#this show has done enough for me to believe its intentional

[eddiemunsongf]

luther x sloane scenes feel like a parody of straight love in the same way that the awkward saccharine gay representation plots that get shoehorned into straight shows feel like a parody of queer love

[tacticalprincess]

ok ok but imagine being simon’s gf and könig just being so infatuated with u :( he likes you so so much, believes you deserve better than simon and just pines after you ^_^

very im on fire of him

könig’s never been one to be discreet about his feelings, especially toward you. he doesn’t owe simon anything, much less loyalty. his crush has become an inside joke amongst the crew, has gotten dirty looks thrown at him by simon too many times to count for being just slightly too touchy to be friendly, too intense in his yearning. tuning in intently whenever you talk, doing small favors for you whenever he gets the chance, asks after you when you’re gone. too close for comfort, oughta get himself in trouble, simon says.

its hard to ignore a stare that burns a hole in the side of your head, weighted like a caress on all the exposed parts of your body. könig gets some sort of satisfaction out of watching you squirm under his intense gaze, eyes trained on you most of the time he’s around, because at least he makes you feel something. he wishes to sliver underneath your skin and infiltrate your thoughts just as you’ve done to him, sending his emotions into haywire just by way of existing. smiling at him so brightly, extending a fraction of the warmth and kindness that comes naturally to you, craves it when he’s alone at night. your boyfriend can’t blame him.

simon’s weird, quiet coworker, helplessly infatuated with you, his too cute, too sweet, too soft girlfriend. could only dream of experiencing the parts of you that are exclusively for simon — wonders how someone like you even ended up with a man like him. looking far too out of place under his tattooed arm, bottom lip tucked between pearly teeth bashfully while he chats to the group of guys in typical boyish manner. the occasional ducks of his head to kiss your forehead when he remembers you’re there is not enough attention showed to such a pretty, doting thing like you, in könig’s humble opinion. it’s not even that he believes he’s better than him, but a selfish part of him would rather you end up in his calloused hands than anyone elses. his mind strays the longer he observes you, imagines all the ways he’d treat you better, take care of you like you deserve. would’ve probably already proposed to you by now given the chance. you might seem happy enough, but that doesn’t stop him from searching for cracks in the polished porcelain. always waiting for a spot to slip in.

he finally gets you alone one night, finds you where you wandered off into price’s basement to fetch more beer. coming behind you to grab the case from your delicate hands like lifting a feather off the ground.

“boyfriend not here to do this for you?”

after you regain your composure from the startle, you scoff, peering up at könig through your lashes. “just thought i’d do something nice for him.”

“sweet. does he always allow you to do a man’s job?” sarcasm bites at his words.

“allow me—?”

“do you think he even noticed your absence, maus?” he presses a bit harder, his face holding the same indifference it always does under his mask, tone flat around his accent. “as i did?”

his eyes search yours for a second, looking for any sign of reciprocation for his feelings, and somehow you can tell he knows you don’t know how to respond. as a show of mercy, he steps to the side to let you squeeze past his frame and up the stairs leading back inside the house, heavy footsteps following slowly behind. he watches as you so easily slip back into simon’s side, how his arm finds its home around your shoulders without effort. concern knits your boyfriend’s eyebrows together as he leans down to peck your lips, never breaking eye contact with könig over your shoulder, a petty display of ownership. he watches.

[qqueenofhades]

The thing that confuses me about the "don't vote" left (not the "I don't want to vote", I'm talking explicitly the "don't vote" left. I don't agree with the "I don't want to vote" left either but I can understand their logic) is they lose me at the final step of the logic. I've tried to connect the logic here, even if I don't agree with a political position I do try to understand where people are coming from (empathy for someones situation is not the same as cosigning it), but I just can't connect the dots here in a way that isn't deeply cruel. Does United States politics prioritize the lives of those in the US (and often white) over those in the Global South? Yes, it's a fucking atrocity. We should continue to make noise about it, cus Biden has used less drones and that shows progress, even if it's not enough. The part where I lose the plot is where the conclusion to this injustice is to let even more people die? Cus that's kinda how I see the idea of not voting: I can pick between shit and more shit, and at the end of the day, I'm picking whoever allows the most people to make it to the next day. Given Trumps stance on everything but specifically climate change, I feel like Biden is pretty significant harm reduction.

I don't think both things can't be true: that every life lost is a travesty we should not forget AND the more people we can save is worth fighting for.

The thing is, I have seen nothing among the "don't vote" far left (and I am talking here specifically about the people who both loudly announce their intention not to vote and try to convince others to do the same) to convince me that they actually care about harm reduction or stopping genocide. They only care about what makes them look the most Correct and/or superior to the Democrats. They yelled bloody murder about Obama using drones, they went dead quiet about Trump using them even more (even when he nearly started WWIII by assassinating the Iranian general Soleimani with one), and then said nothing at all when Biden reduced the drone program to almost nothing and withdrew the US from a failed war in Afghanistan it had long ago lost. Now they will yell all day about Israel/Hamas (something that Biden did not start and has had no direct military role in responding to) but they don't care about Russian genocide of Ukraine and Syria, Chinese threats to invade Taiwan, etc, because those governments are "anti-western/anti-American" and therefore should be defended. Their opposition to human suffering is extremely conditional and rests on whether they can look good out of it, and they never interrogate the hypocrisies of their own ideology.

Likewise: every country in the world prizes its own citizens above those of other countries. It's just a basic fact. Yes, the US has a grim history of intervening in other countries and causing untold civilian damage (especially during the Cold War and then in post-9/11 War on Terrorism). Yes, that legacy is complex and needs to be acknowledged. But literally none of that will be fixed, not to mention all the vulnerable people in America itself who will be punished, by Trump getting into power again. Biden is not just a grudging "lesser evil," but has done a lot of truly good and helpful things, regardless of the Online Leftists' constant lies, misinformation, and misrepresentation. If you spend all your time announcing what a champion you are for non-American marginalised people and/or those undergoing terrible suffering, and then deliberately and knowingly adhere to a course of action that will increase that suffering tenfold not only for those people but your own neighbors, friends, and family, then no, I don't believe you are a brave champion of social justice. You just want to know what categories of people you can gleefully and righteously punish and make to suffer for not believing the same things as you, that makes you just as dangerous as the right-wing fascists, and I can and will call out your ass accordingly.

[builtbybrokenbells]

CAPITAL VICES | WRATH

Wrath: a strong anger and/or hate towards another person.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 21k (oops)

Warnings: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS AS THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VERY HEAVY THEMES—SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, hate sex, rough sex, fingering (f!receiving), masturbation (f!receiving), touch of voyeurism, choking, praise, degradation, dom/sub, sir kink, choking, touch of impact play, name calling, bratty sub, ANGST, very toxic themes, intentional jealousy, jealousy/possessiveness, very descriptive scenes of anger, gaslighting/manipulative behaviour/phrases, fighting, crying, mentions of physical violence, yelling, belittling oneself and others, self destructive behaviour, self-hatred, mentions of abusive relationships, mentions of cheating, mentions of grief/parent loss, mentions of breakups/breakups, depression, anxiety, mentions of addiction/drug use, mentions of blood/bleeding, swearing, drinking, so sorry if i miss any!

here it is, the long awaited chapter. wrath has been a chapter I’ve been looking forward to since the very beginning, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping me get this far. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes (lightly edited) 😘

Heartbreak is such a cruel word, always insinuating that the very thing that breathes life into your body has been shattered and destroyed beyond repair. Heartbreak is violent, it is isolating, and it is gruesome. It is also something you never once believed you would let yourself feel again, and for years, you had done so well adhering to your own rules.

Love in itself is a funny thing; such a powerful emotion that is not only widely felt, but almost always ends in catastrophe. You were not one for love, and you had known that ever since you found yourself sitting in a bleak beige office across from a divorce lawyer at the young age of 22. Before that, when you cried ugly tears over a hospital bed while holding the sick, frail hand of your once mighty father, the notion began to rise in your mind. You could distinctly remember looking across the room, catching sight of your mothers grief-stricken eyes, and even then you could not begin to comprehend falling in love only to lose someone so tragically.

It always seemed like a curse to you, rather than a blessing; you watched too many relationships fail and leave disaster in its wake, too many people never recover from heartbreak greater than this lifetime, and too many people watch their greatest loves succumb to sickness before their very eyes. You could not position yourself in such a powerless situation, nor could you choke down the pain that came after it. The idea of giving yourself completely to another was not something you were keen on, nor ever wanted for yourself, especially after doing it once and receiving nothing but sorrow in return.

A lifetime of loneliness seemed better than decades of pain, because if you were going to suffer, you thought it best to do it on your own accord.

It’s not like you were isolated; perhaps your heart always craved a little more, but never enough for you to throw your morals in the garbage. Company came in all forms, as did fulfillment. You found solace in friends, family and colleagues. Your life was full of love, even if it was not in the way that is most expected of a person. You knew how to feel it, how to appreciate another in a selfless show of emotion, but never in romance. Casual sex was your forte, and it bridged the gap between your fear of committing and the human urge for connection. It was something you did well at, never lingering for too long and cutting things off before becoming too invested. As of recent, you seemed to stray away from that lifestyle, too, as you began to understand that one wrong move left you in a position that was uncomfortable and complicated. You adored your peace, and you loved your personal space, and if that meant keeping everyone else out, you were willing to sacrifice fulfillment on behalf of happiness.

Your friends and family thought you were insane for lacking the desire to settle down and start a family, that you would rather live alone instead of make space for another. They couldn’t understand you, nor could you understand them. You were two sides of the same coin, and it was always best to leave the discussion of love under the table. Your mother had another daughter to give her grandchildren, and even if she did not, you could not take that burden upon yourself just to make her happy. With time, she had grown much more understanding, and you knew that the more the years went on, the more she would be able to comprehend your feelings on the matter.

You were committed to your job, and your lifestyle. You loved drinking at the bar, and you loved to have fun in every aspect of the word. You liked to laugh, to do things that left impactful memories, and you didn’t want anything to get in the way of that. You did a good job of keeping life simple, and you were confident in your ability to maintain your integrity in the process.

Five years of that lifestyle had made you a professional of sorts. Then, Jacob fucking Kiszka walked into your life and ruined the whole damn thing.

With his pretty eyes and his devilishly beautiful face, he had charmed his way into your bed. With his witty humor and compelling aura, he’d managed to convince you to be his friend. With his sweet words and gentle smile, he’d easily become your favorite person in the whole world, and not long after that, you realized that you had fallen for him beyond any doubt. You were in love with him in the most sincere and honest way, and you loved him enough that you could not manage distance yourself from him, even if you so badly wanted to.

But, he was a man, and beyond the surface, they were all the same. It took one night for him to shatter the comfortability the two of you created, and it took one night to destroy the heart that he had a helping hand in repairing.

You wished you could say that at the sight of his lips locked with another woman and his tongue down her throat, you vowed to be the bigger person. You wanted to walk away, to forget he ever existed and move on with your life. You intended to stitch your wounds in silence, and flourish in seclusion. When you stepped back out into the real world, maybe he could catch a glimpse of you and realize all that he’d lost by being so immature. You wanted it so badly, and you did not crave to involve yourself in his childish behavior. When you left the bar the night he found himself wrapped around another girl, you promised yourself that you would never see him again, nor would try to hurt him the same way he hurt you. You wanted to move on, to take the loss and be better for it.

You had quickly come to learn that promising something and following through are two very different things.

The first night, you cried yourself to sleep. When you woke the next day, the pain was still abundant and relentless. You drank a bottle of wine while playing the saddest songs you knew on the piano, but not even that seemed to help. After that, you did all you could to ignore the hurt in your heart, hoping that if you did not submit to it, it would leave you alone. Food sickened you, and no matter where you situated yourself in your home to try and lessen the memory, it only seemed to hurt worse. His presence clung to every surface. It lived in the fabric of your couch, and the soft cotton of your bedsheets. It was sitting at your kitchen table, and even in the shower, too.

Even if you notice something in a room is missing, the memory of the loss ensures that it will remain indefinitely.

By the third day, you had become so angry that you could not even recognize yourself in the mirror. All of the hurt you were holding back was unbearable, bubbling to the surface with a vengeance. It was upset about being ignored and begging to be heard, disguising itself as anger to showcase its unhappiness with your unwillingness to acknowledge it. You were irritable, your patience thin and bordering non-existence. You cancelled your upcoming clients with a promise to reschedule, and you went to the gym excessively in hopes that the ache of your muscles would cover the sound of the ever-increasing pain in your heart.

You knew you were too far gone when one day, instead of walking away in frustration when your fork had fallen to the floor while trying to heat up old takeout remaining in your fridge, with little care, you had thrown the plate in its entirety to the ground, too. You watched as the porcelain shattered and the food scattered across the floor, no horror or regret in your body. Instead, you only felt emptiness at the sight of the mess you’d made. You took a step over it, ignoring it until you had the energy to clean it, and crawled into your bed in a mess of tears.

Thats when it finally started; all of the hurt turned your maturity into childish rage. You were angry with everything, and you were so full of sorrow that it made it difficult to breathe.

Wrath was just around the corner, and you were too far gone to stop it before it started.

An idea blossomed in your mind amidst the chaos, and at first, you denounced it as quickly as it appeared. It was immature, irrational, and would only open the door for even more trouble. But, as you raised a whiskey glass to your lips with a shaking hand in the darkness of your living room on a boring Wednesday night, you could not refute the temptation. You wanted to hurt Jake the same way he hurt you. You wanted to make him suffer just like you did, crying in his brothers arms while he occupied himself with the prettier, more convenient option.

It was a shot in the dark, and it would only work if he felt the same for you as you did for him. In the last few days, you had been seriously debating whether or not he did. He seemed to move on so easily, making you wonder if he was just playing a long game with you or if you’d hurt him bad enough that he knew no other way to cope with his own breaking heart. Then, you remembered his hands on her, and his lips on her, and it sickened you to the core. It made you feel like he really did want the cop out option, or that he wanted someone who was easier and much less broken. He wanted less baggage, less commitment, and with you, he could not have that. You had long passed simplicity, and outgrown casual. He didn’t want you, and you needed to choke down the fact if you ever had a chance at recovery.

But, with the slim chance that he did care for you the same and he was just being immature about his hurt, you knew you had to act if you were ever going to get the justice you so desperately craved. Revenge is a dangerous game, but you had already gambled your life when you offered your heart to him.

After losing so many times, the prospect of winning became all the more appealing. You would gamble your last breath to finally have the upper hand on him.

So on a warm Saturday evening, you found yourself holed up in your bathroom with a curling iron running through your hair. Your lips were painted red to match the skimpy dress that hugged your body, and your eyes were dark with eyeshadow and dramatic eyeliner. You had put on your best perfume, which just so happened to be the one Jake had claimed as his favourite. As you finished up your hair, you sprayed a thin layer of hairspray so it would stay in place. Just as you did so, a knock sounded on your front door. You went to greet your company with a fake smile on your lips and less than genuine enthusiasm. As you opened the door, a nervous flutter in your stomach reminded you that your idea could end catastrophically.

Behind the door was a familiar face, handsome and smiling as his eyes landed on you. But, his beauty was nowhere near Jake’s, and his smile was nice, but not even close to the breathtaking nature of his. A few days prior, you had scrolled through your Facebook friends in search of a suitable candidate to take on a date. When your eyes landed upon a name of a friend you had lost contact with after high school, you thought it would be a great opportunity to catch up while also using him for your ugly ulterior motives. You reached out, and he responded instantly, thus making your work so much less tiresome. Within a day he was flirting, and within two, you had plans for dinner at an expensive restaurant nearby Jake’s apartment complex. He had picked the spot, and the location just happened to relate with your plans.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi,” you continued forcing the smile, hoping that by the time you settled down to eat, the false nature you held in your heart would settle into comfortability. “Come in for a second, I’m just finishing up.” You stepped aside, allowing him entry. His eyes scanned your walls, taking in the decoration, but he didn’t study it for too long before his stare landed back on your chest.

‘Classy.’ You held back an eye roll as you made a mental note of his lack of maturity. Then again, who were you to judge him when you were only going on the date to piss someone else off? He followed as you walked to your bedroom to grab your purse. ‘Perfect.’ You smiled to yourself, your eyes catching the large mirror displayed in front of your bed. You grabbed your purse and looked over at him, noticing that his eyes were still glued on your body.

“A picture before we go?” You asked, nodding towards the mirror. “Wouldn’t want to forget how good we look.”

“Of course.” He agreed, smiling as he took a step towards you.

You grabbed your phone from the bed, pulling up the camera as he positioned himself behind you. His hand landed just above your hip, his fingertips resting near your stomach as his palm cupped around your side. His seemingly expensive watch was displayed perfectly in the frame, making you wonder if he was also using you as a showpiece for his own personal gain. You turned your head towards him, looking upwards at his face. He was considerably taller than you were, so he had to look down to meet your gaze. You gave him a smile, which he returned with little hesitation. You rested your hand just below his and you raised your phone to your chest, centring it between you two and pointing it at the mirror. You snapped a few pictures, looking down at the screen to check if they were sufficient enough to post.

“We look good together,” he noted, his hand still lingering on you.

“We do.” You agreed, biting back a smirk.

‘Don’t get used to it.’ You thought, heaving a little sigh.

“Ready?” He asked. You gave him a nod, slipping on a pair of heels you’d placed by your bed. Without any further conversation, the two of you went to the front door and walked out. You locked it behind you while he started towards his car, opening the passenger door for you. You settled into the seat, noticing the overwhelming scent of cologne still lingering in the air. It was nice, but not nearly as delicious as the one Jake wore so often. You had to stop comparing the two; yes, you were intending to piss Jake off, but you did not want to be stuck in a constant state of wanting him anymore. As much as you were using the boy to make Jake angry, you were also hoping that when the night was through, you would no longer be stuck on him the same way you had been for the last week.

“I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me.” He said, backing out of your driveway and pulling you from your thoughts. “I’m really glad you reached out at all, actually:”

“I am too,” you smiled “it’s going to be really nice to catch up. I haven’t seen you since… well, high school.” You chuckled.

“Yeah,” he nodded, starting the short drive to the restaurant he’d made reservations at. “If I’m being completely honest, I always had a crush on you back then. Guess I was always too scared to say anything.” You tried your best to hold back a grimace at his words. After spending so many months with someone who was all but shy about his feelings, cowardice seemed to turn you off. If Jake were the one sitting in the drivers seat, he already would have told you how badly he wanted to take your clothes off (only after praising your beauty, of course). Now faced with someone who was nearly shaking at the thought of calling you pretty, you missed the blunt nature of his words more than anything.

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied, anyway.” You tried to ease the tension, regretting bringing up your ex the moment the words left your tongue.

“Yeah, that’s true. He was a dick, and I’m glad you got away from him.” He said, turning onto the highway without another word. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, and there was a rush of fear that flooded you. It had been so long since you had associated with someone who knew your ex husband, and you had forgotten how peaceful it was to be around people who did not know he existed. “You look stunning, by the way.” He wanted to change the subject, realizing that talking about your ex while on a date may not have been the best idea.

“Thank you.” You gave a soft smile, looking from him to the phone sitting in your lap. It was time for phase two of your devilish plan. “You look good too.” You said as you picked up your phone. You unlocked the screen, scrolling through the pictures you’d taken moments before and carefully choosing the one where you looked the best. You edited the lighting slightly on your camera app to make it look even better before opening Snapchat. You chose the picture from your camera roll, picking a heart sticker and shrinking it down so it just fit over his face. You hit the ‘post to story’ button, biting down on the inside of your lip as anxiety began to plague you.

Within seconds, the picture was uploaded. Before you even looked away from the screen, you could see that someone had viewed the image. You had your doubts that he’d seen it so quickly, but there was an incessant nagging in the back of your mind to check and see, just in case. You loaded the story, swiping up to see the view list, and sure enough, Jake’s contact was the only name on the page.

‘Let the game begin.’ You thought, unable to hold back the smirk as you locked your phone again.

“So what have you been up to, Scott?” You asked, turning your attention back to the boy behind the wheel. You could feel your phone vibrating against your leg, but you did not care enough to check it just yet.

“I went away for school for a while, then decided to come back home when I finished. My parents had a hard time with me living so far away, and I guess I did, too.”

“That’s sweet.” You smiled, trying not to notice the prickle of sadness that filled your heart when he spoke of his parents. “What are you doing for work?”

“I’m an accountant at my dad’s law firm, now.” You almost forgot he came from money, nodding along as he inadvertently told you all about his generational wealth. You had no idea how it slipped your mind as you were sat in this years newest Audi model, and the Rolex on his wrist was blinding you every time the street lights pooled in through the windows. “I don’t think I need to ask you, though. You’re one of the most popular photographers in the city, now.”

