the pain in his gut.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice shattered the silence. "Eat," they commanded.

Confused and disoriented, Jon's eyes snapped open as he tried to make sense of the words. "W-what? Why?" His own voice came out weak and shaky.

“You clearly haven't eaten in a few days,” he stated matter-of-factly, his eyes roaming across him. Jon eagerly reached out, accepting the offering, savoring the succulent meat as it filled his empty stomach. When he finished, he crudely wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. He was still weary of the other but at least if he dies now, it would be with a full belly. The man continued to stare at Jon intently, never taking his gaze away. After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice low and measured, “how long have you been here?”

“Eighteen days,” he croaked out, feeling small and weak under the man's intense scrutiny.

The other only nodded. “Is that your canteen?”

Jon's heart sank as he nodded and replied, unable to hide the desperation in his voice, "It's empty." The sound of his own almost unfamiliar timbre only served as a reminder of how long it had been since he had last spoken to another human being…or anything close to it.

Without another word, the man snatched the canteen from Jon's hands and disappeared quickly into the dense forest. Minutes dragged on like hours, Jon could do nothing but watch as the moon dragged across the sky until it was directly overhead. With no clear sense of time, he began to wonder if he’d been abandoned once again, left alone in this desolate place with nothing but his thoughts for company.

As the last embers of the fire began to fade, Jon's gaze caught a glint of movement in the corner of his eye. He watched as the lithe figure of the man emerged from the shadows with the canteen in hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed the canteen at Jon, who winced as it thudded against his chest. “Vampires?”

Jon nodded, “yeah, we took them out but I got inj-”. He flinched, realizing suddenly that he was talking to a vampire about taking out his own kind.

The man seemed disinterested in the murder of his kin and instead chose to focus on something else entirely. “We?”

Jon swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “yeah, the guys I'd been traveling with.”

“They left you here?”

“Well-”

“To die?” he interjected.

“I told them too. I was slowing them down.” Jon’s voice came out smaller than he intended it to.

The man carried on, as though uninterested. “Kryptonian?”

“How did you-?” The man's piercing gaze landed on the prominent "S" adorning Jon's chest. Jon shifted uncomfortably, feeling foolish, “oh. Yeah.” The two sat in tense silence once more, until the question that had been gnawing at Jon could no longer be contained, “why haven't you killed me yet?”

For the first time since the man had appeared, he seemed to be taken off guard. He sat in quiet contemplation, his brow furrowed and eyes distant. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. “I knew your father. He was a good friend of my father.”

“Was.” Jon felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, “so, he’s dead then.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes flashed with empathy, just briefly, before returning to their stoic state, “but yes. They both are.”

“It's okay,” Jon tried to reassure himself, though his voice trembled slightly. “I think...I think I already knew.” As the words left his mouth, he felt a sense of finality wash over him, confirming what he had been desperately trying to deny. His father hadn’t come looking for him, he had already known it could only mean one thing. Silence consumed the air once more, until Jon finally spoke, “so, you haven’t killed me because my dad used to be friends with your dad?”

“Is that not enough?” he shrugged.

Jon quickly shook his head, “no, I mean, I’ll take it.”

“Tt. So, don’t die on me Jonathan Kent or this will have been a complete waste of my time.”

Surprise flickered across Jon's face, “you know my name?”

The other man scoffed, “of course, I'm the son of Batman.”

“Batman? ... So then, are you ...Tim?”

“I'm insulted.” The man's expression turned from irritation to hurt, “no, I'm Damian. I'm... I'm the last living son of Batman.” A weight seemed to settle upon him as he spoke these words, as if the realization of his own loneliness had suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

“I'm sorry. My... my brother is gone too.” Damian allowed the silence to consume the night, he did not ask Jon any more questions and for that, Jon was grateful.

[dear-ao3]

95 million percent no one cares but i managed to loose the rubber seal in my hydroflask lid yesterday without realizing it (dropped lid by water fountain at work) (don’t flame me for still having hydroflask products i’ve owned one since legitimately 2010 and i like them okay!!!!) and it was the last standing lid i still had that was the old style flip top one and if i have to get a new one cause i lost the seal i’m going to be. so beyond pissed cause all the new lids upset me is it too much to ask to want to purchase the same product i’ve had for the last fourteen years ??

