#all of the others (save mask and ages) just stare on. dumbfounded.

[merriclo]

just remembered i decided to give Wind a gun in my au. this is gonna be fantastic.

[takuyakistall]

romeo!

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Ace Trappola from the Trappola Kingdom, there was no doubt that he was a great man that was destined to achieve glory in a few years' time. But, there was one tiny problem. Being a prince from his own country meant that he needed to marry a lady from a prominent household. With much reluctance, he ended up choosing a princess from a neighbouring country—only to find out that the Prince of the Spade Kingdom has his eyes set on her as well. Is this... Competition?

Tags: Fem!Reader, Royalty AU, mentions of death, kidnapping, anything else you would find in a romance manhwa

Note: This piece is purely self indulgent and I plan on writing more for it! But I decided to share the first chapter here. There's no action yet so this is just some build-up.

Ace Trappola was never one to abide by the silly little rules of etiquette, he always thought that they were too nitpicky and stiff ever since he was a little boy. He thought that it was useless to keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation—until he experienced firsthand how cruel high society could be to a mere child who had made a single mistake. Of course, they would never dare to utter a single word in fear that their tongues would be cut off by his Highness, the king. But he would never ever forget the cold gazes that laid upon him as soon as he turned his back.

Which is why he donned a mask. He wore it all day and night as a child, hoping that it would be indestructible as he grew up but that brought him nothing but more of the empty and hollow feeling he hated. Despite already being so well-mannered, so educated, and so charming—he was nothing more than the second prince of the country who always seemed to be overshadowed by his older brother, the first prince. He was the definition of Ace's "perfect".

"Hey uncle," little Ace referred to his butler as such as he closed the storybook he was reading. A spark of curiosity sparkling in his eyes as he continued, "how do I become as amazing as my big brother?"

A childlike innocence could easily be tainted by those with such intentions—the old butler could easily plant the wrong ideas in his head and nurture the seeds of jealousy he planted within him. He stared at him for a second before letting out a sigh, strengthening his resolve when he saw Ace's eyes full of wonder.

"His Highness does not have to do anything, you are already a wonderful child just like your brother."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I wouldn't dare lie to you. If you continue to stay on the right path, I have no doubt that you will be as great as your brother in the future." He patted Ace's head, relieved that the second prince seemed to be satisfied with the answer.

"Yeah... I will!" He declared, staring right back at his butler with an uncontrollably big grin taking over his face.

That was the last time he saw that butler.

The palace staff told him he died because of heart failure during his day off. This devastated poor little Ace Trappola greatly—demanding to be allowed to attend his funeral but was stopped by his father, saying that there was no need for someone like him to attend a servant's funeral. The hand-picked white lilies Ace took that day in hopes of paying his respects, withered inside his room as he cried his heart out.

The next day, they had already found a replacement for his butler. Someone who was far younger than his previous one and was definitely less warm—he went by the name "Rowen" and insisted that the young prince should call him that. At first, Ace put up a fight as he tried to resist everything Rowen tried to do—even if it was just a menial task such as him trying to tie Ace's necktie for him.

But, nonetheless, Ace was still a child and children, more often than not, don't know how to deal with grief. You could easily spot him crying in places he shouldn't be yet no one had the heart to tell him that, even more when Rowen asked the palace staff specifically to not approach the prince if they ever spot him like that and instead, call for him immediately.

Stuck inside the garden, Ace was barely trying to keep his sobs in as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeves.

"I miss uncle…" He cried out, perhaps getting a little bit tired of how colder the palace seemed to be towards him. A pair of footsteps suddenly approached him, Ace quickly stood up and patted away all the dirt from his clothes so it seemed like he didn't cry but his swollen eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Your Highness, I was looking for you."

"Oh, Rowen. It's you…" A dejected look took over his face, was he expecting his old butler to appear? He silently crushed his hopes as he raised a question for his new companion.

"Can I ask you a question…?"

"Of course."

"D-Do you think I can still be as amazing as my big brother?" A few seconds of silence passed by as Rowen crossed his arms.

