#but one of them is an attempt to answer the question:

[randombush3]

recuérdame

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 1185 (treat this like a prologue ok x)

notes: i hope this actually takes off as a new series so i'm posting it now while i think about what comes next xx

There’s something groggy about the darkness in your mind. It’s not an eyes-closed kind of black; not a piece of white paper doused in ink. 

It’s thick like smog. Grainy. 

And all of a sudden, you are awake. 

There’s an incessant pounding in your mind that is sharp and rhythmic. The lights are too harsh, too much. The bed is hard under your heavy bones. 

You blink and even that small movement is strange, harder than it should be. 

The ceiling is peppered with small, grey dots. It’s terribly ugly, but your eyes cling to it as you try to shake off the haze. 

Slowly, the rest of the room comes into focus: sterile whites, beeping machines, tubes splaying out across what must be your body but feels like deadweight. The steady noise draws your attention after a moment, the sound seeming to echo inside your head. You turn, neck stiff and crunching, to catch a glimpse of a monitor, green lines spiking across its screen. 

The tubes aren’t just on top of you. They must be inside you. 

Something twists in your stomach. 

“You’re… awake.” 

…

No one really knows what to say to Alexia when she receives the call. 

Training is running over, the sun is beginning to set, and the girls are getting restless. The drill is nothing special, and the boredom it brings infects their captain, too, despite her valiant attempts at maturity. 

Alexia wants to get home, tonight of all nights. 

Five days ago, a work trip left her alone with a daughter that isn’t quite hers. There has been an other-mother shaped hole in the family ever since. Madrid continues to be evil. Her Catalan pride is vindicated once more. 

So when Pere blows his whistle, she all but sprints into the changing room (much to her coach’s dismay, since training ended because he assumed no one could run at that speed anymore), image of picture-perfect leadership be damned. 

Her shower is fast, clothes are shoved on even faster, and she is just about to walk through the automatic exit doors when her phone rings. 

A location update, she assumes. Or a complaint from an impatient tweenager (god, they seem to be fountains of those). 

It’s to her horror that she is incorrect. 

The nurse on the other line is eerily calm, but does not waste time beating around the bush. Her instructions are clear: come to the hospital now. 

“I think my fiancée has just died,” Alexia tells no one in particular. 

The team isn't sure whether or not she is joking. 

That was a week ago, and now she is here, in the hospital. Her bum is accustomed to the hard plastic chairs, her schedule skewed until the doctors finally wake you up from a medically induced coma. Amaia, her stepdaughter, is at her friend’s house, the boy’s mother insisting she care for her while Alexia makes a rather practical visit to the hospital. 

Alexia’s hands shake as she brings them to her face, rubbing her temples. The past week has been wrapped around her like a noose, suffocating and taut. She’s holding herself together but she is doing an uncharacteristically catastrophic job at it. Her mind is still tangled up in the phone call she’d received – and the many others she’d had to make after the nurse had hung up. Although there has been a swarm of activity (flights landing, taxis to the hospital, meals arriving at her front door with well-meaning notes attached), life has felt still. Stagnant. 

She is stuck in something she doesn’t know how to deal with. 

She closes her eyes for a second and inhales with as much steadiness as she can muster, letting the beeping of your monitor anchor her back to the present. It’s a strange sound to feel grateful for, each pulse a reminder that you are still here. With her. 

They have been gradually reducing the sedatives administered to you, making the answer to her question always ‘she will wake up when she wakes up’. The twitches in your finger have grown old now, and she is becoming very impatient. 

“If you wanted a holiday, we could’ve taken time off,” she tells you with a forced chuckle. “You didn’t need to get yourself into a…” 

You shift slightly in the bed. Alexia’s eyes snap open, her body surging upwards in hope. 

“Come on…” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Please…”

Your eyelids flutter, hesitant, like they’re testing the weight of the world behind them. She hopes: at least it’s something. 

And it could be more, surely? It should be any minute now, according to the doctors. The wait will be over and she can get you back.

It’s been fifteen days since Alexia saw the eyes she fell in love with. 

Words fall out of her mouth but she barely registers them, staring at you listlessly, unprepared for this moment. She had thought about it, of course, imagining how to go about updating you on what you’ve missed: how Amaia’s match yesterday ended in a draw; how her own was a sizable but unsatisfying win. 

She wants to say things she should say more. Reminders, confessions. She wants to let out the anger that you did this to her; that you left, that you didn’t come back. And how she wants to hold you, kiss you, love you even more.

But the first thing Alexia notices behind bleary eyes is terror. Confusion. And, what she had told herself would not happen: a lack of recognition. 

I’m in a hospital, you think, but I don’t know who is here with me. 

The moment stretches on, thin and frail, and Alexia feels the tautness in her stomach like a rope holding dead weight over a cliff. Her heart – bruised, aching, impatient – is pierced by the way you look at her with poorly-masked indifference. 

“Hi,” she tries, waiting for you to come back fully, wanting to skip the part where it hurts so much. Her hand reaches out, hovering above your own, fingers aching to touch you, but she holds back. “Do you know where we are?” 

She should really call the nurse in, but she can’t quite bring herself to disrupt this. 

Your eyes flicker, glancing at the tubes and machines. The mattress hasn’t gotten any softer, nor your body any lighter. “Hospital,” you whisper, throat scratchy and hoarse. The word appears in your mind as almost foreign, coming from somewhere deeper than the blankness of the surface. Then your gaze drifts back to her, the hopeful woman at your bedside, brows furrowing as you struggle to place her into a life you can’t quite recall. Not that you’ve tried; you’ve got a screaming headache. 

The question on your lips twists Alexia’s insides. She anticipates it, with an instinctiveness that almost frustrates you. “I’m Alexia,” she says. She doesn’t sound sure. 

You stare through her and the distance clutches at her neck. Her nightmare lands, cold and final. 

“I’m… sorry. I don’t,” and like how she knows the question, she is well aware of the end of that sentence. 

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |9|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Fighting, Guns, Violence, Attempted Murder, Shooting

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

You and Sam walked back to Blackmore in a comfortable silence. You preferred the quiet and appreciated that she didn’t ask you questions or push you on anything. Sam had no reason to trust you, but she was taking a chance, and you were going to make sure to prove you were worthy of her trust. When you got to Blackmore you and Sam sat on one of the benches outside the building that held Tara’s class until she came out half an hour later. As soon as you had her, the three of you went back to the apartment.

When you got back to the apartment Tara flung her backpack into the corner and plopped herself down on the couch, kicking her feet up as she reached for the remote on the coffee table. She flicked on the TV and instantly began scrolling through one of the streaming apps.

You mindlessly watched at Tara continued to scroll until you felt her eyes on you. You glanced at her and waited to see what she would say. Mindy was the most suspicious of you, which was fair, though she seemed to be more of a conspiracy theorist than anything, Chad seemed almost too trusting of you, it was slightly concerning, and Tara seemed to be hesitant of you, like Sam was with everyone, though she wasn’t as paranoid Sam. The one thing different about Tara though was half her suspicion seemed to come from just being protective of her sister.

“Do you like movies?” Tara asked, squinting her eyes as she waited for your response.

You shrugged. “I’ve seen a few,” you said.

That seemed to make Tara only narrow her eyes even more. “What’s your favorite movie?” You opened your mouth to give her what would probably be an unsatisfactory answer once again. “Wait! Let me guess,” she turned so half her body was facing you. “Saving Private Ryan!” You opened your mouth, but she didn’t stop there. “No! Hacksaw Ridge!” You closed your mouth and waited; you knew she wasn’t done yet. “You have a dog you love,” she mumbled more to herself than you. “War Horse!” She clapped her hands, quite proud of herself for that one. “Wait!” She shot her hand out, grabbing you on your arm as if you were about to get up and leave. “The Patriot.”

You waited a second to see if she had any more, but she just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You chuckled to yourself with a shake of your head. “All military related because I’m in the military?” You asked.

She shrugged. You playfully rolled your eyes. “Those are all great movies,” you started. You caught Sam out of the side of your eye, she was in the kitchen making a sandwich, but she tilted her head just slightly, indicating she was listening. “The superhero stuff is also good. I-”

“I bet you’re a Captain America person,” Tara cut you off. You rolled your eyes. “You give off the same vibes.”

You gave her a thankful nod. You had never been compared to Captain America before and you were truly honored, though you were inclined to disagree with her. “Cap is great,” you said. “And Steve Rogers is definitely much cooler than me.” Tara shrugged, seeming to agree with you on that. “But I’ve always been more of a Batman person.”

Tara looked at you and nodded her head. “That tracks.” You tilted your head in question, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

“But my default movie, the one I’m always cool to watch, The Mummy.”

“Where Brendan Frazier plays a soldier,” Tara nodded, clearly not surprised by the answer.

“Only in the beginning do the movie,” you defended. Seriously the movie started with him figuring in the desert but that was it when it came to military related things. Unless Tara was also counting the pilot they found to fly them back out there.

“So, you just really love mummies?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“The Mummy is fantastic, it’s got everything, action, comedy, a supernatural element, and romance. There should be no explanation required.” You had never had to defend liking The Mummy before, you thought Sam’s sister was going to school for film, you figured she’d know this better than anyone. “Oh, and Rachel Weisz,” you added.

“All good points,” Sam said, coming back into the room. She handed you a bottle of water before taking her seat in the chair next to the couch. You gave her a thankful smile; you hadn’t even asked for a drink for her to just bring one to you.

“You too?” Tara shouted, whipping her head around so fast you were surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

Sam shrugged as she curled her feet up on the chair, tucking them under her before reaching for her sandwich on the coffee table. “Who doesn’t love Brendan Frazier and Rachel Weisz,” she said as if they explained everything.

Sam went on to eat her sandwich while Tara was looking at her sister in a whole new light, as if she was seeing her sister for the first time. You were still new and getting to know the sisters, but you were curious why Sam liking The Mummy would be so surprising. Tara just stared at her sister for several minutes before finally going back to scrolling for a movie, finally deciding to settle on The Mummy.

Not long after the movie ended did Chad walk in with a stack of three pizza’s, quickly followed by the others. “Dinner is served!” Chad said, holding up the pizza’s as he took them to the dining table.

“Thanks for picking them up,” Sam said as she got up to grab some paper plates.

Chad waved her off and flipped open all three boxes. Each pizza was different, there was a plain cheese, a pepperoni, and then a meat lovers. You and Tara got up to join the others around the table, everyone grabbed their slices and then went off to separate corners of the room. Quinn took the seat across the room, closest to the door, Mindy and Anika cuddled up next to each other on the floor, Ethan plopped himself down in the seat furthest from the door, and Tara dropped herself down in what was Sam’s seat because Chad stole her spot on the couch next to you.

Once Chad finished up his pizza, he wiped his hands off on a napkin and tossed it onto his dirty plate. He was still chewing the last bit of his food as he switched the channel on the TV and grabbed a PS4 controller. You wiped your own hands and put your trash on top of his, creating an organized little pile. You leaned back and watched the screen as Chad flipped through games.

“What are you playing?” you asked.

“Crash,” he said mindlessly.

“Racing or the original?”

Chad’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish. He looked at you then back at the TV, only to do a double take and look back at you. It was like he couldn’t believe you were asking him about video games.

“R-Racing,” he said. “Want to join?” he reached over and grabbed the other controller and held it out to you.

You shrugged and took the controller from him. “Sure,” you said.

The two of you selected our characters and started the first race. You let Chad pick the track, you knew he’d need the edge anyway. The two of you raced around, doing your laps, you felt everyone’s eyes on you and the TV but you paid them no mind as you drove your way into first place. You were on the last lap when you dropped a TNT crate, only to hear Chad hit it a few seconds later. You quickly crossed the finish line, coming in first, then you leaned back and watched as Chad tried to fight his way back up the line, striving to just not come in last.

You repeated that with the same outcome another three races. Chad was hunched over, pressing the buttons hard as if that would make the cart go faster. You kept your eyes on the screen, never wavering as you completed lap after lap, coming in first every single time.

“You’re good at this,” Chad said. “How are you so good?”

“I play all the time when I’m home,” you said with a shrug.

“That’s why the only thing in your house is a game system,” Sam said.

You looked over at her and smiled. “Got my PS5 and my dog, what more could one possibly want?” Sam tilted her head, seeming to actually think about the question then nodded with a small shrug.

“One more,” Chad said, already flipping through the tracks again.

You rolled your eyes and got ready again as Chad finally selected the track. You were fully prepared to beat Chad on every track, using any character.

You got distracted when you noticed Sam staring down at her phone. You paused the game, ignoring Chad’s protests as you waited to see what was going on with Sam. “Everything okay?” you asked.

Sam looked up, meeting your eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “Your dad is calling me,” she looked at Quinn.

Quinn furrowed her brow and leaned forward in the chair. “He’s probably just following up,” Quinn said with a shrug. “Or wanting to update you.”

Sam nodded but she didn’t seem too certain in Quinn’s guess. Whatever doubt she was having didn’t stop her from raising the phone to her ear. “Detective Bailey?” Sam spoke into the phone.

You couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but Sam’s furrowed brow deepened. “Yes, I know him,” she said. You look around the room, seeing Chad, Mindy, and Tara all looked just as confused. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Sam hung up the phone she was moving and so were you and Tara. Sam didn’t even so much as look at any of you as she grabbed her keys. “Sam,” Tara said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Stay here,” is all Sam said.

“What happened?” you asked as you made your way over to the sisters.

Sam finally paused her movements and looked up at you, then at her sister. “That was detective Bailey.” You and Tara both nodded. “He said Doctor Stone is dead.”

“Who?” you asked. You glanced at Tara to see her furrow, her brow before her eyes widened.

“He’s my old therapist,” Sam dropped her eyes to the floor.

You furrowed her brow; you weren’t sure why Sam seemed ashamed of that. You went to a therapist; she didn’t know it was because you were ordered to, but she knew you saw one. She went with you to your appointment earlier, you couldn’t see why she would think you would judge her for seeing a therapist herself. You didn’t want to pressure her though; she didn’t owe you any answers.

“I need to go down to the station,” Sam said.

“Great, let’s go,” Tara said, gesturing for Sam to walk towards the door.

“No, no,” Sam spun around, holding her hand up to Tara. “You’re staying here.”

“No, we’re not splitting up,” Tara shook her head. “School was one thing, but this?” she pointed around her. “No. I’m going with you.”

Sam let out a tired sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Fine.”

“Obviously I’m coming as well,” you said. Sam opened her mouth, probably to argue with you as well. “This is why you asked me here,” you whispered, looking her in the eye. You weren’t sure what it was but the idea of Sam and her sister going out there alone, at night, after Ghostface killed someone connected to Sam, it didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay,” Sam conceded, nodding. “The rest of you stay here,” she said loudly, looking at each and every one of them. Once they all nodded in agreement Sam finally made her way to the door.

You followed behind Sam and Tara, keeping close as they quickly ran down the steps and out the door without a second thought. You checked your surroundings as soon as you got outside, making sure to keep your head on the swivel.

“Why would Ghostface go after your old therapist?” Tara questioned. “I though you hadn’t seen that dude in months.”

“I haven’t,” Sam said. “It was only a couple sessions before I left him.”

“So, is he important?” you asked, inserting yourself into the conversation.

“No,” Sam shook her head. “As soon as he learned who I was…” she crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t the right fit, we never even got into the details.”

You nodded, you could understand why she might not want to share that information. You didn’t care about why she was seeing a therapist or why she left this Doctor Stone, it was none of your business.  “Then whoever this is might not know you switched therapists.” You looked around, carefully watching the other people on the street as you passed them. “They might have gone after him, thinking he was your current one still.”

Sam furrowed her brow and then nodded. “The only one I mentioned my new therapist to was Tara,” she looked at her sister.

“And I haven’t told anyone,” Tara said.

You nodded. “Good, don’t tell anyone. Your therapist is safer if no one knows who they are.”

Sam and Tara both agreed and continued their walk down the street. It was only a few minutes later when Sam pulled out her phone, you saw over her shoulder that she was getting a call from some guy named Richie Kirsch.

“Why do you still have his number?” Tara asked, clearly recognizing whoever this was.

Sam looked at her sister guiltily. “I couldn’t bring myself to delete his number,” she admitted quietly. You furrowed your brow; you could only begin to guess who this guy was.

“What do you want asshole?” Sam asked as she answered the phone, her attitude quickly becoming aggressive.

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, and you were just watching Sam’s reaction until you caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You just reacted, your arm shooting out to catch the arm of Ghostface as he tried to bring a knife down on Tara. You knocked Tara back toward Sam with our free arm, and twisted Ghostface’s hand, then punched him in the face.

“Run!” you called out to the girls, hoping they listened to you. As Ghostface stumbled back, trying to shake off the hit you brought your knee up, nailing him in the gut, and sending him falling back into the bushes.

You didn’t hesitate to turn around and take off after the girls, quickly catching up to them. You felt something when you kneed Ghostface, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as Sam flung open the door to a bodega. You were only a couple steps behind them, swinging the door open to see them begging the cashier to help them.

You looked back and caught a flash of a cloak through the window. You pushed Sam and Tara back, spreading out your arms so that they wouldn’t be easy to hit as Ghostface charged into the bodega. One of the customers stepped forward and was yelling at Ghostface when Ghostface just started stabbing him in the chest and then a few of the other customers.