“Some would say that.” You chuckled. “Not sure if I would agree.”

“I would.” He cut you off, not willing to take argument on the fact. “Your work is really good.”

“Thank you.” You felt your cheeks redden at the sentiment. For a moment, you let the guilt get the best of you. You almost asked him to turn around and take you home, needing to confess to your sins and repent for the fact you were only using him for your own benefit. Then, the moment passed as soon as it came. You did not need to tell him and risk hurting his feelings more; you just had to sit through the night and make civil conversation, and maybe share a kiss or two. The thought wasn’t terrible, even if you’d rather be kissing someone else. When you parted ways at the end of the night, you would thank him for the fun. In the morning, you could tell him a half-truth and confess that it wouldn’t work, and you weren’t ready for a commitment like you previously thought.

That would solve it all, right?

You hadn’t thought it all through yet, and you could admit to that. But, you were good at thinking on your feet, and you were certain you would be able to get yourself out of the mess you were making.

“I remember in high school, you would always walk around with that big clunky camera from the yearbook committee. You took pictures of everything, all of the time.” He chuckled. You were only slightly embarrassed at the memory, but you chose not to respond. “I thought it was cute, and I think it’s really cool you’re still doing that. You have to do what makes you happy, right?” He glanced over at you, his dark hair offsetting the paleness of his skin.

He was incredibly attractive, and you could not deny that. His skin was soft, smooth and inviting. A small, slutty part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, but you refused to allow yourself the pleasure. His hair was soft, shaved down on the back of his head and faded perfectly into the longer hair on top. It was black, and looked perfectly silky, tempting you to run your fingers through it. His smile lit up his whole face, the upturn of the corners of his lips (which were soft and pink, the sight alone sending a flutter to your stomach) made dimples appear on his slightly blushed skin and crinkles form by his eyes. His arms underneath the suit jacket seemed strong, and the veiny hands that gripped the steering wheel aided the assumption.

The suit he had on was perfectly tailored to his body, probably with the funds lining his wallet from his fathers law firm. For a second, you forgot why you had asked him out, focused only on his blinding beauty.

Maybe he was exactly what you needed to forget about Jake, and you wondered if should use that to your advantage. His hands seemed like a perfect distraction, and his mouth seemed even better. A single night didn’t seem so bad, and the longer you thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the ache growing between your legs.

But, your anxiety got the best of you yet again. You feared you would end up in an even messier situation than the one you were in already; in love with someone and in bed with another who seemed overly enamoured with you. A love triangle was not what you needed, but it seemed like you had opened the door for it amidst your struggle to feel better. Then, your mind soured when you realized that Jake had likely fallen into bed with the girl from the bar. For all you knew, she might be with him right now, laying in his bed and giggling at his jokes. The thought sickened you, and you looked back at your company for the night.

Whatever happened was meant to happen, you deducted. You would not encourage anything, but who were you to stop it if the opportunity arose?

“You have to do what makes you happy.” You agreed, shooting him your first genuine smile of the night.

What would make you happy, you had no idea.

Surely not by having meaningless sex with a boy you’d seen for the first time in nearly a decade, especially after having such meaningful sex with Jake for so long. You were confused, and you were hurting. Your internal debate was chipping away at your psyche, but you looked too good and you were too committed to the bit to back out now.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, relief flooded you as you realized you wouldn’t have to continue on the conversation of happiness and how to find it. Before the two of you made your way inside, you felt your phone vibrating intensely on your lap, signalling an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, glancing down at it just long enough to see Jake’s name on your screen.

You sent the call to voicemail, looking quickly over the text messages that had been filtering in non-stop since you had uploaded the incriminating picture.

😈

Who the fuck is that?

😈

?

That text was immediately followed by a phone call, and when that went unanswered, he tried again.

😈

Answer your fucking phone y/n

It seems as though your plan was working fantastically, and against his better judgement, he had broken the radio silence without a second thought. The next step was simple, but probably the most effective one yet; you clicked on the notification bars, bringing yourself into the chat so the read receipt would show under his last texts. Then, you turned your phone on do not disturb and slipped it in your purse.

Jake hated being ignored, and you knew if he had such a volatile reaction to the picture itself, this would surely send him straight to insanity.

‘Checkmate.’ You thought to yourself, biting back a cocky smirk.

You did not think your plan through nearly enough, and disaster was looming overhead, just out of sight.

“Ready to head in?” You asked, shaking off the nervous jitters in your hands.

“Yeah,” he nodded, opening his car door. Before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt, he had walked to your side of the vehicle and opened your door for you. He extended a hand to you, which you accepted with a smile. He helped you out of the car, and once you were steady on your feet, he slipped an arm around your waist. You tried to ignore the flutter in your belly as he secured his hand to your hip and pulled you closer to him.

The two of you advanced towards the entrance. You stood back while he checked in for the reservation, and within moments, you were being lead to a table on the quieter side of the building. When you sat down, the romance in the room was immediately overwhelming. There was tea light candles lit around the table, and a large centrepiece with flowers and fairy lights sat directly in the middle of the table clothed with a white cloth. Menues were sat in front of you, and the waiter assured you he would be back in a moment to take your drink orders.

“Have you ever been here before?” He asked, looking at you over the top of his menu.

“No, actually.” You shook your head, catching his gaze. Your heart leapt to your throat, finding yourself lost in the dark brown of his irises. Then, your eyes trailed downwards, noticing a flash of toned muscle from underneath his collared shirt. He noticed your reaction, smiling at your intrigue. He had a gold chain clasped around his neck, accentuating the columns of his neck that lead down into his collarbones.

He was stunning, and in another world, you thought you might even pursue him further.

“It’s my first time, too. I’ve heard good things, though.”

“Yeah, apparently it’s the best in town.” You gave a nervous laugh, focused on his hand resting comfortably on the table. You thought it would look much better decorating your thigh.

“What do you want from this, y/n?” He asked, genuine intrigue plaguing him. You tried to swallow your anxiety as you formulated an answer. “You can be honest.”

“When I reached out, I definitely wasn’t expecting anything like this.” You said, truthful in your response. You had hoped, but you definitely did not expect it to go to plan so quickly. “I’m a busy woman, and usually I don’t do this. I was hoping to catch up, but I don’t know how committed I can be to anything serious.”

“I respect that.” He nodded, placing his menu down on the table again. “If I’m being honest, I just went through a pretty rough breakup. I may have jumped a little too quickly.” Your sigh of relief was audible, and quite heavy in the room.

“Me too.” You admitted, the confession weighing on your shoulders. It was the first time you had referred to what you and Jake had as a breakup, but it felt right. What you had was much closer to a relationship than anything else, even if it was not what you wanted to call it. You did not need to divulge into the details of the real reason you agreed to go on a date with him. You felt it would be too harsh.

“So we’re here as friends, and we’ll see how the night goes?” He offered, not seeming too upset about the conclusion. You stared at him for a moment longer, a smirk breaking out on your lips.

“You can say you want sex, Scott. We’re adults, we can be honest.” His cheeks heated at your words, but a smile did form on his face. “I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” He seemed to relax in his seat, now comfortable knowing that he need not worry about impressing you as much.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “A friendly dinner with the intent of sex. No promise of anything more after that.”

“I like that better.” You grinned, also feeling the anxious feeling subside at the agreement. The two of you had drawn a line that both of you were happy with. “So your last girlfriend…?” You asked, treading the topic carefully.

“Yeah,” he laughed, nodding as you asked. “We were together for a while. Three years or so. Couple months ago, I came home and she was gone. All of her shit was packed up and when I called to check on her, went straight to voicemail. Never heard from her again.”

“Oh, wow.” You breathed, your eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry, honey. People are the worst.” He shrugged, looking to the side as the waiter approached the table again. He ordered a bottle of wine, waiting until he walked away to speak again.

“Shit happens. Sometimes you just have to take it as it comes.” He explained, not feeling any need to go any further into it. “And I’m assuming your boyfriend was no better?”

“No,” you laughed, looking down at your manicured hands. “But I don’t think you could really call him my boyfriend, anyway. More like a guy who only showed up to make my life more complicated. I thought we were exclusive until we got into a fight, which I’ll admit was my fault. We made up when we ran into each other at the bar, then his date for the night showed up.” You gave a tight-lipped smile, the memory causing a bitterness to rise in your chest.

“People are the worst.” He reiterated your point, sending you sympathetic eyes.

“They are indeed.” You agreed.

“So am I on a revenge date?” He asked, picking up on your nervous stare. “It’s okay if I am. Either way, I’m still the one who gets to spend the evening with you.” He flashed you a breathtaking smile, showing his enthusiasm either way.

“When you put it like that, it makes me sound terrible.” You said, your cheeks burning red and incriminating you even further. You were terrible, and you deserved to be treated as such. Asking him on a date to piss someone else off was a horrible thing to do, and you never should have done it in the first place.

“Not if I support it.” He shrugged, thanking the waiter as he dropped off the bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured two for you both, sliding one in your direction. “Like I said, beautiful. I get to have dinner with you either way.” You reached for the glass, taking a long sip. Your red lipstick decorated the rim, claiming the beverage as your own. “Just friends is okay with me if you’d rather do that. I’m just happy to see you after all these years.”

“I’m happy to see you, too. You were always great company back then.”

“I told a joke or two every now and again.” He laughed, remembering his goofy stature and desire to be the class clown. You wished so badly that you could just get over yourself, to move on and enjoy the time you were spending with an old friend. You wanted to be done with Jake and lean across the table to kiss the incredibly attractive man who was smiling over at you, but you felt frozen in place. As nice as it was to be with Scott, and as much as you wished to purge Jake from your life, you could not seem to do it. The thought of kissing someone else nearly made you sick, which also brought you to the horrendous reality that it was so easy for Jake. He was not caught up on you the way you were with him, and you needed to understand that in order to get better.

“Do you remember when you super glued all of Mr. Barksdale’s stuff to his desk?” You giggled, recalling the memory fondly as you searched for a subject to change the conversation up.

“How could I forget? He turned as red as the dress you’re wearing.” He let out another laugh, this one genuine straight from his belly. You could not help but join, finding the sound incredibly infectious. “He was so mad at me, I thought I was going to get expelled.”

“We all did. He hated you.” You grinned, wiping tears from your eyes that formed while amidst the laughing fit.

“Let’s be honest, most of the teachers did. I was a little shit.” He said, leaning back in his chair to calm himself down. Once he recovered, he took a long sip from his own wine. “One time, I took all of the free condoms from the guidance counsellers office and put one on every door handle in the building.”

“Oh god, that was you?!” You exclaimed, causing him to let out another belly-laugh. The happiness floating in the air was real, and you did not need to fake the joy written all over your face. It was the first time in days you had genuinely smiled, and weeks since you’d laughed like you were in that moment. It was freeing, and it helped you realize that there was life after Jake Kiszka, just the same as there was before.

“It was.” He nodded, wiping away his own tears.

“I had to wash my hands every time I opened a door for like a week!” You blamed him, but you knew it was due to the lack of janitors employed at the public schools. “And they never bothered to replace the free condoms, either.”

“You went looking for those a lot?” He teased, still trying to rid himself of the fit of giggles.

“It was way more convenient than buying them!” You plead your case, not really caring about the joke at your expense.

“Right,” he nodded, exhaling a long sigh after gaining his composure. “You see? I’m always down for a little mischief. Plus, if you’re using me to make someone jealous, I kind of take that as a compliment. Means you think I’m cute.”

“I always thought you were cute,” you rolled your eyes. “Funny and rich? How could I not?”

“So shallow,” he let out a disaproving tsk, but he did not seemed bothered by your comment. “I think that being friends would be nice right now. Who knows, maybe in the future, it’ll work out in our favour?” He offered. “If not, I’ll still be happy to have you as a friend again. If I remember correctly, you were a fierce little sidekick to have, and a pretty good wing-woman.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your voice was shrill, surprised at such a statement.

“Oh, come on!” He rolled his eyes. “You were the first to tell someone off if they deserved it. Remember Alex Kiser, that little asshole on the football team?”

“Of course I do.” You scoffed.

“He seemed pretty intent on making my life hell for years, and then one day when we were in the library, you got up in his face and said everything that you had on your mind. He left crying, and I don’t think he ever bothered me again.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, not realizing that your gall had been so memorable that it stuck with him that long after it happened. “And junior prom! You helped me make the poster to ask Rachel Miller, only after you talked me up for months when you sat with her in History class.” You finished your wine as he spoke, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. When you sat your glass down, he refilled it for you.

“Okay, okay.” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands to save yourself the extra embarrassment. You hated thinking about your antics in high school.

“What I mean is, you were a great friend back then, and I’d be lucky to have you as a friend, now.” He said, reaching over the table and placing a gentle hand on your arm. You peeked at him through the cracks of your fingers, the blush still lingering on your skin. After a few seconds, his hand trailed up to meet one of yours. He locked a finger around your own and gently pulled your hand away from your face.

“Thank you, Scott.” You mumbled, averting your gaze to the white tablecloth. His eyes were too pretty to keep watching, and you feared that with another few sips of wine, you would end up making an even worse decision for yourself. “Friends would be very nice. I haven’t had many as of late. I think when I left Seth, I cut off everyone. Wanted to start over, and I did.”

“We can do friends, y/n. I’d love to be friends, actually.” He promised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “With a little jealousy on the side, of course.”

“Right, how could I forget.” You chuckled.

“Is it the type of revenge that makes him regret everything, or the kind that makes him angry enough to show up here tonight? Cause I can play both parts. I make for a phenomenal actor.”

“Oh yeah? You take up Drama Club in university?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No, but I did have to pretend to be interested in Macroeconomics for three whole months, and I promise you it was not easy.”

“You poor thing.” You smirked, your fake sympathy completely apparent.

“So what is it, sunshine? I’ll put on a good show.”

“Both, I think. I’m not sure what I want yet, or if it’ll even do anything.” You shrugged. “He seemed quite uninterested at the bar that night.”

“Have you checked your phone yet?”

“Not since we came in here.” You admitted, not shy of the fact you had been completely immersed in his company. You pulled it from your purse, turning on the screen to see if he had tried to message you again. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head at the amount of notifications piling on the screen.

“Seems like it’s working.” He smiled. “You think another picture will do him in?”

“I think it might give him a heart attack,” You muttered, letting your eyes wander over the few words you could read from the notifications. He was pissed, and in some strange way, it made you feel good. “Let’s do it.” You said, unlocking the screen and ignoring everything Jake had to say about your night out on the town. You opened your camera again, looking around the table while thinking of the best course of action.

“If you’re looking for a movie-style blowout, I suggest putting the menus in the picture.” He offered.

“You’re a genius.”

“Evil genius,” he corrected, positioning both menus under your hands that were already intertwined. Without moving too much, he moved the wine bottle so it was in clear view of the camera too. “My only stipulation is that we have to go for lunch soon, just so you can tell me how it went.”

“Are you playing wingman, now?” You questioned. He gave a sheepish smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“I was kind of hoping that you might let me have the pictures too, so maybe I could do the same.” He explained. “Not to get her back, but I know me going on a date with an absolute smokeshow would definitely piss her off.”

“Of course.” You laughed at the universe, finding it perfectly comedic that the two of you would be going through such similar things. Hand in hand, you snapped a few pictures of the sight while ensuring the restaurant name was easily recognizable. You fixed up the image, adjusting the brightness and contrast before opening Instagram and uploading it to your story. Once it posted successfully, you shoved your phone back in your purse.

“Now we wait.” He said, almost excited for what was to come next. He’d loved attention, and he was always ready to be the star of the show.

“What if he hits you?” You said, finally realizing how poorly the night could go.

“I can take it,” he promised, no real fear over a fight. “So what’s he like, anyway? He must be something special to have you so enamoured with him.” A sad smile crossed your lips as you thought of a good answer, unsure of exactly how to word it.

“He is.” You muttered. “I gave up on dating and romance, and when I met him, I still felt that way. But after a while of spending every day together and doing things that I’ve never done with anyone else, it started to feel normal. It was more strange when he wasn’t around. I fell without even realizing it, and I was in way too deep before I could even admit it to myself. He turned my world upside down, and he made me feel things I never thought I would feel again, but he took it away too, and I don’t know how to move on from it. I don’t know what to do, or how to act, or anything.” You sighed, suddenly realizing all of the incriminating things you’d said. You looked up, plagued with guilt for talking about another man so intensely while on a date, but he was only smiling at your words.

“You can’t let that go, y/n.” He said, catching your eye to show his sincerity. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve the love you always should have been given.”

“Stop,” you waved him off, overwhelmed with the profound statement.

“Does he make you happy?” He asked.

“Yeah,”

“Do you want to make it work?” You had to think about it, but eventually you gave a nod.

“I think I do, but I don’t know how.”

“If he feels the same, you’ll figure it out.” He promised, taking another sip of wine.

“Do you want me to pay for the wine? I feel terrible about how this turned out.” You laughed.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “I’m having a fantastic time. You can buy lunch when you catch me up on all of the details.”

“Sounds like a deal.” You grinned, happy that he was so understanding. Before you had the chance to speak again, your attention was grabbed by a loud voice booming over the sound of soft classical music and low chatter. It sounded once, and you thought you might be able to ignore it. You couldn’t make out what it was saying, and it did not seem like the disturbance would continue. You took another sip from your wine, finishing off the second glass before you tried to continue the conversation.

As the bottom of the glass touched down on the table, your gaze shifted to the newest excitement in the room. Your stomach dropped and your eyes grew wide. You couldn’t find the words to communicate with Scott, so instead you gave his leg a gentle kick under the table to warn him of the fact that Jake had indeed cracked the code, and was pissed off enough to show up and get the answers he so desperately needed. Before your date could even catch on to what you were trying to tell him, Jake was close enough that his cologne was suffocating you and you could see his chest heaving with anger.

“Get up.” He ordered before he even stopped in front of the table.

“Jake, what the-“

“Get the fuck up, y/n. We’re going home.”

“You can’t just show up and tell me to leave.” You scoffed, still trying to digest the fact that he was in front of you. Part of you thought that the picture might push him too far, but a bigger one believed that he did not care enough about you to let it bother him that much. Now that he was in front of you, clearly dressed to impress you and outshine your date (or, his new-found enemy, rather), you could not seem to grasp the fact that after everything, he still wanted you. He sat up at night thinking about you, wondering if things would ever get better. He tossed and turned, hating that his bed still smelled like your shampoo, and he sat by his phone every minute of the day waiting for you to reach out. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him, but for some reason, it was too surreal for you to accept it.

“I’m not asking.” He made that point abundantly clear.

“Hey, man, I don’t mean-“

“I’m not fucking talking to you, am I?” Jake’s head turned sharply towards Scott, an abundance of anger pooling in his eyes. If Scott cared for his own safety, you hoped that he would heed the warning.

“Fuck off, Jake.” Although you had poked the bear, you were having a hard time finding any sympathetic feelings for his distress. You knew that he might show up, but it did not change your naturally strong personality. You lived to fight with him on every stance he took, and now seemed no different. His harsh approach and cocky tone were pissing you off more by the minute.

‘Who does he think he is? Showing up after days of no contact, demanding I go with him? What a-‘

“I’m not going to say it again,” Jake spoke, cutting your thoughts short. “Get up, go outside, and get in the car.” His dangerously low voice sent a shiver down your spine. “I promise that you do not want me to have to repeat myself.” He caught your eye, the look familiar and more chilling than it ever was before. It made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, the need for friction on your aching core more dire than anything else you were feeling in that moment. You had no fear that he would hurt you, but you knew that once the two of you were alone, punishment would be due. If you survived the horrific aftermath of the fire that was blazing in both of your hearts, of course.

“Maybe she’d cooperate if you weren’t talking to her like a fucking dog.” Scott cut in, finding Jake’s tone too strong for his liking. He was not battling for your affection, but he did not care for the way he was speaking to you. He stood, ready to get between the two of you, but Jake turned on his heels so fast that it made your head spin. Scott was easily a head taller than Jake, but despite the physical difference, Jake was holding all of the power.

“You don’t get to talk to me about her, ever.” He took a step closer, fuming at the thought of your name on his lips. His finger was pointed at him, pushing into his chest further with each word he spoke. For a moment you feared that he might strangle him, realizing the look in his eye was far more dangerous than you’d ever seen before. You stepped towards Jake, placing a delicate hand on his shaking arm. At your touch, he immediately relaxed and lowered his hand.

“Let’s go.” You said, pushing Jake towards the door. After a moment of a staring contest between the two, Jake allowed you to nudge him in the right direction. As you walked behind him, ensuring he wouldn’t turn around, you turned your head back to look at Scott, sending him an apologetic stare. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if you were okay. You gave a nod alongside a subtle wink, which he returned after he was certain you were okay.