"Forgive me for my bluntness. However, at this rate, you will never amount to what your brother will be in the future."

"E-Eh? But uncle said that—"

"Your 'uncle' was foolish, perhaps that was why he died." Rowen crouched down, his green irises staring right into Ace's eyes—there was something in his eyes that Ace couldn't put a finger on but one thing is for sure, he thought Rowen was scary during this very moment.

"What you need right now is power," Rowen pressed a finger against his lips. "And that's exactly what I can give you."

"Power? Don't I already have plenty of that, I'm a prince!"

"What you need," he pushed Ace back with his index finger, "is enough power to take the throne."

"But big brother is the only one who can take that!" Ace shouted, trying to overpower the nonsense he was hearing from his new butler.

"Heed my words and I can make it happen." Rowen's lips tugged up into a small smirk before delivering his final words.

"After all, you want to be as great as your brother, the first prince."

Ace felt confused. He clutched his chest as he thought about his words—he did want to be as great as his brother but he couldn't help but be a little wary of what Rowen might ask of him. Ace had to slap himself back to reality, there was no reason for him to think about this so seriously! There was no way he could take the throne for himself and why would he even want to do that…? Isn't he happy the way he is right now?

Ace stepped out from the garden with Rowen following him shortly behind. He stared at the castle building, the maids and butlers working about, and a few noble visitors roaming around.

That was when a little devil's voice started whispering in his ear.

Deuce Spade had been anything but happy upon growing up inside the Royal Palace. Being the sole crown prince of the Spade Kingdom, his life never consisted of flowers and rainbows contrary to what many think. If you asked young Deuce himself about his position, he would simply give you a blank stare before properly processing your question. Once he does, he’ll give you a half-hearted smile before answering with: “It’s a duty I must fulfill.”

He’d never been too fond of the fact that his life was already planned ahead of him the moment the royal palace discovered his existence in his mother’s womb. He would undergo proper education fitting for the crown prince, he would be assigned with tasks that were meant for the crown prince, and he would soon rise to the throne once his father was no longer able to rule.

Rather than inheriting the throne, he yearned for something else. Being the heir to the throne meant that there was almost nothing he couldn’t obtain but he found himself dumbfounded when his elders aggressively denied him of his desire for the first time.

His desire to become a knight.

Deuce was said to be excellent with the art of the sword, easily surpassing other kids his age. But that was not the reason why Deuce had the desire to become a knight.

One of the first things they taught Deuce was the fact that he was in a dangerous position and that there might be cases wherein other people might make an attempt on his life. He thought that it was ridiculous because, after all, who would dare try to kill the crown prince? It would be treason!

And because of that, he was too lax.

One night, the prince got kidnapped and threw the whole palace in an uproar. Little Deuce could barely open his eyes when he tried assessing his surroundings, his eyes were blurry and he couldn’t move a muscle as no voice came out from his mouth. He was beyond terrified, he thought he was going to die that night. He pleaded inside his head, begging someone to come and find him. But for days, he was yet to be found.

He thought that perhaps the Royal Palace had decided to give up on him as he lost hope himself, his eyes growing dull and duller. He had to endure the harsh treatment given to him during his abduction, the only thing keeping him sane was the single ray of hope that someone was going to rescue him.

Just as he felt as if the thread was about to snap, he saw a cloaked man barge into the place where he was held hostage with a sword in hand. Ruthlessly, he cut down the perpetrators without so much as a blink. Deuce could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of him weakly. ‘Am I… being saved?’

It took him every ounce of his strength to stay conscious. And even more when he forced himself to ask the mysterious cloaked man. He wasn’t wearing anything that could discern his homeland, Deuce couldn’t figure out where he came from. His face was covered by the hood of the cloak, he couldn’t see his features very well. Deuce was afraid that there would be no way of him figuring out his identity before he passes out, so he forced a voice out of his throat.