“The backdoor!” the cashier called out, nodding his head to the side as he reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. You glanced back to see a door on the other side of the room. You pushed Tara and Sam towards it so they could get out first as you kept your eyes on Ghostface.

The cashier tried to shoot Ghostface but couldn’t raise the gun before Ghostface reached out and ripped it out of his hands. Ghostface flipped the gun around and blasted the cashier in the chest. Your eyes widened and you turned and grabbed Sam and Tara. Ghostface had just raised the gun and fired at the back door when you pushed Sam and Tara down to the ground behind some of the shelves.

You raised a finger to your lips and then gestured forward, indicating for them the to slowly move. You kept your back pressed against the shelf as Tara and Sam slowly crawled around to the next aisle. When they got over there Sam looked back at you and you gestured for her to continue forward. If they kept going and kept quiet, then they could make it back to the front door and while you distracted Ghostface they could slip right out. Sam seemed hesitant to continue on, but she did anyway.

You stayed low and kept your eyes looking up, waiting for the perfect opportunity. You listened as Ghostface’s boots slowly crunched across the broken glass and bags of chips that were now scattered across the ground. You caught a glimpse of the barrel of the gun when the sound of someone hitting a bottle echoed throughout the room.

You held your breath and froze in place. The barrel of the gun disappeared and then a shot echoed through, hitting the shelf across the room and sending snacks flying. You only had to hear the crunch of Ghostface’s boot to make your move, shooting up from your spot and launching yourself at Ghostface.

You grabbed onto the gun and kept it pointed up as Ghostface tried to turn it on you. The two of you went back and forth, each of you fighting for control of the gun. In your struggle the gun got pointed up and went off, blowing a hole through the ceiling and sending chunks raining down on you.

“Go!” you called over your shoulder. If the sisters didn’t move now, you weren’t sure you could get them another chance.

You heard the sound of footsteps running across the floor and caught a flash of Sam’s jacket out of the corner of your eye. You jerked the gun up, finally ripping it out of Ghostface’s hands. You flipped the gun around and fired, only for nothing to happen, it was out of ammo. You flipped it back around and used the butt of the gun to smack the Ghostface’s chest with all your strength.

Ghostface went stumbling back until he hit the back door. As soon as Ghostface pushed off the door you thew the shot gun at him, making him react and catch it, the impact making him hit the door again. You reached behind you and pulled out your gun, not hesitating to raise it and fired three bullets into Ghostface’s chest.

Ghostface slid to the ground, his back against the wall and his body slumped over as the shotgun rested at his side. You stepped forward, raising the gun to Ghostface’s head when you finally heard the sirens. You dropped the gun back to your side and quickly tucked it back in its holster at your back before making your way out of the bodega.

Almost as soon as you stepped foot outside you were hit with a small impact. You let out a groan and looked down to see Tara with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Thank you,” she mumbled into your shirt. Police officers rushed past the two of you, none of them paying you any attention as they made their way into the bodega, their guns drawn.

“Are you okay?” you asked, looking down at Tara. You weren’t big on hugs but if it made Tara feel better then you were willing to accept it.

“What happened?” Sam asked, rushing up beside you. “Did you get him? Are you hurt?” she looked you up and down, searching for new injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “I shot him, but I didn’t get him,” you looked back at the front door, just waiting for him to come out.

“What do you mean?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara finally released you and looked up as she waited to hear your answer as well.

“He was wearing bullet proof vest.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Flet it as soon as I kneed him on the street.” It took a while with all the adrenaline for you to finally connect the dots as to what you felt. You had more to say btu you didn’t think this was the time or place with all the prying eyes. You knew it was a good idea to keep the information to yourself when the cops came back out and said Ghostface was gone.

You, Tara, and Sam rushed back into the bodega to see the back door open, the lock that was on the door now lay scattered on the ground. Ghostface recovered fast, he could certainly take a hit, but you weren’t surprised he escaped. Just one fight with this Ghostface and you had enough information to narrow down your suspects. You weren’t sure when you’d have the time or privacy to go over everything with Sam though.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess @luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee

[keepyourword]

best friend!suguru hates your boyfriend. ask suguru and he’ll say that he finds your boyfriend inconsiderate and straight up disrespectful. his point is only further proven when you call him late one night. 

best friend!suguru, who’s initial reaction is to be irritated with you for calling him this late. “do you know what time it is? what do you want?” but as your best friend, he’s obligated to hear you out.

best friend!suguru, who short fuses when you reveal that you agreed to go on a date with your ex-boyfriend. you describe an optimistic evening of romantic exchanges and wardrobe planning to eventually find out that you were stood up. “can you come get me?” you sob into your phone. “i just wanna go home.”

best friend!suguru, who doesn’t hesitate to say, ‘i told you so.’ he stays on the phone with you while driving just to lecture you. “i can’t believe you fucking texted him in the first place,” his voice peaks with disappointment. suguru didn’t need to raise his voice to give away his frustration with you, the hiss in his tone said it all.

best friend!suguru arrives sooner than you expect and the car is warmed up just for you.  as soon as your seatbelt clicks, he’s reaching for a blanket that sits in the back seat. relief blows over him seeing you safe and sound, but that doesn’t show on his face. “suguru, i’m fine,” you protest the blanket, but he doesn’t let you. he shoves the blanket in your lap, giving you a stern look before focusing back on the main road.

“you’re not,” he says sharply. “this is not the first time he treats you like shit. why are you okay with that?” he squeezes his fist against the steering wheel, his other hand massaging the temples of his forehead. 

you don’t respond.

best friend!suguru, who notices, but doesn’t acknowledge your pouty demeanor. he glances at you at one of the red lights and you respond by crossing your arms and pursing your bottom lip. in hindsight, he does feel bad for you. getting all dolled up just to be disappointed. but it's also so goddamn frusterating watching you get yourself into these situations.

best friend!suguru, who walks you to your apartment. after dropping your coat and bag at the entrance and slipping your shoes off, you storm off to the restroom. locking the door behind him, suguru almost doesn’t catch you turning the corner. he’s able to follow you and attempts to grab your wrist, but misses. “why are you acting like that? can you just stop and talk to me.” he catches up to you at the restroom and before you can close the door, his hand stops it and the both of you stare at each other. “are you really crying over that asshole?”

“go home,” you tell him, but he pushes the door further open.

best friend!suguru, who doesn’t know when to stop. “why do you want him?” he asks harshly, glaring down at you. when you don’t respond, it only irritates him more. “really, you don’t have an answer for me?” he shakes his head and scoffs, “you’re acting so fucking dumb.”

best friend!suguru, who realizes he might’ve been too harsh with you when you begin weeping into your hands. he stares at your figure sitting on the bathroom floor, knees pulled to your chest. he isn’t being a supportive friend to you. he kneels in front of you, reaching for your hands to pull them away from your face.

“you’re being so mean,” your breath hitches in your throat.

“i’m just realizing,” he sighs, “i'm sorry.” his fingers slip behind your neck and under your hair to push it all back. delicate fingers also push the smaller strands of hair behind your ears.

“are you mad at me?” you choke asking that question. truth was that he was mad at you for continuously returning to your ex-boyfriend, and slightly jealous, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

“not at you, sweet girl.”

best friend!suguru, who is suddenly gentler with you because of the guilt. he whispers apologies into your ear and says he’ll make it up to you with take-out and a movie, but only after you forgive him.

best friend!suguru is so sweet to help you with your bed-time routine, but realizes that friends aren't typically this close. they especially don't help each other get changed, the thought occurring to him while pulling your pajama shorts over your hips. his thumbs linger under the material for longer than necessary and he gulps unnervingly at your close proximity. it doesn’t help that you look at him with imploring eyes just begging to be taken care of.

best friend!suguru, who lets you cuddle with him while watching a movie, but you just can't lay still. he realizes that watching a rom-com might not have been the best idea as he watches your body and mind become restless. not even your favorite film was serving enough of a distraction. “please, just tell me how to make you feel better.”

best friend!suguru thinks letting you kiss him is a better distraction than a movie. you hook your leg over to sit on his hips, forcing his back flat against the couch cushions. you kiss him, eagerly pushing your tongue passed his lips. he knows it’s wrong letting you cope this way, but he just wants you to feel good after everything that happened.

best friend!suguru doesn’t stop you when things move too fast. you splay your hands against his chest and rub your clothed sex against his. though suguru doesn’t like the idea of being your rebound, he has to admit that lust looks so fucking good on you. so mesmerized by the way you sway your hips, he doesn’t realize the food he ordered had arrived out front. but before you can completely indulge yourself, large palms stop the friction. “break up with him,” he demands, “i’ll let you fuck me, just promise me you’ll do it.”

best friend!suguru thinks you look so pretty when you sit on his cock. you take a moment to adjust to suguru’s length because he’s so much thicker than your ex. and when suguru notices you tremble from the pleasure, he embraces you with caressing hands. you desperately whine into his hair and he soothes you, “fuck, hon’, i know, i know. you’ll feel so much better when you start fucking on my cock, i promise.” he kisses your shoulder gently.

you’re convinced that best friend!suguru’s dick can cure heart ache because not an ounce of you misses your ex. you’re pretty sure you’re drunk on your best friend’s dick. you fuck roughly on his length, pussy clenching every time the tip of his cock hits just right. you swear your cervix will remember the outline of his cock for the next few days.

best friend!suguru, who wants to be as supportive as he can. so, when you’re about to come, he holds your hand and tells you how good you’re doing. “god, you take cock so good,” he groans. “you’re gonna come soon, aren’t you?” he grabs your face to make you look at him. “wanna see your pretty face when you cream on my cock.”

you delicately slide your fingers into suguru’s dark strands and watch as his gaze flickers from your parted lips to your dazed eyes. being on the verge of an orgasm has you acting like a person possessed entirely by their desire. so, when he unexpectedly feels you tug at the back of his head, you swear his pupils form little hearts. if you’ve learned anything from having sex with this man, it’s that best friend!suguru loves getting his hair pulled.

and after your orgasm, best friend!suguru uses all his might to pull out of you. his hands swiftly pick your hips up and off of him just on-time before he comes undone, thick load oozing from his tip. “fuck,” he pants, “m’sorry, i almost came n’side you.”

that concern doesn’t even slip your mind. instead, you connect your lips with his, desire igniting once more in your tummy. his mind still preoccupied with how well you took him, suguru is taken aback when you ask him to go again.

[truearchangel]

   “The thing about your question is the level in which one sin is judged over another. If you are asking if we would consider the act of lying to protect oneself as a sin, the answer will be yes. As one lie will always lead to another, and another after another. When one begins to lie, the next lie becomes even easier. However, the weight that such a lie will carry when judged upon death is slim to nearly none.” Michael shook his head slightly before elaborating a bit. “The reason for which the sin is committed is not weighed within the judgment, that is not a choice I make, it is simply how the Heavenly order functions.” 

   The worst thing about being so high up is that people believe Michael makes more decisions than he actually does. Blame is placed on him for things he has no control over, judgment laid upon him for choices that are rules he cannot change. Michael might be the Right Hand of God and his Sword, but in truth all that does is make him a very shiny pawn for his Father to use. Not even a tool the deity likes all that much, but it’s hard to say if he genuinely loved anyone who wasn’t Lucifer. 

   And look where that landed his brother. 

   A quick and sharp breath was taken, an attempt to shake those thoughts from his mind. They don’t help him here, and they’ll serve no purpose other than just upsetting him. The questions he was down here to find were wrapped up in feelings like that and if he wished to get back to Heaven, he couldn’t think that way. 

   “Your hotel for example, let’s discuss the way I am judging if it works or not.” He sat up a bit straighter and tapped the table, summoning a piece of paper and one of his pen’s with wings on it from his desk upstairs. He picked the pen up and started drawing a graph for the Radio Demon. “As you are aware, sins drag people into Hell. Certain sins, like murder for example, are an instant ride down here. The reason for the murder doesn’t factor in. To take a life is against one of the Ten Commandments, if you take one you are doomed to Hell.” Accident, self-defense, intentional, rage filled, plotted or not. Murder was all the same, and it earned someone a trip downstairs. 

   “Now, to get into Heaven, one must commit virtues. There are seven of them, all of which my brothers and I oversee, much like your Seven Deadly Sins down here. I myself am the Virtue of Humility.” He spins the paper around and shows the graph to Alastor. “To get into Heaven, your virtues must outweigh your sins.” He tapped the horrifying drawing of Alastor. “Understand?”

"Considering how dry your commentary is, at times, one may mistake you for the one with no sense of humor. Therefore, I was a bit concerned as to the level of understanding you had about my anatomy."

But he could breathe slightly easier knowing that he did not have to explain to an angel that he did not, in fact, lay eggs. Though that probably couldn't be said for all Sinners... But then again... Sinners didn't exactly procreate...

The train of thought stole away with him for the briefest of moments as he stared silently down at his food before he shook it off of its track and continued eating, one of his ears giving a slight flick at Michael's insistence that he would not possibly lie. Admittedly, that little bit of defensiveness had Alastor facing him with a small, yet smug expression. No lies, hm.

"Do you ever wonder if things are considered sins for a reason, or was it just a willy nilly decision made for the sake of establishing a rule?" Reaching out, he took the plate being offered and easily jabbed a fork into it to carry on with his own munching. If Michael determined him to be a bit of a bottomless pit, then he would be correct. Though the longer he remained in Alastor's company, the more readily that would be apparent.

"A thought experiment, if you will. Take, for example, a woman who must lie to a man to keep him from outright assaulting her. To lie about being diseased, or having other commitments, or that she's called the authorities, it really doesn't matter the content of the lie. But in the moment, is that something worth punishing for?"

It was not an attempt at a gotcha - There was some genuine curiosity in the question; but that may have not always came across very well when it came to Alastor's own manipulative reputation.

[planetpedri]

Come down soon — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were oh so apprehensive about giving Gavi a chance. Nothing good ever lasted for you, but he’s doing everything to show you this would.

Word count: 865+

Disclaimer/s: a hint of angst , but mostly just fluff :) + kissing at the end

A/N: lizzy mcalpine when i catch you.

Your night had been a blur of pure bliss. Gavi had taken you out to dinner before you two were to attend a mutual friends birthday party at a beach bar. He was the definition of perfect, almost too perfect.

He opened the car door for you, only closing it when you were buckled and comfortable. He opened the door for you while you gathered your belongings. He opened the restaurant door for you, pulled out your chair for you, the whole nine yards; he was there.

Gavi was insanely funny, he knew exactly how to make you laugh, he noticed the small things that made you smile. He spent most of the night asking questions about you and listened intently as you spoke. When you asked him questions, he answered truthfully and thoughtfully, allowing you to know everything about him that you wanted.

He laughed at your weak attempts at jokes, he indulged in conversation about various topics you brought up.. needless to say, it made doubts creep into your mind.

Nobody could possibly be this amazing. Your last boyfriend couldn’t possibly compare to him, and you’d only been on one date with Gavi.

You were upfront with Gavi when he first asked you out. The man didn’t back down though, he assured you he wasn’t like your ex, he made a point of assuring you that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted to get to know you, he wanted to show how worthy of love you truly were.

And he did just that.

After the dinner, he’d drove the two of you to the bar. He got out and opened the car door for you, offering his hand to you, which you grabbed onto gratefully.

Once you were standing, he let go, offering you his arm instead. A small, adoring smile formed on your lips at the gesture. “Such a gentleman.” You teased, looping your arm through his and allowing your hand to find a comfortable hold on it.

“I try to be.” He grinned, walking alongside you toward the entrance.

Inside, it was bustling with people. Many you knew, many you didn’t. Somehow, you’d gotten separated as the night progressed.

You had been stolen away by a few of your girl friends, and he with his own friends. But you’d found yourself outside, your heels off as your feet dug into the sand. The cool oceans breeze hit your face, brushing your once perfectly done hair around your face.

“Hey.” A soft, familiar voice says behind you. It startled you for a moment, until you realized it was just Gavi. He offered you a small smile when he took the open spot beside you.

“Hey.” You finally say, glancing up at him.

Gavi looks down at you, his eyes sparkling beneath the dim light that seeped through the bars windows. “Ready to leave yet?”

There was no certain answer to that question. You were ready to leave the vicinity of dozens of drunkards, but you weren’t ready to leave his company. So, you shrug.

“Are you?”

Gavi shrugs back, causing a small chuckle to leave your lips. As you lightly laugh, your head turns away from him, facing the sand. Gavi couldn’t bring his eyes to move away, too busy taking in the sweet sound of your laugh and the way your smile took over your face while you did so.

When you finally look back at him, your breath catches in your throat. He was looking at you with so much emotion in his eyes, it made you nauseous… in a good way.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, in which you both wondered the same thing.

Who was going to make the first move?

The answer to that was Gavi.

His hand reached up to cup the side of your face, the warmth of them curing your freezing cheeks as the touch had spread red hot throughout them. “May I?” He nearly whispers, his voice filled determined with a hint of hesitation. He was scared to push too far, he knew you wanted to take things slow.

Heart pounding against your chest, you give a small nod of confirmation, but that wouldn’t do for Gavi. "I need you to say it…"

Ugh. He was so sweet. So perfect.

"Yes, Gavi, you can kiss me." You say through a humored breath.

"Good." He mumbles, his lips meeting yours in a passion filled kiss. His lips moving against yours, molding perfectly into them. One of his hands rested on your cheek, the other keeping a delicate hold on your hip.

