#first attempt at something like this it went adequately

[009isdrawing]

My superhero OCs Aquila and Corvus, in the style of a scan of an old comic. Finely aged.

[aylish91]

New chapter incoming!!

Sea Of Hope Chapter 8

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

This masterful piece of art was done by @aoi-kanna as a commission. They are truly talented and I appreciate all the hard work they put into making this for me. Go check them out, they are absolutely wonderful!!!

Story below or AO3 above.

~~~

While Axe checked you over, Edge grabbed Red by the back of the neck and stormed down the main hatch, loudly yelling at the rest of the crew to mind their own business as they scurried out of his way. For the most part, Red's protests went unheard as he was dragged down the steep steps. Blue, on the other hand, had hesitantly approached Papyrus, whispering something before they too turned and headed past the hatch, disappearing through a pair of doors into the upper levels of the ship. 

The clearing of a throat had you tensing and pressing closer to Axe. Black had once again gotten closer than you were comfortable with, standing only a couple paces away. “AS HEARTWARMING AS THIS IS, IT IS QUICKLY BECOMING LATE AND THE LADY STILL NEEDS ADEQUATE DRESS. MY BROTHER’S COAT IS HARDLY A FITTING SUBSTITUTE.”  

Rus chuckled beside him. However, when he made to comment, a look from Black had him looking down instead. 

Axe narrowed his sockets. “Don’t know where you’re planning on get’n somethin. Ain’t exactly swimmin in extras and you’ve refused to mend mine so I could give it to her.”  

Black scoffed. “YOU FAILED TO MENTION IT WAS FOR YOUR MARKED. YOU HAVE ALSO YET TO COMPLETE THE TASK I ASKED OF YOU. I DID NOT SEE THE POINT IN TURNING IN YOUR FAVOR WHEN MY OWN HAD BEEN UNMET.” 

“Been busy.” 

“AS WE’VE ALL.” 

Something shifted in the air, both of their eyelights brightening. Rus glared, moving closer to his brother. It took Crooks placing a hand on Axe’s shoulder for the two to back down. 

“Petty bastard.” 

“WHEN IT SUITS ME.” With a flourish of a hand and a half step back, he indicated the direction of the doors, continuing to meet Axe’s gaze. “NOW, I BELIEVE WE SHOULD ATTEMPT TO FIND SOMETHING MORE SUITABLE UNTIL NEXT WE MAKE PORT. SURELY YOU CAN AGREE IT WOULD BE IN EVERYONE’S BEST INTEREST.”  

“Fine, but we’re not leadin’.” You could hear the creak of Axe’s teeth. 

“OF COURSE.” With a tight turn, Black nodded, marching forward with Rus trailing behind with a wink. "AS YOU WISH." 

Axe refused to move at first, tugging his empty socket and prompting a sighing Crooks to nudge you both. "I Know You Don’t Like Him, But He Is Fair.” 

“Bastard never does anything fer free.” 

“And Yet, He Has A Point.”  

Neither you nor Axe was reassured but allowed him to guide you forward regardless. Crewmen brave enough to linger eyed your group with various degrees of emotion. When a dog monster growled, another was quick to slap the back of their head, nervously hunching at a glare from both of your skeleton friends. You tried not to show your fear or your growing limp as you passed, hoping Rus' long coat hid what you couldn’t. It didn't seem like a good idea to show weakness around others. The watchful eyes and aggressive postures spoke volumes to your already heightened nerves. Entering the ship did nothing to ease your discomfort.  

It felt cramped and pressing despite having more than enough space and light. Unlike the previous ship, several lanterns lit the expanse leaving no ominous shadows or darkened areas. You could easily see all the doors lining the walls as well as the beautifully carved and decorated windowed doors marking the end of the hall. Rus waited near the last door on the left.  

It was calm and warm, but you couldn’t shake off the feelings of danger. 

“Ya c’n go inside Darlin. Milord’s wait’n.” Rus stood to the side, motioning you inside the now open door. 

You looked to your companions. While Axe kept his eyelight on Rus, Crooks’ soft smile and nod gave you enough of a boost to cautiously cross the threshold. It smelled of lavender tinted with something you couldn’t quite place, the overall size relatively small. What looked like a narrow modified canopy bed connected to the wall was on your right. In front of you, under a single window, was a rather lovely desk intricately carved with polished knobs. To your immediate left was an open decorative chest shoved in the corner. Everything was of exquisite taste and quality, from the bedding and carvings on the furniture to the upholstery on the chair at the desk. The few trinkets left out were of fine gold or silver with glistening jewels. 

You jumped when the door closed behind you. Axe nor Crooks had made it inside. It had your stomach rolling with nerves. You did not anticipate having the others closed out. Having Black now between you and the only exit made it worse. His eyelights were too bright. 

Didn’t Rus call him a lord...? 

Your chest tightened at his approach, making sure to lower your gaze. 

“TRUE TO MY WORD, THAT HORROR’S GARMENT HAS BEEN MENDED. HAD I KNOWN IT WAS FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS, I NEVER WOULD HAVE HELD ONTO IT.” In his hands was a large linen shirt, neatly folded and dark in color. Holding it out, he offered it to you. “PUT IT ON. I WILL ADJUST IT AS NEEDED AFTER.” 

You froze, intently focusing on the simple article of cloth. Was he expecting you to do it here and now? In front of him? Wasn’t it bad enough you were laid bare in front of all those on the deck, or stars, when you pressed yourself against Blue? At least Axe had good reason to see you. Multiple! To willingly undress now in the presence of a man other than your husband...  

By the angel, what would Axe think of all this? 

Black must have noticed your silent panicked uncertainty when you didn’t immediately take it. Clearing his throat, something in his tone changed. “I SHALL, OF COURSE, REFRAIN FROM LOOKING WHILE YOU DO SO. YOU MAY LEAVE MY BROTHER’S COAT ON THE CHAIR WHEN YOU ARE READY.” 

It was hard not to squirm. While that was greatly appreciated, it still felt uncomfortable. Could you trust his word? You hardly knew the man. Perhaps things may have felt different if the room wasn’t quite so stifling or the door hadn’t been shut so suddenly. 

Luckily, heavy thumps in the hall distracted Black enough for him to hand you the garment himself, squinting at the door behind him. He was just about to speak again when another set of thumps sounded, this time shaking the door. Growling, he finally turned when the muffled voices following the noise got angrier. 

You really didn’t want to do this right now. Not here. Not with all the uncertainties surrounding you.  

Taking a slow breath in, you let it out. The sooner you changed, the sooner you could be rid of these unsettling feelings. With unsteady fingers twitching against the fabric as you took one last glance at Black’s back. 

One more breath. 

The sound of your rattling bones was louder without the security of the coat. Placing it on the chair, you did your best to quickly dress.  

The feeling of fabric against your bones was surprisingly comforting as you pulled it over your head. True to Axe’s size, the shirt almost went to your knees. It was so large the fabric pooled on your much smaller frame and reminded you of the nightgowns you used to wear back at the manor. 

If only it wasn’t so short. 

Though your more private areas were covered, it was not good for a lady to show so much… leg. You tugged at the hem, the sleeves threatening to engulf your hands.  

“I’m dressed, my lord.” 

A calculated breath was your only answer before his eyelights found you, fuzzy with a slight warble. You had to second guess if you had seen them correctly, for the next moment they were back to their bright and sharp orbs. Getting closer, they traveled over you as he hummed, the heel of his boots clicking as he circled. If you had hair, it would have stood on end at the subtle brush of his hand against your back. 

“AS I EXPECTED.” 

You startled, yelping when he came around to lightly grip your hips. Instinctively, your hands came to your chest from the forwardness, sockets wide. He paid no mind, eyelights intent on the bunched fabric. He only let go to pull a satin rope from his pocket. 

You squeaked again when he reached around you to wrap it around your waist. 

“MUCH BETTER. HOWEVER," His gloved hands touched your elbows, slowly moving up your arms to grasp your hands for inspection. “YOUR MAGIC. IT IS MUCH TOO THIN…” He turned them over. “Hmmmmm. Knowing Him…” 

Your chest clenched. He was close enough you could feel his ambient heat and wisps of breath. 

Before Black could say or do anything else, his door nearly burst off its hinges, a very aggravated Axe forcing it open. Black pulled you into him with a snarl, eyelights vanishing with the click of his teeth. Stuck in a headlock was a disgruntled Rus, resigned to the hold around his neck. 

You didn’t know if you could physically handle any more stress.  

“BY THE ANGEL, YOU WILL REPLACE THAT LOCK IF YOU HAVE BROKEN IT!” 

Axe’s voice was low, grin tight as he took in the scene. “Don’t appreciate the closed door, Black. Hell ya think yer doin’ in here?” 

Black placed you behind him, grumbling a growl. “AS I STATED EARLIER, I HAVE GIVEN HER SOMETHING TO ADEQUATELY COVER HERSELF UNTIL WE CAN PROCURE SOMETHING MORE FITTING.”  

Axe narrowed his sockets at Black’s squared shoulders. For a split second, you could see the red orb of his eyelight flick over the man in front of you before it focused on you.  

“Sure that's all ya were doin’?” 

The fabric of Black’s gloves creaked. “IF YOU MUST KNOW, I WAS INSPECTING HER MAGIC FLOW. I’M NO EXPERT, BUT EVEN I CAN TELL IT’S RUNNING LOW. A MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION WOULD BE, WHY HAVEN’T YOU—” 

“I’ve been doin’ exactly what I need ta be. Don’t need ta explain myself either.” Rus stumbled into the room when Axe unceremoniously released him to motion to you. “Now, if yer done?” 

With a snarl, Black pointed a finger. “NOW SEE HERE YOU–” 

Instinctually, you reached out, stopping just before Black’s arm. “My lord, I!” You faltered at his abrupt attention, pulling back to dip your head in respect. “I thank you for your kindness, but I should return to my lord husband before any more misunderstandings occur.” 

His eyelights stuttered. “I, I BEG YOUR PARDON?” 

There was a beat of awkward silence before Axe broke into heavy laughter, the loudest and deepest you’ve heard from him. It was enough to warm your cheeks as he beckoned you out and away from the room. Black gaped, slack-jawed and sputtering as you passed. You were already being guided onto the deck by the time he was able to call out one last time from his doorway. 

“AXE! YOU WILL… THAT… YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” 

Axe only laughed harder, closing the doors behind you. 

The sun had mostly set by the time you stepped out into the humid sea air. You would have done anything in the past to be able to look up, out, and around but Axe was swift in guiding you down the main hatch. You didn’t want to linger longer than necessary anyway. 

You didn’t have Rus’s coat to hide under. 

You were grateful for the darkness once you were under. The lanterns were farther spread, some empty of light altogether. It helped ease your mind against the wandering eyes. Most gathered under the brightest lamps, playing cards at makeshift tables, drinking, and socializing while others lounged in hammocks hanging interspersed between the canons. While some watched you pass, Axe was surprisingly good at slipping through the darkest areas to avoid the unwanted attention.  

The closer you got to the front of the ship, the fewer people there were until you came upon barrels and crates stacked near and around an area quartered off by familiar heavy sheets. You could even recognize the stack you and Blue had hidden next to, the sheet on that side still halfway pulled down. Axe was kind enough to hold the flap for you to enter. 

Finally, you were able to relax the tension out of your shoulders and pained joints. You wanted to climb back into the hammock and rest your aching pelvis, maybe snuggle against Axe and his warmth. The way he moved about though had you gingerly sitting on his stool, setting it upright from where it had been knocked over. 

You wondered when that had occurred. What happened after you had been taken? 

... 

A quiet curse had you looking back at Axe as he re-fastened the makeshift wall. There were a few more rips in it than you remembered. If he had any sewing supplies, you would have to mend them. It was the least you could do as thanks. 

You let out a slow breath, peering down at your clenched fists. They were cold and stiff on your lap. Black had been interested in them. The lot of them had been interested in general, but he had seemed so focused. 

Your voice was soft, hesitant as you summoned the courage to speak. “Axe? I have so many questions, but I’m afraid… I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask.” 

Axe chuckled. “Don’t gotta be afraid with me, Dove. It’s good ta ask questions around here. The more ya know the better, good or bad. Don’t let anyone tell ya otherwise.” 

You picked at the hem of the shirt, smoothing it down as much as you could. “Is that true?" Axe simply grunted. Collecting yourself, you forced yourself to ask the questions burning your mind. "What is a Banthos? What does it mean to be one? And what did Black mean when he said my magic was too thin? I don’t have magic. I’m not… I’m not even a monster.” 

It was hard not to flinch when, from your peripherals, you saw him stop. His voice had become more serious but thankfully still soft.  

“The hell yer not. Listen, I don’t know what you’ve been told, where ya come from, or what ya been through. But you’re as much of a monster as the rest of us. You’re made of magic and hope just like me.” He came over to place your hand in his scarred one, taking a knee to look directly into your sockets. “We’re the same. Dust and all. It don’t matter about anything else. As fer your magic,” he rubbed his face with a frustrated sigh, “let me worry about that. Just know ya got it and I’m gonna make damn sure ta get it where it needs ta be.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that, but it sent a comforting feeling to your chest. He was always so warm. It reminded you of your mother.  

Nodding, you were about to ask about your first question when footsteps interrupted you. Axe stood, moving between you and the flap.  