[girlkisser13]

cabin headcanons masterlist

a/n: these are all my personal headcanons. i will be making ones for more minor gods.

cabin 1- zeus ⚡️

cabin 3- poseidon 🌊

cabin 4- demeter 🪴

cabin 5- ares ⚔️

cabin 6- athena 🧠

cabin 7- apollo ☀️

cabin 8- artemis 🌙

cabin 9- hephaestus 🛠️

cabin 10- aphrodite 💗

cabin 11- hermes ⚕️

cabin 12- dionysus 🍷

cabin 13- hades 💀

cabin 14- iris 🌈

cabin 15- hypnos 💤

cabin 16- nemesis ⚖️

cabin 17- nike 🏆

cabin 18- hebe 🍶

cabin 19- tyche 🎰

cabin 20- hecate 🪄

cabin 21- hestia 🔥

cabin 22- thanatos 🪦

cabin 23- morpheus 🛌

cabin 24- melinoe 👻

cabin 25- persephone 🌸

cabin 26- eros 💘

cabin 27- nyx 🌌

[chicademartinica]

Dee being the one comforting, guiding and devouring a trembling, sobbing Yak as they kiss for the first time is such good move for the show. It’s a nice reminder that, while inexperienced and insecure,Doc is 7 years older than Boo and way more in control in that relationship. Yak BEEN GONE.

[xbomboi]

Growing Pains

as raven finally gets to be free from her shackles, apple silently chooses to shoulder all the pain that comes their way and bear the burdens of dealing with the horrors of the world so that raven can be happy. because raven has suffered so much and apple decides it’s only fair that she do all she can to prevent raven from any further suffering. it’s her way of atoning for all the hurt she caused raven, because apple knows raven has been and always will be a better person than her. to apple, if either of them deserves to smile, it’s raven.

[landopics]

Have people forgotten the car Lando had in 2019,2020 and 2022??

It was not a rocket ship at all like the McLaren has been this season and last half of last season.

Might explain why it’s taken time to get the first win! Compared to his teammate who’s been fortunate to have a rocket ship the majority of his time in f1.

[pemprika]

💫TEMPERAMENT💫

i made persona 3,4, and 5 pins this summer! they will be in my shop update on september 21 PST 🕺

[regnigt]

good question, kuroo

[beansterpie]

K I threw together a translation for the new es21 anniversary chapter! There's probably mistakes and some awkward phrasing because I always end up prioritizing accuracy over flow rip. Hopefully the way I've formatted this isn't a total pain to read. I recommend looking at the page first, and then referring to the translation when you can't read something. I skipped any panels that don't have dialogue/text so just reading the translations might be confusing. Anyway it's under the cut!

(Lol sorry I didn't bother translating character blurbs on the right)

Page 1 Panel 1: Announcer: “Noooooww, there’s barely any time left on the clock! This final play will decide the outcome of the match!!” Panel 2: “One of these teams will command the University American Football World!! Panel 3: Which one will it be!? Panel 4: Two star players who once fought together now face off— Panel 5: in this Final Decisive Match”

Page 2-3 Panel 1: Eyeshield 21 aka: Kobayakawa Sena!! VS. The Commander from Hell: Hiruma Yoichi!! Panel 2: Set, Hut!!!

Cover page (4-5): Their First Collision!! Sena [Eyeshield 21] and Hiruma [the one who named him (literally the ‘parent’ who named him)]—

Page 6 Panel 1: [Some months earlier—] Panel 3: DEVILBAT GHOST!!

Page 7 Panel 1: TRIDENT TACKLE!!!

Page 8-9 Panel 1: The ball was fumbled!! Whichever team manages to claim it will win….!! Panel 2: [An American Football rule you can understand in 1 SECOND] Devilbat: YA—HA— It’s stupidly simple! Carry the ball to the enemy line and score (a touchdown)! DB jr.: You can get around 7 points! Panel 4: Monta: CATCH MAX!!! Panel 5: Suzuna: YA—!!! Panel 6: Announcer: The Kanto representatives for the Japanese National American Football University Championships is the team lead by Eyeshield 21 aka. Kobayakawa Sena— the Enma Fires…..!!!!