Your own hands had found themselves occupied. One resting on the side of his neck, the other holding onto the wrist of his hand that held your cheek.

It was by far, the best kiss you’d ever had. Without a doubt.

It seemed like with every passing second, Gavi was sucking all the doubt and worry out of you. With every movement of his lips, the part of you that felt like nothing this good could last, disappeared. By the time you separated, you were certain that this.. whatever it was, well, you were determined to make it last.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any gavi posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to !

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 4

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentions of Dub-con/ Non-con, Oral Sex, Voyuerism , Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Mentions of Slavery, Ghost and his poor attempt of rizz

“You smell of Price,” Mactavish said as he sniffed on your skin.

You were on their Green House, at the west side of their Fortress. Inside was a lush garden of plants, from trees to flowers. From the harmless to the ones who could swallow an animal. And on one corner of the secluded place, they had a hammock large and sturdy enough to accommodate three people.

John shifted to his side and placed his toned arm over your stomach, making the hammock sway due to his movements. “Did he fuck you?” he asked, breathing against your neck.

You closed your eyes, already feeling exhausted when it was still afternoon. “No.”

“Good, it was deal with us, after all,” Ghost spoke from your other side, making you flatter your eyes open and turn your head to face him.

“All of this was a deal?” You questioned and clenched your dress.

“No, not all of it. Just the fucking part,” Simon responded with a huff.

The explicitness of his words made you wince.

“The deal was to fuck you at the same time when you're ready.”

You jolted up, throwing Soap’s arm off you, and you stared down at him in disbelief, eyes wide and jaws slacked. One or two of them at the same time was already tiring enough, but four at the same time?! Utter madness!

“That's why I said to be thankful there's only four of us,” Mactavish reminded you, taking your hand and intertwining it with his.

“Why . . . Why wouldn't you all just get a woman for each one of you?” You asked, directed to both of them, but the wraith remained silent, so the incubus answered on their behalf.

“That's a lot of money, Bonnie.”

You glared at him and pulled back your hand from his hold. “You're a fucking noble. You've got money.”

“Why waste it when we all like the same woman?”

You gazed at him and felt a lump in your throat. Did these fucking monsters even know the concept of love? Honestly speaking, were you any different from them when you didn't even know what it meant to love?

“Oh, there you are,” a silvery voice came from behind the lush plants and Kyle, along with Price. The three of you sat up as the other two marched up to you.

“We've got an invitation from Alex to his ball,” Price announced, which got your eyes settling on him as he fished out five envelopes from his pocket and handed it to each one of you, leaving one for himself.

You eyed the design on the paper before bringing it up to your nose, sniffing the calming scent that you would usually get on books.

“A ball, for what?” Mactavish questioned, tossing the letter down his lap.

“Seasonal ball as well as a . . . party for us nobles and their newly bought females,” the King said, crossing his bulging arms.

You stared at the envelope in your grasp. 

“Oh, so a showdown in disguise.” Mactavish laid back down on the hammock and took your waist to pull you in his arm, but you sat firm. His eyes narrowed at your back.

“Not just that,” Simon claimed, “but also a massive sex party.”

You felt like hurling at the thought of seeing other women being assaulted by monsters in public and the imagination of yourself being one of them, made your stomach turn and shoot up your lunch to your throat.

Your hand clasped over your mouth and closed your eyes to stop the sickness from getting over you. A cold, thin sheet of sweat coated your skin, and their words of . . . what? Worry? Joy? You couldn't tell. All their voices jumbled in your ears along with the ringing beats of your heart.

Your back arched as a warm hand slid up your thighs, a hum echoing softly in your ears, and a warm breath fanned your neck. You tried to open your eyes but merely managed to get a glance before a hand landed on them, keeping you blind.

But you knew that hum, even if you hadn’t been in the fortress for long.

Jonathan Price parted your legs open and placed himself in between, teeth gently grazing the sensitive skin, before biting down. You whimpered in pain and a soft laugh rubbled from his throat, licking over the spot he bit as his hand traveled beneath your shirt, finding itself a breast to play with, his calloused fingers massaging the bud.

A moan escaped past your lips, trembling as his tongue made its way from your stomach to the band of your undergarment. But he did not bother to remove it and started to plant open-mouthed kisses until he found your folds, chuckling at the wet spot on the thin fabric. You found your hand grasping the sheets of the bed, the other on the demon's hair, as he sucked on your clit, till his tongue made its way to your opening, pushing in and pulling out, and getting drunk on your fluids through the fabric.

You voiced out a beg for him to stop, but your words drowned in the middle of your moans, the lewd noises echoing in the room, and his groans, to the point your senses had become mushed. Then, he removed his hand from your eyes, and you blinked away the blur, frowning as you took in your surroundings.

You were in a room different from your chamber. Price had himself propped between your legs. Simon and Kyle sat on either side of you and you glanced behind you and saw John. Your pulse raced as you noticed his eyes glowing gold, a warning. You flinched as the incubus hooked his finger into your underwear and pulled it to the side.

“Watch him,” Mactavish took hold of your jaw, pressing kisses on your temple as he turned your gaze to Price. “See how he’s eating you good?” But before you could utter a word, he shifted your attention to the other two. “See how they’re turned on at the sight of you?”

You lowered your eyes to see Simon reach under the waistband of his pants just as Kyle proceeded to pull down his pants, tugging his cock out free.

Mactavish continued to touch you, fondling your breasts, and lowered his voice, commanding you to watch the other two pleasure themselves. You did, as though you were a puppet in his hands, and thrust your hips up to Price’s mouth.

Fuck.

It felt good.

And it felt too good to be true.

You jolted awake, shooting up in bed and clutching at your dress as an orgasm ripped through you. You breathed heavily, sweat dripping down on your skin, and you grimaced at the wetness and aching pulse between your thighs.

Fucking incubus. This was his doing!

You threw your legs off the bed and stood up on your feet, but staggered forward. You uttered a curse as you caught yourself and dragged yourself towards the door. You grabbed the knob, resting your forehead on the door, before gulping, your throat itchy from the dryness. You turned the knob and pulled the door open, your breath hitching when a hand clamped over your mouth.

“Quiet.”

A deep voice echoed in your ears and you blinked at Simon, who pushed you back in your room as he entered. You shook off his hand and stepped away from him.

“Why are you up this late?” he questioned, his voice sounding a bit stifled through the mask he wore. Instead of the usual black fabric, this time, he got a balaclava with half a skull stitched on. To boot, he had a hood over his head, a part of his cloak that kept his massive body hidden.

“Night . . . mare?” you said, eyes going up and down on his get-up. 

“Nightmare?” he echoed and nodded. “Oh, I guess it’s a nightmare for you.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. “That incubus used his magic on me, didn’t he? And you know it.”

“Yes.”

You glowered at him. “So, you’re here to finish what he started, is that it?”

He extended a hand to the side, invitingly. “Want me to?”

Your face flushed and you turned away. “I don't — I'm not—”

“So worked up, aren't we?” He crossed his arms. “Like I said, I'm not forcing myself to ya.”

“Really?” You scoffed. “Then, why are you with them? Why did you also buy me?”

He tilted his head to the side and stepped closer to you. You stepped back, and he took one forward. The process repeated until you were back into the wall, with one of his hands slamming next to your head.

“You can be this dumb.” He leaned down to your level, closing the gap between you. “I know you're not. So, why’d you keep on asking stupid questions?”

“Because this whole system is stupid!” You exclaimed, dabbing a finger on his chest. “If you differ yourself from them, you're fucking fooling yourself because you are not any better than them.” You turned away, but he wrapped his hand around your neck, slamming you back to the wall.

“There's a fucking tiny thread holding my self-control right now, and it's about to snap,” he said, almost growling.

You raised your brows and pulled a mocking smile on your face. “Is that the only thing that differs you from them?”

“Right now, yes.”

“Because the only thing going into your brains is breeding women.”

“And I'm about to show you how we do it.”

Simon began dragging you and threw you to the bed. You bounced onto the mattress and he did not waste a second straddling over you.

“Fucking dog—”

“Quiet.” He clamped his gloved hand over your mouth, once again stifling your curses.

Monsters liked it—loved it when their females were submissive as fuck, dependent on them like fucking babies who had no chance of survival. Monsters hated it when their pet would bite their hands.

Simon flicked his finger, and shadows bound your wrists above your head.

Simon liked neither. So he could say he was different than most, even his brothers-in-arms acknowledged it. But you, the female, refused to accept it.

You were strange. He didn't know how to deal with you. Not that he had dealt with any women before. And you being his first wasn't fucking helping.

He could understand the submissive part, sure. Pretty little thing barking at him only to whimper under his touch a moment later.

But had those men, those other monsters never thought of the delight in the sight of women in equal understanding as them?

Simon removed his hand from your undergarment and pulled down the hem of your dress. With a flick of his finger, your wrists came unbound and the moment he pulled his hand from your face, you jumped away from him, going further up on the bed.

He sighed and pulled his balaclava down back in place. “Sleep. I will be here to keep Johnny’s magic from you.”

“What . . .” You trailed off, confusion veiling over your mind. “What?”

“I said—”

“I heard it,” you snapped back. “But, uh, why'd you . . . why did you stop?”

“You want me to continue?” He tilted his head and something ached between your thighs. You shook your head and he scoffed. “Then, go back to sleep before I change my mind.”

You hesitantly flopped back down on the bed and stared at the canopy. How the fuck were you going to sleep with what just happened?

“Close your eyes,” he demanded. “It'll help.”

You turned your head on his way. “You read minds?”

“No.”

Silence blanketed the room.

You tapped your fingers on the sheets. “When is that party happening?”

“ In three weeks.” He placed a hand on the bed. “Mind if I lay down with you?”

You remained still for a moment, before slowly shaking your head. You watched him sit down on the bed and reach down to his boots, untying them and shaking them off. Then, he proceeded to remove his cloak, letting it fall on the floor, revealing his muscular stature clad in a tight-fitting shirt. For a wraith, he was big—even bigger than the king of dragons himself by a few centimeters.

Now, would that mean Simon’s dick would be bigger than Jonathan? Even if you could heal fast, wouldn’t it still hurt a lot when they both fuck you at the same time?

Simon laid down next to you with a loud sigh, not bothering to remove his balaclava.

“Is there . . .” You paused and cleared your throat. “Can you tell me more about the party?”

His eyes settled on the canopy and after a moment of silence, he spoke. “It’s also the time some kind of  . . . politics happen between nobles.”

You nodded quietly and once again he fell silent. Then, your eyes wandered the room. “How many women have you brought here?”

In an instant, he claimed, “None.”

You frowned and repeated, “None? Liar.”

“First, you call me a dog, now you call me a liar?”

“Matters of facts—”

“Matters of your own opinions,” he remarked, forcing you to shut your mouth, and he continued. “You're the first woman we bought.”

You raised a brow at him. “Then, you're as inexperienced as I am?”

He shifted on the bed, now turning his body at you. “We wouldn't be if we do it right now.”

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

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[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 18: Renewed Desire

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: In an attempt to help them, Lucien invites the sisters for a journey. The shadows always take her side. Two years later, Azriel and Nyra finally let their desires take over. (SMUT FROM THE NEXT CHAPTER)

Author's message: From this chapter onwards, I will not follow the original plot. There will be a timeskip among other changes.

@feerique always and eternally grateful to you!!✨✨

Word count: 5.5k (Enjoy!!)

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

After the war, the  Cauldron made Archerons were dragged into politics with Vassa’s request to draft a new treaty. 

The twins worked on the draft treaty and correspondences while Elain helped out those affected by the war in Velaris. 

And one fine day, Lucien paid a visit. Nesta answered the door. 

“We’re the only ones here. You’ll have to go to the River House for the others.” Nesta sounded dull. 

“My lady.” He bowed. “I’m here to speak to the three of you.” 

Nesta blinked and quietly made way for his entry. She closed the door and held his gaze before she turned and entered the house. “Come with me.” 

They moved towards the corridor and stopped in front of a room. Nesta knocked on the door. “We have a visitor.”

Papers shuffled, wood moved against wood, fabrics swished, and Nyra Archeron opened the door. The lightning wielder saw Lucien and exited the room, closing the door behind her. 

They reached the backyard where Elain was planting saplings. Elain immediately turned and met Lucien’s gaze. Nesta cleared her throat. “He wishes to speak to us.” 

Elain quietly set aside her tools, stood up, brushed off the dirt on her hands, and joined them. She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “Yes?” 

The male was now definitely entranced. Probably because she was addressing him for the first time. 

“Before I begin, let me clarify that I’m not suggesting this because. . .” The autumn-born trailed away, looking at Elain. She tilted her head in a Nyra fashion. “I’d like all three of you to come with me.”

“Why?” Nesta was not even harsh. 

“A change in scenery.” 

Silence prevailed before Elain spoke. “The sunlight here is not that great.”

“What kind of change in scenery?” Nyra had only asked and Lucien had begun advertising all the different places he’d travel to after leaving Night.

“We’re not used to travelling. We’ll only burden you.” Nesta was cordial with her implied refusal but he was adamant. 

“I’m going for diplomatic discussions. It won’t be hectic. It’ll give you more ideas for the treaty drafting.” Lucien paused looking at Nyra before shooting his next question. “And wouldn’t you like to see the world?” 

The lightning wielder looked up at him, clearly intrigued. “Are you prepared for this?”

“I can only try, my lady.” He honestly answered. 

“Do you understand what this means?” Elain finally asked. 

“You are people. I know how to behave around people.” He answered, looking straight into those brown eyes. 

“That’s not what I meant.” She retorted. 

“I also understand that you’ll have your cycles. I have helped my mother with hers so there’s no need to worry on that front.” Elain simply blushed as her sense of propriety from her human life prevailed. “I’m a decent cook. And I’ll be ready for whatever you need of me.”

“You need not worry about cooking. We’re good at that.” Elain waved her hand. 

“It’s not just the cycle.” Nesta sighed. “We’re different from other fae. We’re even different from each other.” 

And Lucien remained persistent, silently meeting their gaze in turns. 

“All right.” Nyra was the first to succumb. 

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Elain comment lightheartedly. Lucien only stared at her in disbelief.

“Fine.” Nesta agreed.

“Do you have any pending works I can assist with?”

Nesta opened her mouth to refuse but she halted. She contemplated the offer and met his gaze with more acceptance. “Actually, yes.” 

“I’ll join you after this.” Elain nodded at him and quickly returned to her work. 

“It’s nearly dinner time.” Nyra mused. 

“Shall I cook something?” Lucien offered. The twins looked at him blankly. 

“When I accepted your assistance for pending works, it was not for household chores.” Nesta wondered why he would even offer to cook for them right now. 

“We can dine outside.” Nyra suggested.

“Eula’s.” Elain called from the distance. 

“Eula’s, it is.” Nyra looked at the sky, its pink and violet hues bringing the night. 

“Come with me, Lucien.” Nesta began. “I’d like your opinion on something.” The flame wielders headed inside. 

Nyra continued to stare at the sky as she reached Elain. “Does his presence bother you?” 

“Quite the opposite.” Elain whispered. “Is it the bond or is it him that calms me?”

“Maybe, you’ll know soon.” Nyra walked away. 

An hour later, they had dressed and departed. Eula’s was a fifteen minute walk. Many people greeted Elain, having interacted during her daily visits to the city. Neither twin interacted with anyone. Lucien smiled politely at a few familiar faces. They reached Eula’s nearly half an hour later. 

****

The shadowsinger was already sitting on the roof of the building opposite the one where Eula’s was. He’d seen Nyra as she walked with her sisters and that redheaded bastard. 

Green silk wrapped her body and flowed with her every movement. Hair in a loose bun with curls escaping near her ears. 

When was this female ever going to let him have his senses? 

Every single time he saw her, she consumed him wholly. 

He wanted to be near her, touch her, kiss her, and whisper sweet things to her. 

Could she ever give him a moment to catch his breath?

And then he remembered.

She was going to leave. 

His heart cracked. 

And the shadows were wailing. 

But if this is what was needed. If this is what she needed to regain her spirits. He’d support her. 

****

Azriel winnowed in front of the townhouse. He was nervous. He felt pathetic. Maybe, he should’ve come after a while. They’d only just returned from dinner. 

As soon as his shadows were about to take him away, the door opened. 

Nyra watched him with wide eyes and took a step outside. The shadows stopped and let him be. More shadows were around her wrist.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

This beautiful creature, brilliant and full of wonders. What had he ever done to deserve a mating bond with her? 

“Were you leaving?” She whispered. 

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“I want to stay.” 

That moment filled with tenderness and intimacy they shared before the High Lords’ meet bloomed again. From when she’d kissed the corner of his lips. 

“Come in.” She led Azriel to the office she’d taken over and he closed the door behind him. 

Silence prevailed as she sat on her desk, now empty of all the papers and pens. Nyra looked at her hands. “I’m leaving.”

“I know.” 

She looked up at him.

“They told me.” She nodded and looked at the black snakes crawling around her fingers.

Azriel did not know what to say. He wanted her to stay but if this is what she wanted then how could he say otherwise? 

What if this is what she needed? A change? 

Change helped him a lot. He learned how to fly, cook, sew, kill, maim, and so much more. Perhaps he’d changed for the better and worse. 

The bond between them thrummed silently, a reminder of life. The storms in her mind were chaotic.