“AXE, IT IS GETTING LATE. I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF PREPARING SANS’ ROOM FOR THE LITTLE MISS. I HOPE YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.”  

Axe only slightly relaxed at the sound of Papyrus’ voice, not moving but calling out to the other skeleton. “I can take her when we’re ready. Just got a few–” he bristled when Papyrus entered and smiled down at you, hand twitching at his side –“more things ta take care of.” 

“AND WHAT MIGHT THAT BE SO I MAY HELP?” When Axe only grumbled, Papyrus took it upon himself to continue. “WELL, WHILE YOU FIGURE THINGS OUT, I SHALL MAKE SURE TO GET HER SAFELY TO HER NEW LODGINGS.” 

You both tensed. “Papyrus. Paps. At least let things settle before ya drag er away. You saw Sans. I don’t trust him.” 

Papyrus looked a little sheepish at the accusation. “I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN, BUT I HAVE FAITH THAT THIS WILL WORK. I MYSELF WILL KEEP AN EYE ON THINGS IF I MUST. He Means Well. NOT THAT, THAT IS AN EXCUSE FOR HIS TERRIBLE BEHAVIOR.” He came forward to place a hand on Axe’s shoulder, humble and pleading. “WON’T YOU AT LEAST TRUST ME?” 

You couldn’t place the look that crossed Axe’s face from the question, the red orb of his eyelight quaking until his free hand brushed the edges of his empty socket. “That’s cheat’n…” There was a heaviness to the silence.  

When Axe’s shoulders sagged, Papyrus gave him back his space. “All WILL BE WELL. I’M SURE OF IT.” 

You were uncertain as to what you needed to do, but before you could stand, Axe nudged you back down. With the reluctance of a stubborn cat, he then went about gathering items he had deemed yours, going so far as draping his favored blanket over your shoulders. When all was said and done, you were left with a surprisingly intricate box full of puzzles, Axe’s blanket, and an affectionate nuzzle to your neck.  

It was with a heavy heart and a glowing face that you eventually followed Papyrus back out into the darkness. 

You did your best to keep up with his long strides, missing Axe’s purposely slowed gait. You could feel the grinding strain on your pelvis and lower joints with each step. You focused on the clack of your feet to keep your mind off the aching. Papyrus was already several steps ahead of you when he got to the steps.  

Blessedly, he turned to wait for you. 

It was embarrassing how out of breath you had become from such a short distance, especially when you knew you didn’t technically need to breathe. You were even more so when Papyrus cocked his head to look you over with a contemplative hum. 

His smile was kind. “MY APOLOGIES MISS. I KNEW YOU WERE IN ROUGH SHAPE, BUT I HADN’T REALIZED…” He glanced up the steps. “PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR ME TO HELP.” 

Without so much as a warning, he picked you up and draped you across both of his arms. You almost dropped your box, squeaking in surprise as he ascended to the deck. Your mind and tongue had stopped working from the suddenness. Though Axe had carried you once before and had moved you a few times, you didn’t quite know what to think of this stranger picking you up so nonchalantly. It was as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him, smile just as polite and kind as before. 

With him carrying you, it took little time to cross the rest of the way back through the double doors and down to the end of the hall. Standing in front of the windowed doors, you were only jostled a little when he turned the knob. He used his boot to kick it open the rest of the way with a bang, making you flinch when the glass shook precariously. 

You thought you saw a flash of blue, but when you looked, there was nothing there but a railed raised platform with an extravagant-looking bed, windows lining the entirety of the back wall. 

You shuddered. It smelled overwhelmingly of snow and cold rain. 

Scrunching his nasal ridge, Papyrus walked around a heavy round table with a scattering of papers and a lantern. Stepping onto the platform, he carefully set you down, turning to furiously rip the blankets off the bed to ball and fling them across the room with a fwump. 

“FORGIVE MY IDIOT OF A BROTHER. I WILL BE HAVING A TALK WITH HIM ABOUT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR LATER. FOR NOW, I’M AFRAID THIS WILL HAVE TO DO. AT LEAST THE BED IS EXCEPTIONALLY COMFORTABLE.” He put his hand down to pat the mattress. “IT IS A GIMBAL BED, MADE WITH LARGER MONSTERS IN MIND SO YOU WILL HAVE PLENTY OF SPACE AND WON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE TIPPING OF THE SHIP.” 

When you didn’t move, he gently ushered you to sit before making his way to the windows. It was so dark now that the light from the lamp effectively turned them into mirrors. You were grateful, too afraid to look through them. To your relief, Papyrus closed the many curtains for each once. Once done, he gently took your box and stood at the end of the bed, bowing slightly from the waist. 

“I WOULD STAY TO HELP YOU SETTLE, BUT I UNFORTUNATELY HAVE OTHER DUTIES I NEED TO TAKE CARE OF AT THIS TIME. BUT DO NOT FEAR, I WILL MAKE SURE SOMEONE WILL BE BY IN THE MORNING TO BRING YOU SOME TEA AND BREAKFAST AND TO WELCOME YOU.” Walking away, he stopped to place your box on the table and extinguish the lantern. “SLEEP WELL MISS.”  

With a wave, he picked up the bundle of discarded blankets and walked out the door, closing it behind him. 

… 

It was frightening, alone in the dark.

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 1 of 5 - Knife

Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist || next

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake has been hired to assassinate you - the daughter of Chicago's most powerful and corrupt man

Or: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: nsfw, mdni, more below the cut, READ the warnings. Dead dove - you will get what is warned!

There is no non-con in this fic, but it's dark in the sense that the reader IS in real danger from Jake. Violence, language, stalking, blood, knife play, also actual knife use - like for its intent - stabbing, danger, sexy dreams, glove kink, masturbation, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The second time Jake saw you up close, he darkly chuckled to himself at how easy of a mark you were.

Everyone in his line of work knew who you were - the beautiful daughter of the most powerful man in the city. And your father had endless enemies.

Including the one who hired Jake to take you out. Jake's boss was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. To assassinate the most powerful mob boss' only daughter required someone removed from the situation. Someone professional. Invisible.

Jake wasn't stupid either. There wasn't enough money in this city to lure him into crossing your father.

No, this was plain, old fashioned revenge. So maybe Jake's boss was stupid - this was personal, for Jake anyway.

So tonight, as he saw you walking out of a club with your girlfriends, your inept bodyguards flanking you, he sneered.

You had style - that, Jake had to admit. Your dress fit you like a glove, but landed an inch or so longer than your obvious minions’ skirts. The girls around you were trying too hard. You didn’t have to.

They flocked to your power and your money (or your father's), but the attempt was desperate, at best.

But you held yourself with a self-assurance and something Jake had no idea he was interested in until he'd started tailing you: class.

Your eyes shone as your laughter rang out into the night. You must’ve been a little tipsy, if the glow of your cheeks was any indication.

The bodyguards - who Jake mentally referred to as Dumb and Dumber - ushered the small group of you into a waiting car.

Jake thought about it: driving you. Using his day (or night) job to get close to you. Too complicated. You had a faithful driver, well paid, who had shuttled you around the city practically all your life. Then, of course there were Dumb and Dumber and the other girls to...dispose of.

So no driving. Not this time.

You rarely ventured out alone, but Jake had discovered your quietest moments. You lived in a hotel, actually - one of your father's - in a penthouse, with, at least, adequate security.

So, no home invasion. That made Jake feel like a creep anyway, and he wasn't a creep. He was a professional.

He found the easiest access to you would likely come during one of your early morning jogs in the park, or while you liked to shop or run errands during the day.

In fact, he walked right by you just yesterday.

That was the first time he saw you up close.

You were even more beautiful up close.

Yesterday, he simply wanted to see if Dumb and Dumber would notice how close he got. He was also checking out the lack of security cameras in the park.

He had to do this right. And even then, he would flee afterward. He hated this city anyway.

Fucking Chicago. Every horrible thing in his life went wrong in this city. New York never treated him so poorly. And besides, the alter in his head preferred life across the pond. So, finishing this job would be the perfect excuse to never return.

So the next morning, he arrived in the park before sunrise. Sure enough, you came jogging round the corner, an unsafe number of strides ahead of Dumb and Dumber. Or...it was only Dumber this time. One bodyguard? Seriously, this was too easy.

All it took was a gloved hand around your mouth and a knife to your ribs to get you where he wanted you, into the dense thicket, away from prying eyes.

You struggled, but Jake’s experience won out. He used the tip of his knife to inflict the slightest twinge of pain.

"I can make this almost painless," he breathed on your ear.

You whimpered, angry with yourself for going limp in his arms as you felt the pinch of pain in your ribs.

However, you're weren't stupid either. If he wanted to kill you, he would have dragged that blade across your jugular with your mouth still covered. You would bleed out silently and he would have plenty of time to escape before your bodyguard found you.

His annoying poke to your ribs and striking up a conversation meant he wanted something else and that's why you shuddered. This was a kidnapping or an assault. Or he was a sick freak who wanted to play with his food first.

He whirled you around and pushed you up against a tree, crowding in front of you, with your mouth still covered.

The tree's bark scraped against your bare legs, but cold, dark eyes which - under different circumstances, might have captivated you - momentarily distracted you.

Distinguished nose - mouth set in a thin line, strong, square jaw with a beard - well kempt. Dark brown curls peeked out of a flat cap. He almost looked like something out of the 1930's when you really thought about it.

Which...given the circumstances, why in the hell were you thinking about his looks?

Finding your courage, you tried to speak against his gloved hand. He positioned the knife at your throat - finally a more useful spot - and breathed against your cheek. "Scream and it'll be your last word, doll."

You nodded quickly, trying to blink back the moisture in your eyes. Your father was going to end this asshole, but you might suffer mightily first.

Slowly, Jake removed his hand, keeping it close to your mouth in case you got any ideas.

"Why didn't you just cut my throat?" You gasped, your chest heaving, drawing his eyes momentarily down to the fit of your sports bra and your chest, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

"Are you offering suggestions?" One dark eyebrow shot up, almost comedically.

"It would be the quickest and quietest way," you confessed, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm just trying to see what I'm in for. You want me to beg or something? Cry? Just tell me and get it over with."

Jake chucked.

Oh. So he was a condescending asshole. Awesome.

Still, he didn't taunt you or threaten you, which probably meant ... damn it.

"Aw hell, you're a pervert then?" You scoffed. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're hoping."

That puzzled your captor, but only for a moment. " - no," he scoffed. "That's not something I have to...coerce."

You rolled your eyes, but made sure to keep still because that knife tip was starting to dig into your throat. "I'm sure you're a real catch. Just get this over with. My bodyguard will be here soon."

The corner of Jake's mouth curled. "Trust me, I'm not worried about him."

You shivered slightly, realizing he'd done his homework. "What do you want?" You managed, a little more desperately than you were hoping to sound.

"Revenge," he evenly responded

You locked eyes and saw honesty there.

You slightly nodded, swallowing hard as his breath ghosted your cheek.

"W-what did I do to you?"

Jake's eyes darkened as he pulled the blade from your throat and positioned it right over your heart.

"Your father killed my brother."

Wetting your lips, you whispered, "I'm sorry. I-I don't know anything about that."

"'Course you don't," Jake sneered. "But your father does."

"So I have to pay for your brother's life with my own?" You hurriedly reasoned. "You think that will make my father suffer the way you have? There's no way. I don't even think he loves me." Your voice was now dripping with panic, but Jake started to admire the way you fired off protests.

"Nice try," Jake scoffed. "Everyone knows you're daddy's pride and joy. You're the only way to his heart."

"Then do it," you spat. "I hate all this Criminal Minds villain discourse bullshit. Just put us both out of our misery."

"Villain?" Jake huffed. "I'm the villain? Your father has corrupted this entire city! And you benefit from every cent and every life he takes. You're the villain - both of you."

"Then what are you fucking waiting for?" You hissed, jerking against him, causing the knife to slip and slice your chest.

"Shit!" You cried out, your hands flying to cover your wound, which was only superficial, but still hurt like hell.

The gloved hand clamped back over your mouth as the knife tip dragged down your sternum to just under your ribs once more. Without hesitation, he pushed the blade into your abdomen.

You screamed into his hand, tears streaming down your face. Your body flamed with searing pain as you went limp in his arms.

"Shhh, shh, sweetheart. It's only enough to slow you down. You'll live. Promise."

And he fucking left you there.

With his knife inside you.

Oh your father was going to crucify this asshole.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You spent hardly any time at all in the hospital - the wound was so insignificant. Still, you were stabbed so it warranted medical attention and your father was furious. He attempted to double security around you and forbade you from leaving your penthouse.

You indulged him for a day or so but you weren't one to be caged. He'd made your life enough of a living hell. You felt scared all the time, always a pressure point for him - a bargaining chip for his enemies.

You didn't tell him about the bouquet of tulips you received from your attacker, with a note that read, 'Did you keep what I left inside you?'

The next day, gardenias arrived with another note. 'I'll show you how to use it sometime.'

Okay, so maybe you were stupid. Because instead of turning the notes over to your father, or even the police (not likely), you kept them to yourself.

The most intriguing thing about this mystery man was how he was managing to get these flowers and notes past your (obviously shit) security.

You dreamed.