“Who… are you?” His voice was hoarse. The man stayed silent, sheathing his sword before walking closer to the prince and unlocking the rope binding his hands together. Deuce could slowly feel himself losing consciousness but just before he could pass out, the man finally answered his question.

“...A knight.” He muttered.

The next time Deuce opened his eyes, he was no longer in a dark place but instead, in an unfamiliar yet extravagant room. He could tell that it was not the palace in his kingdom, he felt himself panic once again as he remembered the past events. When he heard a knock on his door, Deuce flinched as he hesitantly told them to come in.

A small girl around Deuce’s age entered the room with a plushie in her arms. He told himself to calm down upon seeing her, reassuring himself that the probability of this girl doing the same thing as the ones who kidnapped him were very low.

“Are you feeling better now, Your Highness?” She asked, concern lacing her voice. Deuce clutched his arm.

“Better than before… at least. But before that, who are you?” It was only normal for Deuce to become extremely wary considering what he just went through. The young girl understood that and merely gave him a small grin.

She introduced herself as the first princess of the kingdom he was residing in. Deuce was shocked, it wasn’t his own kingdom that found him but another! Did that mean that all this time he was in a foreign country? Was that the reason why no one had found him for days? Countless questions were swirling inside his head.

The princess was the only one who was let into his room, seeing as how Deuce was more comfortable seeing someone around his own age rather than adults. She was as clumsy as she was kind, Deuce found himself being comforted by her even if most of their meetings consisted of him being gloomy.

A few days later, an envoy was sent to Deuce’s kingdom to inform them that he was safe in their palace. During that period of time, Deuce was cooped up inside his room—thinking about a lot of stuff and refused to come out for hours. When it was time for him to go, he visited the princess one last time.

“Is it possible for me to visit you in the future?” Gratitude? Attraction? Personal interest? The reason behind his words was blurred.

When he returned home, he almost gave the whole Royal Court a heart attack when he declared that he wanted to become a knight. Nobody could tell what Deuce was thinking after he was abducted, it was as if he turned into an entirely different person. But he was thoroughly denied of his desire to become a knight, in which he was highly disappointed in. But, somehow, he found a way to secretly train without anyone finding out.

Using the princess as the shield, he went in and out of your kingdom to train under the pretense of meeting her. But she was more than happy to assist him as they became partners in crime. Deuce couldn’t forget the mysterious knight that saved him and so he idolized him ever since, saying how he wanted to be someone who protected people.

“Princess!” He called out, waving his hand as he grinned at her. This was the start of their relationship with each other. Only time can tell if this was to end happily ever after or otherwise.

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

[gopeachllama]

Someday, Nyx

well i guess beacuse i like to emotionally abuse myself i wrote this lil fic. i got the idea for it from a post i saw about baby nyx being named after rhys' little sister.

sorry for any typos and errors.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J Maas

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1660

Rhysand stared out into the open field before him as he bounced the restless babe in his arms. He supposed he was too. In the weeks leading up to this, he had tried desperately to postpone this day. Scheduling fruitless visits to Illyrian training camps and even the Gods-forsaken Hewn City, just to delay the inevitable. By reflex, Rhysand hid his increasing nerves under a mask of cool indifference but judging by the knowing smirks his brothers’ and Mor were sporting, he was failing spectacularly at that. Unsurprisingly, it was Cassian who decided he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Okay, that’s it. Hand Nyx over, Rhys.” Cassian stepped forwards and held out his arms awaiting.

Instinctively, Rhys’ hold on the child only tightened, and a soft snarl emerged from his throat, “back off, Cass.”

“Mother’s tits Rhys! We haven’t got all day.” He exasperated.

“Cassian,” Mor’s sharp interjection was softened by the ghost of a smile.

“Sorry,” Cassian had the decency to look ashamed, before sending the babe a saccharine smile, “I meant Mother’s hips.” He looked to Rhys’ expectantly again.

“You know, the winds today are stronger than I anticipated. Maybe we should do this tomorrow.” Pathetic. It was a pathetic excuse, and he knew it. But every time he thought about the little thing he held in his arms, flying clumsily, and exposed through the sky, he only further cemented his feet into the ground. The babe only grew more restless.