When you managed to get Jake to the front door, the strength in which you were holding his arm increased in an angry fashion. In the parking lot, you felt the need for damage control flee you, and your own pent up rage began to surface. “What the fuck was that about?” You let go of his arm with a little more force than intended, pushing him forward slightly as your hand disconnected from him.

“Who the fuck was that, y/n?” He said, turning around to face you with the same fire burning in his eyes. “And why the hell are you on a date with him?”

“I think you lost all rights to ask me that.” You warned, scowling at his forward questions. “Who I spend time with is none of your business anymore, and neither is my dating life.”

“None of my business?” He hissed, stepping towards you as he spoke. A cloud of wrath was forming around the two of you, locking you in and locking the rest of the world out. There was no escaping it even if you wanted to. “You are my business. If you’re safe, if you’re happy, all of it, whether you like it or not!”

“Oh, yeah, because you’re so concerned whether I’m fucking happy or not!” You exploded, throwing your hands out and landing your palms flat on his chest. In a sudden burst of emotion, you pushed him backwards, causing him to stumble. “It sure meant a whole lot to you when you were practically fucking that ditzy blonde in a booth in my bar!” He was stunned at your words and the strength in which you delivered them. “You don’t get to show up here and ruin my night and then pretend you fucking care, because you don’t and you never have!” You pointed a finger at him, uncaring of the grand show of emotion in the middle of the parking lot. “You apologize and tell me how much I mean to you, you have sex with me in the bathroom because you can’t wait until we get home, and then you make out with someone else in front of me all night!” Your voice cracked with tears, all of the hurt you’d been feeling pouring out at once. “Did you just say all that so you could fuck me? Or so you could leave it on good terms while you left for someone better?”

“Y/n-“ he warned, stepping forward again.

“Shut the fuck up and let me talk!” You begged, tears pooling in your eyes. “Was that all I was to you after all? Sex and somewhere to sleep for the night? Were you just keeping me around so you didn’t have to be alone while you looked for something else? Someone with less baggage, someone who’s easier to deal with than I am?” He reached up, grabbing your wrist tightly in his hand while his eyes warned you to back down.

“Get in the car.” He said, his voice as quiet as a whisper, but as impactful as a punch.

“I don’t want to go home with you, Jake! I just want to know the fucking truth, and then I never have to see you again!” His grip only tightened as you spoke.

“Get in the car, and I will answer your ridiculous fucking questions.” He tried again, keeping his cool because he knew that you were hurting much more than he was. The wine was clouding your mind, making your chest ache more than it ever had, and allowing you to make a fool of yourself in the public parking lot. “We will talk about this once I get you home safe. I’m not letting you get in a cab like this, and I need to know that you’re going to be okay.”

“Stop pretending that you care!” You tried to shake out of his grip, but he was much stronger than you. The longer he continued the act, the worse your heart hurt. You were confused, tipsy, and more than anything, heartbroken. You could not allow yourself to believe that he cared this much, and every time you let yourself second guess your doubt, the picture of him kissing the blonde at the bar plagued your mind.

“I’m not pretending!” He finally reached his limit, yelling back at you with just as much force. “I would never lie to you about that. If you know me at all, you’d know how much you fucking mean to me!” His voice cracked too, but he did better than you at covering it up. “Now get in the car, and then you can yell at me, and you can hit me, and you can scream all you want.” He was not willing to negotiate; his eyes were heavy with anger and his expression was stony. With a huff, you pushed past him, but you did as he asked and you climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

You slammed the door behind you, tossing your purse on the floor as you crossed your arms over your chest quite like a child amidst a temper tantrum. He got in the drivers side, closing his door with the same force as he shoved the keys in the ignition. Within seconds, he was pulling out of the parking spot and began driving down the streets to bring you home. You kept your mouth shut despite wanting to fill the stale air with cruel words and harsh insults. As he drove, you tapped your foot against the ground to pass the seconds until you were home.

You had not thought your plan all the way through; you wanted to hurt him, to piss him off and make him feel all the same ways you did at the bar that night. When talking with Scott, the prospect of making Jake angry enough to show up at the restaurant was intriguing, and definitely thrilling. Once the adrenaline wore off and you were left alone with the rotten feeling that had been steadily growing in your heart, you realized you did not want to see Jake at all. Having him in front of you reminded you of all of the feelings you were trying to bury, and seeing his face only made you fall in love with him even further. You were so angry with him that it made your head spin, but you cared about him so deeply that you were sickened at the thought.

Love itself is a funny thing after all, for not even the devil himself could understand it.

Jake's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, unable to hide the intensity of his emotions. When you allowed yourself to peek at him from the passenger side, you could not help but feel enamored with his face, even if wrath was wrapping itself around every feature that he had.

It almost drove you crazy, the seriousness etched into his stature. The downturn of his lips, leaving just the ghost of his earlier scowl would be off putting to some others, but you found beauty even in the midst of his pain. The furrow of his eyebrows was minimal, but you were drawn into the tiny wrinkles it left on his tanned skin. His eyes were black with anger, and he was almost unrecognizable.

To anyone untouched by the devil, the man before you would strike fear. To you, submerged and nearly buried underneath the sin, his wrath was like a drug. You could feel it seeping under your skin, igniting every nerve with flames and striking the match for your own. The devil within you fed off of his wicked heart, and his own evil did the same with yours. Between you was empty space, stale air that did not even hold a whisper of relief from the deafening silence. From nothing grew an unholy feeling. There was no room in the vehicle for anything lesser; the euphemisms and illusions you had previously drawn about his lack of morality no longer fit the narrative. Satan himself sat beside you, horns growing rapidly and his skin blistering red. You could not fear him, because when you turned to look out the window, you noticed your reflection and saw the pitchfork in your own hand as your eyes turned black as night.

The sin had finally caught up, and not even a priest could excise the demons from the two of you. Salvation was no longer an option, and the only thing left to do was face the devil within yourselves. The seventh, and the deadliest capital vice was begging to be heard. It was bleeding you both dry, the wrath so abundant that it was replacing all of the blood coursing through your veins with its own ferocious fury. Wrath was sewn into your skin, tying knots around your lips and blinding you with rage. It was wrapped around your neck, choking you and laughing as you begged for air. The two of you had done so much damage that you had turned yourselves into the personification of evil itself.

Walking away was the safest option, but after a lifetime of running, staying was the only thing the two of you wanted to do.

How pitiful to learn the lesson only after it manifested itself to be lethal.

“You’ve got nothing to say, now? Only want to fight with me if we can cause a scene?” He asked, flipping on the turn signal with nearly enough force to break it clean from the car.

“As if you need any help getting attention.” You rolled your eyes, muttering it to yourself. “As if I’m the one who fucking caused the scene in the first place.” You said the second part louder, stronger so he could hear the disdain in your voice.

“Like you weren’t trying to start something by posting those pictures.” He growled, the memory striking him particularly unpleasantly. The thought of another man’s hands on you was enough to drive him to violence. “Sorry, I forgot that I always have to be the bad guy.” He added, his grip tightening even further on the wheel as he turned off the highway.

“Would you fucking quit with the pity party?” You exploded, finally turning towards him. “Do you really think that you’re innocent? From what I understand, exclusivity doesn’t mean very much to you. If it did, you wouldn’t have been finger-fucking your side piece at the bar while I had to sit and watch!” The obscenity of your words didn’t even phase you, your anger so flaming that you were willing to say anything to get under his skin. “Or is it only okay when you do it, Jacob? You can fuck whoever you want, but I have to sit there and stay loyal to someone who doesn’t fuck about me! I’ve done that once before, but you’re not nearly special enough for me to want to do it again!”

“You didn’t stay and let me explain myself! I was only with her because I didn’t know how else to get your attention! You make me fall in love with you, and then you push me away. Then you tell me you care about me, and you walk away!” He brought his hand back, slamming it back down on the wheel with an intensity that made your head spin. “If you weren’t so fucking stubborn, maybe we would have went home together instead!”

At the sound of the guilty confession, your world came crashing down around you.

Your worst fear had been spoken into existence, and you weren’t sure if you could survive the grief plaguing you.

“Yeah, it’s all my fault Jake.” You nodded, attempting to blink away the tears that were falling faster than you could comprehend. “It’s my fault that you broke the only promise I ever asked you to keep, and it’s my fault that I didn’t tell you I loved you after I explicitly told you that I don’t do that, and it’s my fucking fault that instead of being an adult about it and talking about your feelings, you buried your dick in another girl!” You slammed your fist against his dashboard, your emotions piling up so high that a physical release was the only way to calm them down. “It’s all my fault, and I’m just the fucking worst! God forbid you take some accountability for your own stupidity!” Your hand slammed down again with every point you made, the ache spreading up the entirety of your arm. For a moment he feared you might set off the airbag with the strength you were using to hit the dash.

As you retracted your hand from the scene of the crime, he pulled into your driveway. You rubbed your knuckles, soothing the ache in your bones until the car rolled to a stop. As soon as it did, you were unbuckling your seatbelt and opening the door. You grabbed your purse as you stepped outside, slamming the door before he could try to stop you. But, he was fast, and he was not willing to let you lock him out. He shut the car off and was hot on your trail before you even made it to the front steps. You fumbled with your keys as you tried to unlock your door, and when you finally saw the inside of your house, relief flooded you. You stepped inside, moving quickly to try and keep him out, but his hand collided with the door as you tried to shut it in his face.

“Take a fucking hint, asshole.” You spat, pushing against him.

“I’m not done talking!” He argued, barely straining as he rivaled your strength.

“I am!” You cried, begging him to understand. “I’m done talking, I’m done fighting, I’m done, Jake! I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

“I’m not letting you go, y/n.” He said, calmer than he was moments before. “I’m not letting you walk away again. I won’t walk away again.”

“Stop it!” You exploded, dropping your arm from the door in a moment of pure weakness. You were too distracted by the moment to remember your vow to keep him locked out. His words were too much, and it made all of the strength flee you and the pain grow larger. More than anything, it made your already poor judgment cloud even more. “Stop doing that, Jake! Stop hurting me and then telling me you care. Stop trying to be what we both know you aren’t!”

“What, y/n?” He scowled, his jaw clenched so tightly you feared he might pop a blood vessel. “Say it! Say the word! Stop being so fucking afraid of it!”

“You’re not my fucking boyfriend!” You yelled, reaching your breaking point. With that, he pushed the door open and stepped towards you. He reached out, landing one hand on your hip while the other one cupped your cheek. He kicked the door shut with a force as he leaned forward, capturing you in a kiss. The change in pace made you weak in the knees, but his advance was not unwelcome. The anger that was so evident in his features had been causing a mess between your legs since you first laid eyes in him.

The kiss was messy, both of you still fighting for control. He continued walking, keeping a firm grip on your hip so you didn’t lose your balance. You stepped in time with him, letting him lead you wherever he pleased. When your ass landed roughly against the lip of your kitchen counter, your stomach began to twist into knots. He pulled back, his chest heaving with the remnants of anger and now, desire.

“You’re right, angel. I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” He said, his expression completely foreign. It was like a stranger was standing before you, but it was not making you fearful; you were aching to know this version of him, and you wanted to know him as intimately as the situation would allow. He seemed like a man gone mad, all humanity gone from his eye and sex being the only thing that held any value to him.

For once, sex was finally the only thing the two of you were concerned about. No love, no respect, and not even any kind of affection. It was purely primal, and comfort was the last thing he had in mind.

But even more so than that, sex was the only way the two of you knew how to communicate, and he was using it to his advantage.

“I’m not even your friend.” He said, his eyes dark with lust. “I’m just sex to you, yeah?” His fingers were burning into your hip, leaving trails of blistering fire on your skin as they wandered to your thigh, settling just under the hem of your dress. “That’s all I’m good for, right sweetheart?” He moved his hips towards you slightly, but with force, causing your ass to press further into the marble countertop. You let out a gasp of pain, the sting radiating deep into the muscle as the solid surface settled in at a bruising angle.

“Y-yes.” You thought you could keep up the act, but his eyes intently focused on your own were sending you into a downward spiral of love for him. He was the whole world, and you were just living in it. You couldn’t lie enough to cover the fact, even if every word you spoke for the rest of your life was laced with dishonesty.

“I’m just something to help you get off,” he continued, his hand slipping under the fabric of your dress. “To fantasize about when your fingers are playing with that tight little cunt?”

“Yep,” you said, more confidently than the last time.

“Good to know,” he growled, pulling at the fabric of your dress until he heard the seams pop. You were so enthralled in his performance that you could not even find the will to care. “Now I can fuck you like a whore, and I don’t have to feel bad about it.” With that, he gave another hard tug and the stitching on one side of your dress came loose completely. It slumped from your body, falling around his hand in a pathetic heap. He let go of it, letting it fall to the floor without ever breaking eye contact. “If sex is all you want, I’ll fuck you just like you deserve.”

You wanted to fight with him; the anger was still bubbling under your skin and begging to be let out, but now that you were naked in front of him and his eyes showed unwavering dominance, you fell back into the roll with ease. He watched your face, not searching for discomfort, but obedience. This was not a debate, and you did not even pretend to hold any of the power. He slid his belt from the loops on his dress pants, folding it over on itself and gripping it tightly in his hand. Slowly, he placed the leather against your bare thigh, looking down as he slowly pulled it across your skin. The light tickle sent a shiver down your spine and you found yourself staring at his face, wondering what was running through his mind.

Had you pushed him too far?

Was he really stopping the whole conversation just to fuck you?

You were confused, and still incredibly hurt, but the arousal pooling between your legs was undeniable. There was so much that needed to be discussed, but the longer the minutes dragged on, the less you cared about working it out.

He reached out with both hands, his grip holding on your hips. In one swift motion, he lifted you and placed you on the cold countertop. You jumped at the sudden chill that ran through you, but he did not comment, nor did he even seem to notice. With little warning, he snaked his hand between your legs and roughly pulled one to the side. His eyes were still focused on your cunt, his gaze never faltering. He didn’t want to look at your face; he didn’t want to see the contempt you held for him in your eyes, nor did he want to see the pain he caused any longer. He couldn’t look you in the eyes and face you like a man; he was angry, and hurt, but most of all, he could not forgive himself for how much he’d hurt you.

“You want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like one, angel. Taking guys out on dates just to piss me off, posting pictures and ignoring me when I call…” he brought his hand to your heat, running his fingers through the wetness and spreading it to your clit. “If you wanted me to come over and fuck you, all you had to do was ask.” He said, his tone eerily calm. His middle finger tracing agonizingly slow circles around the sensitive nub, making your want to buck your hips forward into his hand for more. You needed him the same as the starving need food, but you were unwilling to sacrifice your dignity while showing him. “Or did you want to take him home? Have him between your legs like this, trying to make you feel as good as I can?”

You were faced with two options; tell the truth and fuel his ego, or lie and make him even angrier with you.

You were foolish to think that the devil would ever allow for the truth in your godless relationship.

“I did.” You replied, causing him to look up and finally meet your eye. The animalistic look was enough to drive you crazy, but you stayed put, pretending that the emotion in his eye did not phase you at all. “And I know he would’ve done it better than you can.” At that, his fingers stopped all movement. His grip tightened around the leather belt in his hand, tempted to use it, but knowing that it would not change your attitude. Instead, he gave you a smirk, fake but effective.

“You think he can fuck you like I can?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You held back a frown when he moved his hand away from you, completely cutting off contact. “You think he can make you feel better than I can?”

“Yeah, I do.” Your false confidence was astonishing, and even you believed it yourself for a moment.

“Okay, angel.” He nodded, taking a step back from you. He reached down and grabbed your purse that fell to the floor, opening it and grabbing your phone from inside. He dropped the bag to the ground again and tossed the phone on the counter beside you. Your stomach twisted with anxiety, wondering what he was doing. “If you think he can do a better job, call him. I’ll go home, and he can finish what I started, but I’ll be waiting for you to text me, asking me to come back because he couldn’t fucking do it right.”

You were appalled at the thought, but not because of his cockiness. That was normal now, and not often did it phase you. You were sickened at the thought of having someone else do what you so badly wanted Jake to do. Hours ago, you had convinced yourself that hooking up with another guy would help ease your pain, but now that Jake was in front of you again, you could not stomach the idea of another man touching you the same way.

He watched your face, taking in your shocked expression. He was bluffing; he would not let anyone else touch you like this in a million years, and he definitely would not hand out the invitation himself. His hope was that you realized that he was what you wanted, and not the guy you went to dinner with. He knew you well enough to know that you would never do such a thing, which is why he was confident enough to offer the idea. When you didn’t respond, he let out a low chuckle.

“That’s what I thought.”

Damn him and his ability to see right through you.

“Now shut your fucking mouth and behave yourself.” He said, taking a step back even further. “Since I can’t do it right, you can get yourself off.”

“Jake-“ you protested, unhappy with his decision.

“I don’t want to hear another word. YouI’ll do as you’re told.” He cut you off, giving you a stern warning. His nostrils flared slightly with anger, and the muscles in his jaw were tense. You bit back a snarky comment, clearly upset by his ridiculous request, but you let your hand sink between your legs anyway. He moved back towards the counter opposite of you, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest while he watched you run your own fingers through your folds. He still had his belt clenched tightly in his hand, making sure it didn’t stray too far. You knew he was itching for a chance to use it, and you couldn’t deny your own desire to feel it across your skin. You could see the erection growing in his pants, tenting the zipper and straining the fabric. You wanted him more than you ever wanted anything in your life, and sitting there touching yourself while he was so accessible was equal to torture.

Then again, that was his intent; he did not want to please you like he was often eager to do. He was angry with you, and when you anger the devil, punishment is not only expected, but ensured.

“Like this, sir?” You taunted, slowly trailing your middle finger to your clit, tracing slow circles around it. You wanted praise, but he wasn’t generous enough to give it to you. Even more than that, you wanted to push him enough to make him do the job himself, rather than sit and watch. He did not respond, but his eyes were intently focused on your hand as you touched yourself. Beneath the rage still lingering in his gaze, there was a sense of longing for you. He was torturing you, but he was doing the same to himself by having to hold back.

Since the night at the bar, he hadn’t been able to get the thought of you out of his head. Worse yet, he couldn’t forget the feeling of being inside of you, your cunt clenching around him as you dissolved into a mess below him, desperate for an orgasm. Being near you was like getting a fix of a drug he’d been withdrawing from for weeks, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle watching you get yourself off. There was a small fear inside him that he might come undone at the sight of you in pleasure alone.

You anchored your arm on the counter behind you, holding your weight on the single limb as you leaned backwards, allowing him a better view of the show you were putting on. You added more pressure to your finger, feeling your breath hitch in your throat as a wave of relief washed over you. You kept your eyes on his face, only allowing yourself to look at his cock strained in his pants every so often, knowing that it would only make your neediness worse. His gaze was still locked on your hand, and his chest was deeply rising and falling with every breath he took to calm himself. He was irresistible, and you did not know if you could keep going without as much as his hand on you in support.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasped, feeling a pressure begin to build in your belly. It was nothing like how he could make you feel, but it was something, and that’s all that mattered. Progress, even if it was slight, meant that you were a little closer to him taking over for you.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He unraveled his arms from across his chest, reaching down and adjusting himself in his pants to relieve some of the pressure. “Listening isn’t so hard, is it?”

“Fuck off,” you rolled your eyes, still working your way up to an orgasm.

“Watch it,” he warned, unhappy with your sharp tone. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you get yourself off.”

“Oh you’re so generous.” You scoffed, your hand still working at yourself. The angry banter seemed to be helping your search for a climax. “Jake the hero! He’s just so fantastic and everyone should bow down and kiss his feet! I’m so happy to do all the hard work for you, thank you so much.” You grumbled, trying to keep your words as nice as you could despite wanting to tear a strip off of him. You were still angry, even underneath all of the sexual tension, and you were a bomb waiting to explode. You feared that if he pushed you just a little too far, the night would come to an end without any sexual gratification at all.

“You’re going to start with me again?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped towards you.

“Can’t take it?” You asked, a bit breathless from the pleasure pulsing through you. Your cheeks were tinged red from the feeling, and from the anger still simmering from earlier. Your skin was sticky with sweat and you were growing more desperate by the second. The sight of your struggle made him smile, knowing how badly you wanted him to reach out and touch you.

Once he was within an arm's reach, he settled himself between your legs again as your fingers remained in a steady pace on your clit. Before you could speak again, he drew his arm back and brought the belt down on your thigh. You let out a hiss of pain, instinctively trying to shy away from him, but his hand shot to your hip to hold you in place. Once you calmed down from the initial shock, you relaxed into his hold, surprised that he hit you as hard as he did.

“One chance, Angel.”