He's pinned you up against the tree. His gloved hand applies pressure to your throat. The tip of his knife blade traces lightly over your bottom lip, before he drags it down the smooth column of your throat. He trails down your chest, raking it between your breasts before slicing right through your sports bra. Your breasts spring free and his eyes darken. He grazes your nipple with the blade - the cool metal electrifying your peak, making it go stiff.

His grip on your throat loosens as he pushes gloved fingers up over your jaw and slips his leather clad digits into your mouth. His eyes find yours again as you obediently suck without being asked.

He pushes his fingers to the back of your throat, gagging you, which makes him smirk.

Then he surprises you by taking his hand out of your mouth and pushing the hilt of the knife into your palm.

"Hold this for me, baby," he instructs, roughly shoving his sopping wet glove - wet with your spit - into your tight leggings, slipping them between your already soaked folds.

Your hand shakes as you realize you have the power - you have the knife and you can get away. You can hurt him back, like he hurt you.

Without another thought, you jab the knife into his side, even as his gloved thumb circles your clit.

"That's my girl," he pants as blood pools and spills through his crisp, white dress shirt. You yank the knife back out, puzzled, but your brain is starting to short-circuit from the wildest fingerfucking you've ever experienced.

You try to whisper his name, wondering if he'll be okay, but you realize - you don't even know his name. You have no inkling whose fingers are stuffed inside your cunt, even as you grind down on his palm, riding his glove like a toy.

You woke up covered in sweat, slick heat pooled between your legs even as your belly filled with shame.

Without another thought, you reached into your nightstand drawer for the knife he left inside you.

You yanked your nightgown aside, gently running the cool metal over your nipples, just the way he'd done in your dream.

You shoved your fingers into your mouth, just like he had, and once they were sopping you slid them into your silky panties and rubbed your clit furiously.

"Oh god," you moaned, writhing, carefully scraping the knife across your other nipple before a nasty idea formed. You used the knife handle and pushed it down over your clit with two fingers of the opposite hand stuffed inside you.

You felt wrong - disgusted with yourself. The man wasn't being sexy - this wasn't some fantasy of a dangerous man in the woods. He had no interest in you. He threatened you - stabbed you, for fuck's sake. Who knew what else he was capable of? He could've taken advantage of your body or sliced your throat.

And now he'd sent the flowers and messages. So he was probably a stalker. This would escalate and be dragged out, just like you'd wanted to avoid.

He was probably watching you right now.

...which, to your utter shame made you feral.

You moaned so loudly, you were sure your bodyguards would rush in.

"Can you see me?" You panted, repulsed with yourself, but so close, rubbing the blunt end of the knife faster and faster over your clit as you shoved your fingers as deep as they would go.

One more thought of that horrible man plunging his knife in you and your back arched euphorically as a powerful orgasm wracked your body - as good as any with your array of top-of-the-line toys.

As you lay there panting, wondering how you would rid yourself of this shameful new obsession - masturbating to a man who wanted revenge against your father - who attacked you and honestly, showed no real interest in you - you decided you needed a way to reach him.

He was able to get to you somehow, by sending you flowers and notes.

So the next day, you instructed your staff to return a wrapped, sealed box to whomever delivered flowers, and you paid handsomely to make sure the box got back to the sender.

It may never make it to the mystery man, but you had to try.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"I told you - you can't come back here," Jake scolded the young delivery boy.

"Sorry, mister. That lady gave me a ton of money to bring this to you."

Fortunately, Jake had met up with this little idiot on a street corner and not near where he lived, nor near his car. He also used a false name.

It was risky enough sending things to you, but you got under his skin.

He knew this was all a bad idea. His boss wanted you dead and Jake wanted his revenge for Randall.

But here he was, behaving like a pathetic stalker, sending you flowers and creepy notes, bypassing your security.

And now you sent something back?

Jake pulled the lid from the box and almost choked. It was his knife. Something had...dried on the handle, along with what he could only assume was still your blood on the blade. And there was a handwritten note.

'I came on it.'

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

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[speed-world]

I think a pretty cute request would be one between Pattaya dragon and the reader.

In this case, they're taking care of Snapdragon cookie. Pattaya dragon cookie seems to have no parental skills, But it turns out his skills are more than adequate for a dragon baby. Y/N is constantly scared/worried pattaya is accidentally going to hurt Snapdragon, But they are consistently proven wrong and apologize near the end for not believing in Pattaya dragon.

Dragon Parenting!!

You had quite the busy day ahead of you, which proved to be an issue as you thought about watching over Snapdragon Cookie. You’d be too busy today to care for them properly, so you looked into getting them a sitter…until your red dragon mate came along-

“Hrrrr, hey, what are you up to?”

“I’m trying to find a babysitter to watch over Snapdragon today, ya nosy. I’ll be way too busy to look after them.”

“…..Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I want Snapdragon to be fine while I’m gone, plus I know a few cookies that are good with-“

“Ssssweetheart, I’m right here! Hello? I can easssily look after Snapdragon for however long you’re gone! I’m sssurpised you didn’t think about me first!”

“Umm…you see ah-how do I explain this. I’m not sure if it’s wise for you and Snapy to be alone. Together. With no other cookie to keep an eye on either of you.”

“Ah-What?! Are you sssaying that I’m too recklesssss as a parent?”

You clasped your hands together and took a deep breath

“I-well, yes, sorta. I’m sorry ‘Taya it’s just-I’m worried that maybe you and Snapdragon alone together might break something or worse…”

Pitaya Dragon crossed their arms and huffed steam, visibly offended and upset.

“Krrrrr, I’ll prove you wrong! A dragon watching over another dragon is perfect! I can ssssatisfy any of Snapdragon Cookie’s needsss without issssue!! Go on and complete your errandsss, and you’ll come back to a well-kept home as alwayssss!”

You hesitated for a moment to think: two dragons left to themselves sounds nightmarish, especially if you ask Tarte Tatin Cookie, but this is your spouse and child. And Pitaya is right: as a dragon, they are more suited to tend to another dragon than you, even with your best efforts respectfully. You should be fully able to trust them together, right?

“Alright Taya, I’m sorry. I completely and wholly trust you. I’ll see you later today, alright? Be good now, Snapdragon!”

Pitaya smiled as you both shared a quick kiss. Snapdragon Cookie flew up to give you a hug goodbye before you went out the door. Now everything will be fine, it will all be fine…

….

The day had gone by pretty well!! Completing your tasks one by one continually motivated you throughout your time. But maybe there was something else motivating you….

Yeah, there was. It was the thought of Pitaya and or Snapdragon breaking something or getting hurt.

The thoughts would just eat away at the back of your mind, never seeming to leave despite your best efforts to wash them away. You kept reminding yourself to trust Pitaya, yet the images of returning home to ruined furniture and scratched walls were getting more frequent and more graphic…

As you were finishing up your last errand, you took a moment to breathe and remain stationary; attempting to calm your mind. …..it didn’t really work, and you began to take the shortest route back home.

Once you arrived, you made a mad dash to the front door and frantically tried to unlock it. After finally opening the door, your eyes widened…and then softened as you saw a sleepy Snapdragon being put to bed by Pitaya. The red dragon turned and noticed you, and they walked to you after laying down Snapdragon.

“Ssssoo, how was your day~?”

“G-good, actually. I’m really sorry for doubting you Pitaya, it looks like you got everything under control.”

“Kehehehe, told you!!”

“Hey now not so loud, you just put Snapdragon to bed.”

“Ah-r-right. *ahem* Told you~~!”

“Heh, yeah yeah, I’m glad you proved me wrong my love.”

Pitaya lifted you into a bridal-like carry and nuzzled your cheek, sitting down on the couch with you on their lap.

“I love you, sssweetheart~.”

“I love you too, ‘Taya~.”

[warblogs17282]

Looks like it's time for me to discuss this piece of merch.

I instantly notice two things, the first being that Stolas genuinely looks terrified in the first picture, with the pupils that appear when Stolas is extremely stressed as well. They're not looking at Stella, however, they're looking away from her, at something else, or someone else.

The second thing being that Stella now appears to be laughing while looking directly as Stolas, who is now no longer wearing his crown. Stella and Octavia are still wearing their crowns, which I feel potentially implies that the second picture was taken after Stolas has lost his title of Prince. This is probably overthinking but I'd also like for you to pay attention to the fact that the arrows point to Stolas in both pictures, his face in the first picture, and his crownless head in the second picture.

Plus, the grimoire is now in shot for some reason, which considering Andrealphus' comment of 'Because, my dear sister, you've already produced an heir; when he dies, his duties, his possessions, his legions, it'll all pass to.... Via.', sure Andrealphus is talking about specifically if Stolas dies, but I feel like this would also be true if Stolas loses his title of Prince. His duties will be one of the things that will be passed to Octavia if that happens, which could explain specifically why the grimoire is present in the second picture.

All of this would also tie in perfectly with Stella's line of 'I'm going to take everything! Everything you own!', with one of those things being Stolas' title of Prince.

But getting back to the first thing I noticed, I think I can explain the specifics of why Stolas is so terrified in it.

A few lines from Paimon stick out to me, those being these ones:

"It is finally your day of becoming a true part of the Goetia family."

"Also, son, you are destined to sire a precautionary addition to the Goetia family."

"Would that distract you enough from your non-negotiable future marriage?"

The first thing Paimon does is basically hold Stolas at metaphorical gunpoint to sire (give birth to) a precautionary addition to the Goetia family. You may be asking, but Stolas did sire Octavia, why does he look so terrified in the first picture if it's not Stella he's looking at?

The answer is simple, it's because that metaphorical gunpoint I mentioned earlier extended beyond just siring Octavia, it likely went on until Octavia reached maturity/was close to reaching maturity. (aka, the age of 18.) Considering Octavia was just a very young child in the first picture, it tells us that the metaphorical gunpoint was still a factor for Stolas, hence explaining why Stolas looks so scared in it.

My proof for this is a few comments made in s2 e1. Those being:

"What do you think the rest of the Goetia family will think?"

"And the only thing the Goetia family wanted from our marriage is already 17, so, it's over, I'm DONE!"

The common link between all the lines I have showed you is the Goetia family, Stella uses the family to threaten Stolas, meaning that she is naturally aware of this metaphorical gunpoint as well, hence why she uses it in an attempt to stop Stolas from getting the divorce.

But then Stolas fires back, telling us that the only thing the Goetia family wanted is already 17, which most likely tells us two things.

The first being that the metaphorical gunpoint Stolas was under did extend past just siring Octavia, it also reached to raising Octavia until she was mature enough/close to mature enough, which was likely the age of 18, but at this point Octavia to close enough to age.

The second being that the same metaphorical gunpoint Paimon, and by extension, the Goetia family put Stolas under is no longer a worry because Octavia is now 17, close enough to reaching maturity for the Goetia family, which again, I believe is 18.

Considering all of this, I believe that this adequately explains specifically why Stolas looks so terrified in the first picture, and the fact he appears to be terrified of someone other than Stella in that picture as well.

Which begs the question, just what or who is Stolas looking at in that picture?

It's most likely Paimon, although, considering all the comments about the Goetia family that have been made throughout the show, in theory, it could be anyone in the Goetia family who reports to Paimon, or anyone with equal or higher class compared to Stolas.

[inmyheaddd]

can i call you tonight? - xander hawthorne x reader

a/n: i adore autumn with my whole heart but i’m missing those carefree summer romance vibes soo bad 😖 wc: 1.8k warnings: kissing, mild language, verryyy fluffy ur teeth might fall out masterlist

the sun was just beginning to set, the sky looking like something out of a painting, and you and xander had spent the whole day at the beach together — swimming, laughing, and, of course, getting covered in sand. 

now, still giggling from the ‘sand ball’ fight you had with him earlier, you both stumbled toward the beach shower, desperate to wash the sand off of you.

the water came out freezing at first, eliciting a yelp from you as you stumbled back — in turn making xander laugh, before you adjusted the temperature perfectly to your liking.

which, according to xander, was: very, very, hot.

“are you trying to boil us alive?” his eyes were comically wide, furrowing his brows after he stood under it for half a second, jumping back with a shout. 

you simply stood under the shower head calmly, attempting to get the sand out of your hair.

you huffed a laugh through your nose, “xander, it’s not even that hot, i—“

“—were the hours under the scorching sun not enough? you also need to stand under water that’s practically a few degrees away from turning you into a boiled lobster?” he rambled on. 

atleast he was so chill and normal about the temperature, so very calmly expressing his dislike!  

you stifled a laugh as he continued, unbotheredly wringing water out of your hair as you watched him complain. “i’m just saying, there’s a fine line between a shower and a chemical peel.” he said, pointing at the shower with a shake of his head. 

“that water is hot enough to sterilize surgical instruments.” he crossed his arms over his bare chest, as you watched him watch you, a slightly confused furrow in your brows and intrigued smile growing on your face.

a slow grin grew on his face as he raked his eyes over you, taking in your slightly sunburned nose, wet hair, and bathing suit you had picked out with him a few weeks back. 

he lolled his head to the side before he spoke, “i’m sorry— why was i mad again?”

you laughed at his quick demeanor change, playfully rolling your eyes and sighing dramatically before making the temperature colder and motioning for him to step in.  “just get in, you big baby.”