He walked forward and stopped two steps away from her. “May I?”

“What are you asking?”

“To touch you.” He heard her breath hitch. She nodded.

“Words, Nyra.”

She looked at him, eyes gleaming. “Yes.” 

Azriel wrapped her in a hug, his entire frame covering her like a shield against the world. There was no one but them. 

Nyra wrapped her hands around his torso. 

“Be safe.” He felt her nod against his chest. “Be happy.” Another nod. “Write to me.” She raised her chin, rested it against his chest,  and looked up at him. 

Gods fucking damn this world. 

She was too fucking adorable like this. 

He never wanted to let go.

“You’ll write to me too?” She whispered. 

And he smiled. “I’ll write to you too. But I may delay when I’m on a mission.”

“Mhm.” 

Azriel brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her there. 

“Have you had dinner?” She asked. 

Azriel went rigid. “No.” 

“Shall I prepare something then?” He was blank for all but a second before he began panicking. The shadows began cheering and panicking. 

She’s accepting? No, she wasn’t. 

She’s only offering food. She doesn’t know. Exactly. 

Of course, she doesn’t know. Because he was a fucking coward, that’s why.

Should we apply for leave? No!

A month? A month? Why were these idiots going overboard? 

Master hasn’t had sex in fifty two years. Owing to Amarnatha’s reign and the overload of work before his mating bond with Nyra snapped. 

He’s become a beacon of celibacy.

Does master remember how to bed a woman? What? 

How to please our mistress? What even? 

He’s going to embarrass us. What in the everloving fuck?

“Have you had dinner?” Azriel managed to ask between his shadows’ commentary. 

“Yes. I can cook-”

“I’ll eat at the House. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense.” She leaned back to look at him properly. Nyra seemed mad at how he spoke about himself. “You’re not a bother.”

A silence settled between them. He played with the baby hairs on her forehead and the side of her ears and Nyra enjoyed it as she felt ticklish. 

“How are your nightmares?” She asked. His hand near her ear stopped playing with her ear and dropped to her shoulder. 

“Manageable.” He was lying. 

“And the headaches?” 

“Tolerable.” Another lie. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Lying is a part of my job description. I’m famously good at it.” Azriel tried to lighten the mood with an awkward smile. She sees through you.

“Unbelieve.” She was playing with his hair when she traced his ears. He loved her touch. He wanted more of it. “Your ears remind me of when I was human.”

“Bad memories?” 

“Bad and good.” She seemed to be lost as she traced the curve of his ear. Azriel sighed, her touch a reminder that the world was worth something. 

She was still wearing that green silk. Her neck craned to look at his face and he only wanted to kiss her. This was unbearable. 

“I’ll take your leave now.” He kissed her left hand and let the shadows take him away even as she called his name. 

****

The next day right before dawn, Rhysand stood at a distance from the townhouse with Lucien. “Day Court?”

“Yes, I’ve received a welcoming reply for our arrival.” 

Rhysand wondered when Lucien would discover his paternity. Politics was such a twisted thing and he only pitied the male who was unaware he’d be inevitably dragged into it even more than he already was. “If anything happens-”

“I know. You’ll slit my throat.”

“I was going to tell you to call out for me. If you’re anywhere in the Middle, then contact might be difficult so be prepared for greater risks.”

“Why would we go to the Middle?” Lucien looked at him oddly. 

“You’ll find that your mate is curious about plant life in the Middle. The twins may be drawn towards the monsters.”

“The Weaver?” 

“We won the war but three ancient gods are now free.” The twin gods and Bryaxis were released for war and were now free to roam the lands even though recent reports suggested their presence in the Middle. 

“What if the monsters are drawn to them?” 

“Elain’s power shouldn’t. The twins will.” Rhysand sighed. “I’ll ask Azriel.” He closed his eyes and sighed. His power thrummed and the next minute, the Spymaster joined them from a swirl of shadows. 

“What?” 

“Brooding already, brother? The sun hasn’t even risen.” Rhysand smirked. 

“And what are you doing here?” Azriel coldly asked, turning towards a larger fae cloaked in greying rags. 

The Suriel grinned, displaying its sharp teeth. Its face turned to the townhouse standing at a distance. 

Nyra Archeron appeared at the balcony in a nightdress and a robe, stretching her arms. And then she turned to look straight at Azriel. 

His breath hitched. If he could ever wake up to that sight, embracing that beautiful female, he’d count himself blessed. 

“Blessed you are indeed, shadowsinger.” The Suriel’s ominous voice spoke. “And even more blessed you will be.” The wind took those words and carried them away to the world. 

The Suriel took a step only to see a flash of lightning as Nyra emerged. It grinned and folded in the middle, a casual bow. “Greetings to the Sovereign of the Skies.” 

Azriel’s shadows were with her, twirling around her hands and hair and the hem of her nightdress.

“Your robe looks fantastic, Conqueror of the Cauldron.”

At that comment, the shadows slashed the Suriel, dismembering a leg. It kneeled with the other and cackled. As though it had been misted, the ghastly creature disappeared. 

Azriel walked over to her. The shadows had produced a cloak which materialised on her shoulders. They wrapped her up nicely in it, tying all the knots for her. 

Nyra frowned at him, probably for fleeing like that last night. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the cloak. Fur tickled her cheeks and she removed her face. The cold made her blush. “Rhys? Lucien?”

“Hello, Nyra.”

“Good morning.”

“Hello, hello. Good morning.” She was unusually cheerful for someone who’d frowned at him. 

Why did you run away? Here we go. Again. When were they going to stop reprimanding him like a child?

She thinks you rejected her. What?

You should listen to her when she speaks. 

Oh fucking fuck. He didn’t. Azriel could never reject her. He would never dare. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Rhys remarked fondly, a tone Azriel remembered had been reserved for Maia and now, Nyra.

“Nesta made hot chocolate. And none of us are having nightmares these days.” 

“And you’re still sleepy.” Lucien eased into the conversation. Azriel wondered if last night’s dinner had increased the familiarity between him and the sisters. 

“It’s winter.” She pouted. Azriel would have a heart attack any time soon if she remained that adorable. “I’d rather be in bed than anywhere else.” 

“We’re to leave soon. I hope you haven’t forgotten.” Lucien reminded. They were going to leave this afternoon. The Day Court was the first destination. 

“I remember.” And she was going to leave thinking he’d rejected her. But she was just too pretty for him to stay in her presence and remain sane. 

Azriel took a step forward and she immediately glared at him and then turned to Rhys. “I need to freshen up. Meet you later?”

“We’ll meet you after breakfast.” Rhysand assured. 

****

Azriel, being his calm, stoic self with no ability to communicate the deepest of his feelings, watched quietly as Nyra and her sisters left with Lucien. She spared him a withering glance before the party winnowed away. 

Once they left, the shadows began screaming. You better write to her, you stupid male. 

Beg for her forgiveness. 

You’re a grown adult. Miscommunication at this age is disgusting. For a Spymaster, he had fucked up in communicating vital information to his mate. 

Get your shit together before someone else sweeps her away. 

There’s no shortage of males or females who’d want her attention and affection. 

They wouldn’t shut up. They kept on screaming and yelling so much that he winnowed away to his mother’s house for comfort, knowing they’d behave around her. 

****

Two years later. 

Azriel knew he had fucked up. He was the one who’d proposed the idea of writing and he was also the one who’d stopped correspondence. 

Despite Nyra being upset with him, they’d written to each other and then there was a mission that lasted too long. 

He assumed that a pause warranted an explanation but his draft letters were unsatisfactory and he ended up not sending a letter or replying to hers. He even disappeared when she visited. 

It had been nearly four months since they stopped corresponding and two years since she’d left Velaris. 

Azriel couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live without seeing her, or talking to her, or feeling her. He wanted to lose his senses to her. 

He was also scared. 

Because she was his equal and identical in one particular aspect—they did not forgive or forget as evinced by how she’d killed her mother. And this much might have been enough for her to consider him a traitor. 

And with fear and need, he finally showed up at the Archeron residence with her favourite cheesecake. 

****

The living room of the manor was a scene from a horror novel. Probably because Nesta was glaring at Azriel from the armchair she had seated herself on. 

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. He’d been so afraid of Nyra’s reaction that he’d forgotten that Nesta Archeron was a terrifying female. 

“I hope you’ve made arrangements for your funeral.” She was frosty one moment and then gave him an overly cheerful smile. “I’m looking forward to that.” 

Nesta was really looking forward to his death. Surely, Nyra was not that harsh. Right? 

The door opened loudly and Nyra marched in, eager and bright as she called her twin. “Nesta, there’s. . .” 

She was radiant in silver, he wanted to kneel and beg for everything. 

His heartbeat felt heavy, the organ ready to break through his ribs. His mouth parted and throat dried and he did not say anything. He had no words no matter how many times he’d rehearsed his apology. 

And then Nyra noticed Azriel, who stood up instantly. He was nervous and anxious and so many things but she simply dismissed his existence and started talking to Nesta about a new novel. 

The twins chatted for not more than two minutes before promising to resume the conversation later. Nyra turned on her heel and headed towards the door when her name escaped his lips. 

“Who are you?” She sounded like she’d met an unpleasant creature and she’d rather be anywhere else. 

The shadowsinger flinched. “It’s me. Azriel.”

“Come to think of it. I knew someone by that name.” Thunder roared outside. “That Azriel who did not write for four months?” 

“I-”

“Or was it that Azriel who did not bother showing his face for the past year?” Oh, she was so gloriously merciless. 

“Nyra. .”

“I thought he was dead.” She smiled so sweetly and Azriel heard Nesta snort. “Since he did not visit or write.”

“I’m alive, Nyra.” He moved closer.

“Shall I rectify that?” Lightning crackled at her fingertips as she raised her hand. 

“Please. .” It was foolish to avoid our precious mistress. 

She spared him nothing before walking away. Azriel followed her. “Nyra. Please. Just listen to me.” 

Nyra simply walked as if he didn’t exist and entered her room. He followed and caught her wrist. When she turned back, Azriel was greeted with indifference. 

“I had a mission that lasted a month and I wrote letters and never sent them because I didn’t think any of them was adequate enough reply and by the time I wrote a decent letter, five months had passed and I’d already heard that you were furious and I-ow!” 

Nyra smacked his arm, interrupting his rant. “What’s the point of writing letters if you can’t be bothered to send them?” 

Azriel took a step back in response to her advancing towards him. He moved around the bed only to be chased after. She was furious. “You could’ve just visited.” 

“I had another mission.” 

“That’s what letters are for.” She grabbed a bottle of something and threw it at him. The shadows caught it and gently set it down where it was. “No, don’t protect him.” She took a pen. “Let him feel everything.” 

“Nyra, please.”

“You fucking idiot!” The pen hit him. He caught the empty vase. Clearly, the shadows were siding with her. And then she grabbed a dagger. “You and your stupidity warrants everything I throw at you.” Exactly!

“Sweetheart, that’s a dagger.” Azriel only processed the sound of the weapon landing on the wooden column behind him. His wings dropped. 

“You repeat this again and I won’t miss.” Gods, she was so beautiful—all feral and angry at him. At him. 

Oh, this marvellous female. 

He wanted to drown in her.

And she picked up a sword. Where did she even get that from? We gave it to her. 

“Nyra.” And his every call of her name was a prayer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” The apology did not have the intended effect. Lightning coursed from her palm to the sword. “How dare you throw your flimsy apologies at me after no contact for months?” 

“I know. Let me-”

“Months. Months! And you think you deserve to be pardoned?” Thunder roared like a chained beast demanding freedom.

“My drafts were not good enough.” 

“I did not want perfection from your letters, I wanted you.” Nyra threw the sword away and looked around for something else to throw at him. “I wanted to know if you were alive, breathing, healthy, and you delivered nothing.” She removed her slipper and aimed for his face. Azriel dodged it in time. 

And she stopped pacing around, stopped picking up things. Nyra simply stopped and Azriel travelled through the shadows in front of her and took her in his arms. 

“You were worried about me?” Azriel asked while praying silently.

Nyra struggled against his grip. “How dare you question that? You absolute-”

“I won’t. I won’t. I swear I won’t.” He hugged her tighter. Nyra began to relax. The shadows gently pried the sword from her hand. 

Azriel picked her up and deposited her on the table. He let go of her but his hands remained on either side of her, supporting himself and cornering her so she wouldn’t escape. 

Azriel leaned forward and brushed their noses against each other. 

A soft feeling came to life. 

The same as what bloomed back when they’d shared a moment before Azriel departed for the High Lords’ Meet two years ago. Before Nyra left Velaris.

The scales began leaning towards balance as Azriel and Nyra breathed against each other. 

Desire renewed itself and buried affections began sprouting. 

Azriel saw her eyelashes and her cheeks glowing golden under the lights. She was breathing heavily after her outburst as she watched her hands play with a strap on his leathers. And he was desperate to meet her gaze. 

He placed his hand on her shoulder and let the thumb graze her collarbone. The hand ascended to her neck and stayed there while his thumb traced her chin and pushed it upward so that she would look at him. Midnight blue greeted him gently. 

“Inconsiderate ass.” She mumbled. The warmth was returning to her and Azriel was relieved. 

The shadows carefully floated over to her and one brave tendril tugged at her finger. She looked at it and turned her hand to show her palm as a sign of her consent. More shadows appeared. The remaining ones slowly brought to her many crumpled papers, all of it raining in the room. 

All the drafts master wrote for you. 

And for the first time, Nyra looked at the shadows in shock. Because she could hear them. 

“These are his drafts?” She slowly looked around her.

Yes, drafts from the very first letter he wrote to you. He thought we threw it away but we saved. . . You can hear us? 

“Yes.” She replied. And she heard them cheering like a little band of children. 

And in the middle of it all stood Azriel, surprised that she could hear them. 

Could you try to speak to us from your mind? That’s how our tactless master communicates with us? They sounded all too eager to talk to Nyra.

Like this? And when Nyra succeeded, they cheered again. She smiled at the dark wisps as they gently pushed her towards the dining table. 

We’ve got cheesecake for you, mistress. And from a pocket of shadows, the cheesecake Azriel had purchased earlier appeared. 

Thank you. She was happy. 

I was the one who bought it. Azriel deadpanned. 

Azriel? Nyra’s voice in his mind had him flustered. 

We apologise on behalf of our master. He can be an idiot at times. The shadows easily intervened. 

Azriel immediately raised his mental shields before contemplating. The mating bond now seemed stronger. Did that have anything to do with Nyra being able to hear the shadows? 

Yes. He’s an idiot. Nyra replied dryly. What have you lot been up to? Surely not brooding by his side. She was utterly happy while addressing the shadows. 

We missed you. Azriel was convinced the bastards were trying to flirt with her. And our master was the only one brooding because he was too afraid to send you letters. 

Your master is an established idiot. 

That he is. The woe to belong to someone as grumpy as he. The shadows had now begun bitching about him, right under his nose. He’s insufferable when he writes letters to you, mistress. His attention to detail is agonising. 

“Why are you troubling them?” She watched him with an easy smile but his gaze had changed. It was heated and all the lightheartedness thawed, making room for something heavier. 

“May I?” His voice was deeper than it usually was and Azriel was obviously looking at her lips. Nyra wanted this. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted this two years ago and even now. How had things not changed?

“Yes.” Her consent was probably the most commemorative thing that had ever happened in his life. Azriel brought his other hand down from her neck which pulled her closer by the hip. 

Their lips were close. Still so close and still not touching. So when Nyra leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss, leaned back, and looked up at him intently, Azriel moved and devoured her.  

Nyra loved his mouth on hers, his hand on the back of her neck. Absolutely enjoyed him taking control and demanding every bit of her. 

Her head leaned back and even further and Azriel grabbed it before it hit the wall. When he moved a little away from her, leaving her gasping after their kiss, Azriel looked like he had every intention to make her moan. 

“What. . .” She rasped, hauling air inside her like he was. 

“Hold on to me.” Because he was not going to accept her grabbing anything other than him—not the table, not the sheets, it had to be him. 

Her hands wrapped themselves around his neck, fingers combing his hair, nails grazing his scalp inducing a soothing sensation. “Good girl.” 

His mouth moved to her jaw and descended to her neck, sucking harshly. She had such supple skin, he never wanted to take his mouth off her. 

“Beautiful.” He looked up at her. She was flushed and breathless. Her hair messier than before, the straps of her gown removed from her shoulder, two purple marks on her neck and collarbone. And the sight of her hurt so deliciously. 

“Tell me I can touch you more.” Azriel was begging now. “Tell me I can undress you.” 

Nyra might’ve fainted right then. Or maybe she wanted him to make her faint. The shadows were too much. Felt too good with their fluttery touches. 

She’d had sex before but . . what was this? This was new. 

Was it because he was her friend? 

Because she already found him attractive? 

Because she’d already been half way in love with him? 

“Yes.” Her hand cupping his jaw moved and she touched his lips with her thumb. Nyra leaned in and kissed him, relishing in the slow start and their passionate progress.

Her skirts were now a bother, forming layers  between them. And her slippers, why were they not off? One of them was stubbornly dangling off her feet. And then she felt the cool touch of the shadows remove her slippers and slide up her legs. 

“Do the shadows. . .” She broke the kiss and looked up at him. “Do they always participate?”

“They are?” He looked dumbfounded. 

“They’re teasing my legs.” 

Azriel spared the dark tendrils a glance, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a first.” He mumbled to himself. 