“W-what?” You asked, distracted from the rapidly changing environment.

“Tell me what the fuck your problem is.” He said, looking down his nose at you. In that moment, you could see his humanity return to him again. He cared so much, but he was sick of scaring you away by loving you. This was his only way to get you to tell him what was wrong without you running away. He’d been waiting for the opportunity to come all night, and he wasn’t letting it pass him by. “Get it all out now, ‘cause once you cum, I get my turn.” You were dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond to his request.

“You want me to berate you while I get myself off?” You questioned. “That’s a little fucked up, even for you, no?” Your tone was airy even after you tried to maintain your composure. The pressure in your belly was unbearable, but you slowed your movements to allow yourself some time.

“I want you to get rid of that fucking attitude.” He corrected, grabbing your cheeks between his forefinger and his thumb. “Look at me and tell me what’s wrong. I want to hear all of it, and don’t you dare stop touching yourself.”

“All of it?” You clarified, hoping he was being serious and you weren’t trapping yourself. He gave one curt nod, showing you he meant what he said. You withdrew a long breath, gathering your thoughts before you began. “You’re a selfish, ignorant prick, Jake. You promised me that you wouldn’t fall in love and fuck this up, and then you did it anyway.” You huffed, finding your temper hard to keep up while looking into his eyes. “And when I told you I wasn’t ready, you played the victim and told me I was only good for sex. Why do you think I was scared of dating you, hmm?” You pressed, waiting for him to answer before you continued. When you were met with nothing but a harsh stare, you continued on, anyway. “Because I was fucking terrified of you lying, or believing you when you say all of that stuff just for you to change your fucking mind, and you proved me right!”

“Mhm,” he hummed, allowing you to continue.

“A-and… oh, fuck.” You groaned, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as an intense wave of pleasure ran through you. “And I went to that bar that night to forget about you, but you showed up, and I cared about you enough to be the bigger person and apologize. I felt like I was taking a step in the right direction, and I was finally able to move past all of that fucking trauma and fear. I felt good, I was happy, and when we left that bathroom I was ready to take the next step.” You confessed, the words weighing heavily on the both of you. Your mind was hazy, and you weren’t sure if you would have said it all if you were in a proper state of mind. “Then I got to meet your date for the night, and it got me thinking that all men really are just the same. I wondered if it was me, if I was too much, or if there was too much baggage, or if I was too complicated for you to handle. I cried to your brother about you while you sat in that booth and made my worst fucking nightmare come true.”

“Keep going.” He encouraged, placing his belt on the counter and moving your hand out of way. It broke your focus, the sudden loss of contact devestating for you. Then, he moved his hand in place of your own, slowly pumping two fingers into you and letting his thumb drift over your clit. A moan broke from your chest, filling the air with desperation amidst the despair.

“S-so I left, and I promised I was done, but I can never just be done with you, can I?” You hissed, squeezing your eyes shut as the feeling in your belly grew stronger. “I decided to get back at you, so I took Scott on a date to try and forget about you. I taunted you with those pictures to make you feel the same way I did, but I worried it wouldn’t work because you don’t care about me the same way I care about you.” He let out a quiet noise, almost sounding astonished that you could believe such a thing, even while he was trying to make you feel good while you berated him. “Then you showed up, and for a second I believed I had it all wrong. You cared enough to be there, to come and find me and try to win me over, but then I was just mad. I’m not your property Jake, and I’m not your problem.” You had to stop, feeling yourself teetering on the edge as you spoke. You waited for a moment, focusing on not cumming so you could say all you needed to feel better.

“You don’t get to pick and choose when you love me, and you don’t get to decide when I’m ready for something. You don’t get to choose when I’m someone you love, or when I’m just good for sex. You don’t get to make me fall for you and then take another girl home with you!” You could feel tears rising in your eyes despite the pull of pleasure from his hand. You were surprised that you could speak so much emotion so clearly while he was working so intently at your cunt, but the emotional turmoil was much more pressing than the sexual tension. “You don’t get to tell me I mean something to you and throw it in the garbage. You don’t get to mean this much to me and also have the power to take it away.” He heard the quiver in your voice, and it nearly shattered his psyche.

“It’s okay, Angel.” He muttered. “You’re okay.” He promised, moving his fingers at a more precise angle. “Cum for me, beautiful.”

“Don’t do that, Jake.” You stopped him, hating how badly you loved hearing the sweet words. It was too much. He was too much. It was all too much for you, and you feared that you were crossing a line you would never be able to come back from.

“Get used to it.” He snapped, leaning forward so his forehead was resting on yours. He couldn’t handle your denial any longer; both of you felt the same way, even if you refused to admit to it. Love was surrounding you completely, and you knew it long before he took your clothes off. The only reason it hurt so bad was because you loved him so much, and if you did not care it would never have mattered. “I’m not going anywhere.” He said, a little softer but still harsh enough to offset the sweetness.

“F-fuck,” you gasped, stuttering over your own profanity. It was exactly what you wanted to hear from someone your entire life, that they were there for good and they wouldn’t leave your side, but somehow when it came from his lips in the way you’d always longed to hear, you could not allow yourself to believe it. The orgasm was right there, and you could no longer hold it back. You were slipping over the edge, and he wasn’t helping. His hold on your face softened, but his fingers were still burning into your skin, leaving a mark for the rest of eternity.

“That’s it,” he crooned, rocking his hips forward into nothing. He was so desperate for relief himself, but he wouldn’t allow it until he was sure you were satisfied. Your hand reached out for his arm, your fingers locking around your bicep as your other arm snaked around his neck, pulling him closer and holding him tightly, ensuring he could not slip away. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

Your muscles tensed and your legs shook with the intensity of the euphoria. No pain existed within your mind anymore; it was filled with thoughts of Jake, and the sweetness of his face and the warmth of his eyes. For once, the thoughts invading your mind had little to do with the sexual desire between you both, and everything to do with the yearning of your heart. The pleasure came from him being close, and the prospect of spending the rest of your life doing the same thing with him and only him.

You were too far gone, and there was no way you could surface from the experience the same as you were before you descended into it.

Love had blossomed, infiltrating every second of your day and every fibre of your being. It was so plentiful that it altered your DNA and changed your entire outlook on life. You were nothing but in love, and the moment was so beautiful that it almost sickened you.

When you came down, your mind was foggy and your eyes were begging to stay closed. You were exhausted, but he was only just getting started. As soon as you relaxed against him, you felt him remove his hand from your cheeks. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to free himself. He grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you to the edge of the counter with a strength that made your head spin. He hiked your legs around his waist and let the tip of his cock rest on your entrance before going any further.

“I didn’t plan to fuck anything up, y/n.” He said, making sure you were listening. The softness he held seconds before was gone, now. It was his turn to air out his feelings, and he wasn’t going to miss the chance. “Falling for you was the last thing I wanted to do, because I knew it would leave us here. You don’t get to sit here and call me names, because you’re not a fucking saint, either.” With that, he slammed his hips forward, catching you completely off guard. You let out a yelp, his cock hitting your cervix and sending an addictive type of pain through your entire body. “You’re the most stubborn, self-assured, snarky woman I have ever met in my entire life.” He listed, clearly showcasing that your time to talk was over. “I hate it, but it’s so fucking addicting that I can’t stay away.” He growled, pulling your hips forward as he thrusted into you, making the impact all the more intense. “You don’t get to be angry with me for caring about you, because you’ve been doing all of the same things.”

“I get to be mad about whatever I want!” You argued, but he pulled you down on him again, cutting your thoughts off completely. The sound of skin on skin was too much to bear, and suddenly, you felt like he was wearing too much clothing. You reached your hand between the two of you, grabbing a handful of his shirt where the last few buttons were joined together. You gave a hard tug, and the buttons popped free from the threads holding them together. It didn’t even phase him for a second, and all he did was pull back for long enough to shake it from his arms.

“It’s my turn to talk.” He said, bringing his hand to your throat, his fingers locking around your neck like a gruesome decoration. He did not apply any pressure, but kept his grip there as a looming threat. “You broke my fucking heart, too.” At his words, your chest ached with a fervor you had never felt before. Hurting Jake was the last thing you wanted to do, and hearing him say it out loud broke you beyond recognition. “Do you really think that I took her home that night?” He asked, his hips still moving at a brutal pace. “That I even wanted to entertain that any further? That I even wanted to kiss her that night? You really think I would ever touch anyone else like this?”

“I… I don’t know.” You whined, your stomach twisting into knots at the pleasure he was granting you.

“You are the only thing that has ever mattered,” he huffed, looking down at your face, admiring the way your expression was telling him how good he was making you feel. “The only reason I invited her was to get your fucking attention, and I forgot she was even coming after I went to the bathroom with you.” You couldn’t respond, too immersed in the euphoria of being so close to him again. You did not realize how much you missed the feeling of him on your skin until he was touching you. “Then you walked away, like you always do, and I thought that was it. I thought I’d never see you again.” He was struggling to get the words out, but he continued on anyway.

“Then you post those pictures, posing like a fucking whore with some other guy to get under my skin?” He spat, his anger clear in his tone. You had hurt him perhaps even beyond how much he hurt you, and you could finally see it. You weren’t so blinded by your own pain that you could ignore his. You were both so blinded by pain that you had convinced yourselves that you hated each other. “You thought you were going to bring him back here and let him see you like this? That I would let you get away with it, let someone else put their hands on you?” He was growing more intense the longer he spoke, but it was so intoxicating that you did not realize how dangerous it was. “This is all for me, sweetheart. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” The possessive claim made you weak, and could not even voice how blissful the thought of being his forever was. His fingers tightened around your neck, finally beginning to cut off the blood flow to your head. “Did you think that he could even come close to me?”

“No, sir.” You rasped, his hand stopping most of the words, but you still managed to speak them so he knew the truth.

“He could never make you feel this good.” He spat. “Nobody could, Angel. You can lie and say that you don’t love me, but you can’t fucking lie to me about that.” His fingers constricted around your neck again, making your vision go blurry and your head feel light. Your entire body felt like it was floating, but you had no fear.

Just the same as it was the beginning, you knew that death at his hands would be the most pleasant experience of your entire existence.

Without warning, you descended into pleasure once more. You tried to withdraw a breath, but you could not get any air in. Your legs were locked around him, trembling with the intensity of the climax. You tried to reach an arm out to tap him, but you were so strung out in euphoria that you couldn’t summon the strength to do it. When you thought you might slip away into unconsciousness, his fingers loosened around your neck, never willing to push you too far. Even as angry as he was, your safety was the most important thing to him. Instead of the harsh grip he previously held, his fingers massaged against the sensitive skin as you filled your lungs with air. You coughed for a moment, sputtering on the oxygen that you’d been deprived of, and eventually your body relaxed from the stimulation. His hips were still moving, but you were nearly too fucked out to care.

Without any warning, he pulled out of you and slid you from the counter and onto your feet. You were completely at his disposal, but you had no fear that he would mistreat you. You trusted Jake completely, even if you didn’t want to. He spun you around, bending your top half over the counter and grabbing a fistful of your hair. Within seconds, his cock was back inside you and his hips were continuing their earlier page, this time with much more freedom.

“Tell me, sweetheart. I want to hear you say it.” He ordered. You felt a slight stutter in his movements, realizing that he wasn’t far behind you. He was holding on by a thread, and he was desperate to hear your praise, even if he would never admit it.

“Only you can make me feel this good, Jake.” You groaned, so exhausted that the words barely made it past your lips. “Nobody else could ever come close to you.”

“That’s it, baby.” He sighed, reaching around to the front of you and moving his hand between your legs. His fingers settled on your clit, now adding more stimulation to your already tired body. You tensed against him in response, your walls clenching around him and pulling him even further. “God, you’re so fucking tight. Take my cock so well.” Your knees went weak at the sound of his filthy words. “Give me one more, sweet girl. I know you can do it.”

“I can’t.” You shook your head against his hold on your hair. “I can’t do it.” You pleaded with him to see reason, but Jake had never been one to take no for an answer. You knew you could come again, but you feared that your body would not be able to handle it. Even as you doubted it, the pleasure was steadily rising again, begging you to let go and give in to the temptation.

“You can, and you will.” He barked, still feeling some residual anger coursing through him. The movements of his fingers sped, and if possible, became even more precise. Your whole body felt like it was on fire and he did not let up for a second to give you a break. He was pushing you to the brink of insanity, and he didn’t have a single regret about it.

“Fuck, Jake.” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut as an even more intense pleasure took over. You had surpassed any level of care, and you were practically screaming as obscenities fell from your lips, mixed delicately with his name. He coaxed you through the orgasm, muttering praise as he held you steady on your feet.

“That’s my girl.” He groaned, the sinful noises driving him even closer to the edge. Before you came down from the high, you could feel his hips stutter, his previous pace failing him as he descended into his own euphoria. His cock twitched inside of you, and he let out a slur of curses as he spilled his release into you. If it was even possible, the feeling of him filling you sent you into a whole other world of bliss. You tried to catch your breath as your body shook with the last few seconds of your orgasm, but your chest burned and your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You had never felt like this in your entire life, and although it was fantastic, it was incredibly dangerous. You had finally sold your soul to the devil, and your repentance had only just begun. You feared that a lifetime of suffering would not be enough punishment for the nefarious acts the two of you committed.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He breathed, slowly releasing his hold on your hair. You let your cheek gently fall against the countertop, the cool surface calming your burning skin almost immediately.

“Yeah,” you replied, keeping your eyes closed in hopes of regaining some energy again. He pulled out of you, but neither of you rushed to the bathroom to clean up. You could worry about the mess later; there were things more pressing than that, and dealing with the aftermath of your wrath was at the top of the list. When you felt strong enough to open your eyes, you pushed yourself up off the counter, feeling his hands softly running over the marks he’d left on your skin, destined to turn purple as a reminder of your sinful indulgences. You turned to look at him, leaning against the counter to keep yourself upright. He took a long look over your face, seeing the exhaustion written deep in your features. Underneath that, the pain was still lingering.

The two of you hoped that when you faced each other again, the burden of your mistakes would disappear and a new found peace would emerge from the rubble. Now, when you looked at him, it seemed like the pain was permanent and if anything, the suffering only grew stronger. He reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand, but not even the gentleness of his touch could satiate the raging hurt in your heart.

The damage was too plentiful, and you were certain that your relationship would never recover from the evil the two of you had turned to. The sin had caught up to you, and it was breaking you down further the longer you stood before him.

Again, the question remained unanswered; how much sin could you engage in until salvation is no longer an option?

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You wished that the feeling would take away all of the bad like it so often did before, but it only made your heart break even further. The longer his lips lingered on your skin, the more it made you want to cry. It wasn’t right, and it never would be. The two of you were disastrous together, and although the connection was undeniable, it was also lethal.

“I am, too.” You said, the quiver in your voice louder than any of the words you spoke. He pulled back, looking down at your face.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He pleaded, unsure if he could handle the sight of you in tears again. “Let’s go get cleaned up, then we can talk.”

“Okay.” You nodded, knowing that the longer you waited to tell him the truth, the worse it would hurt for you both. Still, you let him guide you to the bathroom where the two of you tried (and failed) to wash away the sinful memories of the night.

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at the smudged mess of your makeup and the trails of mascara littlering your cheeks from the crying you had done. You did not recognize the person staring back at you, nor did you want to get to know her. She was empty, chilling when you looked into her eyes for too long. She was not the person you had worked so hard to become, and as you looked over your shoulder at Jake, you knew why.

His love was euphoric, but it was not good for you. It had changed your entire world, but it was not in any way positive. You were a stranger to yourself, and you saw the devil in your eyes, laughing at your own foolish ignorance. The things you had done for his love did not give you what you so badly wanted. Instead, it turned you cruel and vile, your motives twisted and hurting everyone in the crossfire. You wanted him so badly, but you knew you could not have him and maintain your peace at the same time. The two of you cared about each other so much that it was dangerous, and you could not risk everything you had worked so hard to attain.

Even as you came to your senses, you could not help but gaze at his face with a type of longing only felt in fiction. Your heart ached to be his, and your body craved to be in his arms. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, but sometimes the most precious things can hurt you the most. Worse than that, the most beautiful things turn out to be rotten at the core. What you felt for him was so much stronger than anything you’d ever experienced, and in some ways, it was fantastic. What wasn’t fantastic was the things you were willing to do to keep him all to yourself. It was cruel and wicked, and you did not want the evil to take over your entire soul.

Even as you fought the idea, a small part of you knew that you were too far gone to be saved.

His arms reached out for you, landing on your arms as his fingers trailed over the smooth skin. He stepped towards you, placing a kiss on the top of your head as he reached for the pack of makeup wipes on beside the sink. He grabbed two from the package, and turned you to face him. Wordlessly, he wiped away the makeup staining your skin, but he could not work fast enough to rid you of the tears that did not want to stop falling.

You were already grieving him, and he wasn’t even out of sight yet.

You had always been fantastic at ruining a good thing before it ever happened.

“Is that better?” He asked, dabbing away the last bit of mascara on your cheeks. The coolness of the cloth soothed your skin, but it did not make you feel better at all. You weren’t sure that anything would.

“Yeah.” You lied, giving a weak nod against him. He discarded the used wipes in the trash, grabbing your hand and leading you out of the bathroom. He nudged you towards your bedroom, and you followed his guidance without complaint. Once you were in the safety of your room, he grabbed two of his shirts from the drawer of your dresser you had given him for his clothes.

The thought alone pained you, knowing that soon enough, it would go back to an empty compartment that served as a reminder of your own failures. You were not ready for Jake to become a stranger again after knowing him so well.

He tossed a shirt in your direction, which you caught and threw over your head. You would worry about returning his clothes to him another day, knowing that the pain was plentiful enough tonight. He changed into his own, comfier clothes and took a seat on the edge of your bed. He held his hand out to you, beckoning you to come and join him.

“I’m sorry I said all of that stuff.” You said, trying your best to sit away from him on the mattress, but gravity seemed to be pulling you towards him. “You’re not my boyfriend, but you are worth way more than sex. And you’re not selfish, either. If anything, I think that I am.” He was not your boyfriend, but you both desperately wished he was.

“It’s okay, angel.” He assured you, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m sorry, too. You are worth the whole world, and you’ve always meant more to me than sex. I never should have said that, either.” He confessed, wishing that he never said such harsh things about you.

“I’m also sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I was doing was making things worse. Scott didn’t mean anything, either. He was an old friend from high school, and I only took him on a date to piss you off.” You muttered, looking down at your hand in his.

“She didn’t mean anything, either. I did the same, and I shouldn’t have taken it that far. I was hurt and stupid, and I didn’t know how else to deal with it. I felt like you didn’t want me, so I just wanted to feel like someone did.” His transparency was haunting, especially considering you were going to hurt him all over again. You were prolonging the inevitable, and you were terrible for doing such a thing to him.

“These last few months have been… everything to me.” You confessed, feeling more tears stain your cheeks. “More than I ever thought I would have again. I’ve been so mad at you for breaking your promise, but I think I broke it first. It’s not fair, and I wish that I could deal with my feelings better.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He turned towards you so he could see you better. “We can figure it out together.” He promised, but the look in your eye made him regret the sentiment immediately. He knew what was coming just as well as you did, but he so desperately hoped that he was wrong.

“No, we can’t, Jake.” You whispered, holding back a sob begging to break free. “All we know how to do is hurt each other.”

“That’s not true, angel. Come on.” He pleaded, hoping that you would at least be willing to hear him out.

“Look at us,” you replied, begging him to see reason “we’ve been avoiding falling in love so much that we’ve gotten comfortable with hurting each other instead. I thought that after we talked it out, or after sex we might feel closer and all of that pain would start to go away, but it’s not. It’s still here, and it’s telling me that you and I need more than what we can give each other. The games and the avoidance and the fear… It’s not getting us anywhere.” You bit down on your lip, stopping it from quivering from the strength of your emotion.

“We can make it work. If we try, we can do anything, y/n. I would do anything for you.” He said, pained at the thought of leaving you again.

“When I said I don’t fall in love, I said it for a reason. It’s not because of you, and if I’m being honest, you are the easiest person in the world to fall in love with. It’s because I’m not good at it Jake, and I’m not good for you. I’m going to hurt you more than I can ever give you anything good. I’ve got too much history, too many problems… you don’t deserve that. You deserve the world, and I can’t give that to you. I can’t be selfish anymore. I can’t do that to you.” He reached up, wiping your tears away while he tried to process your words.

“Y/n, you are the world. I don’t want to try with anyone else, because a million bad days with you are worth way more than one good one with someone else.” The sweetness was killing you, and you had to stop him before he took it any further. You were always weak to his power, and this time, you were even more susceptible to it.