“oh, thankyou very much, i appreciate your willingness.” he responded, bowing his head jokingly as he stepped under the water, his hands finding your lower back instantly. 

but of course, xander being xander, couldn’t just stand there like a regular person. 

no, he shook his head, like some sort of dog sending water droplets and little sand particles everywhere. 

“xander!” you squealed, shielding your face and taking a step back, but you couldn’t stop laughing. 

“oh my god— you’re so annoying!” you squeaked out, still laughing.

he chuckled, taking a step closer to you and placing his hands where they just were, eyes sparkling with mischief as water dripped down his hair. “and you’re so easy to annoy.”

he reached out, gently brushing sand off your cheek, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “that wasn’t funny.” you said, biting back a smile. 

it was funny, but he didn’t have to know that.

“i’m sorry,” he faux pouted at you. he didn’t sound sorry, in fact, he sounded a little amused. 

you felt your stomach do a little flip, but before you could say anything, his eyebrows raised like a lightbulb went off in his head, and he grabbed the shampoo bottle from your beach bag on the ledge. 

“here, let me do this right.” he turned to stand behind you, pouring an adequate amount into his hand and then started working his fingers into your scalp. 

you tried to turn your head to ask him what he was doing, but it did feel a little nice to stand there and feel his hands run through your hair. okay, maybe not just a little.

he gently guided your head back forward. "hold still," he said, his voice lower, but with a little hint of that teasing edge remaining. 

when he noticed you weren’t saying anything back, and that if anything you were feeling relaxed, he spoke again. 

“see, would you look at that?" he said softly, "i can be helpful too." 

you could practically hear the grin in his voice, but it was hard to focus on that with the way you felt like you were buzzing under his touch.

you hummed, “yeah, only when you want to be.” you let your eyes close for a moment, and then he spoke again.

“i want to be helpful with you all the time.” you could hear the fake pout in his voice, then it flipped completely, and you heard that grin in what he said next.

“i’d make an excellent stay at home husband for you, yeah?” he joked with his voice all breathy-like. 

“you wouldn’t have to worry about me complaining…” he trailed off, “you know, except about the shower temperature.”

you let out a little chuckle, and opened your mouth to remind him about the time he somehow burnt instant noodles, and that maybe being a stay-at-home husband wasn’t the right path. 

you didn’t get the chance to say anything, though, because he swiftly grabbed your shoulders and turned you around, standing you under the shower head. 

your eyelids immediately squeezed shut, squealing a little with your whole face scrunched up as the shampoo-y water ran down your hair.  you were careful not to get it in your eyes, laughing as xander stepped infront of you and gently moved your hair out of your face. 

you opened your eyes, still squinting a little as you looked up at him. “that also wasn’t funny.” you remarked. “not in the slightest.”

he quirked a brow up, looking like he was biting back a grin, “it wasn’t?” he asked, cocking his head to the side in question.

“no.” 

then a roguish smile started to spread on his face, and you began to deeply regret your words. 

“well then, would you like to see,” he paused for dramatic effect and raised his eyebrows, “something funny?”

you were the one biting back a smile now, taking a step back from xander as you shook your head, already anticipating what he was going to do. 

“…no.”

he rendered the step you took back obsolete as he stepped right on forward, his smile turning into a chuckle as you shook your head. 

there were about three things you were afraid of in this world, 1: a bug getting in your food and you eating it, 2: getting kidnapped and held hostage, and 3: xander blackwood hawthorne’s tickles. 

“xander, i was kidding, i swear.” you rambled with your voice dropping lower, trying to get out of this situation, but xander’s face only scrunched up in laughter as he gave you about 5 seconds to make your case.  

“you’re like, the funniest person i’ve ever met! you’re so charming and hilarious, and —“

your time was over, it seemed, because xander bent down and picked you up over his shoulder, his laughs increasing in volume as you squealed in the secluded beach. “xander! it was a joke, i promise! put me down!” 

as if he was on a quest to become even more annoying he began running to the beach beds, regardless of your protests which were now coming out more as laughs. 

he placed you on a beach bed breathlessly, his hands coming to cup your face as he basically climbed on top of you, then leant down to kiss you.

oh, you weren’t expecting that. 

granted, you were both still breathless, and the two of you were smiling and laughing against each other so much, that you weren’t sure whatever you were doing could be considered a kiss.

then it came. xander pulled back ever so slightly and his hands moved down and jabbed at your neck, then your sides, your arms, anywhere you were ticklish, and you were both equally a laughing wreck. 

you tried to peel his hands off of you as you writhed under him, repeating his name surely over 20 times in between giggles. 

after what seemed like forever, he stopped, putting his hands up in the air as he sat up, and your chest heaved as you caught your breath.

“now,” he said, “was that funny?” he raised an eyebrow, “choose your answer very wisely.” 

“fine,” you huffed, “it was a little funny.” 

his other brow joined the raised one at the top of his forehead, “that was not the wise  answer i thought of,” he muttered, as he slowly started put his hands back down towards you, your eyes darting between his face and his hands.

“okay. okay, yes!” you scrambled before he could literally attack you again, “i lied, it was funny, and not just a little.” 

his hands retreated, “brilliant. very wise answer,” he commented, “well done.” 

he brought his hands up to your jaw and only your jaw this time, cradling your face like he did earlier as he placed a short peck on your lips, but you pulled him in for a longer one. 

he smiled at that— you felt it, and he reciprocated the kiss 10x harder.  

 as he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, he murmured with his voice low. “question,”

“what is it?” you breathed out, still catching your breath. 

“does it genuinely annoy you when i tickle you like that?” he asked, his voice bare of any teasing, “don’t lie, please.” he added on. 

“besides, i can be very perceptive of micro-expressions, and i can feel your heartbeat against me right now.” 

you let out a little laugh, even though your heart was doing somersaults in that moment. xander was possibly  the most caring person you’d ever met —he was a deeply empathetic person underneath his rube goldberg obsessions and masks of humor he used so often.

“no,” you said truthfully, “i don’t actually get annoyed, i could never actually get annoyed at you. why?” 

you felt his breath hitch against your lips, a very un-xander like manner. “your micro-expressions and heart rate indicate you’re telling me the truth.” he muttered. 

how did he sound hot talking about micro expressions and heart rates?

then you realized, he was expertly dodging your question on “why?”.

“because it is the truth.” you muttered back, smiling a little as you watched him pull back too see your eyes better. 

he didn’t say anything after that— in lieu of words, he pressed another sweet kiss to your lips. he wasn’t one to expose his worries or be vulnerable very often, and you understood that. he’s opened before about people saying he’s ‘too much’ and how it sometimes gets to him, but in all honesty, you could never get enough of him.   

as you felt the warmth of his hands on your face and your lips moved across his in rhythm, a thought crossed your mind: 

if that’s what you get for telling him he was funny, you’d start telling him he’s a world class comedian now. 

tag list: @charsoamerican @ariabedumb @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary

@whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle

@sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee i love u guys 🙈🙈 if you’d like to be removed or added lmk!!

[the-way-astray]

what is going on

let me take you back to half a week ago, when this first started.

it all starts with a simple notification. i click on it, thinking it's an innocent ask, or perhaps an anon wanting to pick a fight with me. i am a notorious keefe hater in this fandom, after all. let's see what the anons have to throw at me this time. if only that small, innocent, little me from four days ago had known. the notification was nothing short of a snake, hiding in the grass, waiting to strike.

it was alayda. she'd dared me to write something *horrified gasp* positive about keefe. she thought me, a notorious keefe hater, couldn't possibly have anything nice to say about my least favorite guy? well, i'd show her. i typed out a truly magnificent pro keefe essay, if i do say so myself. tumblr fought me the entire time, trying to delete half of it, but i persevered, and eventually posted it.

i had no idea what was coming for me. over the next few hours, i began to get truly heinous asks, questioning my commitment to my keefe hatred, and generally slandering my reputation. at the time, i'd thought this was as bad as it could get. but, oh. oh, no, no, no. as edaline ruewen said, "hindsight is a dangerous game". now i know that it could get worse than i could possibly even begin to imagine. and it did.

that same day, i got the ask. the one that changed everything. i responded in horrified horror, terrified terror, because i knew everything was about to change. and the next day, it appeared that other anons had followed in the first anon's footsteps. it was decided that me and keefe would be an enemies-to-lovers romance. our ship name was to be strieefe. an anon went to the official poll blog, @/do-you-ship-this-book-couple. i changed my ask box title to "KEEFE WOULD NOT LIKE ME" and got an anon about it. they started going to katie's ask box.

the debate ramped up. more people became aware. people, both anon and not, began to choose sides. i began offering badly drawn sketches to people who sided against this atrocious excuse for a ship. i should probably be making those instead of typing this out. whoopsie. i fought the anons that disagreed with me with a desperation akin to a rat caught in a trap, but my thrashing appeared to only attract more unhinged anons.

i then got my first anon that made a genuine attempt to explain why this horrible ship could theoretically work. they were wrong, of course, but i appreciate the effort. as i've explained countless times, the real relationship me and keefe would have if he were real would be one-sided hatred. i would hate him with a passion that can't be adequately described by the english language, and he'd be entirely unaware of my existence.

then! a miracle! an anon sent an ask to quil about strieefe, and i can only assume they wanted quil to analyze why we'd be good together. but quil, i never should've doubted quil. the response was a fantastically constructed analysis on why i was right about how i'd have one-sided rage toward keefe. but my delight dimmed significantly when i saw that fin, someone whom i'd previously trusted, had thrown his support behind this awful ship and even drawn fanart of me and keefe. i swiftly demoted him from the spot he had previously shared with max: "favorite fintanposter".

the anons got more unhinged. i began to be shipped with non-keefe main cast characters, sometimes monogamously, sometimes not. i bravely faced the assault, tearing the anons' arguments to shreds with my logical explanations as to why i would not be a good fit for any of them. this led to me posting a poll at the insistence of one anon, which is still open.

just as the waters were looking significantly less treacherous, just as it seemed i may make it to shore without drowning, a new development occurred. i got an ask from alayda, who as you may remember, is the one that started all this. this is entirely her fault. i'd expected maybe a heartfelt apology, perhaps a plea for forgiveness. but no. her ask was but an ominous warning, one i could not make sense of. i pondered the meaning as i stared at it. and then. horror upon horrors, it appeared in my inbox. i read through it in horrified horror, and my rickety little boat was once more swept out to sea.

it was a fanfic. a terribly written, horribly wattpad-ified, y/n-ish fanfic. i tore it to shreds thoroughly, taking pleasure as the scraps of the work of the one who had brought all this sorrow upon me fell in loose tatters all around me. i dusted off my hands and left it at that.

but it continued. even as i type this out, there is a part two to that horrific fanfic sitting in my inbox, which alayda is pestering me to post. there's also a part one to another anon fanfic, which is written relatively well, which arguably makes it even worse than alayda's. then there's yet another poem written about me and keefe by emelin, which also sits in my inbox, gathering dust as i attempt to piece the broken shards of my sanity back together.

all this to say, join the correct side of this debate. we have badly drawn sketches and braincells. be on the right side of history.

[throneofsapphics]

what if you wrote a manorian x reader where she says something wrong in public, and giving them some attitude but as the day goes by, she thinks they’ll forget about it but then they are in private again and they definitely did NOT forget 🫦 (🌶️)

paying the price

Manorian x f!Reader

Warnings: d/s dynamics, spanking, fingering, smut, hint of fluff, minors dni ... almost pure smut honestly

A/N: thank you for the request! 

You’d snapped at them, several times. The first few, they brushed off - but you could sense their irritation growing. Irritation and curiosity - it was so at odds with your general demeanor. But, the gala and meetings put you on edge. Dealing with courtiers could do that to anyone. Manon, even. However, considering that’s usually her default she was excused. Not that she actually needed excusing. 

 Manon only raised a brow at you. Dorian’s lips curved at the edges, but it wasn’t one of his friendly smiles, one that promised something else would be heading towards you. You glanced at the clock. Three hours left of the ball, plenty of time for them to forget. Maybe you’d get lucky this time. 

After the last warning glare from Manon, you were on your best behavior. Smiling, all of the pleasantries, charming every courtier you could, not a single word, tone, or body language to hint any kind of displeasure. Gods, you really were pulling out all of the stops. 

And, as the night went on, and you had your final dance with Dorian - he didn’t act like anything was amiss, like he normally would if something was coming your way that night. Maybe you had gotten away with it. 

-

“Do you know what happens to brats?” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” you said - pushing as much innocence into your voice as you could, keeping your shoulders relaxed as you busied yourself making tea. Maybe if you acted like nothing was wrong, it could be brushed under the rug. 

Every muscle in your body tensed as Dorian wound his fist through your hair, gripping lightly. Not tugging, not at the point of pain, but showing you a reminder of who exactly was in control. His breath warmed your neck, lips barely grazing over your ear, “they’re taught a lesson,” you whimpered as his body pressed into yours, the marble counter digging into your hips. “Unless, of course, they make an adequate apology.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” you protested, realizing a second too late that you were as good as admitting your guilt. Manon scoffed from across the room. His grip tightened in your hair, the beginning of pain twinging along your scalp. 

“Did you count?” Dorian asked her. 

“Seven.” 

Gods, you hadn’t realized it was that many. Dorian’s hand curved around your neck, gripping the front of your throat lightly as you swallowed. 