Nyra did not understand why this new piece of information made her feel special. And she moaned, head leaning back and closing her eyes. They’d pinched her inner thigh. And Azriel eagerly bit her neck. 

Her breathing was already heavy and stuttered. And Nyra wanted to fall, so down. But Azriel squeezed her waist. She opened her eyes to see this beautiful male starving for her, waiting to feast. 

“Bed?” Nyra nodded quickly. He scooped her up, hoping he’d last long enough to give her pleasure. 

It had been quite some time since he last had sex. Nearly fifty two years. Forty nine something years busy worrying about Rhys and plotting to get him back and around two years since the mating bond. 

Restrain me if I’m too rough. Obey her without question or complaint. Because if he was going to do this, he had to ensure a safeguard for her. 

Yes, master. The shadows solemnly vowed. 

This was everything he wanted. Nyra in his arms and his mouth on her. And he would burst because this female was indescribably endearing. Her hand came to his shoulders and then on his chest. 

“Off.” She whispered against his lips. “Take it off.” 

Azriel tapped a siphon and the leathers on his upper body dematerialised. He removed his siphon-attached gloves and let the shadows set them down. He felt his boots unbuckle as the shadows helped him out of it. 

Nyra felt the cotton of her sheets on her palms as she was set down by the side of the bed. Azriel leaned back and stood straight. Impatient at his own shadows for taking long, he yanked the boots from his legs and threw them away. 

Meanwhile, Nyra gathered her hair and brought it forward from one side. The shadows immediately swarmed over to unzip the dress and pulled it down, helping her out of it. 

Azriel felt tortured at heaven’s doorstep. Nyra in black made him want to kneel. 

His hands went to his belt and unbuckled it with speed and ease. Unbuttoning his pants and letting the shadows pull them down immediately while he moved closer. His undershorts remained. 

“Are you sure?” He placed a hand on her cheek. 

Nyra was looking at him, his body. She placed a hand on his chest, on the scar left behind by Jurian’s spear. A reminder of the day her sisters were Made into fae. She stood up and kissed the scar. 

She looked up at him coyly. “Do I need to write a letter that you might not answer?” 

Azriel raised his hand to the back of her throat and ascended to tangle his fingers on her hair. Azriel pulled her soft, thick hair and her gasps were beautiful. 

“I’ll write you as many letters as you want. For now, I’d show you all that cannot be written.” 

Nyra smiled, amused at that. “There are smutty books. Many things are written in those.” 

Azriel smiled faintly. “Not for us.” He kissed her ear. “We’re real.” He whispered. 

Nyra’s knees weakened. And she sat on the bed as if she’d been dropped. And Azriel was on his knees, parting her legs. 

She leaned back, supporting her body with her elbows and watched his kiss and lick and suck her thighs. 

She felt herself become more sensitive as each second passed. Her back felt the cold of the sheets. Goosebumps were all over her hands and upper body. Her legs were warm and wherever Azriel placed his mouth, Nyra felt heat. 

And she could feel her damp underwear sticking to her. “Stop teasing.” 

“Patience is a virtue.” He was so close. He kissed her inner thigh. Azriel had half a mind to rest his head against that incredibly soft thigh. Maybe he’d finally get some good sleep. 

“I’m not feeling particularly virtuous right now.” To know that she desired him brought him peace and then his own desire rattled that peace.

“As if I’m any better.” Azriel chuckled faintly. And he bit her inner thigh once, pulled the fabric of her underwear aside and licked. 

Nyra wanted to breathe. She really did. But Azriel was gently licking her as if he were savouring her taste. It was the first time but she would probably cry or scream if he kept on teasing her anymore. 

Heat filled her as she met his gaze. Breathing had become a legitimate task because she couldn’t seem to do it unconsciously.

His hands which remained on her inner thighs moved. He now held her thighs from below and lifted it. With no difficulty, he’d placed her legs on his shoulders. 

The shadows snipped her panties and disposed of it, leaving behind their cool touch. And Azriel whispered. “Lie down, Nyra. And take all of me.”

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot @rcarbo1 @i-am-infinite @latinxbipride @moni-cah @fantanbietsson @julsgrace @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @byunniebaekhyunnie @fhgsvbnh @halo-mystic

[harmonysanreads]

Yandere Dr Ratio truly is delicious🤭 there are endless possibilities with him. He is truly underrated 🫠

Hi Lavandula!

I do get why Yandere Ratio isn't widely explored. Ratio isn't really the ‘typical’ Yandere. He won't respond in the same way towards intense feelings as others due to how developed he is when it comes to himself. Characters who are morally gray and towards that end of the spectrum usually make better Yanderes. Ratio's motivations and overall role can make it difficult to imagine him in that light.

Dr. Ratio, to me, is like the study of Logic personified — even more so than Alhaitham. Logic attempts to advance closer towards ‘truth’ by bringing something inherently abstract (thoughts) in tangible constructs. Something about that reminds me a lot about Ratio's mission. You'd think that the man would be extremely pessimistic about the future based on how he speaks, but surprise surprise, he's the exact opposite. Almost as if he experienced it all first-hand.

There is a fun overlap I noticed while studying him (alongside Sunday and Aventurine), although I'm not sure if this is just a coincidence. If you think back to all the questions Sunday proposes about humanity and then rewatch the exchange Ratio has with Screwllum at the end of Crown of the Mundane and Divine — you'll notice that the answers have been there all along.

The words themselves don't matter much, it's the manner, the casual certainty in his tone that gives them meaning. In many cases, Ratio is that man who's already passed many of the struggles of life and is attempting to help others in his very Dr. Ratio way. I sometimes joke that the more issues a character has, the better Yandere they make. If we just take that seriously for a second, compare it to Ratio's significant lack of issues (at present) in comparison to some other characters, I think it makes sense why he's a bit complicated.

One of the perks of Yandere Ratio in my opinion is that, he can work well with almost any kind of darling. Perhaps you're intellectually driven like him, maybe your world views are drastically different from his. Maybe you carry yourself in a certain way, respond to the world around you in a manner that piques his interest. The problem-solving instincts kick in whenever he's observing you.

Or maybe you're quite dumb, constantly walk straight into problems that could've easily been avoided had you just thought twice. Ratio can't stand idiocy, you see. He must treat this malady himself before the worst case scenario comes true.

He's a victim of cuteness aggression when it comes to you, more than you'd think and I will not be taking criticisms here. It's not difficult to break down emotions to their atomic structures in order to avoid processing them, but you make even that a task. He acts so dignified and self-assured all the time, but the moment you commit the greatest offence in his presence (read : being nice to him) — he's going to be thinking about it all month.

The rush of feelings is unfamiliar at best, counterproductive at worst. The thoughts he eventually starts to have are concerning. Distancing himself from you doesn't work, his weird behavior may temporarily make you avoid him. But, he doesn't like that either and oh goodness, the insecurities that surge forward when you're being happy in others' company.

Ignorance may be the disease that plagues most of the universe, but there is something far vicious, obstinate and perplexing that has grasped the great doctor. And he isn't quite certain if he wants to cure himself of it.

[holidayinhell]

Interview

CWs: references to noncon, violence

1. Would you rather - Rope or Chains?

R: Rope.

W: Chains, dear god, chains any day. Ropes fucking burn.

2. If Whumpee had multiple Whumpers, who is their favourite? For Whumpers, which Whumpee was your favourite?

R: Yeah, I’ve got a favorite. A couple years back I had a Whumpee who fought me at every turn. He'd throw his food at me, cuss me out, and try to attack me. One time he scratched absolute shit outta my arms. Anyways, I got tired of his shitty attitude and decided to kill him. I didn't keep it a secret, I told him he was gonna die. But when I went in to do it, he changed completely. No more screaming, no spark in his eye. He got quiet. Heh, he got all lovey dovey with me even. You know, lots of people say they’ll do anything if only you’ll spare their life. I never did cash in on that promise, but on this Whumpee, I put it to the fucking test. Heh. He let me do whatever I wanted to him. Depraved, horrible things, that would make the most degenerate man blush. Heh, and even though he was crying through most of it, he still pretended to like everything I did to him. And god. You should’ve seen his eyes when I told him I was still gonna kill him. That look. I think about it still.

W: I can’t. glances over at Whumper. Next question please.

3: In your opinion, what is the best way to train a pet?

R: Humans are fickle fucking beasts. You have to break down someone’s pride in order to train them. I start off with food deprivation, that usually helps me gauge what kind of fight I’m in for.

W: Positive reinforcement has always worked for me… I’ve only ever had a pet bearded dragon though…

4: Broken ribs or bullet wound? 

R: Both.

W: These questions are uncomfortable to answer. But, uh, bullet wound I guess… assuming it didn’t graze any organs.

5: Preferred type of gag? 

R: I like a fabric gag. Or a simple piece of duct tape. Sometimes they come off and I get to squeeze a little scream out of Whumpee, and then I put a fresh one right back on. I kinda like the cycle of it.

W: I don’t have a preference… none? I guess the metal bit one isn't the worst of them. It hurts my teeth but at least I can still kinda breathe.

6: Burned or stabbed?

R: Stabbed.

W: Stabbed, I guess?

7: Favourite stress position? 

R: An old-fashioned hogtie. I guess I’m unimaginative but I don’t get too crazy into the BDSM shit. Who has the patience for that?

W: Uhh.. just, handcuffs behind my back? Something comfortable.

8: Have you given or received any Brands? What do they signify?

R: Heh. No. Never been branded. I certainly have had my fun branding Whumpee though.

W: I… have two… Uhm. One on my chest that, thank Christ, is almost all the way healed. It said, uh, swine. The other one is on my back, it’s a lot worse. I don’t know what it says but I can feel it so it’s uh, it’s here to stay, I guess.

R: It says Nice Try. Remember?

W: Not really.

R: From your second half-hearted escape attempt. Didn't realize you forgot. But I did hit you pretty fucking hard that night.

9: Broken arm or broken leg? 

R: Leg.

W: Arm. A million times, arm.

10: How did you get here? Why are you the way that you are?

R: I live here. Far as I know, I’ve always been like this? I don’t see a problem with it. We’re all free to do as we like, so that’s what I fucking do.

W: I dunno. I, I was outside, it was dark and I think it was raining…yeah… heading home from the bar. I didn’t drink that much. I didn’t live that far, either, so the rain wasn’t a problem. I remember falling down and then… I woke up here. And I’ve been here ever since.

11: What is your biggest regret?

R: I wish this Whumpee could’ve learned a thing or two from my defiant Whumpee in the second question you asked. I wanna get my dick sucked like that every fucking night.

W: One time I made it to the steps. Almost to the top, nearly all the way out. The door was unlocked and cracked open a little, I thought I could make a run for it and—

R: —I was waiting for you at the top.

12: Is there a line you won’t cross? For Whumpee, what do you most fear Whumper might do?

R: A line I wouldn’t cross? Uhhh…. No. No, I don’t think so. I’ll cross any fucking line. turns to Whumpee, grinning. So what are you afraid of, Whumpee?

W: I, um. Does he really have to be here when I answer these questions?

R: Tell them, Whumpee.

W: Can I whisper it to you? (he’s already done so much to me, so fucking much… it’s dumb but I don’t want him to shave my head.)

R: smirks. You know I heard that.

13: What lessons have you taken away from your experience?

R: Everything has been the same old, same old for me. Guess this Whumpee’s lasted longer than the rest of ‘em. He’s coming up on a year soon. Kind of impressive he’s stuck around this long and hasn’t given me a reason to kill him yet.

W: I don’t know. I do what I’m told so I can eat. I take it day by day. I guess the lesson I’ve learned is that abandoning pride is the only way to survive…

14: Whip or cane?

R: Whip.

W: Yeah. Whip.

R: Didn’t expect you to say that. Noted.

15: Drugged or coherent?

R: Depends on the situation. Drugging them is useful for transport but I don’t much like it when they’re too dazed to understand what’s happening. Sometimes they fall asleep, too.

W: Drug me any fucking day. I don’t care. I’ll take whatever you have.

16: What are your true, honest feelings about each other? Is there some part of you that cares for the other at all?

R: Sometimes I like to touch him. He’s warm and it’s funny when he tries to squirm away. Plus I like it when he begs me to stop. But do I care about him? …eh. Sure, sorta. He’s my plaything.

W: Erm. Thanks, I guess. For me… Whumper is the reason I’m here. I guess I’m appreciative for the food… but he does hurt me. A lot. Constantly.

R: You're very welcome.

17: What is your favourite thing about the other? A personality trait, a physical feature, anything

R: He’s got pretty hair. A kind of pretty face, too. Yeah, almost like a girl. Heh. And he makes good sounds when he’s screaming.

W: Ah. Fuck. I really don’t know how to answer this…

R: Come on. What’s your favorite part?

W: Um. Well, I'll say this: Whumper is smart. Scary smart. I don’t think anyone would ever imagine how smart. I don’t know. I don’t. It’s… terrifying.

18: Do you have relationships outside of each other? Friends, family - if yes, do they know about Whumpee? Do they care?

R: Yes, yes, and no.

W: I have a half sister in, uh, Arkansas. We’re not close, obviously… used to have friends I guess, but it’s been a long time since I saw them…

19: What other hobbies do/did you have?

R: Video games. 

W: I used to play saxophone. A lifetime ago.

20: For Whumper, is there any chance you’ll let Whumpee go? For Whumpee, have you ever thought about life after you’re free?

R: No. Sorry. Realistically, it doesn’t make sense to ‘let him go.’

W: I, uh, I used to think about it. I don't anymore… like he said.. realistically it doesn’t make any sense.

R: Mm. Good answer, Whumpee.

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

this interview uses the questions from Character Ask Game post by @inhurtandincomfort !! thanks homie!

[nekohime19]

Macaque study # S5

At last let's talk about the LMK S5 and Macaque portrayal in it! Took me so much time to edit this one but it's here!

So, to summarize what I said in the previous study of Macaque, after season 4 Macaque showcases a lot of redeeming qualities :

He stepped up to help even though he wasn't asked to, thus showcasing his care.

He admitted that the image of Wukong he was fueling, the one of an uncaring person only thriving for power, wasn't real. And showcased traces of yearning towards Wukong.

Both monkeys reached an understanding at the end of the season. Wukong even extended an olive branch in the form of a peach popsicle.

So if after season 3 Macaque's place within the group was still tentative, this time after season 4 he showed that he was willing to help even when nobody asked him to, thus cementing the tentative trust he forged at the end of season 3. Now, saying that he's buddy-buddy with the rest of the group isn't quite true. There is a distance between them that hasn't been addressed yet.

S5 ep 1

Macaque appears in the first half of the episode, narratively his appearance is here to highlight the season's main plot : MK's origins. He's here to introduce troubles. Essentially, he's doing groundwork for the rest of the season, encouraging the viewers to already question MK's origins.

Now story-wise I think his appearance is very interesting because it highlights the current state of his relationship with Wukong. While season 4 ended in a tentative offer of allyship, season 5 begins with an argument between the two monkeys, an argument they tried to avoid.

So, right after MK left, And Wukong fail to broach the subject of his monkey form, Macaque appears through Wukong's shadow :

Macaque : Well, that went well bud.

Wukong : Hugh, are you actually lurking here?

Macaque : Hey, this mountain has been my home just as long as yours.

This first section of the dialogue is relatively tame. Macaque is falling back on his habits which are : teasing/ taunting. Macaque is shown as smiling, relatively laid-back, while he nips at Wukong's unsuccessful attempt at talking (of course, the “that went well bud” is sarcastic, but it's not as bitter as we are used to concerning Macaque taunting). And the moment Wukong questions Macaque's presence on the mountain, Macaque answers with another quip.

It's also interesting to see that Macaque still considers the mountain as his home and lurks here despite having the freedom to go and explore the world. Of course, I do believe the writers are keeping him around for plot purposes BUT I also find it sweet that he cannot bring himself to leave the mountain. Perhaps, in some way he's scared to let go of the familiarity that the mountain offers. Macaque says that the mountain was his home just as long as Wukong's, considering that Wukong was born on the mountain, it's not far-fetched to think Macaque was born here too. If we follow this line of thinking, it means Macaque never truly left the mountain. So, in a way, Macaque's only experiences with the outside world have been : the brotherhood's wars, his death at Wukong's hand, and his time as a slave under LBD….So I can understand if he doesn't want to leave the mountain yet.

Now, after this first relatively tame section, things turn more serious.

Wukong : You found anything?

Macaque : no but with the Jade Emperor gone the celestial realms… Things aren't good. Wukong… the kid.

Wukong : I know.

Macaque : You need to talk to him.

Wukong : I know. But… He’s not ready.

Macaque : You mean you're not ready. You really are the worst mentor.

First, we learn that Macaque has been lurking around the celestial realms and probably shared his findings with Wukong more than once if Wukong is aware of his lurking. That in itself told us that they take their roles seriously, they're preparing themselves for future troubles, as they said they would at the end of season 4. At the same time, I find it interesting how Macaque is trying to push Wukong around.

He begins by highlighting the importance of talking to MK, especially since he just witnessed Wukong's unsuccessful attempt. But Wukong is dismissive. He answers with a succinct “I know” and turns away from Macaque, as if fleeing the conversation. Macaque notices his unwillingness and frowns, he insists again, and he fully turns towards Wukong. Once again, Wukong repeats himself, while still averting Macaque's gaze, giving the impression he's still fleeing, BUT then he meets Macaque gaze heads on at the end of his sentence : “He's not ready.” This shows that Wukong is sure of himself, he's not just fleeing, he has seen how MK avoids the conversation, the kid is truly not ready. Yet Macaque answers with a quip meant to push Wukong out of his comfort zone.