Page 10 Panel 1: Sakuraba: You really got revenge on us this year. It’s frustrating but it was our total defeat….! Panel 2: Sena: Though, one-on-one, for the most part I couldn’t really get past you (Shin-san) until the very end… Panel 4: Shin: undecipherable Panel 6: Ootawara: OOOOHHHHH MAKE SURE YOU HIT THEM HARD ENOUGH FOR THE BOTH OF US, KURITA—!! Panel 7: Takami: Finally, you’ve earned the right to challenge the undefeated champions Page 11 Panel 1 & 2: Takami: The championship finals against the team lead by Hiruma, the Saikyodai Wizards— at the Koushien Bowl….!!! Panel 3: Sena: Yes….!!

Page 12 Panel 4: Monta: Mukya! What the hell, we can’t get into the club room! Riku: Looks like we have a few visitors— Panel 5: Crowd: The United States President’s son?? Even SP (I believe this is a tv channel) is here… Page 13 Panel 3: Sena: T-this is way too crazy… Kurita: To clear away people like this…..

Page 14 Panel…2?: Hiruma: Kekekekeke, you’re late fucking Fatty and fucking Shrimps Panel 3: Kurita: HIRUMA! Sena: —san!! Monta: And that guy’s from the American Match, the ultimate boss… wait actually, he’s a NFL player now! Page 15 Panel 1: It’s the President’s Junior, Mr. Don….!! Panel 2: Don: An ordinary person goes to a foreign country to run rampant for their own entertainment. A champion (or king lol) goes to a foreign country to express his respect. Panel 3: Don: In this country, it seems excessive meddling from pros in the affairs of amateurs isn’t appreciated, so I’ll get straight to the heart of the matter. Panel 4: Don: Together we will fight and acquire the throne. I’ve come to welcome/receive one hero. Panel 6: Kurita: ?? Monta: What does that mean? Sena: Isn’t this excessive meddling…..

Page 16 Panel 1: Crack! Panel 2: Sena: ….?? Inside my shoulder pad… Panel 3: Sena: What is this, it’s tiny… A white chip? Monta: Ooh, it’s in our shoulder pads too!! Riku: Since when… Panel 4: Hiruma: It’s called an RFID (radio frequency identification (apparently lol)) chip. When you have this on— Panel 5: Glasses: The current location of each player can be determined and measured by inches. Stats like speed and acceleration, it can analyze all data in real time. Enma Babes (presumably): A SCI-FI MACHINE LIKE THAT EXISTS!? Page 17 Panel 1: Don: There’s nothing Sci-Fi about it. Within the NFL world, all players have been using this for a number of years now. Sena & Monta: REALLY!!? Hiruma: They even have them inside the balls. Since you can measure the rotations that way Devibat: It’s true!! DB jr.: The actual pro sports world sure is turning into something amazing! Panel 2: Riku: So, this data analysis chip… Panel 3: Riku: Why are they in our protective equipment…?? Sena: I mean, there’s only one person in this world who would be devilish enough to quietly do something like that… Panel 4: Glasses: With this hoard of collected data, and by using the help of something like Google Brain, we can rely on machine learning to— Sena: Goo… what? Machine…?? Panel 5: Don: How sad~ Oohh, AI, AI! Civilization has simply taken the human privilege of ‘thinking’, and given it up to machines.

Page 18 Panel 1: Don: Most of all, humanity’s been dulled by favoritism, politics and social correctness. Well, compared to a slow/primitive ruler, it’s (AI) infinitely more reliable. Panel 2: [For our team to reach victory, what kind of player is indispensable? The answer provided by the AI was—] Panel 3: A running back with the speed of light! Or— A phantasmagoric (look it up) quarterback! Panel 5: Glasses: International Player Pass Way Program. In short, there is one slot available for a foreign student trainee as the Japanese representative. Don: Which means that we would be receiving you into our team. Page 19 Panel 1: Kobayakawa Sena, Hiruma Yoichi: between the two of you, only one—

Page 20 Panel 3: (I believe this is some sort of form that Sena filled out about what he wants to pursue after graduation— he says after graduation he wants to become a pro American Football athlete) Panel 4: Hiruma: With my physical abilities, I won’t be able to get into the NFL the usual way. Panel 5: Hiruma: Obviously, I’ll struggle for the top even if it kills me. That’s the thing that makes it fun….! Page 21 Panel 1: Don: When I consulted the man at the top, Panther, about which one to pick— he gave me a truly straightforward answer. Panel 2: Panther: Hm? Well they’re going to have a confrontation directly in the Koshien Bowl, aren’t they? Panel 3: Panther: Sena VS. Hiruma!! We’ll just take whoever wins. Because, isn’t that American Football…!!