“Once or twice, maybe even three times you could’ve gotten away with,” he nipped where your dress slid to bare your shoulder. “But seven?” 

Your ears were accustomed to their movements, the intentions behind them, and sure enough you heard Manon stalk across the room, predatory intent coming from her in waves. “Seven too many,” she hissed. Neither of them were very forgiving, but Manon was worse. 

“You remember your safeword?” She asked. You gave a weak nod. “Say it.” 

“Chaol.” You were intoxicated when you came up with it, and despite your attempts - they refused to change it. Sure enough, Dorian chuckled behind you. The small smile curling at your lips faded quickly as he took a step back, releasing his grip on your throat, and you heard the sounds of his belt coming undone. 

A small curse under your breath, and Manon slid in front of you, dislodging your grip on the counter. She pushed you back, kicking your legs further apart, and gripping your upper arms, relieving some of the pressure of holding your own body up and left you half-bent over, still clothed. Dorian could’ve easily used his magic, but having Manon there told you he wanted both of them involved. 

“You’ll be a good girl and count, won’t you?” Dorian said, as Manon tightened her grip on your arms - apparently she didn’t believe so, and it only strengthened your resolve to prove her wrong. 

“Yes,” you breathed, and he knelt behind you, calloused hands running up your calves, the dress sliding up with them. Each movement was sensual, your entire body lighting up at just his touch, as he gathered the dress around your waist, pressing in on your lower back. Arching, you realized, arching your back so it wouldn’t fall. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, Manon humming in agreement. The tell tale whistle of a belt through the air, and you squealed as it hit, right beneath the curve of your ass. “Count,” he didn’t need to say or it’ll go up. 

“One,” your voice was steady. For now. You knew how to pace yourself. Another whistle, another strike - your ass this time. “Two,” you began to tremble, wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking the thin scrap of lace covering you. Each one you counted, voice and body shaking more and more as it went on, from pain or budding pleasure, you couldn’t tell. 

The last came, hitting between your thighs, your body jolted, dress starting to fall as you clenched your legs together, trapping the strap of leather between. Dorian laughed, passing it over your head. Manon released you to take it from him, and Dorian barely caught you as you crumbled. Burnt gold eyes met yours, never breaking your gaze as her tongue darted out, cleaning your arousal. 

Gods. You could orgasm just from that site, just from the way she watched you, eyes gleaming. Belt forgotten, tossed behind on the counter, she crossed the distance separating the two of you. Her mouth met yours, aggressive all-consuming, tongue sliding between your lips so you could taste yourself, Dorian barely holding you upright. She pulled back just as you began to struggle for breath. 

“That was your reward.” 

Barely, just fucking barely, you kept the whimper from escaping you. Dorian’s arm curled under your knees, the other resting behind your shoulders, and carted you off to the bathroom. 

A warm bath later, you laid face down on the bed as he rubbed some kind of ointment into the small welts left behind. You thanked the gods he hadn’t been using his full strength - otherwise you might’ve felt it as you sat for weeks. 

“Can you be quiet?” He murmured in your ear. You twisted your head to look at him, at the mischief dancing in his eyes, and nodded. Manon was in the sitting room, going over some correspondence from the Witch Kingdom. 

Two fingers ran up your folds, your teeth dug painfully into your bottom lip. He gathered the wet still between your thighs, swirling over your clit in firm motions - the ones he knew would finish you quickly. Dorian wasn’t wasting any time, and less then two minutes later your fists clenched the sheets, face pressed into the comforter to smother your moans and whimpers. 

Hands gripped your hips, turning you onto your back as he chuckled, tongue swirling around the two fingers he’d used. A soft smile crept onto your face as you melted into the bed, sighing in content. 

“Remember who’s the nice one,” he whispered - so low you almost missed it, but low enough immortal hearing couldn��t catch on. A secret for the two of you.

[those2fireboys]

Sticky Lungs

Chapter 1??? (idk if this is anything so we'll see if i keep going)

meeks angst? anybody??

There is a severe lack of steven meeks content within the dps fandom so i have taken it upon myself to torture the man.

Inspired by allelon ruggiero saying meeks dies in the vietnam war.

"Meeks reached forward and picked up the magic burning paper. He ripped open the envelope with the tip of his index finger like his father always had. 

“Order to Report for Induction” 

Meeks sighed. "

TAGS: Steven Meeks, Meeks-Centric, Angst, Post-Canon, Vietnam War, other poets mentioned

A/N: WE’RE FUDGING THE NUMBERS OKAY? 

I simply refuse to believe that meeks willingly went into the military and he would have been too old for the draft SO IM CHANGING THE NUMBERS.

allelon ruggiero has plagued my life with vietnam war angst, take it up with him.

1968

Sighing— it's a wretched function of the body when you really think about it. The lungs are wet, fragile things, they often stick together and make it difficult for oxygen to make its way through and touch the blood. A sigh is a deep breath that cleaves the lungs open, ripping them away from themselves and filling the cavity with an adequate amount of air.

Sticky lungs. It's a thought that needles its way into the brain only when a prevailing silence has made itself known. A thought that makes a shudder run down your spine and forces you to think too hard about the inner workings of oneself.

Steven Meeks sat alone in his apartment as he so often did these days. A sigh forced its way through his chest. That phrase— “sticky lungs,” bullied it way into his head making him shake in a desperate attempt to rid the words from his mind. He stood, and in an attempt to banish the silence responsible for the thought, he picked up a vinyl. 

Any record. Play any sound. Any sound would rid the apartment of the thick silence making it hard to breath and clogging his throat. 

Something Meeks vaguely recognized as The Velvet Underground played. He didn't know when he grabbed it, how he got from the shelf of music to the record player, or how long he was standing there listening, but the first song on the album was coming to a close. 

There was something of a routine becoming clear in his movements, he didn't realize he had one before but would his movements really be so automatic if he didnt? It didn't take much thought to place the english muffin in the toaster, or stir powdered creamer into a mug of black coffee.

Eventually he made his way back to the coffee table as I’ll Be Your Mirror began playing quietly  through the apartment. The bite of muffin tasted like ash and contrasted with the bright lilting voice of Nico filtering through his ears. 

An envelope sat in the middle of the table. When he first picked it up it felt as though it burned his finger tips. The letter was stiff and had large black letters reading  “[DO NOT BEND]�� emblazoned on it; Meeks knew exactly what it was. He wasn't stupid, he watched the news, he listened to the radio. Men born between 1942 and 1950 were placed in the draft lottery. Somewhere in the base of his skull he wondered if any of the other poets had received a letter. He wondered if the paper burned the skin of Pitts or Knox. He imagined seeing Charlie or Todd in a military camp across the world, covered in dirt and grime. Was he the only one? Was he the sole victim of the lottery?

Lottery, what an interesting choice of words. In another life he would be writing a poem about it, tearing apart the meaning and ringing prose out of the simple word, but at this moment every eloquent thought was punched from him. His coffee grew cold and the apartment grew silent again, the record having reached its end some minutes ago. 

Meeks reached forward and picked up the magic burning paper. He ripped open the envelope with the tip of his index finger like his father always had. 

“Order to Report for Induction” 

Meeks sighed. 

Sticky Lungs. Lottery. Sticky Lungs. Cold Coffee. Sticky Lungs. Do Not Bend. Sticky Lungs. 

Sticky Lungs. Pitts. Sticky Lungs. Todd. Sticky Lungs. Cameron. Sticky Lungs.

A deep breath. It reinflates your alveoli and forces your lungs to maximum capacity, maintaining proper lung function. 

A sigh of relief. A sigh of exasperation. A sigh of contentment. A sigh of defeat. A sigh of relaxation. 

And a sigh of sticky lungs. 

%%%%%

Two weeks is a very short time. Sure it sounds long, 14 days, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes. Its nearly intangible when you break it down like that. But when you are given two weeks to get your affairs in order before you are shipped off to a place you desperately dont want to go to, its very short.

Thats what they give you. 2 weeks. To tell your landlord (“you were a good tenant Steven”), to quit your job (“I’ll be sad to see you go”), and to call your parents (“No.”)

Or maybe, two weeks is impossibly long. You have one million things to do, to wrap up, but they all seem to end with relative ease. Suddenly its been a week and everything is lined up. Suddenly in seven days, the life you’ve built has been torn down piece by piece. 

The job you stressed for and sweat bullets over the interview, given away to someone else. 

The apartment you searched for, for weeks, spent tireless hours decorating, empty and looking for a new tenant. 

The vinyl collection you’ve cultivated since highschool packed in boxes and placed in your fathers disused office.

Its frightening. How neatly it all is packed away. How simply it all falls into place. You open a letter and the world comes to a screeching halt, for you. For everyone else the clock kept ticking, the day kept going, and the world kept spinning. 

Either impossibly fast or agonizingly slow, two weeks pass. Meeks is off. His life packed into boxes and goals kindly tucked between his ribs for another day, year, decade. He thought to call his friends before he left, even going as far as dialling Pitt’s number before losing the nerve and hanging up the phone. He regretted it as he boarded the plane. He should have called, written a letter, something. 

The ground beneath him dropped and tears threatened to prick in his eyes, fear tumbled from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers. 

What if he never spoke to them again, would his mother think to call his friends from Welton if his body came home in a box? Or would she be to wracked with grief that she couldn’t remember he ever had them. 

Would he join the ranks as a dead poet or would he live as a simple pledge another day?

He should have called Gerard.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Survivors

The Pretenders have made attempts to spread. Efforts have been made to stop them, however fear amongst the Decepticons is growing. The Pretenders are appearing more and more often, always being cut down before they can return to their abominable creator. The Cons learn more with every Pretender killed, but the survivors still bear the scars.

Damus wishes more than anything else that he could have minded his own business long enough to not get involved.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Damus never intended to get involved. He already had enough to deal with considering his outlier ability, his faltering memory, and the fact that empurata had done extensive damage to his ability to function normally. He didn't have the time or the motivation to join up with either faction when the war began, at least at first. He knew Orion Pax, well he knew of him at any rate. He was also familiar with Megatron's doctrine. As such, he took his time trying to decide which faction he would inevitably end up siding with. War would force him to choose eventually, but he was slow in his selection. There was no need to rush, not yet.

He saved up shanix, doing odd jobs for both sides as peace talks began to occur. Maybe he wouldn't even need to pick. At least, that was his hope as he got his life together. With the senate in disarray, they didn't care for the fact that he went to a medic and payed an absurd amount to receive a new set of servos and a proper face. Things were looking up for him and he couldn't have been more thrilled when his old mentor called upon him to do odd jobs and run calculations. Damus didn't know why Shockwave wanted him to collect seemingly random fauna and flora from on and off world, but he did as instructed and was paid handsomely for his services.

Part of him wanted to question, but after the Senate and his prior empurata- No, he refused to risk it. He was getting his life together and he was going to keep things stable. That was his hope. But of course, just as he found himself a spot working as a field scientist for a research facility, everything went to slag. Orion Pax dropped off the face of creation and in turn the war went to the pits and back. Both sides were in an uproar, so Damus tried to steer clear of it. That of course did not last, not when during an expedition underground for a few stellar cycles to escape the horrors of war, he met a mech who was far larger than he remembered.

"You are Damus."

"Orion Pax. It is a surprise to see you here."

"I come in search of the Matrix of Leadership. Do you know its location?"

"Legend says it returned to Primus after Sentinel offlined."

"Do you know the path to Primus's core?"

"Maybe? I can try, but I don't work for free Pax. I am not the lost mech you knew. I have a life, a job. I am not risking it by helping out the Autobots without something in return."

"You desire payment?"

"Obviously. I know the tunnels well enough to get you going in the right direction at any rate."

"That is sufficient. Should you complete this task adequately, you will be rewarded in due time."

There was something very off about the mech who Damus was pretty sure was Orion. But he decided whatever it was, he didn't want to get involved. Orion had been gone for stellar cycles, probably on this foolish mission. It was in his best interest to get Pax where he needed to be so he could get his aft but up to the surface and stop the panic. And so that's just what he did. He walked Orion down the right paths until he didn't trust his memory to lead him further. Orion, or at least the mech who looked a great deal like Orion, watched him with calculating optics and nodded before vanishing into the dark. He decided then and there that he didn't even want to be paid, not when this mech was staring lasers into his spark during their entire walk.

Not his problem. Not his problem.

That was what he chanted to himself as Optimus Prime emerged onto the battlefield not long later and Damus found himself with no choice but to join up with the Decepticons for his own safety. Something was very wrong with Optimus Prime, although he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was. He was just WRONG and looking back at the tunnel incident, Damus regretted guiding him. He did everything in his power to steer clear despite being with the Cons technically. His hope was that by staying in the city of Tarn, he could keep away from whatever was going on in the war. Being a researcher behind the lines was his safest bet. He didn't even care about trying to make something of himself. The job could frag itself now that he had his face and servos. He just wanted to stay as far away from all of it as he could. Whenever he left the safety of Tarn for whatever reason, he seemed to run into trouble.