Yes, maybe the kid isn't ready. But maybe you're also not ready either.

Macaque knows how to make Wukong's react, he's trying to push him around. Yet when Macaque sees that Wukong is getting angry (cue Wukong growling) he drops his smile and attitude, because he doesn't want to fight Wukong, they have more important things to worry about.

Macaque : He needs–We need to know everything we can.

Wukong : He's just a kid. Can we just-

Macaque : He's not just a kid! Why him Wukong? Did you know about-when you chose him…

Wukong : No, I didn't know. It just felt…right.

Macaque : And that doesn't bother you!? This kid just happens to have all your powers, that is at the center of all these battles. And you never questioned why? None of us even knew he existed? How?

They're both obviously frustrated by the other, yet contrary to other seasons they try to not let this turn into a fight. When one of them feels like they're on the verge of snapping, they turn away and put some distance between themself and the other. Everytime they feel like exploding, they try to reign it in. In itself this is a huge improvement from their previous fights. They're really trying to not let this develop into a heated argument.

As we can see in those various shots, they always try to keep a distance between themselves, they're really trying to not let this turns into a fight :

At the same time, Macaque is trying to make Wukong realize that they cannot wait anymore. The question of MK's origins was always looming over their heads, but Wukong never looked into it. Macaque believes they cannot brush the matter aside anymore. That MK needs to know, that they need to know to be prepared. Macaque is a highly cautious individual, so character-wise it makes sense for him to have this need of preparation. He cannot let MK's origins remain a mystery, not when so many coincidences lead him to believe someone is pulling the strings.

But on the other hand, on what grounds can Macaque criticize Wukong's mentoring when he hasn’t been around for long? Macaque is right in his worry, but his way of broaching the subject with Wukong is not right, especially since he's very citisizing of the way Wukong handled the situation. Perhaps because his feelings for Wukong are still very much tainted by his previous hatred, he's very harsh with him. At the same time, if he's not harsh with Wukong, who will be?

In the end, despite their best efforts, the conversation turns into a fight.

Before leaving Macaque says :

Macaque : Look, that kid idolizes you, you're his literal hero and you just…

Wukong : I just what?

Macaque : He needs to know it's not all on him. You need to do better.

Macaque is very harsh and critical, and he's NOT the right person to say this, especially since he has no right to criticize Wukong on mentoring. But he's the only one that can currently push Wukong out of his comfort zone.

At the end of the episode, we see Macaque laying on the same tree that symbolized his friendship with Wukong in season 4 surrounded by monkeys.

First, how obsessed do you have to be to be laying on this particular tree? Macaque… really I have no words, how much of a simp are you? Seconds, the monkeys truly missed him 🥹. It's good that he's home, finally.

S5 ep 2

I found this episode particularly interesting for its duality, at the same time it shows Macaque closeness with Wukong yet it also highlights the distance between them (while also highlighting the distance between Macaque and the rest of the team).

Closness :

Macaque recognizes Li Jing’s spell before anyone else, showcasing how he was already familiar with it. Macaque is also the first to rush to Wukong.

In prison, one look is enough for Wukong to convey his plan to Macaque.

Still in prison, Wukong laughs at Macaque's joke concerning “MK lawyer bit".

During the fight against the celestial soldiers, both monkeys fight in harmony, defeating them together.

After leaving the celestial realm, Wukong explicitly says “I trust no one that isn't standing there right now.” Even Macaque is surprised by this affirmation, as he is standing here, meaning he is part of the people Wukong implicitly trusts.

Distance :

In prison, Macaque is standing in one corner while both MK and Wukong are sitting in the middle, thus creating a physical distance between them representative of the symbolical distance that is still present in their relationship. Moreover, as we can see in the shot, a chain is separating the three, furthermore highlighting the divide between the three characters.

Wukong and Macaque argue a lot. Even MK acknowledges the tension between the two. Wukong even says “Classic, I get all the punishment, you get to mop” which can be a reference to how he was constantly the one being punished (the mountain, the journey, the circlet) yet Macaque always acted like the one suffering. In response, Macaque says “Maybe going to jail wasn't on my agenda for tonight.”, which can be a reference to how Macaque is always getting dragged into Wukong's mess.

After landing, Macaque picks a fight with Wukong and both end up arguing once more. More precisely, Macaque calls out Wukong on his lack of substantial plan, doubting how whimsical, possibly not real rocks, could be seen as a great plan. Once again, Macaque is highly cautious.

This episode does a great job at showing us the chemistry/ the potential dynamic of Macaque and Wukong (their closeness) but still acknowledges the distance between them that cannot be totally breached yet.

At the same time, perhaps because Wukong acknowledges that he trusts Macaque, Macaque in turns decides to trust Wukong and MK. He sacrifices himself to Li Jin, thus buying time for the team to escape and go search for those (possibly not real) rocks, a plan he clearly didn't agree with minutes before.

It could also be a call back to Wukong sarcastic comments “Oh sure, cause normally you just rush to my rescue.” in season 4. Here, Macaque IS rushing to Wukong's rescue, both when he rushed to him when Li Jin threw the circlet at him, and now when he's sacrificing himself to buy time.

We can argue that Macaque never truly apologized to MK and the others, and I do think a verbal apology is still needed, but I don't think it's fair to brush aside his actions as “idiotic suicidal tendencies.” He helped save the world twice, and here he's yet again sacrificing himself. You cannot forget those actions, or brush them aside as bad writing, because you don't like their implications. Yes, Macaque never formally apologized, he still needs to, but saying he did nothing to gain the others’ trust is a bit much and quite uncalled for. For all it's worth, the others do trust him, Wukong trusts him, but that doesn't mean he's their best friend either. He's someone the others can depend on, now is he someone they like is still to be debated on (I do think MK likes him, Wukong too even if it's more complicated, but I don't think Pigsy likes him very much).

S5 ep 7

This episode is great because it does show us multiple things concerning Macaque. It further emphasizes this distance we have observed between Macaque and the others but also showcases how differently Macaque and Wukong process what happened between them.

After saving him from the memory eye, Macaque argues with Wukong (“Geez Wukong, kinda wasting my sacrifice here”). Furthermore, we can clearly see a physical distance, even more so a barrier, between them.

There is a pillar between them, a fracture of some sort that further highlights the divide they cannot mend yet. At the same time, we can notice how differently Macaque and Wukong react in this scene. Macaque is turned towards Wukong, his tail high, he's more annoyed than anything, he acts normally by picking a fight. Whereas Wukong is turning away, tail low, we could even spot tears in his eyes minutes before. He's withdrawn.

Clearly, those two processed Macaque's death differently. Macaque had time to come to terms with what happened to him. He lived through his vengeance arc, he processed the fight in more ways than one. But Wukong isn't the same. It's very likely that he repressed those memories, that he erased them from his mind (cue the numerous times he avoided the word death, instead referring to Macaque as “leaving” or “coming back”).

But this episode also showcases Macaque distance with the rest of the team.

When Macaque saves Pigsy, he does so in the background, by that I mean that he doesn't show himself in front of Pigsy. He stays in the back. Not willing to be on the same level. Moreover, when Sandy brings everyone into a hug, Macaque is at first not part of it, Sandy has to bring him into it, and even then Macaque looks greatly surprised and even confused by the gesture.

Clearly, Macaque is shown as withdrawn when it comes to the team. On numerous occasions throughout the season, he put himself in the back. Because he knows that even though they might trust him, it doesn't mean that they like him. Macaque might have redeemed himself, but it doesn't mean that his development is over, he gained the other's trust, but he'll have to go further to gain their affection. He's not suddenly everyone's best friend. As we can see, and we will keep seeing it, there is physical distance between him and others in each of his appearances.

S5 ep 8

There isn't too much to say about this episode, mainly because Macaque doesn't appear much. It does groundwork for the next episodes, with Macaque being able to free his hand of Xianglu power for a bit, informing us that Macaque powers are effective against him.

Also, Mei make one of the greatest joke :

MK : I'm very used to all our used to our enemies being just your recycled old enemies.

Mei : or like your ex best friends.

Also, not Xianglu acting like he was friend with Wukong when in JTTW he only appear on one chapter and Wukong kicks his butt cause he was scaring a village.

S5 ep 9/10

Ah, so much to say about those two episodes, 😌. The season ties up nicely everything we already observed about Macaque, mainly the physical distance we often noticed between him and the team throughout his numerous appearances.

I will adopt a more thematic approach to analyze those two episodes, instead of my usual chronological order, because I believe it is more relevant in this case.

Confrontation with MK

Macaque confrontation with MK is a great callback to the end of season 4, when Macaque encourages MK to walk his own path. Here, Macaque is trying to let MK know that he doesn't have to bear everything alone.

Macaque : this isn't the kind of things I meant when I told you to chose your own destiny!

MK : you don't understand if I don't do this everyone loses, everything get destroyed!

Macaque : You don't always have to be the hero! It doesn't alway need to be you!

MK : this is the only way

Macaque : You don't know that, you can't know that.

Macaque first sentence is a callback to season 4. Clearly, Macaque is trying to dissuade MK. Trying to let him see that he doesn't have to save everyone alone. It is something Macaque already mentionned at the beginning of the season, when he told Wukong to do better, he also told him that MK needed to know “that everything wasn't on him”. Maybe because he saw what happened with Wukong, what happened when someone decides to bear everything alone, he doesn't want the same things to happen to MK.

The “You don't always have to be the hero” is quite powerful in itself. Macaque always had some problems with heroes, but he did acknowledged how wrong his definition of heroes was in season 4. Here, Macaque tries to take MK's burden away, to let him see that he doesn't need to always sacrifice himself, but also he's trying to let MK see that he's not alone. I think it's very clever to let Macaque have this particular line. Especially since in season 3 MK was the one to show Macaque that heroes never abandon their friends, and thus that heroes aren't alone. Here, Macaque is trying to reenact in some ways what MK did in season 3 by trying to convince MK that he doesn't have to do everything alone, that he has people to depend on.

But of course, Macaque get interrupted before he can truly get through MK, 😭.

Closing the distance

Macaque distance with the other characters (and especially Wukong) was an underlying theme throughout the whole season, especially within the shots’ composition. As we already saw, Macaque was always withdrawn, he never truly fit in the frame, always cut off by either an external object (chains, pillars) or pushed to the background. And of course, the end of season 5 offer a tentative resolution of this story-line.

First, we have this very short scene, after Macaque is interrupted by Xianglu, he decides to give his all and free the other and himself at the cost of his strengh. Before doing this, he clearly say while glancing at Wukong :

Macaque : here goes nothing, make it count.

So Macaque is putting everything in Wukong's hands. He explicitly decides to put his trust on Wukong. This is a great improvement, especially when we consider how cautious Macaque usually is. Moreover, once Macaque free everyone he falls to the ground in a way that is very remiscinent of season 3, after the fight with the possessed Wukong. However, contrary to season 3 where Wukong walked over Macaque while not even glancing at him, this time Wukong reaches towards Macaque and asks if he's okay.

Macaque is the one who has to push him to leave. This is a great callback to make us realizes how much those two evolved compared to season 3 and how much things changed between them.

Morever, after MK leaps in the pillar and everything fades to white, each member of the team calls for MK but Macaque is the only one calling for Wukong. Probably because he knows that if MK was able to jump, it meant Wukong failed, and thus meant Wukong is probably crushed by guilt right now.

But truly, the gesture that ciment Macaque place is Wukong reaching towards him.

Once the pillar is on the verge of being destroyed, and everyone stands together to face what is probably their end, once again we can see that Macaque is in the background.

There is still a distance between him and the team. But this time the distance isn't ignored, instead someone reach towards Macaque, inviting him to stand together with the team, on the same level, and that someone is Wukong.

The fact that Wukong is the one who pulls Macaque at the forefront, who close off the distance between them, is a very powerful gesture. It is a sign of their healing, but also, symbolically, can represent how truly Wukong is the one that connect Macaque to the others. It is through Wukong that Macaque met the team, and thus Wukong has to be the one that close this distance we have observed throughout the season.

Unfortunately, as we all know, Xianglu (damn guy) will intefer before Macaque can take Wukong's hand. Symbolically, it can represents how difficult mending a relationship can be, and even if both parties reach out to each other, it doesn't mean that everything will be healed. Yet the attempt was made all the same. Wukong reached out to him, and Macaque reached back, this alone is proof that their relationship, even if rocky, is slowly healing.

It is proof that this distance, while not fully breached yet, is slowly being closed.

Macaque's powers

Those two episodes also gave us something really interesting to think about and that is Macaque's powers. Macaque's powers are admittedly the most mysterious of LMK and that is because his powers don’t come from JTTW. Indeed, it is never mentioned, in JTTW, that the Six-eared Macaque possess shadow powers. As such, Macaque's powers are an unknown factor to us that had never been truly explained.

Here, we finally have some lead on his powers, especially when they directly confront Xianglu's powers. Indeed, Macaque is the only one able to free himself from Xianglu's hold. Moreover, his shadows are very similar to what Xianglu's uses, the only exception being their colors.

Xianglu : Oh that was quite a trick. That power, who gave that to you? Who did you make a deal with?

Macaque : a deal?

Xianglu : ah, it doens't matter.

So that's very interesting. First if Xianglu is to be believed, his powers are not something he's born with but rather something he borrowed. However, Macaque doesn't seem to be aware of any deals whatsover, so either Macaque unknowingly made a deal or he doesn't need to make a deal. I'm more inclined to believe the second option.

First, Xianglu powers are linked to the chaos. And the end of the season confirm that Macaque's powers also stem from the same source with this particular shot :

What lead me to believe that Macaque didn't need to make any deal is because he has been tightly linked to Yin symbolism throughout the whole show.

Indeed, the Yin is linked with darkness, passivity (which was one of Macaque trait in the past, as in he prefered to avoid confrontations), the moon… But the Yin can also be tied to chaos. As such, perhaps Macaque doesn't need to make a deal because chaos is a part of who he is, it is in his nature, and thus he's born with it.

The idea of Macaque being linked to chaos could also explain a personal theory of mine. During the brief flashbacks of Wukong and Macaque fight, that we saw previously in this season, we could clearly hear Macaque laughing manically while Wukong was pleading for him to stop. Macaque sounded unhinged, precisely chaotic, perhaps because his powers, naturally linked to chaos, took over him in that moment.

So this ends Macaque study in season 5. As we saw, this season follows through what have been established in season 4 : Macaque gained the team’s trust but it doesn't mean there is no distance between them. In fact, it is only at the end of season 5 that an attempt at breaching this distance was made.

Macaque and Wukong relationship also greatly evolved from the first seasons. They still fight, but now they try to make a conscious effort of not letting it get messy. Moreover, Wukong actively reach towards Macaque at the end of the season.

As always, this is my interpretation of Macaque character and you are free to disagree, no hate. I do love Macaque so even if I try to be unbiased, I know my appreciation of the show will shine through no matter what I do.

Maybe if season 6 comes out and I am still into LMK, I will do another study of Macaque.

S1 / Previous

[mins-fins]

˖﹙💌﹚DARLIN'

｡｡｡ silly little mark lee, well of course you're in love with him!

P ─  mark lee x m!rdr. G ─ fluff, university au, sleepover, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, self indulgent. W ─ swearing, mentions of drinking, depressive nightmares. WC ─ 2.1k.

mark is afraid he has some sort of psychic connection with you, he turns and creates contact with the wooden post of a bed frame.

he replies in a grunt, head beginning to pound with an indecipherable extent of pain. he bites back a wince, teeth about to sink into his tongue as a typical response, eyes struggling open as he observes his surroundings.

jeno has an arm thrown over his back, his snoring elevated as his proximity is much too adjacent, his nose scrunches up in irritation, the touch irking him. he’s just barely able to throw the arm off of him without causing a disturbance, fortunately jeno’s a heavy sleeper.

he’s unaware of why he’s awaken exactly, or how he even ended up on the floor with tangled blankets surrounding the circle of.. everyone. of course chenle decided to take the bed, he’s selfish like that (well mark guesses it’s his huge ass house after all, yet he left them to sleep on blankets? or did they fall asleep on the floor without realizing? he can’t remember). jisung’s crazily long legs tangle with donghyuck’s, no use in attempting any escape that way.

jeno rolls over and unconsciously begins cuddling jaemin, well of course, how cute.

renjun is the only one who appears comfortable enough, graciously embezzling everybody else’s blankets in order to create his own makeshift sleeping bag.

he squints, as if striving to capture a semblance of sight in the darkness, the door is cracked open, a crack of light permeating the small space. his back emits a tiny crack, he ignores it as he somehow stands on his two feet.

mark wobbles in the manner of a child taking their first steps, much too groggy, hands coming to rub at his eyes despite light being naught. he blinks down at his feet, narrowly avoiding his foot coming in contact with donghyuck’s heat, he trips over the uneven carpeting and stumbles himself out of the frankly claustrophobic room.

mark didn’t fret, he easily noticed the lack of your presence, he recalls you falling asleep right beside him, even with the muddled memories of the past few hours. he finally did wince once his eyes met the piercing lights of the extensive hallway, what was the point of even keeping them on?

either way, that happens to contain the least of mark’s concerns, he thinks he has a good idea of why you suddenly disappeared from the group you had fallen asleep with. he knows you well enough to scope out a definite answer.

and it’s exactly how it appears in his mind, you just so happen to be downstairs, fidgeting with a cup that contains nothing. mark blinks, catching your attention immediately. “y/n?”