“I want that too, Jake, but I can’t.” You stressed the same point. He sat for a moment, drowning in the sorrow but unwilling to push you any further.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, voice so quiet it barely broke through the air.

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want it, but it’s for the best.” You closed your eyes, wishing you could feel differently about it. You wanted him so badly, and you wanted to make space in your home for him to be there, too, but you couldn’t. You were too afraid, and your fear had always paralyzed you. It was your biggest weakness, only second to Jake, now.

“Okay.” He said, holding back his own tears. It was killing him, but even if he did not agree, your comfort came first.

“I don’t want to lose you.” You said, making sure he knew that you still wanted him around. A selfish being could not fully rid themselves of the burden, and selfishness was all you knew when it came to him. “We’re just getting good at being friends, and I would really like to keep it that way.” You were lying; friends was equal to torture when all you wanted was to love him.

“I can do friends, angel.” He promised, but it was empty. He did not know if he could do it, but he was willing to try. Having you as a friend was better than not having you at all. “Can we just… Can we wait? I’m willing to try, but not yet. I just want to be with you right now.”

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding in agreement. You didn’t want him to leave yet, either, and you were willing to take as much as you could get, even if you were loving him on borrowed time.

The two of you fell back into the mattress, and he wasted little time pulling you into his arms. What normally would be a joyous moment now seemed bleak, drenched in despair. He didn’t want to leave, and you did not want him to have to repair damage that someone else had done. You were too hurt to be loved, and he loved you too much to see your hurt. The sin was plentiful, and this time, it had destroyed the two of you down to the core. You had done so much damage and repair was not an option, and you hated the fact that the universe did not want to allow the two of you to be together. In another life, the two of you would love each other more intensely than the world had ever seen.

Wrath had shattered the last bit of humanity the two of you held within your hearts. It was in his jealousy, and your revenge. It lived in your hurtful words and harsh truths, but most of all, it was plentiful in your own self-reflection. You had never hated yourself more than you did in that moment. You were angry with yourself for being so broken, and angry that you could not put your fear aside and let yourself love him. Most of all, you were angry that you were letting him walk away when all you wanted was to be held by him for the rest of your life. At the same time, he was furious with himself for ever hurting you at all and making you think that he would not do all he could to show you what you meant to him. He was angry for allowing you to let him leave, and angry that he was not strong enough to force you to let him stay.

Fury was the most abundant emotion in the room, followed closely by sadness. Above your heads, the seven deadly sins conjoined to force the two of you away from each other indefinitely. You had sinned too much to ever reap any rewards, and your wicked warpaths led you straight to your own demise.

Lust had driven you too him, and gluttonous you had become. Greed was not far behind it, but sloth ensured that you would never see the truth your hearts were trying to speak. Pride had stopped you from seeing him as he was, and pride had forced his hand in cruelty. Envy left you broken, and wrath had lead you to revenge. Now, you were cradled in the devils arms and awaiting your fate; god could no longer look at you and lead you down the right path, and your own salvation was out of your hands.

You prayed that the devil might see mercy and go easy on you as you tried to rebuild yourself from the evil mess you had become.

The hours passed and you stayed tangled in his limbs, with his hands in your hair and soft kisses placed on your skin. You felt better than you ever had, and you knew that nobody else in the world would ever love you the same as Jake would. You fought exhaustion, forcing your eyes to stay open so you did not miss a single second of his company. You laughed at each others jokes and shared sweet sentiments, recounting the months of happiness you had brought to each others lives. It was a dream come true, but dreams must always come to an end. When the sun began to peek through the darkness, you knew your time together had come to pass.

When he stood, your bed felt emptier than it ever had. There was a divot in the mattress from where he laid moments before, reminding you of all you were losing as he walked out the door. You stood with him, holding on to every last second that you could.

“So this is it?” He asked, wondering if you would change your mind.

“I guess so.” You replied, feeling your voice begin to shake with sadness again. If it was the right thing to do, why did it hurt so bad to do it?

“Friends?” He asked, clenching his jaw in hopes of holding back his own emotions.

“Wait,” you shook your head, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. He wasted no time doing the same, holding you with all of the love he could muster in his heart. Your head settled in the crook of his neck and his chin rested on the top of your head. The two of you sat for a moment, immersed in the comfort of each other's company. Before you let go, you leaned up and placed a kiss on his lips. It was sweet, drawn out, and telling of everything you did not have the strength to say. When you pulled away, you could see tears shining in his eyes from the early light of the sun. “Okay.” You breathed, in trance as his eyes burned into yours. “Friends.” His lips upturned into a smile, but it appeared more like a grimace.

“You were right from the beginning, angel. I never should have doubted you.” He said, his voice weak as he blinked away tears. If he had listened, he would have spared you both the pain.

“I’m so glad you did.” You said, making sure he knew you didn’t regret it. If he had listened, you never would have had the chance to know him at all. He placed a small kiss on your forehead, and with one last look over your face, took a step back.

“I’ll see you soon?” He asked, hopeful that you really did want to remain friends. He could not imagine how sorrowful life would be if he never saw you again.

“You know where to find me.” You left the invitation open, hoping that he would come back. You couldn’t understand the feelings flooding your chest. They were so powerful and abundant that it made it difficult to breathe.

“I do.” He nodded, stepping out of your bedroom to retrieve his shirt from the kitchen. “I’ll uh... I’ll buy you a new dress.” He chuckled, looking to the torn fabric on the floor.

“Don’t worry about it. It was worth it.” You gave him a weak smile.

“Alright.” He nodded, grabbing his shirt. “Goodbye, beautiful.” You wanted to say something back, but you were frozen. Dread filled you, leaving no room for anything else.

Why did you want him to stay?

Why did you want him to try and change your mind?

Why, if this was the best for both of you, did it feel like the world was ending?

The idea of him walking through the door was killing you, but you did not have enough courage to tell him to come back to bed despite wanting it more than anything else. You needed him to stay, to love you until you forgot about all the hurt that was plaguing you. You needed him, but you could not allow yourself to have it. Instead, you took in a shaky breath and nodded your head.

“Goodbye, baby.” You struggled to speak, your throat feeling like it was closing around the word and forcing it back down. You watched in horror as he walked to the door, opening it as he slipped his shoes on. He blew you a kiss, lingering for a moment too long. When you didn’t speak again, he stepped outside and the door gently fell shut behind him.

The grief hit you with such a force that you feared you would fall to your knees in anguish. You wanted to run after him, to tell him that you were wrong and the only thing you wanted to be good at was loving him, but you were frozen. You heard his car back out of your driveway, and you knew that it was over; you had to suffer the consequences of your own sinful desires and learn how to move forward despite them. It was the right thing to do, and you had to persevere through the pain to understand that you had done the best thing for the two of you.

But still, upon telling yourself that over and over again, you still did not believe it. Now that your house screamed with emptiness upon his departure, you felt like you had made the worst mistake of your life.

Perhaps the devil was not punishing you for your sinful endeavours, but rather the sin was standing in the way of seeing the truth once again.

With your head in your hands and your heart lying broken in the pit of your stomach, the heaviest realization thus far washed over you. You were wrong about him, and you were wrong about leaving him. Jake was not the enemy, nor was he the thing making your life harder; you were your own worst enemy, and all you had done since falling in love was stand in the way of your own happiness. You wondered if the Lord would ever forgive you and bring him back, or if you would have to suffer the punishment and spend every lifetime searching for him in everyone you met.

Hope was and had always been a feeble idea, and you had little desire to believe that life would work itself out again after making so many deals with the devil. Instead of running after him, you turned to your bedroom to hide away under the covers and begin your repentance that would take a lifetime to complete.

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlove @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby @lallisonl

[lemmetreatya]

Miss ma'am, Miss ma'am, I am back with another thought like it could be a lil blurd or whatever, but do you think Onyankopon got any fetish or kinks? I kinda believe he got a feet kink like the nigga loves LOVES a woman with nice ass feet and it don't matter if the feet are a size 4 or a size 13 - HE LOVES FEET! Like I can just image he's hitting it missionary style and he done hooked your legs over his muscular, chocolate shoulders and he catches sight of the gold and silver ankle bracelet he gifted you with his name on it (just cause he's cute like tht) and then his eyes are traveling to your feet and you feel him gets bigger inside of you and suddenly he's pounding you stupid cause you're just squeezing him but really it's cause he's making out with your toes, bitting the pinky toe and everything and it's so nasty and sensual that you squirt bout 3 times in a row but he's not complaining cause all that means is tht he gets to clean you up... sorry for the rant but what are your thoughts?

GIIRRRLLLLLL!!!! ykw?! it’s actually crazy because literally yesterday i was thinking that this man has a foot kink. and i never thought or looked towards a foot kink in my liiiffeee but i just know this man has it on LAWK!!

word count: 1.5k

content: afab!reader, smut, foot kink, missionary, biting, squirting, overstimulation, petnames

onyankopon loves giving you princess treatment.

we not just talking splashing big bucks on foot pedicures and spas but he just allllllways has an inclination to look after you. whether that be massaging your feet whilst you’re both laid up on the couch, his hand always finding your inner thighs during outings — heck he even be buying you those anklets and toe rings that rocky be getting for rihanna.

naturally, youd think that this was just onyankopon’s way of showing affection. but its when that man was laid up on you just underneath the covers that you realise that this was probably a bit more than just princess treatment.

“c’mere” hed mumble just above you as his arms hook underneath your thighs.

you already looked at onyankopon like he had galaxies in his eyes but its the way he always knew how to deal with you accordingly that made you weak.

“you always look so pretty like this baby, you know that?”

onyankopon continues to fuck into you at a moderate pace but now he has your knees by your ears as he uses most of his body weight to keep you folded. he bends down to give you a small peck on your lips but then takes one of your feet in hand to kiss just at the sole of your foot.

you wiggle your toes at him in small jest, a juvenile joke of some sort, but it only causes onyankopon to kiss at your feet more.

“that tickles…”

you breathe out, eyes intricately attracted to the way his lips lift off your toes as he gives it several kisses.

“mmmm.” the reply he gives is lazy, half potted, hummed. but there’s more than just galaxies behind his eyes now, there’s sensuality involved, there’s cosmoses forming.

the subtle change in onyankopon’s strokes are different. hes no longer slanging in and out of you for the pedantry of sex. there’s a switch; where suddenly he’s aiming for something thats dressed a lot like pleasure but is painted with a different face. onyankopon bends one of his knees besides you, giving himself some leverage, but now hes so intentional with how his lips praise your feet but his eyes dance over your face.

“you real pretty like this, princess.” he says again, but this time you have different answers.

“you talkin’ to me or my feet?”

you joke, your breathing not even in a good enough condition to laugh but the airy muse comes out anyways.

however, the phrase doesn’t land well with onyankopon. you can tell with how his eyes darken, with how the cosmos turn sinister and the galaxies erupt, that you were in nothing but trouble.

“watch your mouth.” is the growl that leaves his throat and that’s when everything turns inside out.

suddenly, onyankopon is speeding up his pistoning, cock growing heavier by the second as he latches your big toe inside of his mouth. its wet and its warm. not something you’d usual be akin to but its sensual enough that your moans come out pornographic.

“f-fuck…” you cry out — the change was unexpected!

onyankopon makes good effort to use your ankles as stirring posts for himself as he makes himself at home within your dewy cunt. you can tell he plans to unleash something hes never done before. his eyes told you. the way they were vividly burning with years worth of repressed expression and intent was everything you needed to know.

onyankopon unlatches his mouth from your foot.

“gonna leave you feeling…hoping you never said shit to me.” he half spits. not it malice though. no, onyankopon never spoke to you with any ill intent, but his words were venomously laced.

“o-o-ony, i..im sor’wy.”

you near cry because you’ve never felt this opened up into before, but onyankopon only leaves a bite with your toe before focusing his attention on your other foot, his lips now pressing against that one, as a reply.

but with onyankopon jackhammering into you and your lack of control in being able to squeeze your feet, everything felt so lose and so open and —

before you’re able to give a warning your squirting over onyankopon’s cock, slightly colder liquid spilling out of you every time onyankopon pulled backwards.

the man only curses slightly at your surprise, your feet planted against his cheek as he checks out your mess but it doesn’t stop him! if anything, he begins to thrust with more passion

“fuuuck, im gonna—shit!— now, im really gonna… give you sumn… to be sorry bout!”

now you can only but squeal in overstimulation, the man’s shit eating grin wide as he hyperfocuses on drilling your cunt with his cock. all you can do is whine into your arm as you let your head fall to the side.

it felt uncomfortable but in a good way because you know you had more in you and so did onyankopon.

“come on baby. need you to squirt on my dick again. gotta have you make a bigger mess, huh?”

“o-oa-o-on..nyyyy!”

words can barely leave your mouth at this point. you cant even twinkle your toes as a stim because onyankopon’s either got his mouth or hand on them. your pinkies shiny with spit, legs sticky with your cum, and now your cheeks prickling with tears of peak overstimulation via a second orgasm.

onyankopon pulls out now that you’re squirting again so that he can wash his dick with your cum. he suckles on your toes as he lays his dick against the fat of your pussy lips, your cries like music to his ears.

“eurrrgh. fuck you’re something else.” he moans over your toes but you’re too blazed out to even reply.

heart jerking whimpers leave your throat as you lay completely fucked out beneath onyankopon. the man can only look over you with a dreamy grin, the galaxies in his eyes having calmed down but now birthed with new stars and systems.

“still with me, bubba?” onyankopon lays a kiss to the sole of one of your feet before leaving his face plant against it.

you whine as an initial reply, your head reeling straight to look at him but you then realise you cant lift your head much more and so let it fall back down against the pillow.

“baby, i cant…do no more.”

as understanding as ever, onyankopon nods before leaning forwards to plant a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

“that’s okay. leave the rest to me.” which was ironic of him to say, concerning you’d done nothing but be a pillow princess the whole time.

when onyankopon slides back into your fermenting cunt, it’s an easy fit — like wearing a well melded leather glove — but you’re so sensitive that the sensation is overloading your senses.

“onyyyy”

is what you whine out. its not for him to stop but you definitely know your limits close.

“i know, i know.”

onyankopon himself seems to be closing in too because his groans are so evident now, gruff and present as he jiffers into your ear.

“gon’ sleep good tonight, mamas. gon put you right to bed.”

now hes talking like how he usually does, concerned for your wellbeing, making sure you’re being treated right. but you notice how even though his face was buried by your neck, his hand made effort to stretch out along your leg and to your foot.

you think hes gonna lift up to suck at them again but he doesn’t. instead, he just aimlessly plays with the individual toes.

as soon as he does that, his breath starts to fasten and his hips becoming more bucky in movement. onyankopon kisses at your jawline with small peppery pecks but you can tell hes nearing his limit. you help stimulate him by using your other feet to feel at his back. nothing too much concerning he was still pressing into you with a majority of his presence but you just rub at his back with the sole and heel of your foot.

“oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

onyankopon’s thrusts become bunny like — rutty, half executed and clearly a sign of an impending orgasm.

your hand comes up to then pet at the back of his neck as you sultry moan into his ear.

“fuck, yes daddy. yeah fuck me just like that.” which seems to be enough to send him over the edge.

onyankopon calls out your name like his life depends on it before he’s pulling out — almost too late — and spurting his load onto the creases of your stomach. the man lets out a low moan as he jerks himself off on top of you, milking everything he’d experience to the last drop.

both your breathings are laboured, time and energy clearly well spent. but as onyankopon comes down from his high, you can only kitten stroke the back of his head.

“you needa start fucking me like that more often, shit…”

onyankopon but airily laughs as he looks up at you with a grin. the galaxies in his eyes are brighter than ever.

“don’t worry, i will be.” he chides, his smile wide.

[tsunael]

Despite all their efforts, the Light had returned. The Exarch was gone, and once again she was the one left standing when the dust settled. She was tired. So very tired.

The days went on.

There was a stiffness growing inside that went well past her bones; it seized the sinew and locked her joints, causing an ache in every move. With each morning that she still drew breath, she found someone new in the mirror: that morning's iteration showed a woman whose skin had turned a sickly pallor, whilst her dark hair had begun to bleach itself to unnatural blonde.

When it all becomes too much to bear, seek me out at my abode, in the dark depths of the Tempest.

Emet-Selch had invited her to retain her dignity, and a part of her would have gone without a second thought if she only had the means to do so. As if her stiff legs could carry her to wherever The Tempest even was in this alien land. As she was now, she lived the paradoxical existence of hurry up and wait while her comrades scrambled for a cure for something that they all knew could not be undone.

--

Thancred moved from towering over her to gently sit upon her bed. The weight of him pulled her in, though she made great effort to keep the distance.

"You look well," he lied through his teeth. "Just when I thought you could not be more radiant-- All that beauty rest has done much and more." Had he not sounded so sincere, she would have mistaken it for dry wit.

She looked over her shoulder at him, twisted as she was, and wrinkled her nose. "Surely you didn't come just to be cruel."

His amiable expression fell, and she felt a pang of guilt for for her lashing.

"Apologies," he frowned. "That was... not my intent," he added, his voice flat. He politely moved his hands to clasp firmly between his knees.

She believed him that time. Tsuna pinched her arm to keep from throwing herself at him in a desperate need for comfort. They both sorely needed it. She wouldn't give into something so base-- not again.

"You shouldn't be in here," she whispered.

It had been a few days-- from what she could tell-- since then he had become more sunkissed. His boots were ruddy with Amh Araeng's dusty sands-- a far, and queer destination for one who could not ride the Aether.

"I didn't mean to bother. I simply wished to see how you were getting on," he said, twisting to better take her in, his hand brushed her curled tail. "Would you rather I leave?"

He was kind-- much too kind. She much preferred when they were trading blows, at least she could take them.

"That's not what I meant..." she sighed, winded. "You shouldn't be near me. It's not safe."

He gave pause, then chuffed at her proposal. "Y'shtola gave no such warning about your... condition."

"Y'shtola does not know everything," she snapped.

"Ryne has contained it," he countered, and she half-expected a 'for now' to be tacked on to the end of it. It was silent, but it was there. She knew.

Tsuna huffed. Frustration was causing her voice to grow thick with emotion. "She's just a girl, Thancred."

"And I trust her with my life. As should you." His tone had raised in defense before softening. "...She would never lead us astray."

Gently, he reached out to touch her exposed shoulder, and she stiffened, jolting away from the touch.

"Gods--" she swore. "You can't-- Don't-- Don't touch me."

She had brought the Light back to Norvrandt simply by being alive. The swell of it was strong enough to be felt knocking against her seams in her weaker moments. Who was to say she could not corrupt him-- or anyone else-- simply by being.

He grabbed her outstretched hand that had pushed him away, and reeled her back in against her will. His fingers intertwined with her own, and for a moment she thought something may just burst from her. Not the Light, no, but equally as unstable. It was something far more devastating.

The bird in her chest beat its wings against its cage and she wanted so badly to let it free.

"You see?" he asked, soft. "Everything's all right."

She could only stare at their intwined hands, marveling at the difference of size, how his own dwarfed her in comparison. His smooth, Hyuran skin compared to her own scales was fascinating, but with enough callouses on his palms to pen a story.

He had never touched her quite like that. The word intimate danced on her tongue and her breath fell shallow. Intimate. She gripped him back, rooting her fingers between his own, and to her surprise, he did not let go.

When he lowered his lips to her shoulder, she didn't notice, still transfixed where they joined, growing concerned that she could not feel the warmth of his hand. The breath dancing against her collarbone brought her back to where she belonged, though she felt no heat.

He kissed her as if it were his only solution to placating a grieving woman. Of course, it would be. Of course, it was all he ever knew. She didn't know what to feel. She wanted him to continue. She wanted to know where the trail would lead him; higher, or lower?

She also very much wanted to kiss him back, if only she could. Would she even be able to feel it?

Oh, Gods. What was wrong with her?

Your friends are now your foes. If you do not kill them, they will kill you.

"I think you should go," she whispered.

With a short pause, he lifted himself from her, and thus slackened his grip. Their connection broke, and she immediately missed the loss.

Thancred finally pulled away to give her space without complaint, though his honey-dark eyes lingered to study, to see where he had erred. His jaw worked for a moment before beginning to speak, then deciding against it. He stood from her bed.

"Keep the faith," was all he said. It was all he could say.

[jackietaylorsversion]

Soulmates.

I was in a discord server earlier, and we got to talking about the Yellowjackets as soulmates, and I thought I'd share those thoughts here, just a nice little put together catalogue of all those thoughts put together. I might add to this, too, as more pairings and relationships come to me.

For the record, I want to point out that I think that all of these characters are soulmates, far beyond ship dynamics, far beyond romance. What makes up the insides of one makes up the insides of the others because they are all the same: teenage girls trapped in either growing or decaying bodies. Their souls are all mated to the others in some way or another.