Optimus met his gaze twice from a distance. Damus purged after each incident. The Prime was focused on him, and something deep in his spark told him that was a death sentence. A few times he caught sight of another one who gave him unsettling feelings. A yellow scout, one who the records stated was designated as Bumblebee once he finally worked up the willpower to look him up. Then there was the third, the last one that confirmed Damus's fears. Ratchet was the CMO of Cybertron before the war, but now he was on the battlefront every now and then... and he was different. There were rumors that he got ill and then miraculously recovered. But looking at him from a distance? Damus got that same feeling, the one he got when he saw Optimus. Those three were wrong, and so he tried not to leave Tarn for his own safety.

He was concerned to say the least. But he was safe in Tarn. Of course that was fine until Megatron began laying down rules that Damus and many others didn't understand. There were constant warnings about an infection originating from Autobot lines. Medics were suddenly being trained en masse and were promptly put absolutely everywhere. Medical procedures grew more invasive and frequent, constant sanitation became the norm, and any soldier that presented even the slightest behavioral difference after battle was taken away, often never to be seen again. There was also the sudden appearance of strange armor suits that mecha amongst the Decepticons began to wear. There were whole propaganda campaigns urging every soldier to get the suits for their own protection. The bulky things covered every possible part of the frame, and somehow Damus got the distinct impression that something darker was going on behind the scenes. Things weren't adding up.

His fears were confirmed when Optimus Prime decided it was time to give Damus his payment.

Damus had no time to react when the Autobots launched an attack on Tarn shortly after the destruction of the Senate. Damus hid with the rest of the non combatants, but the Prime was quick to appear on the battlefield and tracked Damus down like a bloodhound when he tried to run. Optimus Prime found him huddled amidst the ruins of the bombed out fortress he called home for so long. And it was there that the Prime, no, the monster, ruined his entire life.

"I promised you payment. I have come to offer it."

"GET AWAY!"

"You are one of his students. You will be useful."

"Primus no-!"

He could only scream as the thing's jaw came apart, splitting into a maw of mandibles. Then just as quickly, a squirming bug of some sorts was lowered toward his right optic. It was agony as the thing wormed its way into him, and all the while the monster above him seemed to smile in its convoluted way. All he knew was pain as the thing left in a hurry and he was promptly collected and dragged away to a place he didn't know.

He remembered medics, dozens of them all practically buried under the protective suits the posters were always advertising. He remembered screaming in agony as they worked on him, doing something to his helm and much of his torso. But then it ended, and Damus was left in an isolated room, strapped down to his berth with heavy chains, and standing before him was the one and only Megatron who also wore the suit.

"What in Primus's name happened to me?"

"You were infected with the Pretender larva. We managed to remove the larva itself, but its roots have already spread."

"What does that means? What is this?"

"Listen closely Damus. We don't know where it came from, but the Pretenders are creatures that infest a host and devour them in order to wear their frames as disguises. Optimus Prime is one of these creatures."

"Then he-"

"He spread the infection to others, including yourself. We have found hundreds of others like you in various stages of infection. We have done everything we can to reverse the effects, but all we have accomplished is slowing it down."

"So... I am going to die?"

"Yes. We slowed the infection to a crawl and your life will be extended through frequent surgeries to remove the largest of the roots. However, it will kill you one cycle."

"I will become one of those monsters."

"Only if you give in. We have installed an explosive in your processors that will eliminate you at a moment's notice. This is not out of cruelty, but merely to ensure you cannot become another tool for the Pretender plague."

"I see..."

"You will die, but you need not do so without honor. You carry part of the Pretender genome. With it, you will likely find you have new abilities, most notably, an inbuilt radar which will point toward other Pretenders."

"You want to make me a tool."

"I offer you a choice. You can die here with a quick and painless offlinement, or you can serve us and use your curse to ensure others do not suffer the same fate."

"How many have died due to this?"

"Thousands. We find more every cycle. The thing that calls itself Prime is prolific and must be eradicated."

"Then... I will serve. I will make sure this CURSE cannot spread."

"Good. We will have need of you Damus."

"Please, call me Tarn. I want that monster to know that the city it destroyed yet lives on. That I still remain defiant."

Damus, or rather Tarn took one look at his face and knew what he needed to do. The larva had buried itself into him, and so to remove it, his face that he spent so long achieving was now devastated. However in his rage, he found he didn't care. He wasn't afraid anymore. That monster took his entire life from him. Condemned him to eventual death alongside countless others. He refused to let the newly named Pretenders be. Not after everything.

He wanted to not be involved. But now he had no choice. Passivity got him infected. And so until he perished, he would fight. He could feel the new strength that hummed in his fuel lines. Evidently, the Pretenders were more than simple infiltrators. The world was brighter, more noisy, and far less frightening. The thing within him would kill him, but until it did, he had its strength as its own.

The Pretenders were going to DIE.

With Megatron's aid, Tarn was given access to all he needed. Every moment was spent on the hunt, and the few he found in time to save quickly joined his ranks. Other mecha, each survivors of the larva. Together they grew in number and slaughtered the Pretenders in their cradles. The things were so very weak when young. Tarn could feel the rage of the one called Prime. But he merely smiled as time went on. Every Pretender killed was one less threat. Megatron's warnings now made perfect sense.

An infection was spreading across Cybertron, and Tarn was going to stop it.

[eye-may]

Any Demeter headcanons??

of course!! demeter is intimately woven into the fabric of my cats continuation

her backstory is pretty grim and sad, and I'm gonna reference issues like abandonment, animal neglect, and relationship toxicity and abuse (i.e., manipulation, false imprisonment) so beware if you're sensitive to such things.

I think Demeter was born to a feral alley cat in one of the more troubled areas of London. mom, like many unsocialized and neglected feral cats, is in poor health. a trash man happened to find the inchoate family and kindly took them in, off the cold and wet cobblestone --- he took care of the kittens for a while and then tried his best to find homes for them. ultimately, Demeter was given to a friend of his, a man with a wife and a couple young kids. being separated from her mother and siblings was difficult for Demeter in particular, who deeply valued closeness and touch, and had constantly been in search of tactile interactions with her littermates.

unfortunately, the home she ended up in just wasn't right for her. the humans cared for her adequately and gave her a collar, but there were already pets that had been living with them --- and, unfortunately, they did not take kindly to Demeter's attempts at soliciting tactile comfort. the human children were loud and unpredictable, not very suited to cuddling themselves. the adults were kind enough, but had their hands full between work, family, and pets, and so they didn't have much wherewithal to devote to baby Demeter's specific emotional needs.

not long after being homed, the adult human male seemingly "disappeared," and the animals (especially Demeter, the newest addition, and seemingly more "independent" than the dogs...because she's a cat, right??) could enjoy even less nurturing now that the adult human female no longer had her partner. she and the children would leave the house for hours every day, and Demeter often found herself alone with the dogs.

desperate for comfort, she began exiting the house through the doggy doors. At first, she gravitated naturally towards the alley where she had been born, wanting to find the kind garbage man again. alone and naive and young, she struggled with adjusting to her indoor/(mostly)outdoor lifestyle. she didn't know how to approach stranger cats. she'd stumble into cliques and colonies, only to get rejected or ostracized. of course it wasn't ALL bad; Demeter managed to stumble across some friendly cats --- but none that could or would provide the constancy she didn't fully realize she craved.

this all took place and went on for the course of about a year or so, and culminated in when she eventually ran into a very tall, very alluring, and very persuasive older cat. his effect on her was immediate; it was like he knew exactly what she had been craving for so long --- physical touch, gentleness, patience, a warm smile, a quiet, soothing voice. she returned to him with increasing frequency. one thing led to another and it wasn't along before her voluntary attachment to him turned into something grimmer; he began not allowing her to leave when she wanted. she started seeing different sides of him; angry, domineering, threatening behaviors surfaced. Demeter, of course, became so desperately confused. but just when she started to pull away --- Macavity escalated his association with her to fullblown captivity and brought her to his 'lair' or whatever you'd call it. a textbook manipulator, his behavior was erratic while he pulled out every crushed-velvet platitude; we were meant to be together, I can't live without you, nobody understands you like I do, I'm the only one who can take care of you, you'll never find someone who loves you like I do, etc. etc. etc. Macavity was the first one who ever seemingly supplied her with the physical affection she had craved since kittenhood, and she knew little else...maybe he was right, and maybe leaving one horrible circumstance would send her careening back into another: into pitch dark isolation and loneliness. was it better to be held and hurt, than to never be held at all?

when she's brought to Macavity's layer is when her story zippers into those of Tugger's, Grizabella's, and Bombalurina's. suffice to say --- Tugger and Bomb, separately, displayed a sort of respect and restraint that she had never known, in a way that was totally different from the way Macavity treated her when their relationship began. Tugger was rough around the edges, as only the younger brother of Macavity could be...but, his eyes and his mannerisms and his scent and even his aura...it was all just so different. he wouldn't capitalize on Demeter's vulnerabilities and insecurities the way Macavity would, even when the latter would encourage him to. he never showed any sign of wanting or expecting anything from her. and yet, he showed every other sign of egoism, of self-motivation, of unsettling grandiosity...Demeter just didn't know what to make of him. but she began to glean that despite all that...he would never hurt her.

Bombalurina was something else entirely. She was Macavity's most constant and most salacious partner. Demeter expected the typical ilk of her previous interactions with stranger cats; harshness, caginess, competitiveness, judgment. but, Bombalurina was none of those things, not to her. instead...she was gentle, soothing, welcoming, and seemingly so...genuine. Demeter saw something in Bombalurina's eyes that she literally had never seen before in any other cat; undistilled, unangled, unadulterated affection. when Bombalurina touched Demeter --- at first, a paw on her arm, featherlight and tentative --- it felt so warm, so real. almost like it was too good to be true.

by now, Demeter's disposition towards physical touch had been cruelly ratcheted backwards. she'd always crave it, but had grown to rue it, to doubt it, to associate the initial relief with inevitable betrayal and pain. slowly and steadily, her friendship with Bombalurina began to reverse that paradigm. Demeter would get away from Macavity only to look forward to the next time she'd get to be in the same room with Bombalurina, who knew and respected her boundaries. if Demeter wanted to fall asleep cuddling her, Bombalurina would indulge that desire. if she didn't want to be touched at all, Bombalurina wouldn't touch her. it felt so strange being...listened to and respected like that.

another of Macavity's perrennial partners was someone who was just as alluring and compelling as him, but she was a little older, and she was ethereally beautiful. Demeter only caught glimpsed of her though; she seemed to enjoy more independence than a lot of the other cats wound up in Macavity's syndicate.

She wasn't a prisoner of Macavity's for terribly long before that eccentric little brother of his approached her one night, beseeching her to make a run for it with him. she was confounded by the sudden development and was almost sure it was a trick; but she had been wanting some semblance of freedom so ardently...what did she really have to lose?

ultimately, it was Bombalurina who helped Tugger and Demeter get away from Macavity's patrolling henchcats...and Demeter was pleasantly shocked, and relieved, when her one true friend ultimately decided to join them. Demeter had seen how Bombalurina and Macavity were with each other; she was certain that Bomb loved him. but she had chosen Demeter over him? was their connection really so poignant?

back on the streets, neither Bombalurina nor Demeter had a clear idea of where to go or what to do. but before Demeter had time to suppose that she'd be wandering the alleyways of London again, aimless if not on the run from Macavity, Tugger told them that he "knew a place" where the three of them could go for refuge and be truly safe. Demeter, as always, was doubtful and afraid. maybe this was just another trick. maybe whereever Tugger would take them would be somehow worse. Bombalurina apparently had her reservations too; but she seemed willing to go along with Tugger, evidently calculating no superior alternatives. and because Bombalurina seemed to trust him just enough, so too did Demeter.

they took a trip a few miles north, away from the water, to a junkyard off a commercial block ablaze with lights and song and dance...and Demeter finally learned about the felinological allegiances and the Jellicle oaths. she might always be skittish, distrustful...but if it didn't feel so right to be called a Jellicle Cat!

At the junkyard too, Demeter would realize that she recognized one of its frequenters --- the same glamorous, beautiful cat that occasioned Macavity's lair. the two developed something of a friendship, or more like an unspoken air of solidarity, a mutual understanding that was seldom elucidated on but understood. Demeter wasn't too sure about this Glamour Cat...this Grizabella...but something about her felt comforting. when she eventually left on bad terms...Demeter felt more heartbroken than she'd ever let on without fully knowing why; it wasn't the least because, however, she made the decision to pledge her allegiance to Macavity. when she returned all that time later, and Demeter could see the way she deteriorated...Demeter looked at her and saw something like a version of herself that would have materialized if she hadn't gotten away.

Demeter, up to the events of the musical (and onward) never fully shed the corrosive aftereffects of her past. she's one of the flightier Jellicles; venturing out when she becomes overwhelmed, when the junkyard communes with other colonies, when someone says or does something that sets her on edge. she sometimes takes the trip back to her humans' house, still wanting to check on them and get the occasional passive head scratch, and indulge in the kibble they offer her. she always, eventually, finds her way back home to the junkyard.

she still misses the garbage man. maybe she'll happen to see him again one day?

[afterdarkwithsam]

what is ichi and aki's first time like

Ehhh, it went about well as you'd expect it to go. With two adult virgins whose only points of reference are the media that they consume to get off, things were a bit awkward at first. With Ichimatsu being a virgin because he was 'trash' and Aki being a virgin because men are generally intimidated by her, it was a miracle that the two even found each other. It was discovered that Aki was a natural switch and Ichimatsu was such a bottom that he could turn into a top if asked to. The "Ichimatsu-sama" some may know Ichi for is just his sex-sona that he can let slip sometimes, on accident or otherwise.