Page 22 Panel 1: Sena: …… this contest against Hiruma-san, I’m glad that it’s an American football match. Panel 2: Sena: If it wasn’t, there’s no way I could win against Hiruma-san, you’d bring out your blackmail book and in an instant…. Hiruma: Kekeke, seems like you understand the situation reeeeal well Panel 3: Sena: I mean, whether it’s Don-san’s AI verdict or the pro tryouts— if you put your mind to it, you could use your blackmail book to get whatever you wanted. But, Hiruma-san, when it comes to American football, you’ve always…. you’ve always— Panel 5: Toss~ Panel 6: Hiruma: Well, since I’m going to win against you and become a top pro, I don’t need this thing. Page 23 Panel 5: Sena: But, the one who’ll win is me

Page 24 Sena: I’ll go to defeat you with all my strength. So, Hiruma-san, you also— Hiruma: Kekeke, naturally Page 25 Panel 1: HANSHIN KOSHIEN STADIUM Panel 3: Kurita: Truthfully, I want to root for both of their dreams— For Sena-kun, and for Hiruma. But if I really can’t choose both—

Page 26-27 Panel 1: Kurita: FUNNURABAAA!!!!! Panel 2: Kurita: For the sake of my team, and for Sena-kun’s sake, I’ll defeat Hiruma…..!!! Panel 3: Announcer: Koshien Bowl, the final, decisive match! Against the Saikyodai Wizards, made up of all star members throughout the country— Panel 4: Announcer: Somehow!! The Enma Fires are just slightly in the lead!! Panel 5: Gaou: Fuh… Half of American football is decided by the power of the line. This is the unmatched power of Kurita when he has something to protect….!!!

Page 28 Panel 1: Announcer: Noooooww, there’s barely any time left on the clock! This final play will decide the outcome of the match!! Panel 2: Announcer: Two star players who once fought together now face off— Panel 3: Announcer: In this Final Decisive Match!! Panel 4: Announcer: Eyeshield 21 aka. Kobayakawa Sena!! Vs. The Commander from Hell, Hiruma Yoichi!! Page 29 Panel 1: Hiruma: KILL! KILL! Panel 2: Suzuna: K.I.L.L…..to kill? What’s it mean? Doburoku: In American football, it’s a sign that’s given by the pitcher. It means to completely kill the strategy that had been agreed upon. To put it simply, it’s a signal to hurriedly reset the strategy of the play. Panel 3: Mizumachi: After seeing our defense formation, looks like they want to change things up! Panel 4: Sena: Hiruma-san’s— that ever-changing adaptability’s strength—

Page 30 Panel 1: Hiruma: Kill— Panel 4: Unsui: NO!! THERE HASN’T BEEN ANY CHANGE IN HIS PLAN!! Page 31 Panel 1: Hiruma (I think): This was just a snap counter from the get go— A signal to start the play after the 4th KILL…!!! Panel 2: Enma player: Shit, even though we know what kind of guy he is! Enma player 2: He’s gonna throw a pass— Enma player 3: No, don’t let Hiruma trick you! He’s not throwing— he’s still holding it!! Panel 3: This is a run….!! Panel 5: Shit, that’s wrong, it’s a pass after all….!!!

Page 32 TOUCHDOOOOWN!!! Page 33 Panel 1: Hiruma: YA— HA—!!! Panel 2: Announcer: The final decisive battle was completely controlled by the sorcerer of the field-- Hiruma Yoichi! (there's actually a word in this line I don't understand lol, but this should be the general gist) Panel 3: Announcer: In a sudden turnabout victory, the Saikyodai Wizards win the championship—

Page 34 Panel 1: Announcer: —No, the remaining time on the clock is 1 second!! Panel 2: Hiruma: !! Taka: That was my bad. Panel 3: Taka: On the ground was Sena-kun with his light speed, and in the air Monta was closing in. I had no choice but to catch the ball one second earlier than planned. Panel 5: Unsui (presumably): — 1 second left. Whether we laugh or cry about it, this will be the final play— Page 35 Panel 1: Sena: These sort of seriously close calls… I dunno if you’d call it deja vu or— Panel 2: Monta: That’s right! This is the kind of cliff’s edge that we’ve run along a bunch of times! Panel 3: Agon: Aaaahhh? Ain’t this match already certain victory— Panel 4: Agon: —If we weren’t up against the tiny trash brigade, that is. Hiruma: Kekeke yo~~~ You also know what’s up huh, fucking dreads. Panel 6: Yamato: That’s right, all of us should know by now well enough that it hurts. Panel 7: Yamato: That there are demon-like men out there whose power explodes during dire straits like this.