Tai and Van are a pair. Two separate souls that are a part of a matched set, like socks. They can be worn mismatched, certainly, but they really are at their best together. Tai gives Van a purpose. Van calms Tai's "demons." They can exist without each other, live without each other, love without each other, but they just are at their best together.

Lottie and Nat are that sort of star-crossed soulmates, doomed soulmates. There's a red string of fate but its severed somewhere in the middle. They can be good for each other, laugh and smile and hold each other close. They can be the worst of each other, holding knives to each other's throats, laughing in the face of it. They're the epitome of a missed chance. What kind of missed chance? That's up for you to decide.

Misty and Nat are the kind of soulmates that don't seem like they'd match, but they work so good together. The believer and the skeptic (though who is who changes with the circumstance, the belief, the skepticism). Orange and blue. Salt and sweet. Chaotic good and lawful evil. They're diametrically opposed but in a way that makes sense, in a way that works together. They each feed off of what makes the other their opposite. One is running, the other is chasing. Of course one would die at the hand of the other.

Lottie and Laura Lee are the kind of soulmates where each thinks they are the worshipper while the other is the god. A prophet, a believer, a worship under the sun. Souls that just burn brighter around each other (and that pun was unintentional the first time but very intentional with the emphasis). Both want to help the other. Both want to hold the other. They are belief without boundaries personified. Each is Icarus. Each is the sun.

Tai and Shauna are soulmates in a way that recognizes "That is my person." Two people that have so much in common, who understand each other, who both recognize the want in the other. They have an understanding and a care for each other that's fierce. I see you, you see me, ad it might not be pretty, but we will be honest with each other. Especially as the two of them have aged; time has not erased their understanding of one another.

Jackie and Nat are soulmates in a way that isn't explored a lot in the show but has been discussed, from what I've seen, really well. Foils. Two sides of the same coin. Opposites. Rich girl, poor girl. Prude, slut. There are certain stereotypes around both of them that, from a glance, seem to play out. One only needs to look deeper to really see it. Unfortunately, from the show, we never really see the two of them see past their expectations of each other.

Jackie and Shauna. Two heads, one heart. I don't know where you end and I begin and all that. We've been there, we've done that. We know it by heart. They're not a pair because a pair implies separation, and there is none. You can cut out your heart, and you can even replace it, but it's never the same. They're two shattered halves of the same fucked up whole. When one piece is gone, the hole cannot be filled properly ever again. There are some species of worms that, when worm cut in half, can keep living as two separate entities. That does not negate the fact that it was once one whole creature. They're unhealthy together. They're unnatural apart. One did not live long enough to remedy either of these facts.

(If Jackie's heart was still beating, I know it would beat in time with Shauna's. I hope Shauna ate it to feel it beat with hers one last time.)

[ellieluvr420]

We meet again, darling pt.16 (detective Abby Anderson x criminal reader x detective Ellie Williams)

Synopsis: Abby Anderson is a skilled detective that's never let a criminal escape her grasp, until you. You've infiltrated every part of her life and she still can't get you. As she grows more and more intrigued by you she finds herself descending further into darkness until there's no way back. She takes your hand and follows you as if your presence is the only thing giving her life knowing that you are the most dangerous thing for her. Her life will never be hers again and she will stop at nothing to keep following you down your path of corruption.

"I decided to bring you back early because you are a fine detective and we need yours and everyone else's skills right now. Despite that, anything happens like this again and I will kick you out on your ass. You got that?"

The fire in Ellie burned as she was shamed for something she knew she hadn't done but then she thinks about you and Abby and everything she's done and the fire dies down slightly.

"Yes sir, I understand, thank you." He dismisses her from his office and she walks straight over to Abby's desk.

"You won't fucking believe it Anderson, I'm back."

"Congrats."

"Jeez why are you in a mood?"

"You're happy about being back because they want all our resources dedicated to finding out the identity of our girlfriend who is a ruthless serial killer/druglord. You're happy about that?" She had lowered her voice to a whisper and as she realised she had referred to you as hers and Ellie's she cringed at herself. She didn't know what to call what it was between the three of you. She knew Ellie and her both wanted you but she wasn't sure of their dynamic. She had always respected Ellie despite never showing it because Abby was always given a little bit of respect and trust in her job because of her stature and Ellie didn't have that, she was scary but she had to fight harder to get to the position they were both in. They had always had a strange tension over the years, Abby could never discern whether they were rivals or friends but when she had kissed Ellie at the club and everything that happened once they got home from the club, it made her see Ellie in a different light, although she still wasn't pleased by the smug look on Ellie's face as she stood over her.

"Okay fair enough, it is not a cause for celebration but think about it we can try and steer them away from ever working out its her."

"That's true, the good thing is she won't show up in any databases because she's officially dead." Ellie blinks rapidly as she waits for Abby to laugh and say she's joking but she doesn't which causes Ellie's face to screw up in confusion.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"She faked her death, the identity she has now is a fake. But this is not the time or the place and she tells the story much better than me so look busy and we'll talk later okay?"

Ellie goes to speak but remains quiet and nods before turning on her heel and walking to her desk. She settles herself in her chair and immediately starts looking into all the evidence against you. Her anxiety spiked as she saw them inching closer and closer to you but she can't stop looking through all the files until she sees Detective Grant walking away from the interview room looking frustrated.

"Hey you good?" He sighs as he comes to stand in front of her desk.

"Fucking guy in there knows jack shit about the woman we're looking for, I don't understand why he would be hiding stuff about her so I assume he doesn't know. It's like we're so close but we can't quite get there."

"That's what your girl says about your sex life."

"You're such an ass." They both giggle like children until Ellie calms down enough to speak.

"Let me and Abby try, we'll do good cop bad cop and use the shock factor of the fact we're women, if he knows stuff we'll get it out of him." She covers her intentions with banter as she always did with a lie and she felt a sense of satisfaction as Detective Grant laughs with her.

"Yeah alright I'll do your paperwork for a week if you get anything else out of him.

"You're on." She snatches the file being held out to her and immediately speed walks over to Abby's desk. "Come on we're interviewing Mr. chatterbox."

"You're kidding."

"Nope, I'm a lot more charming than you."

"Charming? Annoying? Same thing." They walk to the interview room and go into the back room to watch him behind the mirror and strategize. They looked through the file and observed the man's skittish behaviour.

"He looks like he's tweaking."

"Yeah that's withdrawal if I've ever seen it. How does it say this guy was arrested?" Ellie flicks through the file until she finds the information.

"Caught him selling, it was just by chance, some officers on patrol."

"You think he works for her then?"

"He must do. But how does he know so much?"

"Let's find out." Abby rings you on her burner phone as Ellie watches curiously.

"Hey, can you get your IT guy to do me a favour?"

"Yeah babe, what's up?"

"Can you get him to hack into the CCTV footage again and just corrupt the sound of the footage for the interview room for while we're in there?"

"Yeah I'll get him to do it now. How are my girls doing?"

"Shut up. Thank you, I'll... We'll talk to you later." She hung up feeling flustered by the interaction but regains her composure as she nods at Ellie to signal she's ready.

They walk in and the guy jumps so they both move cautiously and speak quietly.

"Hi Ricky. We need to talk to you." Abby leads the conversation letting Ellie concentrate on observing his behaviour. She had always been good at spotting people's tells.

"I answered all your questions already." He sounds like he's pleading and they almost feel bad until they remember what problems he's caused. Their eyes both go dark and their demeanour's change, it looked inhumane and the man stared like he'd seen a ghost.

"We know you're a runner for her. We have your name and your picture Ricky Matthews. You know that she won't stop until you die a painful death." Abby gritted out with a venom in her voice that neither her or Ellie recognised.

"Who are you people?" His voice is trembling and his eyes look glazed over.

"That's not important. What you need to tell us is how you came about all the information you've shared." Ellie chimes in while looking uninterested.

"I can't tell you that." He keeps his eyes firmly on the floor.

"You tell us and you get a reduced sentence and she will promise to spare your life." Abby offers and as his head shoots up and he makes genuine eye contact for the first time, she knows they've won.

"Promise?"

"Promise." Abby genuinely sounds sincere and Ellie watches in anticipation waiting for him to explain how he knows everything, she just wants to be able to tell you, it's the only thought running through her mind, you are often the only thought running through her mind now.

"Okay, er I found out because Richter, he's the guy that's supposed to be the boss, he had got drunk at a party and I happened to be in the small group of people that he was mouthing off about her to. Just said he was sick and tired of her doing whatever she wanted to and treating him like a sidekick and stuff. Then he started rambling about a plan to let her do all the work taking over the Met and then throw her under the bus so he could take over. He didn't say nothing else about it until he..."

"he?... he what?" Ellie snapped losing the tiny amount of patience she previously had.

"He came to me and said he'd pay me if I got arrested and told them about the woman. I got a 2 year old at home I figured it would be good for her for college or something."

"Okay, thank you." At that moment, Abby's phone buzzed with a message from you.

'Tell him I'll pay him whatever Richter was going to pay him.'

"She'll pay you whatever Richter was going to pay you."

"Really? Thank you."

"Yeah it's okay." They both get up and leave without another word and go straight back to the room behind the two-way mirror to call you.

"So you heard all of that?"

"Yeah I did. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch. Good work, thank you."

"It's fine. Sorry it turned out to be him."

"It's fine, it was always going to be a case of who kills who first. I had a feeling it would be me killing him."

"Well alright then. We're gonna go, see you later."

"Yeah, we're all having dinner together tonight by the way so both come straight from work."

"Yes boss." You giggle and hang up the phone as you look at all the ingredients laid out ready for you to cook dinner together. You look at the ingredients for the creamy tomato soup you had as a kid that you plan to make with grilled cheeses and your blood boils at the memories of your childhood with Johnny, you had loved the meal all throughout your childhood and as you got older you grew to enjoy making it all fresh, the more you reminisce the more you seethe. You're seeing red, your body is on fire, your heartbeat is erratic and so loud it's all you can hear but you just stay still trying to breathe. You had planned to make dinner with your girls and fill them in on the plan but now all you could think of was ripping your brothers head off but you decided you would deal with him and your other affairs tomorrow. Tonight you wanted to make dinner and enjoy one of your last nights in the city. You'd miss the penthouse and the high rise but what was coming next was making you excited to leave. You kept reassuring yourself 'not long now.'

[burningvelvet]

Lord Byron responds to a fan letter from a woman named Harriette Wilson who was interested in befriending him, 1814:

“If my silence has hurt ‘your pride or your feelings’, to use your own expressions, I am very sorry for it; be assured that such effect was far from my intention. Business, and some little bustle attendant on changing my residence, prevented me from thanking you for your letter as soon as I ought to have done. If my thanks do not displease you, now, pray accept them. I could not feel otherwise than obliged by the desire of a stranger to make my acquaintance.

I am not unacquainted with your name or your beauty, and I have heard much of your talents; but I am not the person whom you would like, either as a lover or a friend. I did not, and do not 'suspect you,' to use your own words once more, of any design of making love to me. I know myself well enough to acquit anyone who does not know me, and still more those who do, from any such intention. I am not of a nature to be loved, and so far, luckily for myself, I have no wish to be so. In saying this, I do not mean to affect any particular stoicism, and may possibly, at one time or other, have been liable to those follies, for which you sarcastically tell me I have now no time: but these, and everything else, are to me at present objects of indifference; and this is a good deal to say, at six-and-twenty. You tell me that you wished to know me better; because you liked my writing. I think you must be aware that a writer is in general very different from his productions, and always disappoints those who expect to find in him qualities more agreeable than those of others; I shall certainly not be lessened in my vanity, as a scribbler, by the reflection that a work of mine has given you pleasure; and, to preserve the impression in its favour, I will not risk your good opinion by inflicting my acquaintance upon you.

Very truly your obliged servant, B.”

From the Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, discussing the letter:

"I had long been sentimentally in love with Lord Byron, and some years previous to the publication of the last canto of "Childe Harold," I had written to him to solicit the honour of his acquaintance.

"If, my lord," said I, in my letter, "to have been cold and indifferent to every other modern poet, while I have passed whole nights in studying your productions with the eagerness of one who has discovered a new source of enjoyment as surprising as it was delightful, deserves gratitude from the vanity of an author, or the gallantry of a gentleman, you will honour me with a little of your friendship."

Would you believe, reader, this eloquent epistle obtained me no answer during three long days? I was furious, and wrote again to tell him that he was a mere pedant; that my common sense was a match for his fine rhymes; that the best of us poor weak mortals—and I acknowledged him to be at the head of the list—must still be ignorant, subject to sickness, ill-temper, and various errors in judgment, therefore was there little excuse for his impertinence, in presuming to find fault with the whole world, as he had done in his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," at an age when his natural judgment could not be matured. It was vulgar, and showed the littleness which some want of philanthropy towards our poor fellow creatures always must evince. Was he really so superior, and would he crush the poor worms which dared not aspire to his perfections? Or was he but a mere upstart man, of extraordinary genius, without strength of mind to know what he would be at? Could he not, at least, have declined the honour I wanted to confer on him, civilly?

This eloquent letter ended simply thus, after assuring him that it was now much too late to make my acquaintance, as I had changed my mind and no longer desired it the least in the world—like the fox and the grapes—

"you be hang'd!

"HARRIETTE WILSON."

This, to a favourite, was tolerably severe; but when I take a liking to a person I must and will be something to them; so if they will not like me I always make it my business and peculiar care that they shall dislike and quarrel with me. Let me once get them into a quarrel and I am sure of them.

The next day I received the following answer from Lord Byron, dated Albany, Piccadilly.

[Letter from Byron inserted above]

This was very dry; but, I had not aspired to Lord Byron's love and I did not despair of making his acquaintance. I am indeed surprised that I never fell in love with his lordship; but, certain it is, that, though I would have given anything to have been his most humble friend and servant, his beauty was of a nature never to inspire me with warmer sentiments.

There was nothing whatever voluptuous in the character of it; it was wholly intellectual: and as such I honoured it; but give me for my lover an indolent being who, while he possesses talents and genius to do anything he pleases, pleases himself most and best in pleasing me! Au reste, I admire and look up to heroes, but indolent men make the best lovers.

I was a long while before I could convince Lord Byron that as a lover he would never have suited me; and really did not excite any passion in my breast; but, from the moment I had succeeded, his lordship threw off all reserve and wrote and spoke to me with the confidence of easy friendship and good-will, as though he had been delighted to find a woman capable of friendship, to whose vanity it was not at all necessary to administer by saying soft things to her."

[ghostinthegallery]

Re-reading Twice Dead King, the character I was most struck by on a second viewing was Mentep. Now there’s a tragic figure. Simultaneously a mentor, an ally, an antagonist, someone so terribly understandable who I want to smack upside the head for being a lying liar who lies.

Ultimately, Mentep is a penitent. He has committed terrible acts (that we only get scant details of) and he wants to redeem himself. Thanks to his tampering with his own memories, he doesn't fully know what he is repenting for, which puts him in a bind. However, he knows that he played a role in creating the flayer curse/longing sickness, so he goes to a planet where a high concentration of them have gathered and works on his cure. He's respected, he's able to do his work with only occasional interruptions from the local angsty youth. Things are good-ish (until the armada shows up.)

Mentep and Oltyx have a weird relationship. Despite being his normal asshole-teenager self, Oltyx does respect Mentep more than most. Trusts Mentep enough to let the guy perform experimental brain surgery on him. Twice. And Mentep is able to be much more candid with Oltyx in return. He's one of the few consistently calling Oltyx out for his bullshit. On the surface, it is a standard mentor relationship, but what got me on a second reading is that there is hardly a single conversation Mentep has with Oltyx where he isn’t lying to and/or manipulating him.

It starts early with Yenekh. Mentep knows Yenekh has been suffering from the curse, he hasn’t told Oltyx, and when he finally has to tell him, he conveniently does so right before distracting everyone with the “oh btw, we’re all gonna die to a giant human armada” news. This is done with the best of intentions. Mentep wants to protect Yenekh (and Oltyx, in his way), so he delivers the news this way to get the bad news out of the way and then both of them on the same side. But it is the start of a pattern.

Which we get again when Mentep fails to mention a that Antikef is a flayer den ruled by a “We have Illuminor Szeras at home” Vizier, and boy does that end badly for Oltyx (see the last 60% of Ruin). Naturally, Mentep has a good explanation:

But it is another lie, one that costs Oltyx dearly (put a pin in this, I am coming back to it.)

There's some little fibs and ommissions along the way as they go to Carnotite, but it all builds up to The Big Lie. The one that sends Oltyx spiraling and gets Mentep killed. Because you know what really helps with paranoia? Finding out your mentor and your best friend have been hiding a secret blood pit in your basement! Again, it makes sense why Mentep is lying about this! He has every reason to believe Oltyx would have rejected the flayed ones he and Yenekh were sheltering (he in fact does exactly this), and Mentep's entire goal is to cure the curse to atone for his role in its creation. However...

I think Oltyx is correct to call Mentep out here (Oltyx is wrong about most things, but not this). Somewhere a long the way he became a means to an end for Mentep. Mentep was focused on The Curse and not the person in front of him who was cursed. He used Oltyx's friendship with Yenekh, his need to save his kingdom, his trust, his fears, all in service of admirable goals, but he was using Oltyx. Is it any wonder this is where it ended?

The lies were Mentep's undoing from the start. Remember the lie about Antikef? The one that led to all the events of Ruin? Yes, Oltyx and Djoseras did talk and avoid a civil war, but Oltyx also went through hell. He saw his home turned into an abbattoir, his father reduced to barely more than an animal. Oltyx was literally vivisected and almost consumed by his own dysphoria. And then committed regicide after leaving his brother behind to die. Antikef is where Oltyx truly learned that compassion was weakness and saw how horrific the flayer curse could become. So how was he ever going to accept the flayed ones as Mentep wanted him to? Oltyx experienced the comically perfect combination of traumas to ensure that would never happen, thanks in part to Mentep's manipulations.

I cannot stress enough that Mentep's individual lies all made sense at the time. May have even been the best option, at the time. But the consequences piled up, and even as he is dying he still refuses to give Oltyx even a scrap of the truth. That is the core of his tragedy for me. Well, that and this:

He bases all of his manipulations on his understanding of people's psyche's, which are usually accurate, but it also traps them. It gives them no room to grow or surprise him or for outside factors to come in and intervene. Contrast this with Zultanekh, who is upfront to a fault. He gives Oltyx advice and resources, but what Oltyx does with those things is up to him. Even when he is screwing up royally, he's allowed to make those mistakes. Mentep causes ones of Oltyx's darkest hours (the secret blood pit), while Zultanekh lifts him out of another (the Blood Angel's attack). In the end, Zultanekh is the one who sees Oltyx's true growth and witnesses the birth of his kingdom. A birth that comes not from curing the curse but embracing it.

There was never a sickness to be fixed, which means Mentep never would have achieved his redemption because he was focused on the wrong things. Which does make his death and rebirth as Xott a bit of a reflection of Oltyx. He was too burdened in his first life, but in his second he (or at least a version of him) was able to witness the people he hurt reaching a place of peace.

[thesunfyre4446]

Yo. New to the HoTD discourse. I hope you don't mind me rant dumping on your blog. I'm a bit scatterbrained so I hope I lay out my feelings about these things clearly. I have finally watched HoTD and ....

Listen, I could have liked Rhaenyra well enough, in fact I didn't really mind her in the beginning. But it really all changed once I saw what the audience were saying. How the majority seems to have no sympathy for Allicent at all.

I thought we all understood that no character in Westeros is really all that great?? So I really cant understand the vile hatred spewed towards her? It feels like they even hate her more than anyone ever hated Joffrey or Cersei. People were rightfully angry with the show runners decision to have Jaime r*** her in that one scene. People were capable of feeling empathy for Cersei despite how despicable she is. But there's SOOO much victim blaming for Alicent. It drives me fucking nuts. And to show sympathy for her would have people dogging on you.

I really cannot believe my eyes when I see people thinking she willingly seduced that rotten walking corpse.

I was so naive to think people would understand where her character is coming from. She is utterly powerless. She doesn't have a king for a father to pardon every mistake she makes. She's suffocating and it makes sense for her to hate Rhaenyra who has more privilege than any woman who ever lived in that world, and yet still step over every single rule while expecting everyone else to just live with the consequences of her actions. We're supposed to like her??

I GET that the point of it all is that monarchy is just a shitty way to run a kingdom. I GET that Rhaenyra being a terrible ruler is the point. Man or woman it never mattered.