Something they had gotten quite good at by the time they were ready to have sex for the first time was foreplay. Making out and humping each other like wild animals, yeah, good stuff.

Ichimatsu is absolutely pussy whipped when it comes to giving oral to Aki. He slobbers and drools all over her whenever he eats her out, yeah he's a messy eater, not that Aki minded. She is no different. She was balls enough to ask Ichimatsu to try and fuck her mouth the first time around... She gaged.

They settled on using a condom for their first go.

When the time came for Ichmatsu to push in, they wanted to just be vanilla and... Fuck with nothing else to spice it up. That didn't last, however. As Aki begged and moaned to have her brains fucked out while Ichimatsu bruised the skin around her neck and collarbone, covering it in hickeys and bites. Aki did return the favour as well, chomping down on Ichimatsu's shoulder and earlobe as she whispered absolute filth into his ear, and sucking on his neck. So much about staying civil...

This accumulated into a climax that left them seeing stars, which was some intense shit, Aki could barely speak as the two laughed it off. Was their first-time experience supposed to be this explosive? Ichimatsu did do his best to provide poor Aki with adequate aftercare through his post-nut haze before his moment of clarity which he used to attempt to jump through Aki's window screaming "PUNISHMENT!!!"

"ICHI NO WE'RE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR!!!!"

All is well that ends well though, right? After being pulled away from her window, Aki laid on top of Ichimatsu and cuddled him until they both passed out, which didn't take long, all things considered.

The next morning they were awakened by Reginald scratching at the door and meowing quite loudly as a way to demand breakfast.

[leaderpinhead]

Trein - Adoption

Mozus released a deep sigh and closed his book. Lucius gave him a small meow before curling into a tighter ball in his lap. Mozus gave the feline a generous scratch behind the ear while he glanced around the small space that was his “home-away-from-home.” 

It was a cozy space—with a functioning fireplace, ample shelving for his history books, and an adequate kitchenette to brew his afternoon tea. His only complaint would be being able to hear Ashton and Percival when their drinking games went a bit too far, but that was the caveat for living on the campus with the other staff. Even now, he could hear the two men giggling through the walls, their Friday night drinking already started. 

Speaking of time…Lucius gave a huff when Mozus moved him just enough to retrieve the pocket watch from his pocket. The girls should be calling him soon, as they usually did when their stepmother finished her call to Asher. He had a bit to tell her tonight, especially concerning Palacios and his escalating antics with transformation potions. She had laughed off his concerns last week—stating Asher had assured her his little friend was harmless—but Mozus knew he could rally her support when he told her... 

A short knock on his door brought his strategizing to a halt. With an upset mewl, Lucius jumped from his lap when Mozus beckoned him. Pocketing his watch, Mozus shuffled across the room to open the door. 

He quirked a brow when he found Divus standing outside his door, looking like he had just sniffed the foulest potion he could possibly brew. “Yes?” 

Divus’s eyes rudely flicked up and down. “I didn’t realize you owned something other than a suit.” 

Mozus scowled at the young professor. Lucius emitted an unhappy rumble as he wrapped himself around Mozus’s ankles. “Did you knock on my door simply to insult my wardrobe?” 

One corner of Divus’s mouth quirked upwards. “Perhaps that would have been a reason when I was still a student, but at this age I’m...” Divus paused. His brow caved inward, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled. “I’m in need of advice.” 

Sensing the sober undertones in the younger professor’s voice, Mozus stepped aside and gestured Divus into his small apartment. Divus stepped in and quickly maneuvered around the room to stand in front of the two chairs framing the bookshelf. Divus didn’t sit until Mozus gestured him to, which earned him a bit of respect. Divus had been an outspoken rebel many years ago when he first stepped into Mozus’s classroom as a student, but that rebellion had tempered a bit during his tenure as a professor. He was still a bit of a hellion at times, but there was a maturity to it now that helped Mozus have a bit more patience. In front of the students at least. 

Mozus carefully sat across from Divus. He made a small gesture for Lucius to jump into his lap, which the feline did without hesitation. Lucius’s loud purr became background noise while he spoke. “I assume the advice you're searching for is on a serious topic. Over the last decade you have taught here, you have never once sought me outside of school hours.” 

Divus hummed his agreement. He shifted in the chair until one leg stretched comfortably across the other. The casual posture brought more attention to his foot jiggling in the air. “I know you haven’t made it public knowledge, but Asher Kindle is your stepson.” 

Mozus didn’t attempt to hide his surprise at the statement. “Indeed, he is. Though his mother and I both agreed it was for the best he maintain his father’s surname. I had believed that would keep anyone from drawing a connection between us after he enrolled.” 

Divus twitched one hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not here to accuse you of favoritism. I’m sure anyone would immediately catch on to such a thing considering your reputation among the students.” That singular curl of Divus’s lips returned when Mozus scowled at him. It quickly drooped again, and his foot jiggled a bit more. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you fully adopt the boy?” 

Mozus blinked, and his annoyance simmered once more into surprise. Lucius’s tail flicked under his chin when he stopped petting. “Indeed, I did. Just as my wife adopted my daughters. We are a family in every sense of the word.” 

Divus hummed and leaned back into his chair. His fingers steepled above his knee. “And the process—how difficult was it?” 

Mozus copied Divus’s motions, leaning into his chair and resuming his petting motions for Lucius’s enjoyment. “It was fairly easy. All that was required was our signing a few official documents.” Mozus quirked one brow. “It helped that there wasn’t another biological parent to contest the adoption and all of the children were born in Twisted Wonderland.” 

Divus gave him a nasty scowl, but Mozus challenged him with a haughty stare. The younger man wanted his advice, and Mozus wasn’t keen to dance around the topic he wished to address. When Divus’s lips remained tightly shut, Mozus continued. “In the case of Maddox, there isn’t much point in venturing down that path. At eighteen, he is considered a legal adult. I would advise more of a power of attorney status in that situation. That way if anything were to happen to the boy, you would be the one to make important decisions concerning his welfare, not his dubious father. 

“As for Yuu...” Mozus hummed. “That is a trickier matter. On paper, the child doesn’t exist. If the headmage fails to find a way to send the child home, then that may become an issue when the school year ends. At the very least, the child could become a ward of the state.” 

“Only because the child doesn’t exist on paper,” Divus repeated. His jiggling foot had calmed a bit. “Say there were papers that existed...papers that only needed another person to witness the signing…” 

Before Mozus could question the odd insinuation, another knock sounded at his door. Divus jumped up before Mozus could and opened the door without hesitation. Percival hiccupped as he took a swaying step into the room, his lanky form bending like a piece of grass in the wind. He saluted Divus, plastering his pink bangs against his forehead. “Dr. Percival Ellington—Head Nurse of Night Raven College—at your service, ringmaster.” 

“I thought I told you to hold off on drinking so early,” Divus snapped. “You’re already plastered.” 

“No, I'm—.” A hiccup interrupted Percival. He rapidly blinked and paused long enough to appear baffled by his surroundings. He giggled. “I use plaster for booboos.” 

Divus clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “You can still recite your name, which is good enough. Come here.” 

Percival allowed himself to be guided over to the chairs. He gave Mozus a friendly wave. “Heya, professor! Wanna come share a drink with me an’ Gassy? We’re gonna celebrate Dee being a new daddy!” 

Mozus didn’t bother answering Percival. Instead, he watched Divus pull a small packet of paper from the inside pocket of his coat and flatten the pages against the nearby side table. He shot a narrowed stare at Percival before manhandling the nurse into a position on the opposite side of the table. “Percy, just stand there and watch us sign the papers.” 

“Uh huh.” Aside from his loose movements and the slight slur in his speech, Mozus could almost believe the man was sober. Until he nearly faceplanted into the table. “I’ll watch real close!” 

Divus sighed and pushed Percival back into an upright position. “Just stand there, Percy. That’s all I ask.” 

“Okie dokie!” 

“Divus.” Mozus stood, placing Lucious into his chair. He stepped up to the table beside the younger men to get a better view of the papers Divus rapidly flipped through. His frown lengthened when he caught the heading of one page. “You can’t possibly think I would agree to this.” 

“You do tend to be a stickler for the rules,” Divus mumbled. His hand never paused scribbling his initials and exaggerated signature. “But tell me—what rules are we breaking exactly? You yourself admit the prefect doesn’t exist on paper. I’m simply creating the paper trail to give her existence legitimacy. It’s really no different than a doctor signing a birth certificate.” 

“Except you are no doctor,” Mozus snapped. “A child is no mere commodity to be flung around on a whim.” 

Divus sighed, and his pen finally paused. He straightened from his hunched posture. He tipped his chin higher and looked Mozus straight in the eye with an unwavering gaze. “I’m aware of that. Which is why I am creating an existence for the girl. On the off-chance Crowley doesn’t find a way to return her to her world—on the off-chance she has no world to return to. As a minor, she would become a ward of the state just as you said. Taken away from what she has become familiar with and thrust into a world she still grasps to understand. Do you think anyone would be interested in taking in a child her age? Do you think she would be allowed the freedom she has found here? Her mind would rot in the public education system, where she will be told her lack of magic is a defect that holds her back, though she’s proven a better grasp at potions and the understanding of magic basics than most mages twice her age. You would subject a girl to that life simply because of a technicality of her legal existence?” 

Mozus pressed his lips together. It wasn’t difficult for Divus to become...passionate on a topic. Mozus genuinely believed the younger man could have become the housewarden of Pomefiore dorm as a student had he shown more interest in potion making at the time. Tenacity was simply a nicer word than the bullheaded stubbornness Divus could embody when he wanted to. 

That wasn’t entirely what Mozus saw in Divus’s gaze though. The tension in his shoulders slackened a bit. He closed his eyes and rubbed at the sudden ache between his brows. “You could lose your position here if this forgery is discovered.” 

“Forgery implies these aren’t legitimate documents.” Mozus didn’t need to see Divus to hear the smirk on his face. “I assure these are completely legitimate along with the notarization stamped on them.” 

Mozus couldn’t help directing a sharp gesture at Percival, who could barely stand upright without Divus consistently pushing him back into place. “And I’m to believe Percival is the notary you chose to witness this signing?” 

Divus’s smirk widened. “As a matter of fact, yes.” 

Percival pulled a stamper from his pocket with a happy hiccup. “I gotta stamp too!” 

Mozus should have known. He had watched the two men—then students of Heartslabyul and Pomefiore—run amuck on the campus. Why wouldn’t they continue to support each other as staff? “And you truly believe you can fool the world into believing this child is a distant cousin you wish to gain guardianship over? What if someone from your family comes forward to expose you?” 

Divus’s expression barely shifted, but Mozus caught the hard glint that briefly passed over his eyes. “After fifteen years of openly shunning me and pretending I never existed? I would love to see them try. Now sign the damn papers, Trein. I only need your signature to prove it was really me who signed the papers and Percival who notarized them. I’ll even let you witness the papers when Maddox and I establish a power of attorney if that’ll help relieve that rule abiding Heartslabyul spirit of yours.” 

Sensing Divus wouldn’t budge, Mozus finally took the pen Divus held out to him and signed the lines Percival’s wobbly finger pointed at. Afterwards, while Divus reluctantly escorted a wobbly Percival back to Ashton’s apartment, Mozus flipped through the documentation. He paused on the front page. 

Yuki Crewel—a bit common, but an easy way to explain her “nickname” being Yuu. Mozus shook his head and placed the papers in a safe place for Divus to retrieve. He settled back in his chair with Lucious and searched his bookshelf for a new book to read while listening to Ashton’s and Percival’s loud voices insisting Divus join them. 

While he didn’t fully approve of Divus’s methods, he couldn’t deny the young man’s obvious attempts to give the two children under his wing one less thing in life to worry about. 

[fizziepopangel]

A Fizziepop Take: Let's talk about Stolas and Blitz's Relationship

There's a lot of controversy surrounding the healthiness of this relationship and because it's one of my favorite ships, I wanna break things down. Let's pop the top on this and get into it!

So to start, we have to look at how our favorite business imp and hellish prince learned about love. That of course starts waaaayyyyy back when with baby Stolas and Blizo before the 'o' was silent.

As children, neither boy was ever given a look at a healthy love, nor were they shown love in appropriate proportions. With the little we know of their backstories as of now, it seems that both boys got love primarily from their mothers while seeing their fathers there but not present.... In fact, their fathers are both portrayed as caring only about what the boys could do for them or what they represented at any given time rather than just caring about the boys as their children, with Paimon not even remembering his own son's name and needing to ask the imp assigned to care for him, and Buckzo actually selling his son off to virtual strangers for the day in hopes of robbing the royal family. While I haven't gotten a clear sense of what happened to their mothers, it seems that both women were removed from their children's lives somewhat early on; therefore taking the boys main source of love with them. Given the father figures they had, neither Blitz or Stolas were ever shown love from a masculine point of view, so they had to navigate that on their own.

Going into the two having to navigate love on their own because of the lack of love from parental figures, Blitz has attempted to look for love at almost every turn. This most likely would've resulted in a sting of relationships that were purely sexual or a sting of failed relationships, with Verosika probably being his longest lasting relationship.... Stolas on the other hand had his future planned for him and was told from his childhood that his future wife was already picked for him so he could sire a cautionary heir when the time came. While Blitz went from lover to lover looking for something without knowing what exactly that something was, Stolas tried to make the best of a marriage in which he was constantly reminded that he was unloved and abused.