Page 36 Panel 1: That there was once a miraculous team called the Devilbats— Panel 2: Hiruma: The last play will be Eyeshield 21! They’ll 100,000,000,000% comes at us with Sena’s run!! Anything else is a ruse, completely ignore it, don’t even think 1mm that it’ll be anything else!! Panel 3: Unsui: There’s only one way to go: Sena’s run. All of us will open a path!! Page 37 Panel 1 & 2: Sena’s Run, Complete Specialized All Star Team!! VS. Anti-Sena formation, Complete Specialized All Star Team!!

Page 38: — DON! Page 39 Panel 1: Announcer: Remaining time: 0 seconds! Panel 2: Announcer: With this last play, it’s game set! Panel 4: Yamabushi: Rodio Drive!! Are they coming with Riku!? Taka: No— Panel 6: Riku: Sena…!!

Page 40 Panel 3: IKKYUU…!! Panel 4: How can he reach it, to go into a cut from such a distance…..

Page 42 Panel 1: Sena: UUOOOOOOOOHH!! Panel 2: Mamori: Sena…! Panel 3: Ikkyuu: That guy’s too damn fast— I already knew that but…..!! Panel 4: Announcer: Sure enough, in the end they went with the light speed running back, Eyeshield 21!!! Page 43 Panel 1: Mizumachi: Uha! I said make way! Panel 3: Chuubou: A path for Sena-senpai….!!!

Page 44-45 Panel 3: Announcer: He’s passed everyone! At this rate it’s a touchdown—!!! Panel 4: Hiruma: Kekeke, dig out your eyeballs and give them a good wash— take another look. It’s not over. Panel 5: Kid: He’ll stand in the way— in the end, the ultimate opponent—

Page 46 Panel 1: AGON!!! Page 47 Panel 2: Shin: Sena’s Devilbat Ghost has been fully realized. Panel 3: Shin: It’s a perfect technique for a runner to get past his opponent. The Optimal Technique/Solution.

Page 48 Panel 2: vvrrrrr (vibration sounds) Panel 3: Glasses: The Optimal Solution for this situation is none other than the Devilbat Ghost. But even then, Agon who possesses inherent superhuman reaction speed will likely stop him. Panel 4: [That is the judgement the machine learning system has made based on the real time analysis from the RFID chip] Page 49 Panel 3: Shin: The essential thing you need to reach new heights, is to surpass your Optimal Technique/Solution™— with Courage™ Panel 5: Sena: That’s right— my road isn’t limited only to the two directions that I can dodge Panel 6: Shin: It relies on his light speed cuts. A third option, much like a trident. In a manner of speaking—

Page 50 Panel 1: DEVILBAT TRIDENT!!! Page 51 Panel 1: Mizumachi: You mean he might not dodge!? Riku: A headlong collision!! There’s no way… Panel 2: Glasses: It’s absolutely impossible, how reckless. There’s no chance of winning. The AI declares that this is at most a feint. In the end, Sena will definitely move to evade him! Panel 3: Hiruma: Kekeke, you’re wrong. It’s a hundred billion years too early to try getting past using that hand. Panel 4: Hiruma: But that’s why you’ll go for it. Isn’t that right, Sena. Panel 5: Agon: Aaahhh~~ Hiruma, I’ve fought with you so many times it makes me sick, so I already know all of that….!!!

Page 52 Panel 1: Hiruma ??: The Human brain hasn’t been able to compete with semiconductors for a long time. I’m sure it’ll aaaalll become like that in the future. Panel 2: Hiruma: When it comes to searching for Optimal Solutions™, no one can compete against Sir AI anymore. But— Panel 3: Shin: Beyond the Optimal Solution™ Panel 4: Beyond even the very summit— you continue to struggle with only courage at your back. Page 53 Panel 1: THAT IS WHAT AN ATHLETE IS Panel 3: ??: I’LL GO PRO AND KILL EVERYONE!! Panel 4: ??: I’LL SURPASS THE TOP!!! Panel 5: ??: That athlete will be—

Page 54-55 Panel 1: Hiruma: ME Panel 2: Sena: ME Panel 3: [He surpasses theory, with his light speed courage—!!]