What I don't get is people thinking she's some feminist figurehead?? She behaves as a man does in that universe, entitled and unfit for what they feel entitled to. I get that that's the point, but that doesn't mean she's for the women at all. Like any man, she's out for herself. Why would I like her if she behaves as any corrupt man in that world would, when the only difference is she doesn't have a dick? And I wouldn't necessarily mind that? I don't watch HoTD or GoT for perfect characters. But if only the audience didn't treat her like some sort of hero and Alicent the pure villain.

I never felt frustrated with GoT discourse. Why the fuck does it seem like HoTD has bred this extremely toxic environment? You can't seem to have a different opinion unless your mouths dick sucking on Team Black.

Dany, just as entitled as she was, she was still able to do as duty demanded. Rhaenyra is a just a spoiled child all the way through. The hatred for Alicent and the inability for people to see Rhaenyra for what she is, has me thinking people have really missed the fucking point about what feminism actually is. And once again, I didnt watch HoTD for feminism. But the audience seems to think Rhaenyra is a beacon for it. Wether intentional or not, ideas take on a life of its own and you cannot divorce these fan-imposed ideas from the show anymore. That's really the part of all this that pisses me off.

I'm TG now not because I condone everything they've ever done. Literally everyone fucking sucks. I'm TG because I understand everyone fucking sucks. And I dislike being tube fed by the biased writers on what to think and feel.

anon, not a single lie was told.

people hate on alicent for displaying human emotions. it's insane. it's always "rhaenyra will turn westeros into barbieland" until someone brings out the fact that she has no intention of helping any other woman other then herself and then it's all "well, we shouldn't judge her from a modern day pov"..

"I'm TG because I understand everyone fucking sucks" this!! also, they have better characters lol

[fireflysummers]

Final Thoughts on GO S2

I'm probably gonna pull back on discussing S2, at least publicly, after this. I did actually like a lot of the season, but it's triggering some of my religious trauma and also the fandom is already stressing me out. So here, let's have some final thoughts.

First and foremost: I am not a Gaiman simp. I've read a decent amount of his work: comics, short stories, essays, and novels. Aside from Good Omens, I've liked Coraline and The Graveyard Book the best by far, whereas American Gods just. Did Not Connect with me, even though it's should have, given the stuff I tend to enjoy.

However. Regardless of whether I like a given work (or even like how he adapted it, a la parts of The Sandman TV series), he is a veteran writer who has proven that he does, actually, know how to write a story with consistent characters.

Beyond that, I do actually believe that he's trying to do right by Pratchett, and loves and respects the story and characters they created together. He's generally shown up as an ally to a variety of social causes, and directly and respectfully responds to fans on Tumblr. While no saint, I feel that there is cause to give the benefit of the doubt that things will resolve satisfyingly in S3, and that there is Intention about some of the things in S2.

This, of course, does not absolve it of being "bad," but even here I think we need to articulate better the different types of "bad" that people are reacting to. There seems to roughly be three camps here: 1) People who thought it was "bad" because of how it ended, with the breakup and a lot of unresolved plot threads; 2) People who thought it was "bad" because it struggled on a technical level with its set, lighting, directorial choices, editing, etc; 3) People who thought it was "bad" because they felt the characterization was significantly off and that the internal logic of the series had been violated.

With regards to Point One, the only solution is to Wait and See. Judgement should be reserved until the story is properly finished--easier said than done, especially considering the current media landscape, and the number of series or franchises that fail to live up to their promises.

Point Two isn't something I understand well enough to contribute meaningfully, except that I suspect the pandemic affected this aspect the most and am willing to give it a bit more mercy. That aside, I for the most part I don't find it bad so much as not as good as S1. Except for the parts with epilepsy warnings, surely there could've been a better way to do that.

Point Three... that's the stumbling block for me, and I find it interesting that most of the folks who struggle with this point in particular are long time fans of the book.

I trust that instinct.

There are two different directions to go from here. The first is the assumption that these problems are a result of ego, carelessness, or lack of skill from the showrunners/writers/director. It's cynical but not unjustified. The second is the belief that the breaks in lore or characterization were intentional, building towards a much grander conspiracy. Of course, even in this case I don't think it forgives the lack of signposting that would indicate that this is a choice rather than an accident. It just makes it feel clumsy and poorly constructed, a major risk on a show that hasn't had its third season confirmed.*

However, regardless, it still feels salvageable. I've enjoyed reading a lot of meta on all this, and I've pulled some things from others (particularly That Theory by @ariaste), but I don't really want to put forth a single, defined theory myself. Instead, here's some questions I've got, why those questions are important (to me, at least). Actual theorizing comes after, and anybody who snidely mentions Sherlock in the comments or tags is going to get auto-blocked. Like seriously, I'm aware that some stuff is a stretch, but it's fun??? To theorize????? And I'm here for me and my peace of mind rather than trying to argue a point.

*I have some suspicions here, particularly with Gaiman stating that the decision from Amazon would come much faster than The Sandman's second season (which was four months). I don't know enough though to say if that's actually significant.

Questions

Who the fuck is telling this story?

This is the most important piece, in my opinion. There's this assumption when reading books (or research papers, newspapers, etc...) that the narrator who is writing the words is a non-presence, Neutral and objective. That's not the case, and an important part of literature critique is figuring out who the narrator is, and what their goals are. Oftentimes, the narrator and the author are the same person, but with Pratchett's work, particularly on Good Omens and Discworld, the Narrator was its own unique character.

This is why people struggle adapting Discworld to live action--that medium requires a Reason for having a Narrator, and especially in the age of method acting that's often considered immersion-breaking. Good Omens worked so well because they not only kept the Narrator, but they made Her God.

This added some really interesting new dimensions, such as the scene where Crowley speaks to God about his fall and the destruction of humanity. He doesn't receive an answer, but we're watching from God's perspective, so we as the audience know that She's listening.

Another advantage of making God the Narrator is that it justifies all the goofy little asides we get into the lives of minor characters (i.e. Leslie the Mailman), without losing focus. It helps the world feel like it’s full of people, rather than characters and plot contrivances, and the theme that individual people and their choices are important. The Narrator is such a central character of Good Omens that without it, the story struggles to stay focused.

It also highlights a key difference in the writing styles of the two authors. Pratchett’s work tends to introduce four or five totally unique plot threads that feel completely disjointed until the last act (if not even later), when it turns into a Chekhov’s Firing Squad. Plot twists around secret identities and backstabbing and schemes are relatively rare, as the omniscient Narrator doesn’t lie about the intentions of people or their actions.

Gaiman’s writing is typically not like that, to my knowledge. He buries characters in misdirection and hints, and you never know the true identity or motives until all the chips are down. It’s a perfectly valid way to approach storytelling, but it makes it jarring to see it in S2. The lack of a Narrator is a huge reason why S2 doesn’t feel like Good Omens to some folks.

My gut feeling is that the decision to shift from the original Narrator was highly intentional. It helps to obscure the thoughts and intentions of people, and it also muddles the insights that we’re supposed to take away. (I would have loved hearing God monologue about what’s going on in Jim’s head. I think it’d do a lot to make him seem less.... obnoxiously stupid.)

More than that, it brings up a reasonable potential plot point of: Where did God go? Why isn’t She present in the story? Even in her early appearance in the Job flashback, she doesn’t sound like the narrator for last season. After the first part of her speech (which Gabriel later quotes), her tone turns casual and condescending, which might line up with her being a bit of an asshole, it doesn’t line up with the whole “dealer of a mysterious card game who is always smiling”).

Also, I don’t think it’s safe to assume that nobody is telling the story either. Just because they’re not making their presence known doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and in a story like Good Omens, that’s concerning.

Wait, where's Satan?

Another person I saw while scrolling the tags pointed out that Satan is nowhere to be seen this season. He's really only mentioned in reference to a bet God made in Job, but then Crowley is the one on the ground causing mischief. There's no Hail Satan among demons (like Hastur and Ligur did at the start of S1).

That's might be because the writers didn't want us to think it was important (a la Hastur), but that feels off. Given that Satan speaks directly through the radio to Crowley in S1, complimenting him on his work, it's safe to say that he was at least aware of and involved in the goings-on in Hell. The fact that he wasn't even an worry for Beelzebub in abandoning their post? Feels weird.

(Also if you know where that post is, I'll happy credit + link)

What is Maggie?

Look, I love cute lesbians in love as much as the next queer, but I don't like Maggie. I don’t think she’s a person. Contextually, she’s a plot device, but I agree with That Essay that she might be an actual Plot Device.

Her characterization is simple and relatively shallow—a bit of an airhead, ray of sunshine that’s supposed to remind you of Aziraphale. When she describes her past to Nina, it’s almost robotic (also, her story implies it was Mr. Fell who first rented to her ancestor, not Mr. Fell’s great-grandfather like Nina implied). Her emotions are over-dramatic and seem to be turned on and off at random (scenes with her crying to Aziraphale about her woes had my “manipulator” senses going off for some reason).

When asked about a song, she not only IDs the song, its singer, and its year, but how and on what it was distributed. (Honestly thought this would’ve been something interesting, because she’s been pretty ditzy so far, it’d be interesting if she had like... an insane memory for music history.) And then she’s the one that sets Aziraphale on his little investigation by giving him the transformed records, while also planting the seed about her love troubles with Nina. Later, her advice to Crowley is... not awful, but feels insincere and a bit too forward, given her own self-proclaimed lack of relationship experience.

I don’t know what she is (a demon, hastur with amnesia in disguise, a literal plot device inserted by the current storyteller, etc...), but there’s something not right with her.

(Also the joke of “who listens to records anymore, it’s so old fashioned” just doesn’t land, lots of people buy records, and I’m saying this as somebody who has worked at a record store before.)

What's going on with Aziraphale?

There’s something Off about Aziraphale, and it’s not his choices at the end of the season. That makes total sense if you read him as somebody with severe religious trauma getting dragged back into the abusive system because other people need him and he’s been promised the ability to change things.

But I do think something is happening to his memory. Nearly all the flashbacks are from Aziraphale’s point of view and retelling, which means that they’re less reliable than God’s version of events in the previous season. Many of them don’t make logistical sense (post-church scene in 1941), depict Crowley as meaner or more sinister than we know he is, or frame events... weirdly. The scene with him trying food for the first time feels Really Bad, especially when the series has previously established that he’s a) prim and proper and b) his interest in food is one of the beautiful things that connect him to humanity, not some kind of gluttonous sin. Also he turns down alcohol.

Their meet-cute at the  start of the universe also doesn’t line up with their reactions to each other in Eden, or the fact that knowing each other Before has never come up or been hinted at anywhere ever. I don’t know what’s causing this to happen, only that Aziraphale repeatedly looks pensive when coming out of flashbacks, and Crowley is never there afterwards to corroborate said memories.

His actions also seem pretty inconsistent with what we know of him—i.e. I refuse to believe he would ever mistreat his books, even if they’re just old encyclopedias. Also, he feels a bit too...forceful in trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love? I mean, he didn’t exert that much direct influence on even Warlock, when he was actively hoping that the boy would turn out angelic rather than neutral.

I don’t think this removes his agency in that last decision, so much as explains how he was in such a vulnerable place at all. He still needs to apologize and fix things, because he messed up, and even if he hadn’t he still seriously hurt Crowley.

What's going on with Crowley?

There’s something Off about Crowley. The most obvious thing, of course, is his memories. At multiple points in the present day, characters state that they remember him or have met him before, only to be met with confusion. This is especially concerning given that he has a nigh photographic memory for faces (something mentioned in the book when he immediately IDs Mary Loquacious, 11 years after a 30 second conversation).

Overall, he seems to be better known by other supernatural entities this season, in ways that often tie him back to his angelic identity (i.e. saying they fought together in the war, Aziraphale stating he knew the angel he used to be, etc...). This doesn’t feel right, because S1 we see that Hell is largely apathetic towards his schemes, and definitely does not defer to him at any point in any capacity.

Then there’s the issue of his power level. It’s always been speculated that Crowley was a powerful angel prior to falling, when he mentions in S1 his involvement with star making, his seemingly unique ability to freeze time, and creating a pocket universe for Adam before the confrontation with Satan. He also has a tendency of breathing life into inanimate objects, like his plants or car. He also has the regular demonic skillset: miracles that can adjust physical appearance; the ability to change inanimate objects (like paintball guns into real guns); the ability to manifest clothing and similar items; and summon hellfire to his fingertips. This, plus the way he monologues to God with a degree of familiarity rather than reverence seems to indicate that he was Somebody Powerful and Important Before.

But in S2, his skills are significantly expanded upon. The miracle he and Aziraphale summon sets off alarms in heaven and hell, and it’s powerful enough to mask Gabriel from the Archangels. He summons a miniature sun to rain fire on Job, which is way bigger and flashier than anything we’ve seen him summon in S1. (If he needs fire, he alters the course of a dropping bomb, without creating one himself.)

Yet he’s able to cloak his presence so well he goes wholly unnoticed in heaven, or in front of heavenly agents on earth (i.e. the Job flashback). Muriel can’t clock him as a demon, or even as another supernatural being, despite their auras usually being pretty significant, such Aziraphale immediately sensing the archangels when they arrive.  He’s able to interfere with files that Muriel claimed required clearance (although I feel like that might just be a snark about Obeying Without Thinking? I would really need a Narrator to know.)

I might be misremembering, but I don’t think we’ve seen angels or demons transmogrify living beings before either. In the book, Crowley brings Aziraphale’s dove back to life after the failed magic show, and occasionally sinks ducks, but he doesn’t alter them? Not even Adam demonstrates that skill in S1. But he has no trouble turning Job’s children into lizards, however temporarily. Boy that would’ve been convenient during the flood. Or when the guard stopped then from getting to the air strip.

I might be misremembering, but I don’t think we’ve seen angels or demons transmogrify living beings before either. In the book, Crowley brings Aziraphale’s dove back to life after the failed magic show, and occasionally sinks ducks, but he doesn’t alter them? Not even Adam demonstrates that skill in S1. But he has no trouble turning Job’s children into lizards, however temporarily. Boy that would’ve been convenient during the flood. Or when the guard stopped then from getting to the air strip.

I don’t have any real issues with his characterization in the present day parts of S2, but there’s something weird happening with Crowley.

Where's all the people?

I really like a lot of the new characters, but how were there only like, 2.5 new humans named in the present day? Flashbacks don’t count bc the humans are all dead and can’t affect the story.

As much as I like Nina, she and Maggie don’t drive the story beyond being an occasional and awkwardly inserted plot contrivance? Both are actively robbed of their agency at several points, forced into situations that they could not have avoided or escaped. I’m not really sure what growth they’re expected to experience other than deciding not to date each other after everything. I literally can’t tell you anything about Nina other than that she remembers her regular’s orders, runs a coffee shop, and has a textbook abusive partner we never see. The only meaningful interactions they have are between those two, or in conversation with Aziraphale and Crowley.

Compare that to S1, where Anathema gets hit by Aziraphale and Crowley, but her primary relationships are with Newt, Adam, and Agnes Nutter (I think that counts as a relationship). We know that she’s got a wealthy family back in Puerto Rico, and that she was literally raised to save the world, and that she isn’t happy under all that pressure. Newt on the other hand is connected to not just Anathema, but Shadwell and Madame Tracy. He never even directly interacts with Aziraphale and Crowley. We know about his hobbies, his struggle to hold down a job, and his almost supernatural ability to destroy any electronics he touches. I don’t necessarily like how their relationship came together, but they were both very, very well fleshed out characters with unique backstories and goals. They weren’t just... waiting around to give Aziraphale and Crowley a new questline.

And while there’s no requirement to include a large cast of human characters that are exerting influence over the story, the lack of it is another aspect that makes this season feel not like Good Omens.

Also, it's just. Really weird to me that the events of S1 aren't really referenced at all? Like, Adam isn't mentioned, nor is Warlock. I don't expect them to keep track of the humans they met on the airfield for 20 minutes, but none of it is ever specifically referenced as far as I can tell, beyond Crowley threatening Gabriel. Like, I get that it's been a few years, but the pair caused a big enough disturbance that you'd expect some kind of ripples in their supernatural communities.

Promised by the Narrative (Obvious Chekhov's guns that I will be legitimately upset over if they do not go off)

A sincere apology from Aziraphale to Crowley that doesn't come with the expectation that Crowley will come back to him, but because he deserves an apology, even if the choices Aziraphale made were done with good intentions. Aziraphale does not expect forgiveness, and is shocked when Crowley grants it without hesitation.

A clear declaration of love from Aziraphale, which can't be rationalized away by either of them.

An "I'm Sorry" dance between Aziraphale and Crowley, but with greater sincerity and gravity. The most important piece is that they end up dancing together, which signifies a mutual apology and dedication to come together.

Since kissing is on the table, I expect an actual joyful, mutual kiss between these two assholes.

A shared cottage in South Downs.

Predictions/Theories (just some fun thoughts I've had)

When Adam declared that Satan was not his father, he didn't make himself not the antichrist, but accidentally crowned his human dad the King of Hell. Nobody knows this, because Adam doesn't have a good measure for "normal" supernatural situations, and Mr. Young because he's so "normal" that he explains away all the magical bullshit that's started going down.

When Adam declared that Satan was not his father, he erased Satan altogether. However, this left a vacuum in both power and reality. The defection of both Gabriel and Beelzebub only widens that crack. In an attempt to Fix things, reality is warping the story. Crowley has become leagues more powerful between S1 and S2, as the narrative is trying to force him into the role of his previous boss. Aziraphale is unknowingly being pulled into a similar version on the Other Side, perhaps to replace Gabriel or perhaps to replace God herself, who has been fairly absent in all this. The alterations to their memories or past have come about to keep the narrative running smoothly.

When the Metatron asks Nina whether anybody has ever asked for death, he was actually referring to Death, the sole remaining rider of the apocalypse.

If Maggie is indeed a Plot Device, it would be a fascinating exploration of Free Will to see her become aware of this (cue existential crisis), and then fall in love with Nina on her own terms, rather than because she was written that way.

Hastur will be back. Somehow.

The reason why S2 focuses so much on the supernatural characters is because S3 will be about how the events in S1 have changed the political landscape of heaven and hell. Angels are questioning their roles, demons are yearning for something more. It's scaring upper administration, and then the two most reliable folks in employment run away to alpha centauri. Recruiting Aziraphale and getting him back in line prevents him from becoming a martyr, control the range of his influence. The series reasserts its theme of choice and agency by highlighting that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't that special, they've just had the chance to live and grow, and that the others have free will too, if they want it.

The reason why they wanted to separate Aziraphale and Crowley, is not to get Aziraphale on his own, but to get Crowley on his own. He literally stopped time and made a pocket universe in front of Satan last season. He's powerful and dangerous and somebody wants to see that reigned in.

Wishlist (stuff I desperately want to see)

Crowley getting an audience with God and an opportunity to ask his questions, only to refuse to do so because he's found his own Answers and he no longer needs hers

Aziraphale and Crowley growing more into their book incarnations. Aziraphale becomes confident in his sense of morality, which he developed the hard way through millennia on earth besides humanity. He slowly learns what it means to be loved, unconditionally, but also is better at asserting and maintaining his boundaries. Crowley, still anxious and unwinding, works through his fear of abandonment, providing him opportunities to be kind and gentle and nurturing--all traits that he's aggressively hid since being a demon.

Hand holding. I know that Gaiman was referring to Ineffable Bureaucracy, but I still feel like we'd benefit from meaningful hand holding, especially since that got cut from the adaptation of the book.

Shifted focus away from the supernatural shenanigans, and back onto the humans that actually drive the story.

Cameos from S1 characters (if not a more substantial appearance).

The Four Other Riders of the Apocalypse.

Cursed Thoughts (why I shouldn't be allowed a social platform)

Ineffable Bureaucracy turns up in season 3 because Beelzebub got Gabriel pregnant somehow.

[radio-writes]

These asks seemed similar to me so I thought I'd tackle them in one go.

What I think of Alastor The Radio Demon

I've never really done a character analysis before so I'm not sure how to go about it. Honestly, I had to rewrite this several times to trim it down. 

I put little footnotes here and there for parts that I think ruined the flow of thought, and weren't essential but still figured were worth a mention. Corresponding footnotes can be found below the lower divider for any interested.

The way I see Alastor, and how I try to write him, is that he's smart—terrifyingly so—and emotional. 

I mean we all know he's basically a textbook manipulator. He's charming, great at reading people, and brilliant enough to know exactly what to say and when to say it. 

He's so gifted at charming people that a fair portion of the fandom's basically head over heels for him—despite the fact that based on what we've seen in the series, he's an objectively despicable person.

And he's so good at manipulating people that, again, a huge portion of the fandom thinks he actually sees the hotel gang as friends/family now. Hell—a lot of people even believed him when he said he cared for Charlie like a daughter.

Add his brains and his skill of wrapping people around his clawed finger, to his god-complex1 and selfishness, and what you'll see is that, on paper, he should absolutely be the big bad of the show.