Now, this is where I think it get's interesting. As he languished in a loveless marriage, Stolas was conditioned by his narcissistic wife to neglect his own emotional needs in order to keep up with meeting hers while also attempting to be a present father for Via once she was born. After not having experienced adequate familial love, then being shoved straight into a major relationship with someone who found her joy in abusing him physically, psychologically, and emotionally, Stolas believed he was supposed to be unwanted and unhappy. The love he knew was "I have to love my wife because....", and then the parental love between Via and him; a relationship that has also begun to hit the rocks because of Stolas not having an understanding of love and therefore getting lost in the slightest inkling of it with Blitz.

Blitz on the other hand, turned his need for love into something almost selfish. I believe he's afraid to be left alone, so in his mind, it makes the most sense to not let anyone too close and/or to be the first to run if something seems to feel too real. I'm inclined to believe that that's what happened with his relationship with Verosika Mayday since, as Moxxie says in the hallucinations in "Truth Seekers", Blitz has become a master of pushing those who do truly try to care about him as far away from him as impishly possible. With this self-sabotage, I believe he's trying to give people a reason to deem him unworthy of receiving love so that he actively knows why people leave rather than being left to wonder what he did wrong to make people want to leave him. The only people he truly seems mostly comfortable with are Millie, Moxxie, and Loona. Blitz's relationship with M&M is actually really interesting because the lack of boundaries he seems to have when it comes to them is linked to him wanting the kind of love they share but not understanding how to get it or what to do when he does because he's spent so much of his life alone and on the run from love like he's a wanted man.

So, now, we have two grown ass demons who struggle to express love while simultaneously craving it. Putting the two together seems logical at this point, so it wasn't super shocking that the ship became canon, but because neither man can express love properly, almost every move they make together seems toxic in some way, shape, or form. And the relationship already started out in a bad place, because of the agreement that was made. With the agreement in place the way it is, Stolas is in a position where he's holding a power over Blitz, and he knows this because when the agreement is made he is the one that puts it in place. This already gives off a very harsh dynamic between the two, but then you also have to add the fact that Stolas also feels like he is only being used for his grimoire. So now you have Blitz in a position where he feels that he is essentially no better than a blow up doll, and Stolas who feels like he is no more than a means to an end. If you add in the fact that both of these men are very bad at communicating, it makes things worse because there are no boundaries or limits set in place for either of them so neither man knows exactly where he stands or how far forward or backward he can step without changing the dynamic of the relationship completely, which is what we see in "Ozzie's".

In the episode "Ozzie's", we see stolas unintentionally change the dynamic of their relationship by not standing up for Blitz when Asmodeus and Fizz started going in on him. He didn't do it to be an asshole, he did it in a moment of panic and self-preservation. Growing up Stolas was constantly taught that he had an image to uphold, being a Prince of hell and dating or sleeping with an imp, which is one of the lowest classes of demons that we see, doesn't go with that image. Stolas has been shamed his entire life and made to feel insignificant and small, and always told if he was not upholding the family standard he was essentially worthless to them. Even his wife would go out of her way to publicly humiliate him in front of family or friends or whoever would go to the parties that she would throw, so he already felt very very low on that totem pole before Blitz drew attention to the fact that they were there and had a spotlight quite literally shown directly on them.

The issue is that Blitz sees this change in their dynamic as intentional. Given the agreement that they have, Blitz already feels as if he's no better than a sex toy because essentially that is what he has been to this man. He does not believe that Stolas could actually genuinely love him, not only because he believes he doesn't deserve love but also because he understands the difference in their statuses and how their dynamic came to be, so he feels very used and taken advantage of. Despite the fact that he does genuinely have feelings for the prince, Blitz believes he's only good for a good time, and Stolas has not done very much to combat that because all of his advances seem sexual or at least sexually suggestive. Well the advances being sexually suggested or sexually motivated is not completely the prince's fault, it's never something he takes into consideration to see if there are other ways to express a desire for the imp. When every other sentence coming out of the prince's mouth has to do with going to bed with him, and Blitz is given nicknames like "my impish little play thing", it would be hard for him to see how he was wanted for something more than just his body. As I said before though, Stolas is not entirely to blame for this issue with Blitz. Blitz is the one who spurred the advances on the first time, and he never stopped to correct him as their relationship progressed to know stolas believes it's just what he likes, and he'll continue to believe that until Blitz himself tells him otherwise.

Similarly, Blitz does treat Stolas like he is a means to an end. I don't believe it's intentional, because you can see in a lot of different scenes where they're together that Blitz does truly care for this man, but his original plan was just to manipulate Stolas into letting him use the grimoire so that he could perform his business and their entire agreement hinges on that exact thing. Outside of taking him to Ozzie's, Blitz never does ask Stolas on a date, or spend very much time with him outside of the bedroom, and even in that episode the only reason he does is because he has an ulterior motive. In the episode taking place at Ozzie's, I believe Blitz is so fixated on studying and living vicariously through what Moxxie and Millie have together, that he himself was not present with Stolas on the date he invited him to, and despite the prince's best efforts, he's not able to reel him back in until the spotlight is on them and Stolas has the immediate reaction to hide himself from the spotlight while leaving Blitz essentially naked and alone in that moment. The action was never meant to hurt him, but it told Blitz that he was an embarrassment to the prince. It solidified the idea that Stolas was essentially lying to him when he said that he wanted him..... And upon leaving, Blitz is so hurt that he wants nothing to do with the prince for that time, and despite trying to show Blitz how bad he feels, Stolas never actually verbally apologizes to him. After Blitz drops him off at home, and verbalizes that he's not in the mood to have sex with him and tells him that he understands that all they are is fuck buddies, Stolas invites him in and offers cuddles but when Blitz ultimately declines he just says good night, rather than offering it real apology, further solidifying Blitz's thinking but he is not worth the care that it would have shown to have an apology.

As I said in the beginning, I do think it is genuinely just coming down to the fact that neither of these men were ever shown how to care for or love another. Well it's true that they are both raising daughters, who they love unconditionally, everything that they have done for their children has been something they had to pull out of themselves. And they have never done that for each other. I don't think the relationship needs to end, especially not on the note that it did the last time they were together, but I think they both need to mature a little bit more and start understanding the communication that needs to happen between them in order for their relationship to move beyond just sex and heartache. If both Stolas and Blitz are willing to put in the work, and communicate with each other openly I think they could have a very, very healthy and wonderful relationship, which they both very much deserve after everything they've been through.

I definitely trust the process of the writing, but I would absolutely love to see this ship continue to be a thing and thrive, but story-wise I don't think either character is there quite yet. Both demons in question still have a lot of growing to do, but even if that is the case and that is the way the story goes, I don't believe that this is the end of their story together. I feel like these characters will always be drawn to each other, and whether or not there is a pause in their relationship well they take time to figure out their own goals, I believe that both of these men find home in each other and they will always be drawn to that peace.

[the-path-to-redemption]

Ruby's treatment of Penny in v8 was pretty disgusting and their reunion in v7 was nothing short of lackluster, but the fact that she actually grieved for her the whole volume 9, didn't immediately get over her death like the rest of them (with the exception of Weiss to an extent), and tried to preserve the last thing that remained of her, says that Ruby was only one who gave a shit about her. Penny's death hit so hard it finally forced Ruby to snap out of her I-will-save-everyone holier-than-thou hero complex.

Like recall Yang and Blake. Who the fuck would behave this way like an hour after learning of their friend's death? Can you imagine Yang acting the same way if it was Blake who'd died in her place? No cuz Yang cares about Blake. But it's not that uncommon for our paragons of virtue and glory to have little to no reaction when something horrible happens to their friends/allies, is it? Either Penny meant nothing to WBY or rt legit sucks at portraying relationships and human emotions.

Long Post Ahead

It's both.

RWBY does not give a fuck about Penny and RT being trash at portraying human anything are both accurate statements that has been coexisting for as long as the show has been running.

And honestly, I'm not even surprised that _WBY doesn't give a shit about Penny. Ever since she was introduced in V1, Penny was Ruby's friend and only her firend. She didn't interact with anyone else in Beacon, and we only got to see her teammate Ciel ONCE in the entire show, so I would be more surprised if the rest of RWBY even know something about Penny before she died. Yang did in V7, and I was a bit shocked because they have NEVER interacted once after their first meeting.

But back to the matter at hand, it's very clear that the writers brought back Penny because the fans expected them to (which is fair) but just stopped at that. Penny is back because it make sense and the fans like her, but why? Narratively, why is she back? Especially when Ruby was less than adequate in treating Penny's return or seeing her as a friend. Not only that, Penny was still stuck in the same predicament that troubled her in Beacon, that she doesn't have a choice or a say in how she want to live her life as her own person, but instead must put duty and her role in the grand scheme of things first, leaving her with no agency for herself.

Many people criticized Ironwood for this, but RUBY also took that choice from Penny in V8. She constantly wave off Penny's concern for the people now that they have created a civil discourse between them and Ironwood, and shut down any of Penny's attempt to properly deal with her regrets and choices.

And then Penny dies, and the Winter Maiden power went to who it was always meant to go to. Why was she brought back? Why put her through so much only to fucking kill her off again, and for her death to be for someone else's motivation, whether it be Ruby or Jaune?

Because Penny wasn't a character to RT. She's a plot device, and that's all she was. I don't doubt that Yang would care more if Blake dies or vice versa, or Weiss would care more if it was Winter. They don't have a reason to care about a plot device that doesn't directly affect them or their story. Only Ruby could because Penny was her friend, but even then I still could not look past how she treated the poor girl.

It's just a frustrating ordeal to look at, because you could've went literally any other route, and it would have meant something. Penny would have meant something. But it's too late now. They wrote themselves into this corner, and now they have watch their story crumble under the pressure.

[ultraericthered]

One Villainous Scene: Nowhere For Rabbit To Run

In this episode of Sailor Moon R, all four of the Specter Sisters have spread out over town, and all four of them go after Chibi Usa/Rini when she accidentally alerts them to her presence in a failed attempt to travel back to her original time period. The episode very clearly builds up the idea that there's going to be a major battle, four on four between the Specter Sisters and the Sailor Senshi minus Sailor Moon herself, who has to protect Rini. Watching it for the first time, you're made to anticipate it, making it rewarding when it occurs.

And then you get something you probably weren't anticipating. When it looks like Sailor Moon and Rini are away from the fighting, with Rini safe in Sailor Moon's arms....glowing energy grenades rain down from the sky, and Sailor Moon, preemptively detecting it coming, takes the blow so that Rini doesn't get hurt. The assailant appears on the battlefield, and it's none other than the Specter Sisters' boss, Crimson Rubeus of the Black Moon Clan. The same guy who's been completely stationary and giving the sisters their assignments for the past several episodes makes a surprise in-person appearance to finish this job himself while the sisters are held up by the Sailor Senshi. Briefly explaining who he is, where he's from, and what he's after, Rubeus launches an all-out barrage of energy grenades at Sailor Moon, completely unrelenting and taking sadistic pleasure in seeing her run and struggle in vain to protect the frightened child.

As Sailor Moon lies on the ground, her back literally against the wall and Rini crying for her to get back up, we get the most striking moment from Rubeus that really peels back his exterior and gives us our first real look at the sort of guy he truly is - with a very genuine, pleased smile on his face, he slowly raises up his hand and readies another blast he intends to launch at Rini point blank. Before, the Specter Sisters weren't afraid to get rough with the little girl and they wanted to abduct her to bring her back alive. By contrast, Rubeus here seems to have absolutely zero problem with the notion of doing terrible physical harm to child in a way that would be deadly for her. This is not merely the first of plenty more in-person appearances from Rubeus to come afterwards, but the first of many displays of Rubeus being more than just another bad guy for the girls to be up against, but a callous, deliberately cruel, abusive monster who'll go to the nastiest of lengths to get what he desires, as he thinks only of himself and how he might attain a more glorious standing within the Black Moon Clan. It's what makes him such a memorable bad guy for a section of the show that's otherwise fairly subpar and downright stupid at points (I'll never forgive what Ikuhara did to Mamoru here, who incidentally shows up to help as Sailor Moon stands back up and then for a moment it even looks like Sailor Moon's about to kill Rubeus prematurely, with him only narrowly managing to escape.)

Last thing worth noting about the clip I chose here: the DiC dub is absolute cringe - Sailor Moon, Rini, and Tuxedo Mask all have awful, terribly unconvincing voices, Rubeus' dialogue repetitiously uses "Negamoon" four times, and corny lines like "You're dusted, buster!", "You just a schoolyard bully?" "Find out, cape boy!", and "This guy could use a little scepter therapy" are completely out of place for this urgent moment in the story. But I went with it rather than the Viz dub not only due to it being my first exposure, but for the one saving grace - Robert Tinkler as Rubeus. Steve Staley's an adequate fit for the part too, but he couldn't measure up to Tinkler, who just WAS the character. The smugness, the petulant fury, the all-encompassing malice just oozing from his voice saved most of his material from the scripts. That delivery of "Ready to go? TIME'S WASTING!" and the completely unhinged chuckling that accompanies it is what your childhood nightmares were made of. He just nailed the assingment.

(Also, while I like "Moon Revenge" in this scene too, I sorta prefer how there's no song in the background until Rubeus has appeared and launches his attack. Makes the scene feel all the more special.)