“can you believe even his water tastes expensive?”

the question is passive, mark’s aware of the kinds that exist with you. it’s a cover up for something more, a bit of concern hidden behind the usually playful gleam of your eyes.

he’ll entertain you for a moment.

“really?”

you hum, clearly put off by the lack of an immediate inquiry,

because for as much as mark’s knowledge of you presides, your knowledge of him exists in the same boat. he surmises it’s a bit of a double edged sword, but then again, he guesses your friendship is an example of that very phenomenon.

yet the fondness he retains could never be replicated with one other person. “yeah, typical rich people bullshit”.

there remains a collection of cups clattered in the kitchen sink, unwashed, reeking alcohol just barely fluttering its way up into the air. mark has half a mind to scrunch his nose, and if the dishes were the main focus, he would’ve fully grimaced.

good thing they aren’t the main focus.

he slips by your side easily, yearning to grab ahold of your hand, but afraid of irking you when you already appear so skittish. he somehow crams the desire downward, instead gazing upon your trembling fingertips. “why’d you get up?”

he just barely deciphers the underlying whine in addition to the clearly desperate question, his eyes probably gleam with rashness, as if he’s your lover complaining about your decision to get out of bed.

well it is always warmer with you around, though mark lee cannot admit that to any person, not even you yourself.

you contemplate, mark notices the shift of your expression. a drop to his stomach, if you do feel the need to lie, then it’s possibly something worse than what he originally thought, unlike your typical streak of insomnia, it has to be something.. more.

and he’s just the slightest bit afraid.

“water”.

“really?”

your right eye twitches, mark fears the impending irritation upcoming. “yeah” you breath, averting your gaze as your fingertips circle the curvatures of this fancy looking glass, the reflection of your dark eyes visible in the silica sand.

he sucks his teeth.

the resounding action offends you, if the corresponding look mark glimpses once you whip your head is enough. “what?”

“what?”

your face falls flat. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“why are you lying?” mark rebuts, attempting his best shot at forbearance despite how bothered he is by your indignation. “it’s just me..”

your go to response is a dry chuckle. “i know that, it’s not like i’m scared of you or anything, it’s just..”

it’s just..

nothing.

because mark knows you won’t tell him, the pertinacity of your character consistently permeates no matter what, and mark loves you, so so much, but he can’t help his elevated apprehension. his fingers drum onto the porcelain counter before him, contemplation behind his eyes.

“it’s obvious something’s wrong”.

and from your corresponding look, you’re practically placing a curse on mark’s whole entire bloodline. he supposes certain things never really do change, even if that includes obstinacy.

mark adjusts his bracelet, stepping closer as he swipes one of your fallen eyelashes from your cheek. “you could make a wish..”

he’s stalling, stalling much more than you typically do, but he can’t exactly help it, if you don’t want to confess the deepest anxieties which make you awake at night, does he really have any right to dig deeper despite his clear intrigue? you’ve never been that kind of person, his intention is to always seek your comfortability, even if it slowly kills him inside.

you stare, tilting your head and blinking at his pointer where a fallen piece of your eyelash rests. “do you really believe in that shit?”

“i enjoy tradition”.

that earns a shy smile, you’re very aware of that one, it seems that you simply relish in the manner of mark’s reply. you remain silent, again focused on your very eyelash resting atop his fingertip. “okay, i made my wish”.

mark is staggered for a moment. “what? what do you mean?”

“i made the wish in my head”.

mark uncharacteristically pouts, now that is unfair. “you can’t just do that!”

you shrug. “it’s a secret”.

the whisper causes the click of his tongue, he presses his pointer finger to his thumb in a gentle action of getting rid of your eyelash. “fine, keep your secrets..”

he doesn’t exactly realize the double sided nature of that reply, and despite his disquietude in your displayed fits of seclusion, he keeps silent on the issue he has nothing of a bearable thought on.

still, your amusement prevails.

“you know, i think—”

well mark has no time to dwell on the end of his sentence, because you step forward and pull him into a staggering embrace. it isn’t staggering in an emotional manner, you typically enjoy hugs, it’s simply.. unexpected.

your arms practically cradling his upper body, you tuck the side of your face into his neck, as if striving for a degree of comfort only he could grant you. you take in a deep breath, yet you keep silent either way.

while he is stunned, his arms consciously squeezing around your waist, well now how can he not worry? you don’t just hug out of nowhere, especially if mark is talking first.

“hey, is everything okay?”

nothing of a verbal reply, you merely nod.

how you two end up on the couch? mark barely remembers.

there isn’t a lack of space, mark is sure this one is actually a pull out, but you two decide to squeeze onto it anyway, something of a natural warmth emanating from the embrace you so dearly cherish. mark doesn’t mind, it’d be worse if you were just avoiding him.

so really, this is the best case scenario.

“you know, you have to tell me when.. this happens”.

this could equate to several things, sleepwalking, nightmares, spontaneous depressive episodes, on an especially terrible level it could be all three, but he’s simply throwing darts at a board and hoping one of them sticks. “what is this?”

“whatever has you awake tonight”.

you have that puzzled expression on your face, an expression mark questions more than anything, now replicating it on his own features. you then quickly avert your eyes, which is difficult considering you find yourself pressed into him. “i know it’s just— i don’t know, i’m scared..”

and of course, honesty includes the scratching of your nails against any surface in immediate reach. mark can’t exactly stare elsewhere, you appear to fear even the slightest corners of this huge room. “of?”

you don’t answer that one.

so mark won’t press further, that’s enough of divulging for tonight he supposes..

“you don’t want a blanket?”

“it’s warm enough” in tandem with your response, you nuzzle into the side of mark’s neck. he can’t exactly disagree, and you obviously observe that part. “besides, we know you aren’t getting up any time soon”.

“you’re technically crushing me so what could i even do?” he inquires, lips taking an upturn at the glare you pair with a glare as your soundless reply. he winces at the pinch you decide as your go to, nose scrunched up in irritation.

“i could kill you”.

“sure”.

though you’re typically numbing, mark doesn’t want to let go, it’s as if you encapsulate the feeling of alleviation with just your arms around him alone. you two are lying together on a couch you could only ever dream of buying, somewhat chilly yet aided by the mellowness of your embrace.

usually the close proximity would irk mark, the affection would be so.. out of place if it wasn’t you. he guesses that the ‘favoritism’ donghyuck goes on about isn’t all a fallacy, but he isn’t all for admitting that.

mark gazes upward at the ceiling, crinkling his nose at the shade it’s painted. your reticence endures, not yet asleep, mark can still feel your fingertips scratching at the seams of his oversized shirt, you never sleep easily.

it occurs to mark that you probably have a few more things left to mutter, your tense, fingers trembling against the ends of this couch. “what’s on your mind?” he whispers, lips pursued.

you contemplate, clear distinguishing naught. for the first time in a while, you ponder with confusion written all over your features, a battle of your conscience and your heart, anxiety manifesting in the picking of your nails.

“don’t know why i let myself get scared of things like this anymore..”

“well you aren’t used to it” he runs a finger through your hair, an act which typically calms you down. “everyone is scared of something, it doesn’t just go away with age unfortunately”.

you manage to hide your smile, but mark can make it out the stretch pleading for you to just stop being stubborn for once. you again glance away, conflicted. “fucking hate nightmares”.

you then look up, and mark wants to fall. you stare into his eyes, mark maintains eye contact though he knows it’ll be bad for his heart, yet he does so anyway, egotism carrying his movements.

mark really wants to kiss you, it would be a perfect moment too. you stare with such a gentle manner, as if mark laid his life out for you instead of just offering a regular seam of comfort, and he wants to die a little.

well he could do that, and he does,

just not on the lips.. not yet..

he leans forward, lips pressing to your forehead. your eyes flutter closed, and whilst you don’t verbally react, mark is aware of how you feel.

“think you could go to sleep like this?”

you take in a deep breath, making yourself content on the couch with mark beside you. the hug keeps mark on his feet, he doesn’t want for you to let go, you don’t either, it’s as if you’re a perfect fit for each other.

your adjacent breathing steadily comes to a close, not sleep just yet, but mark is determined to make it happen. his hand rests on your back, warm and inviting. “thank you..”

it’s alright, it’s nothing, mark would do anything for you, the sight of your own contentment joys him to no end.

“it’s nothing..”

it isn’t, feelings can await the aftermath, he’s happy now, perhaps a bit in love as well.

[kaytheday]

The Soul of Jackie Robinson

This is for day 6 of @outsidersweek! Thank you to @damthosefandoms for the inspiration of this piece, you are great!

Jackie Robinson. It’s all Dallas can think about as he falls. Bullets tearing through his skin like a Robinson home run tearing through the park. Fast and hard and driving the breath from his body. It’s getting harder to breathe anyway. 

Just like those cold winter nights in Brooklyn. Running from first base to second after hitting a home run. Chest hitching as he tried to suck in as much cold air as he could. His fingers were frozen, his shoes had holes, and his hair might be frozen but there was a big grin splitting his face in two. 

It almost felt like that now. 

Except the cold didn’t make him feel any more alive. It made him feel dead. All of the pain and awareness he had gained since childhood lining his body like sandbags on each shoulder. This pain, this cold, this suffering, it made him feel heavy, like he was six feet under already. He would be in a few minutes anyway. 

Jackie Robinson… number 42… As a kid, Dallas had thought that writing number 42 on his sneakers would make him run faster. It did, if only to run away from himself. 

He can remember first coming to Tulsa. Strikingly seventeen and younger than he’d ever be again. His sneakers were so bare and worn through that Buck Merril had practically laughed them off his feet. Then he had gifted him a new pair from the lost and found at the bar. What Dallas did next was hardly a conscious decision. He had done it with every pair of sneakers he’d ever owned in his life. Before he knew it, he had scrawled a small 42 at the bottom near the heel. 

If you’d have asked him what he was doing at the time, he would have knocked your teeth out for even questioning him. Looking back, he could piece together that it was some semblance of comfort for him. An attempt to have one familiar thing so far away from home. For as long as he could remember, he had carried the spirit of Jackie Robinson in his body. The number written on his shoes was just a physical manifestation. 

Ponyboy had dared to ask him about it once. 

“Dally? Why do you got number 42 on your shoes?” Instead of answering honestly, he’d bitten the kids head off and told him to go back to his book. Which is exactly what Ponyboy had done. 

As Dallas is falling, the little boy in him wishes that he would have been honest with Ponyboy. That he had told him or Johnny what the number meant to him. Maybe it was just so he’d have an excuse to talk about his hero or New York or his favorite sport. He doesn’t know why, it’s not like it matters now. Not with Johnny and him certain to be in the ground by the end of the night. 

Jackie Robinson. That's what he’s thinking about as he falls. The little boy he used to be. Back before he was bitter and mean and everything that a hood should be. The young boy who would stay out all hours of the night playing baseball with his friends, whose hands were calloused from carrying a bat wherever he went, who loved the game of baseball more than life itself. Back when the spirit of Jackie Robinson ran through him like blood in his veins keeping Dallas filled with life and energy and genuine passion. Because what was Dallas Winston if not passionate? 

Now, the spirit of Jackie Robinson sits underneath his collarbone. Heavily weighing him down with all the things he used to be. Dallas is beginning to grow sick of the painful awareness that accompanies growing up. 

For Dallas, Jackie Robinson was the kid he used to be. Jackie Robinson meant a childlike passion for the game of baseball. Jackie Robinson was those cold nights spent outside with only the fire inside you to warm your fingertips. Jackie Robinson was the way Dallas’s free spirit would run, stopping only to touch the ends of the earth. Tearing down every expectation with a childlike oblivion. 

Number 42 was everything that Dallas used to be. Maybe that’s why he wrote the number on all of his shoes. To feel closer to the little boy he used to be, the little boy he still carried with him, buried deep inside. 

Now, Dallas was lying sprawled on the pavement. He had counted three… maybe four… bullets inside of him…? At this rate he didn’t really know. Blood slipped from his mouth, staining his lips and running down his chin. He was dying. Dallas was sure of that. He faintly hears the shouting of his friends… his brothers. But louder than anything else he can hear the sound of his childhood…

Jackie Robinson leads off… Brooklyn fans go wild… With a 3-2 count Jackie wallops a home run… Here comes the relay Jackie slides he… SAFE! 

And suddenly he’s back in that backwater city block with number 42 scrawled into torn sneakers. He’s sliding into home base which is just an old pillowcase filled with newspaper scraps but none of that matters because he feels good. Lou is there and he’s playing umpire, he’s calling him safe. Dallas is alive and filled with passion and feeling better than he’s felt in years. 

So this is what death is? Going back to the good pieces of your childhood? Before it can be tainted by loss and pain and all the destruction of the world. Lou is there, maybe Johnny is too. So Dallas quits fighting, he lets the warm spirit of Jackie Robinson glide over him, blood flowing silvery like life into the gutter. He’s returning home. He’s taking his final bow. 

Jackie, can you see me now?

[tarnishedxknight]

Noah really wished Larsa would just drop this subject, for he didn't want to discuss it at all, though he knew why the boy did. Larsa had always been perceptive and intelligent, so of course he was not going to be easily distracted by the simplest of answers to his questions. Noah didn't know what else could possibly be wrong with Larsa, but it was not nethicite poisoning. It was not.

"There could be many reasons for it, my lord," Noah said almost dismissively, not that Larsa's question was not important, but more to downplay any danger or significance of any condition he might have. "Does it matter? You are in your twelfth year, nearly your thirteenth. Were you afflicted with something truly threatening, it would have claimed your life by now. Since it has not, I doubt it is cause for much concern."

He didn't want to dismiss Larsa's own fears so easily, though, lest the boy go running off to Basch for further explanation again. "If it weighs on your mind, you might choose to have yourself examined by the medical staff here. Simply because I find them insufferably incompetent does not mean you will, my lord."

"Take care, mind the sharp edges," Noah said as Larsa began to help him pick up the glass. When the boy had collected several shards, he held out his hand for Larsa to place them in it. Taking them to the garbage and tossing them in, Noah's mind returned to Basch. How dare he upset Larsa in this manner? Who the hell did he think he was?

"Basch... is the irritating and persistent answer to a question asked by no one," he tried to explain. "He inserts himself into things that do not concern him in an attempt to make himself more relevant. He is a failed knight who has lost his purpose. His princess no longer needs him. No doubt he is looking for another charge in you. Leave him to his failure and do not allow him to make you dependent upon him with worry and fear, my lord."

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

[defectivehero]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Trail of Blood

warnings: blood, injury

"Well then."

The detective flinches at the familiar voice, dread and fear running through them as their eyes fall to the figure standing at the mouth of the alleyway. They attempt to push themselves up into a better position, but their limbs don't cooperate. The gashes across their body—coupled with the worrying bullet wound in their abdomen—prevents them from moving. Their teeth are chattering and they blink stars from their eyes as their enemy approaches. "How-?" The words die in their throat.

Yet the supervillain comprehends what they're trying to say anyway. They take a few more casual steps closer. "You left a trail." The supervillain then answers matter-of-factly, pointing back to the mouth of the alley. Indeed, there's a discernible path of crimson stains leading to their current position.

"Ah," the detective remarks. They dazedly look down at their trembling form, an ugly realization settling at the pit of their stomach as they see the slowly expanding puddle of blood beneath them.

"Yes." The supervillain hums. "It's really rather ironic. You of all people should know better."

The detective just blinks blearily. They suppose that's true. Then again, they're not usually the victim in these scenarios. The detective is typically the uninvolved third party who appears after the damage is done, relegated to making sense of the evidence left behind.

Their enemy is unperturbed by the detective's silence, instead continuing to speak. "So, what's your plan?" They ask. With another step, they're close enough for the detective to see the expression on their face—an unfamiliar one that appears to be a puzzling mix of irritation and something the detective is too afraid to name.

Then they remember the question. "Die, I guess." The detective mutters.

The supervillain huffs a dry laugh, studying them for several moments. They seem to be cataloguing the detective's injuries. "You'll live." They state with an almost clinical boredom.

"Thanks." The detective responds flatly. For a while, there's nothing but silence. The supervillain hasn't budged or moved a muscle in the time they've spent in tense quiet. "What?" The detective eventually chokes out impatiently.

"Just waiting for you to ask for my assistance." The supervillain hums. The detective glares at them for a long moment. Their enemy only scuffs their boot in the gravel below, seemingly more interested in the pebbles on the ground than the matter at hand.

A sudden prickling shame runs down their skin. The detective grits their teeth. "I'll just-" They murmur to themself, slowly straightening their posture through the nearly blinding pain.

"Just... what, exactly?" The supervillain's acerbic voice cuts through the detective's thoughts. "Crawl to the nearest hospital? It's more than three miles away. Should take you a good several hours. Or a few days, depending on your speed." They respond with a bored tone, holding up their hand and picking at their nails. The supervillain's casual demeanor is infuriating.

"Are you- just here to state the obvious?" The detective chokes out, their tongue feeling thick in their mouth. Did they appear just to witness the spectacle?