Except...he currently isn't; and I don't think he will be although it would surely be fun to see how that would go.

Because as much as he is terrifyingly evil, he is also, extremely driven by his emotions.

I know it sounds like a bit of an ass-pull.

Alastor being emotional? The same demon that doesn't drop his smile even when having a whole mental breakdown? The same demon who doesn't bat an eye at a hotel patron dying?

Well, yes. Because there's more to feelings other than sadness and love and care.

There's anger, there's hope, there's desperation, there's pride, there's hate.

And I think Alastor is absolutely driven by these and more.

As said by the most darling, delightful, dangerous overlord over one side of the pentagram,

"words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth."

As much as Alastor wants to think he's in control, we've seen his emotions come first before rational thinking. 

His pride has absolutely taken over him. He thinks he's above it all, untouchable, unreachable. Because he's so clever, so strong, so charming, and it has more or less gotten him everything he's wanted.

But it's this pride of his that has also lead to his most glaring flaws.

Alastor's first instinct was to lower Lucifer in any way that he could—leverage whatever he did have that Lucifer didn't (height, a relationship with Charlie etc.). Because Al knew that Lucifer was inherently stronger than him, better than him—and he hated that.

His pride couldn't stand the blow, and that—along with feelings of irritation and likely insecurity— is what drove his actions for most of that episode; overtaking even his usually smart wits.2

But it's not just negative emotions.

If Alastor being a mama's boy is still canon, then even his relationships are steered by emotions too, whether he's aware of it or not.

His love for his mother influences his biases towards women. How he judges and approaches them miles more fairly than he does men.

Hell, his whole persona—the transatlantic accent, the radio theme, the over the top silly jokes, his laugh even!—all a by product of his passion for being a radio host.

But why does being emotional mean Alastor won't be the antagonist in the show, you ask?

Well because, being emotional is such a humane thing. It shows weakness, vulnerability. Something the show has often used as leeway to develop and redeem its characters.

While I don't think Alastor has the best intentions coming into the hotel—or even at the point of the season 1 finale really—I do think him being this emotional of a person shows that there is some chance of him genuinely growing fond of the gang, and then settling into the found family at some point in the future.

It may not be a conscious choice, it may take some pushing and pulling, it may take the whole run of the series, but Alastor is capable of caring. And when he feels something he feels it to a point past his own rational thinking.

Would love to see him try to betray the hotel though as some last minute attempt to maintain an evil persona.

Now this doesn't exactly mean I can see Alastor ascending into heaven not unless they drag him kicking and screaming.3 But I do think that in the end, he'll find some sort of other form of "redemption," one that he would actually like.

Perhaps it's coming to terms with the fact that he is mortal and that is okay and it doesn't mean he's any weaker or any lesser. And that even if it did, it shouldn't matter.

Honestly, I'd be more terrified of him once he's come to that point. The only weakness Alastor right now has—aside from whatever deal it is that he made—is his ego.

You could probably get away or manipulate him back if you struck at it, but once he's all done with hotel therapy time and has his emotions under control? That man's going to be unstoppable and I fear for all of hell.

Maybe Charlie should let him keep his issues after all?

1 I find Alastor's god-complex extremely ironic. Oh, he definitely has it. My best guess is that it stemmed from his serial killing days.

If the previous source saying that he killed on a weird moral code (not unlike Dexter) still holds water, then he probably saw himself as some god doing such good work for the people. Judging criminals and delivering punishment.

This whole, "I'm so strong and untouchable even amongst criminals" mentality of his was probably egged on when he got into Hell and he was able to take down big bad overlords with ease. That definitely fed his ego nicely.

Now I say I find it ironic because well, he thinks he's so above it all. So perfect and pristine—nothing like all those other sinners. He doesn't care for senseless killing or stealing jewelry or sex, no he's so much better than that, isn't he?

Well, the way I see it, he's really no different.

*cue angry radio noises*

He cares so much for all the material and outwardly things. Sure, it's not to brag or to be sexy, but you can't tell me that fucker isn't just as vain as say, someone like Velvette.

He'd probably freak if anyone caught him outside of his well tailored suits and impeccable posture. 

To Alastor, image and public opinion must mean so much more than he's willing to admit.

And all that killing the bad guys, killing the criminals, killing the scum of the earth. Oh let's not pretend he does it out of any other reason aside from the fact that he loves it. 

It's an act for power for him, not actually done to protect anybody.

And considering he eats most of his victims now, I'd say he's actually below your average criminal.

On sex—well, fine. He can have that one, I suppose.

But still, the irony that this man thinks he's so above your common everyday sinner is just hilarious to me, because he's exactly just like them.

2 I have seen people say that this is yet another one of Alastor's cleverly planned schemes. That he kept pushing only because he was confident Lucifer wouldn't smite someone Charlie cared about. Which, sure, I could see that being the case later on in their interactions.

But as an introduction? An opening line? When he didn't know Lucifer's temperament, and Lucifer didn't know how much Charlie valued/cared for Al?

No. I genuinely think, that this was purely a gamble on Alastor's part. A slip, a jab that he just had to make to save his own pride.

3 Personally, while I absolutely love all the angelic designs of Al, I really do not want him up in heaven unless it's for comedic purposes or he's grocery shopping for angel meat.

Dude was a serial killer. Granted, he killed criminals. But I've never been a fan of vigilante killings. I mean, who's to say the person he killed actually did the crime though? What if it had been someone who was actually innocent?

And even if they weren't, can you imagine if he killed your parent in your lifetime for say, stealing some bread to feed you? And you're just chilling in heaven and all of a sudden your parent's murderer is redeemed while your parent still rotted in Hell?

I would just start a riot right then and there, damnation be damned.

Besides, red suits Alastor best, anyway.

Tagging @cofeedaifuku because they were the only one out of the three that weren't on anon. Hope my fellow vien and the other anon find this answer anyway.

[aotopmha]

I'm around level 82 Endwalker MSQ and I know that some really hate the Garlean section of the story, but I really like it.

Above all I really like the nuance in it all.

Firstly, I think they spell out the intentions of the expedition really well – the goal is to help the regular people who are suffering, but not excuse the system they live under.

Secondly, they spell out the really important detail that a bunch of the characters do not support the Ilsebard contingent.

As an example, not all of your job mentors might show up, as was my case with the RDM mentor because of his history with Garlemald, adding important nuance in terms of varying perspectives regards to helping Garlemald.

Reading some takes you'd think everyone agrees that Garlemald is all okay and cool now, but this is not the nuance/subtext I see in the text itself myself.

This was also not the sole objective of the expedition. The towers needed to go for the world to not end.

So it isn't just randomly barging in there to self-righteously "help" another nation. Everyone needed to be on the same page at least somewhat to survive.

Thirdly, I think they gave Gaius and his group enough nuance back in ARR (and Regula in HW) and we had enough decent and more complex good/less villainous Garlean characters across the game (Cid, Nero, Lucia, Maxima) for me to not feel like asking to see them as people was rushed or too late.

The key to me is that even the Garleans who were villains had defined, substantial perspectives and sometimes had non-villainous aspects to them.

The humanity itself was always there.

Fourthly, I see people say it is a thematic mess, but I don't see any of that, either.

The entire zone is full of nuanced perspectives on how fascism can hurt people and not once are we told to push everything the empire did under the rug – if nothing else the horrors of the system are only emphasised.

I agree with the system itself being the central enemy, which to me has been the entire thematic point of Garlemald from the start.

Licinia and her sister, the ceruleum workers from other provinces, Jullus and Quintus all represent very important aspects of how the empire's principles and its own self-made "faith" affected the people of Garlemald and to see it reduced to "oh some of them are just sad now", I think really misses the point considering the foundation of some of their stories.

Genuinely believing you're right, making nationalism almost a core of your identity and being distrusting of your enemy due to far-reaching propaganda are very real struggles under systems like this.

Finally, I've seen people say we are done with Garlemald now and it's so rushed because of this and I'm just not sure about that because to me that has never been the identity of this game.

It's really rare something is dropped and never brought up again, so I always disagree with almost any claims like this.

This is why I think Sky Pirates and Four Lords will also eventually have larger significance.

(And so will the 6.x series.)

I still feel the framing is very much "there is a long way to go here."

Doma and Ala Mhigo both had restoration arcs in various content and are still in progress, really, as the 6.0 role quests, literal "restoration" content and also patch content itself (4.1-4.3, 5.4-5.5 in particular for Ala Mhigo and Doma) attest.

I think we will still see more of the aftermath of Garlemald's collapse in the yet occupied provinces as I still think we will have to open up the huge cloud in the middle of the map in some form, I even think there still would be room for a Garlemald expansion, it just wouldn't be "as" urgent anymore and mixed with other stuff because the empire is an husk now.

As much as Bozja might seem like it was dropped suddenly because of the field notes, I do not think it is like this story to not address important aspects like this until we are unquestionably, completely done.

I know there are some reveals in the role quests and material in 6.x quests that people are also iffy about, but to me most of that seems pretty okay, too.

Garlemald has to reestablish proper trade connections, they have to fight the remainder of their old guard and they can never be complete victims. They also need an entirely new governmental system.

It's the old guard that holds them back, but also crumbles when threatened.

So I think where we are now narratively, we still need more time with Garlemald and I think we are not quite done with them yet and if there is something I personally would dislike from here on out, it *would* be getting no follow-up at all.

I think we need to actually visit Dalmasca, Corvos and Nagxia in some form and put a final end to all of those regimes.

Now, do I think more could've been done here?

Absolutely. As I said, we have whole occupied provinces we have still not seen and a whole massive cloud right in the middle of the map still uncovered.

(And I think revisiting Ala Mhigo's and Doma's struggles against specifically Garlemald in some form also needs to happen.)

So as much as I really liked the zone, it is still clear to me there might have been more done there (in fact it was confirmed because we know about a potential Garlemald expansion).

So I actually do share a criticism I see around, I just think what we got still turned out to be really good and really important nuance to go into regarding Garlemald.

Something about asking to somewhat empathise with an enemy faction just destroys any nuanced discussion on the internet, be it the heroes doing something bad (for good or bad reasons) or villains doing something good (despite having really awful views otherwise).

You see an enemy faction just even dip toes into nuance and the story automatically must be excusing them.

You see the heroes not be completely, unconditionally respectful and thoughtful and the story must be disrespectful itself.

It's such a boring way to discuss art (which is also made by people, who are flawed like anyone else) in my eyes.

[ctrl-alt-em]

I have a lot of Thoughts about Delacy.

On detail that stood out to me was that Delacy doesn’t have a proper holster for his gun Rooster. This whole time I pictured him having a simple but nice holster that stood out from the straw hat and worn overalls, something that showed he spent what little money he had on his gun or that he got it someone in his home life like his father. But no, it’s homemade from scrapes of leather. Delacy left home with only the clothes on his back, his gun, three crumbled dollars, and a holster he made himself and then got on a train for the first time in his life while not even knowing if he needed a ticket to ride. Delacy ran away.

And after it all and he got his $2000, his home life and parents weren’t something he was in a rush to get back to. The idea of the group going their separate ways was upsetting to him. While he would like his parents to know if he died, he didn’t leave home with the intention of earning money to provide for his family and then returning home. (I would like to note, despite having parents, Delacy doesn’t use a last name. He’s only ever just Delacy, whereas all the other members of the posse have full names.)

While he doesn’t want to go home to his biological family, Delacy still wants a family and to be cared for. He found that with the posse. In the first episode, Delacy intimidated the saloon owner into giving him a bottle of whiskey, which he then found out tasted awful. In multiple instances after that, he requested whiskey or implied he drank it. But when the group was at the saloon after the bounties were done, he doesn’t force himself to drink whiskey because he thinks it’s gross and feels like he can acknowledge it aloud. During their adventure at the World’s Fair, Delacy felt safe enough to act his age with Edie. He’s excited to meet his hero. He takes Edie’s word seriously at the hall of oddities and assumes she has all the answers. It didn’t occur to him that she might not have all the answers to his questions. In their forced duel, trigger-happy Delacy refused to harm Nate and instead of pulling his gun, he sat down like a kid. He trust that the real Nate wouldn’t hurt him and they’d only known each for, what? A week? At Dead Man’s Worth, Garnet didn’t think Delacy was the kid of kid you could hug, but after the duel Nate picks him up into a hug. When Delacy first met the others, he’s putting on a forced act, pretending to be what he thinks an adult is (or acting how an adult in his life actually is, a heavy drinker that solves problems with aggression perhaps), but by the end, he feels safe enough around them and shows much more of his true personality and age.

While he is a bit of a cold killer and hasn’t fully developed an understanding of death yet, he still believes in honesty (see threatening a sideshow barker about the hand), justice in a way (people shouldn’t be lied to in any way and the hand should be buried with its proper owner) and is rather genuine when he feels like he can be. He was starstruck meeting Billy Joe and delighted to just catch a glimpse of Buckthorn the horse. He likes cotton candy and a gun tricks. He liked that Billy Joe liked cotton candy too (at least as far as he overheard). He didn’t even hesitate signing a contract when Billie Joe asked and only changed his mind when Edie reminded him of Nate. He takes what everyone he trusts says at face value (to the point of being ready to shoot someone due to a metaphor).

Delacy is young, naive, a bit dense, and ready to shoot, but he is, at his core, a good kid who just needed adults in his life that will encourage him to find less violent solutions and to act on his kindness in productive ways. Garnet and Nate have helped him learning more about interacting with people. Edie acknowledges his young age but still takes him seriously and trusts him and in the end, she offers him a way to use his shooting skills to help people. She takes him as her monster-hunting apprentice. Even Silas, who barely interacted with Delacy, grew to like the kid enough he would acknowledge Humble Ned (a devious, spindly legged beast, no matter how humble he is) as good people for Delacy’s sake.

Delacy might have left the farm with the help-wanted ad seeking adventure and fortune, but I think he found something he needed a lot more.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Reviews: Miraculous: Ladybug & Chat Noir. The Movie

Welp I finally got the miraculous Movie so now I get to review it.

So For this review, I plan viewing this SOLELY on the movie. I will not be judging it completely based on the show. This is Zag's take. (The view on who did it better will be for another Post)

(Thanks @knightsweeties for the picture)

How I will be reviewing it.

Plot

Characters

Lesson

Animation

Music (Because yes, this is a Musical and should be judged)

Final Thoughts.

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Plot

So its pretty simple. A villain named Hawkmoth appears that wants to use the power of the butterfly miraculous to get the two miraculous he needs to attain his goal. But two heroes will rise in order to fight him, Ladybug and Chat noir. We will see another take on the show that inspired the movie. A new world for Ladybug and Chat noir.

Overall, this movie's plot is pretty generic, its not going to be winning anything for originality. BUT it sticks to the script and does everything it needs to do to set up Ladybug and Chat noir's respective character arcs and setting up one heck of a final confrontation with hawkmoth. The emotional drama is there and mostly hits the points it needs to. And while not everything got a laugh out of me, some things did.

It also ties up a good amount of loose ends while leaving Sequel bait.

For the most part. 7/10 for non-fans

9/10 for fans.

Its engaging enough and does what it needs to do.

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Characters:

Marinette: She is likable and you do enjoy seeing her on screen when she starts getting confident. I do think the pacing of the movie does impact her a bit, but its never to the point where its unbelievable. Also as Ladybug, her banter with Chat noir is top notch. There is some really good chemistry there. That being said, I find it harder to believe that she fell in love with Adrien over chat noir. But its a nit pick.

Adrien: I admit it took a bit for me to actually like this adrien, but I think thats intentional. Chat noir starts out arrogant and annoying, while Adrien starts shut off and quiet. He is a boy mourning the loss of his mother and his father is so distant that he seems gone to. But then he meets Ladybug, he sees this girl and how incredible she is. He finds someone he can relate to and his heart opens. Its beautiful seeing him fall in love with her and pull out all the stops opening up to her. He even gets to confront his father. Its quite a biting scene. I must say this maybe my favorite iteration of Adrien. (Careless whisper is the only song he listens to.) I do wish he was in it a bit more as adrien, but its not that bad.

Gabriel: I dont know how they did it, but they managed to make Gabriel sympathetic. Showing the lengths he is going, how lost he is, the survivor's guilt he has. He blames himself and wants to bring his family back together again. And Hawkmoth they made wacky and yet TERRIFYING. And we see this especially in the finale and the moment we think he wins, he sees his son. He sees it was Adrien, the one thing left in his life that he wants to protect him. This is a gabriel that deserves some sympathy but doesnt shy away from the fact he committed crimes.

Alya and Nino: Now they are both not in this as much as the actual show, but they are great supports and some of the changes done to both of them are wonderful. Alya being supportive of Marinette, Nino being such a bro to adrien while also simping for Alya (Chef's kiss). I do wish Nino and Adrien's meeting but their friendship is good.

Chloé: This chloé is exactly what she needs to be. A bully character but never so excessive that it detracts from the plot. She is spoiled and she is probably the funniest character. (For those that know the show, think Season 1 chloé with a dash of season 2) I think they got a different english VA for her, and honestly it works.

Plagg and Tikki: I found Plagg a bit annoying with the fart jokes, but outside of that he is pretty similar to his canon counterpart. Tikki on the other hand SHINES in this movie. This is what I wanted from Tikki, motivational, curious, fun loving. this is what I picture with the kwami of Creativity.

Fu: He is the mysterious old man character. He plays it well, though he is hardly in the movie. But at least he actually shows up for Ladybug and Chat noir almost right away, instead of just hiding.

The other characters play their roles and there are some funny bits, the akumatized villains are fun and play their role. Lady Magician and the Mime are both phenomenal.

Also the Gargoyle, I feel so bad for him. He wins the award for most Tragic akumatization.

Overall Solid 8.5/10

I do wish we got more Alya and Nino, and less fart jokes from Plagg

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Lesson

There are 3 lessons to take away from this movie.

The first one "Stronger together"

Having help and working with those around us can help us grow, we have to be willing to let others in and help us be our best selves.

The second is "Believe in yourself"

Marinette's main character arc is coming to terms with what she can do and finding the inner strength that she always had, even without powers. (Done better than a chunk of films these days)

The Third lesson, "Power of Love"

It was love that helped stop Hawkmoth, it was love that helped chat noir and ladybug overcome their weaknesses and fix paris. It was even love that helped them at the very end.

That being said... the execution on all of the lessons was not perfect, the first one sort of fell off by the end, but the second one and third lesson still applied. There could be some work but I still enjoyed it.

6/10

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Animation:

The Animation looks great, the character designs look great, and while I was originally iffy on them, after seeing it I must say the designs work.

The Lighting in itself if Heavenly to say the least. Whoever was in charge of the lighting needs to be given a deep tissue massage and a raise.

It does feel a bit Disney for my personal taste but I cant complain with how crisp the fights look. Great Choreography and it really sells the intensity of the scenes. The details and call backs, the foreshadowing.

Its solid animation, I would say that it is missing a few bits to really make it stand out, some sort of Stylization. But outside of that. Its good.

The scenes that they want to focus on look great, the imagination bits are grandiose. There was care put into this and not just a cheap cash grab.

9/10

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The Music

This movie is a musical, very disney-sque.

And as a courteous, I listened to the songs in French and english. I know the english VA's arent the one's singing. And I have to say, it feels SO WEIRD for Marinette in the english dub. But Its not that bad. I think the French one is just more consistent sounding. But english and french both sound fine. Also Chat noir's VA isnt singing, but I think the singing voice for him fits him a bit closer but the french is still the best. "My Lady" is a great song for Chat noir.

The songs are fine, nothing that really blew me away, but they were fun. "I believed in me" fits Marinette well as an opening song.

Tikki's rapping in english is surprisingly decent. But SO WEIRD.

But Gabriel's singing voice, THAT through me off.

Villain song 101. Love it in the english dub. "Chaos Reigns"

But the song "Stronger together." That hit me. The duet in both iterations are great.

The Background music always seems to fit the mood... Except Careless whisper (But that was always used in amusing ways). The BG should be praised

7.5/10

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Final Thoughts

Overall, if I had to rate it objectively, without knowing the show or series. 7/10. Nothing ground breaking but its a good film in itself, its entertaining and fun, and it has some good moments. Pacing is a bit all over but it’s under 2 hours so it’s more of a pick your battles thing

If I had to rate this as the Show fan that I am and my personal enjoyment.

8/10

It does nearly everything I wanted it to do, and added to flair and changes.

Now not everything is perfect, since limited time to tell a story. But its coherent and cuts some of the bloat that was a problem in the OG series. Now some things I enjoyed were also cut though.

I like how it isnt a 1 for 1, it changes some things and gives a fresh tale.

Now which one is better I will address in another post