"You know me," the supervillain shrugs magnanimously. At the detective's glare, they smile. "I'm the helpful type."

The detective groans in annoyance and refocuses their effort on moving forward. They don't get past a slightly more mobile sitting position before there's a hand on their shoulder.

"Alright, enough," the supervillain announces, their grip strong enough to shake the detective out of their determined state "You're just embarrassing yourself. It's pathetic, seriously."

The detective is too exhausted to notice the concern hidden in their enemy's tone or the concentrated furrow to their brows. They growl and attempt to shove the supervillain away, but their enemy is inexplicably persistent. Within moments, the supervillain is gathering them up into their arms with minimal effort. The detective’s head is spinning at the sudden change in momentum. Were they in a slightly better state, they'd be envious of the supervillain's casual display of strength. Now, however, all they can do is attempt to fight the fatigue threatening to bring their vision to darkness.

Still, the detective's mind is plagued with questions. Where are you taking me? Why are you doing this? How did you find me? These queries all remain trapped in their throat, left to fester and rot in their thoughts.

"You should be grateful I appeared when I did." The supervillain says, looking down at them with an uncharacteristic vulnerability gleaming in their eyes. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, their composed mask returns and they return their attention up ahead. The detective frowns and attempts to dissect what they just saw. But as their adrenaline quickly starts to fade, they soon fall into unconsciousness, before their enemy can even attempt to elaborate any further.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

author's notes: first entry done! woo woo!

in light of recent events, my activity on tumblr may be sporadic. but now more than ever, I'll likely be leaning on writing as a form of escapism. I hope to get bingo at the very least, if not complete the entire card.

if there's something specific you want to see on the card, feel free to send me an ask and I'll see if I can make it happen.

thanks for reading! <3

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[xxlady-lunaxx]

it had been completely run on by alcohol. unless the alcohol had only loosened his tongue, letting the words he’d reigned in finally slip free. it would make sense, really. sanemi had been acting more distant recently. even so, giyuu hadn’t paid it too much mind. until now. until sanemi had drunk one too many sips of sake and had laid his thoughts out on the table.

“i don’t think we can keep doing this,” he’d said, turning to look at giyuu. he spoke casually, a small smile playing on his lips. he looked half out of it.

“doing what?” giyuu gently pushed the sake away from sanemi’s reach.

“this. us.” sanemi waved vaguely between them. “us dating.”

giyuu froze. “what do you mean?”

“it’s not really working.” sanemi sighed, sitting back up and shifting on his chair to look at giyuu. he shrugged. “you know?” his hands tucked between his thighs, fiddling with his sleeve. “i feel like we clash badly. like colors. like, uhm… i dunno. what colors look bad together?”

“but… why?” giyuu pressed, ignoring sanemi’s ramble about colors.

sanemi leaned back—only to jolt up again as he realized there was only empty air behind him. he scrambled to turn, his back resting against the counter. his head tilted back and his hair made a show of swooping down. “why? ‘cause… you know. we’re both boys. we’re gonna die anyway. how many years…? two left? also we never worked well before, yeah?” sanemi mulled this over. “i used to hate you. ‘cause you were so annoying and i thought you were an arrogant piece of shit. i don’t hate you now, but still. don’t you hate me for hating you?”

he crossed his legs, sitting back up and cocking his head towards giyuu. “you’re not stupid, giyuu. i think.” he paused. “oh yeah. i’m the stupid one. you’re the educated one.”

he laughed. held out his hand. “where’s the sake?”

giyuu shook his head. he was in some state of shock, so it took him a moment to catch up with everything. “you’ve wanted to break up? for how long?” he asked, his voice hitching slightly. he reconsidered the questions. “why do you want…? i thought we were doing well?”

sanemi huffed, scanning the counter for the sake. his eyes lit up as he caught sight of it and he reached over. giyuu intercepted his attempt, holding him back and simultaneously shoving the sake away. sanemi shot him a look but gave up, apparently too tired to bother.

“are you going to answer me?” giyuu said with a slight frown. he had to ask before the alcohol left sanemi’s system.

“answer what?” sanemi slumped onto the counter, glowering at the sake that was much too far for his liking. somehow, he’d forgotten he could walk. so he resorted to resting his head in his arms. he closed his eyes, letting out a breath.

“why do you want to break up?”

“i do?” sanemi sat up, looking suddenly alarmed. he stared at giyuu. “since when?”

“oh. uhm. well, you were heavily implying it.”

sanemi thought that over. “i don’t want to break up. i just think we’re not gonna end up well. not a lot of relationships do. i’m just being realistic.”

“more like pessimistic,” giyuu mumbled. “how won’t we end up well, though? we’ve been fine.”

“it’s just…” sanemi hesitated. he shook his head. “my head doesn’t fucking make sense. can’t think.”

giyuu sighed. “sometimes, i don’t understand you.”

“me neither.” sanemi went back to resting on the counter. his eyes fluttered close again. “‘m just worried that i’ll fuck up and leave you with the consequences or something. never mind. gonna sleep, now. night.”

[random-blurbs]

I Need Your Help - Chapter 3

Masterlist

Hearing the plastic crinkle behind you - you couldn’t turn around before the treat was placed in front of you. “Almond?” You asked as your hand wrapped around the plastic bag bringing it closer to your body.

“I thought you would want to try that one.” He reasoned remembering the last time you got a plain one. But was able to see your eyes linger on the one right beside it. But considering you practically finished the case for them it’s reasonable to get the sweet treat you probably really wanted. “Thanks.”

Packing up your bag you sensed the same unmoving presence behind you. Feeling uncomfortable you turned around sending him a questionable look. “Is there something you need?” Looking over his body language he seemed so hesitant to tell you something. It doesn’t look like bad news, just general nervousness that he seems to carry everywhere he goes.

“If it’s ok with you…can we stay in contact? I just want to ask you some questions? And I just don’t know when we’ll see each other again.” He said it in a tone where it seemed like he didn’t even believe it himself. As you started to question his motives along with it.

Questions? What type of questions?

“Are you going to interrogate me or something?” You questioned trying to understand what he’s getting at. He seemed to get more flustered as the miscommunication continued. “N-No! I want to know you better!” He confessed his voice deflating as he realized how much he’s messing up this simple interaction.

Imagine if he were to ask you out on a date.

“Oh…” Flustered by his answer, you try recounting anyone who wanted to know you more after spending time with you. It’s depressing trying to think the last time it actually was. “Yeah sure…” You mumbled out not knowing what to do with your obvious expression now. He seemed to perk up as he looked up to your face, happy that his failing attempt actually succeeded.

“We can exchange emails!” You didn’t want to ruin his excitement as you realized the man in front of you just isn’t that tech-savvy like the rest of the team. Apparently exchanging numbers is out of the question. Giving him your personal email address he quickly wrote it down stuffing it in his pocket his face radiating with a smile. Is it because of you he’s smiling like that?

“O-Oh also!” Barely remembering he pointed at the room across from you guys where his team was packing up following suit. “Derek wants to apologize to you.” He said as your eyes moved away from his team to your fingers. You knew he wanted to apologize, as you avoided him every turn. But his words stung, and as you slept after the case officially being marked as solved, his words refused to leave your mind. “Just tell him it’s forgiven.” You said half-heartedly as you opened the croissant that Reid gave you moments ago.

“You don’t have to accept his apology Y/N, you’re allowed to be hurt by what he said. I-if it gives you reassurance I wouldn’t forgive him either.” He said positively with that cute tight-lipped smile you’ve seen him do.

Cute?

Coughing into your arm you motioned to Reid you were ok as you collected your thoughts in return. “Thank you, but I’m just not ready. There’s no bad blood, I just don’t want to talk to him.” You finalize trying to move on from this topic. “You ready?” Looking up you both saw Hotch in the doorway peeking half of his body through. Simultaneously had let out a yes, quickly looking at each other with slight surprise. You haven’t been together for too long you can’t already be saying stuff at the same time as one another. “I got your prescription that you asked for.” Thanking him you grabbed the prescription stuffing it in your bag.

“If you want you can ride with Reid and we’ll meet you at the plane.” Hotch offered as he stepped out of the room quickly probably to notify his team. You glanced at Spencer as he stood there with a confused furrow of his brow as his eyes followed Hotch. After a few long seconds you let out a cough finally bringing his attention back to you. “Is that ok with you?”

“You’re coming with us?” Confused by his confusion it seemed like you guys were going in circles. “I mean yeah? Did you think I live in LA?” You asked finally understanding why this back and forth was happening. He really thought he wasn’t going to see you again. Is that why he’s doing this awkward attempt of friendship? “If I’m being honest yeah. I really thought you did.”

“That hurts more than I thought.” You joked as he let out a small chuckle, glad that you brought the conversation back in a happier tone. “Do you want to join me? Derek lost a bet so now I can drive the car for a couple of months.” He said giddy with the reminder of how badly Derek lost a bet with him, even though he should know by now there’s no point in playing against him.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

-

“This is your desk?” You ask even though the pile of books and the half-done chess board is enough indication that it’s his. “Yeah sorry it’s just a little…” Rushing over he carefully grabbed his books putting them in his drawers, tidying it up nicely. Trying to fix the general appearance of his desk that made him, him. “My apartment is probably a lot worse.” You comforted letting him continue doing what he needed to do apparently.

“Um here!” Motioning to his office chair he nudged it closer to you, as you gratefully accepted it letting yourself sit on it. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Do you want me to go get us some?” You offered which he immediately rejected, pointing at their little break area. “Don’t worry I can make it for us real quick.” Not waiting for you response he made his way to the coffee machine, waiting for him awkwardly at his desk. You came to drop off the necessary paperwork to finalize the case you worked on, hoping you can put this behind you. “Oh hi!” Looking up you see the woman who had your back somewhat when the whole fiasco went down. “Prentiss right?” You asked being horrible at names and faces. Never really sticking unless you care about them to a certain extent.

“Yes it is! And Y/N? Thank you for helping us on this one. I would’ve missed my paid vacation.” She said thankful that everyone was able to get back home safely and quickly. Nodding your head at her you didn’t know what else to say as she stood there as well. “And if you ever need anything - let us know. I know we’re not close, but if you ever need something-.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You cut her off knowing the spill some people do. You were thankful for her offer, but an offer that isn’t something you’re willing to take. Giving you a slight nod she walked to her bag before quickly leaving. Just in time Spencer had walked up with two steaming cups in his hand. His head turning back to you as he was following Emily’s retreating figure. “Did she want something?” You shake your head as you gratefully grabbed the hot coffee placing it right beside you. Pulling up a chair beside you he scooted in making sure he gave you appropriate space. “Do you play a lot?” You ask looking over at the chess match that was happening. You understood the general rules and play. But it just wasn’t something you would invest your time into.

“Yeah I used to play with Gideon? I’ve heard you were close.” He felt like he had to be careful when bringing up that name. His name still bringing a sense of hurt in his chest as he remembered the times he would help Reid build up his skills.

“I feel like close isn’t the right word.” You correct remembering the time spent with Gideon. You memory refreshing whenever he mentioned the genius in his team when he would be at your apartment molding you.

“Then what do you call it?” He asked feeling more confident considering you haven’t turned him away just yet. Taking a careful sip from the cup you felt it burn your lips as you winced. This is why you settle with ice lattes most of the time. “He allowed me to see something nobody else wouldn’t.” He knew whenever interacting with you, confusion would come along with it.

“I don’t want to talk about it though.” You quickly add knowing that Reid would get more curious but you just weren’t ready. Not yet.

“Oh of course…” He understood not wanting to push you in any farther. “Do you want to play? I can show you a little bit?”

“Do you often play at work?” Somehow Reid made you feel comfortable in such a strict up-tight place. It’s the BAU for crying out loud being surrounded by other agents. One wrong move and you might as well be demoted. Even if you don’t actually hold a position here. “When I need a breather.” He replied fixing the board between you two. Fixing the pieces you looked over the board. He gave you the white pieces.

With a careful hand you moved your pawn giving Spencer a small smile, letting you feel as normal as you could.

-

It was weird ‘emailing’ someone instead of simply texting. To the point where you’ve been close to asking him for his number. But even though there were shared pictures attached to the emails showing one another each other’s lives, it felt too intimate. The time to ask for his number had already passed.

You had just gotten a photo of his plant that Penelope had given him. It’s looking a little dry making you pity the poor plant. Naming it Spencer 2.0 showing his very loving parenting side. Sending him back of your cat, she was making biscuits on your lap.

It would be nice to see her

The thought made a small smile break out as you let your phone fall against your lips slowly. It’s a weird feeling he gives you. Imagining him interact with your man hating cat, allowed a chuckle escape from your lips. You know it would be a one-sided love but a love regardless. He seemed to enjoy your cat more and more with the pictures being sent his way.

You should come over with Spencer 2.0

His heart quickened as he read your words over and over again. Words etched into his mind enhancing his nervousness. Did you really want him to come over? Or was it just playful banter.

He truly wouldn’t mind going over.

For question purposes obviously.

-

Rubbing your eyes you left Hotch’s office in a terrible mood. The headache continued as you gripped onto the papers he gave you tighter.

“You emptied your clip. That brings up concern.”

His words confirmed the uncertainty of your own mind.

Reading the general report and the coroner’s report it confirmed his words rather than your own mind.

It was practically overkill. And you did that with your own hands.

Yelping as when you looked down at your hands the bloodied mess from a month ago appeared. “Y/N?” Looking up you see Reid’s team staring at you concerned as you realized the paper’s scattered the floor. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled quickly picking up the mess of papers not caring the order. Hearing some rustling in front of you, you see the person helping you.

“Are you ok?” Sighing you look him dead in the eyes, the most you have even given him since the case had ended. “Morgan I’m fine. You don’t need to help me.” Grabbing the papers from him you stuffed them in the file Hotch had given you. “I know just checking up on you. I know it’s not easy shooting-.”

“What are you talking about?” You cut him off as you looked between him and Reid who was now watching the interaction between you two. “I heard it was your first time shooting an Unsub. It’s hard for everyone.” He explained, leaving you disoriented. You can’t deal with this. You don’t want to deal with this.

“I can’t believe…” You couldn’t believe Reid was telling his team. You know you didn’t tell him it was supposed to be some secret. But you would think he would understand privacy. Obviously you were wrong. Scoffing you push past Morgan as you bee-lined to the elevators. Wanting what you can call home.

“Y/N!” Jogging up to you as your foot tapped impatiently for the elevator you continued staring ahead. The reflection of you two making sure you saw it either way. “What do you want?” You ask not wanting to talk to him. To anyone.

“It seemed like something happened between you two so I wanted to check up on you.”

“So you can tell him?”

“W-what? What are you talking about.” It was unfair. Blaming him it was so unfair. So as the elevator door dinged and opened infront of you, you quickly walked in. It was better to keep your mouth shut and not ruin what you have with Reid. And you wanted something so desperately. An understanding between you two.

Nothing you wanted more.

So the best you can do is leave him there with a distressed expression as your eyes linger on the dirty elevator floor.

-

It took you longer than you rather admit to reach out to Reid again.

And if you were to ask him he would know it’s been 2 months, three days, and 8 hours with 26 minutes since he last interacted with you.

He wanted to give you space.

But he wished he hadn’t.

He saw you from afar as you sat on the park bench. You looked exhausted, frazzled, on edge. How much happened?

Walking up to you, you seemed to be in your own world again. It’s like seeing a mirror of himself, a scarier version of himself in a way. “Y/N?” Catching your attention you finally acknowledged his presence, giving him a timid smile. Passing him the cup that was sitting next you, the warmth enveloped his hands. “Put a bunch of sugar.” You say quietly as you sip the replica of your drink.

“And I got us tickets.” You show him 2 physical tickets as he saw a glimpse of the title. “Slashers?” He asked skeptical about the movie topic they were going to watch.

“Horror movies don’t really scare me. I like watching it for the makeup and effects.” He wouldn’t mind if this was a normal thing between friends. But he doesn’t want to let it go. But he doesn’t want to ruin the normalcy you’re trying to have between you two. “Why did you reach out?” He finally asked. You weren’t surprised he wanted to know. It wasn’t fair to him.

“I want to get to know you more. But I’m scared.” You confess as the sleepless nights wouldn’t go away. The nights of tossing sleep evident in your eyebags. Terrified of everything. Terrified of your mind, and it not allowing you to relish in the friendship you wanted with Spencer.

“About?” He asked.

“You no longer wanting to be around me, when you find out how shitty my mind is.” You admit. “I want to tell you everything because I feel like you can understand. But I don’t want to drag you down with me.” You were screwed from the start, you accepted your fate. Gideon came around and gave you help but took it just as quickly.

But with Reid you swear. It’s something so complicated for a mind like yours you want to find out why that is. But you’re scared of what you’re going to see. And if Reid will see the same as you. “Y/N I mean this in the nicest way possible. But I’m a grown man, I can decide who I’m friends with and-.” Taking a deep breath he made sure you were looking at him as your eyes seemed teary with sleep and sadness.

“And I want to be friends with you. I want to know you. I want to do things with you. And if you can, let me do those things. I want you to confide in me, and I want to do the same. So I can tell you when it’s too much. Just have faith in me.” He professed.

His words did help, but that fear that was etched into you for years doesn’t just go away. But seeing Spencer being the only person willing to indulge in your wants made you smile. You don’t want to have hope.

It’s hard though.

Hope is an infectious thing.

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