“Scared by a tiny, little breeze, High Lordling? See look, even Nyx is getting tired of your sh-stuff.” He coughed, before adding, softer this time, “it’s time, brother.”

Rhys just spat back, with more venom than he intended, “come any closer, you bastard, and I’ll rip your arms from their sockets.”

Cassian’s powerful wings rustled behind him, and Mor and Azriel tensed, cautious shadows gathering in near their feet. But to Rhys’ surprise, Cassian didn’t take the bait. He continued to stare unflinching at the agitated male, hazel eyes blazing, “Nyx is my sister too Rhys. Do you think I’d ever let anything happen to her?”

Rhys was startled. It was only because he remained dumbfounded by Cassian’s sudden seriousness, that he allowed his little sister to be lifted from his arms.

“Hello, Starlight.” His brother cooed, “are you ready to fly, darling?”

Nyx, the traitorous little thing, only gushed and prattled on delightfully in the way she always did when she was in Cassian’s arms. If it were any other situation, Rhys’ brotherly instincts would go into overdrive and he’d protest at the sight. But, for a moment, he could see it. He could see the way in which Cassian and Azriel and Mor watched over her, the steadiness in their gazes and the sureness of their movements. Yes, here, surrounded by her family, there was nowhere else in the world, that Nyx would be safer. Rhys' aggression instantly dissolved into guilt.

“I’m sorry, Cass.” He was. Truly. Without taking his eyes off the babe, his brother just nodded in understanding. Azriel stepped up to them this time and poked a scarred finger into her pudgy cheek.

“Can you show me how you move your wings, little one?” He asked the babe with a soft smile, flaring out his own wings as a demonstration. Even Rhys couldn’t help stop the smile that was forming on his face. A month ago, it was one of those rare nights that they were all together at the town house in Velaris, when war and politics were the furthest things from their minds. The three brothers began Nyx’s flying lessons by demonstrating the correct wing movement. The babe sat on the carpeted floor; head tipped back to look at the three imposing Illyrians towering over her.

“It’s like this, Starlight.” Rhys had demonstrated first, of course. With his back to her, he flared in and out, his large, membranous wings. His little sister, not intimidated in the least, simple marvelled at her older brother, her little wings motionless at her back.

“No, you prick,” Cassian had interrupted, pushing Rhys aside, “You have to do it like this!”. The second male went through his motions, but Nyx only laughed in glee and babbled incoherently, no doubt her encouragements for more.

“You’re doing the same Gods-damned thing I was doing, you brute!” Rhys had scowled, elbowing his way back into the baby’s line of attention.

“Both of you are idiots. Move.” Azriel had gone into the centre fold then. Cutting off the other two's muffled protests with his trademark cool demeanour. Not ten minutes later, Mor came bursting into the room. And when she took in the scene before her: the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of Bloodshed, and the Sypmaster, three terrible and awesome warriors she fought and killed beside, bickering and ruffling their wings like mad males, she had laughed herself hoarse. And soon, all four of them followed. Completely unaware, but utterly mesmerised by the sight of her family’s joy, baby Nyx’s happiness seemed to bleed into the rest of her body, and she fluttered those beautiful little wings at her back.

She was a quick study, but that was no surprise to anyone. When Rhys’ mother was still in the early weeks of her pregnancy, they were all shocked when their healer, Madja, told them the unborn child had wings. Shocked, because not even Rhysand, born with immense power that cautioned all the other High Lords, was born with wings. They knew then, that Nyx, still inside her mother’s belly, would be flying sooner that any normal Illyrian child. It still didn’t give him much comfort, however, the fact that they had been anticipating this day for an age before she was even born. To distract himself, Rhys, once again cast his gaze to his surroundings.

The day was so unlike the one just over a year ago. Rhysand’s mother was making preparation to go back to Velaris. Where she would spend the remaining month of her pregnancy, when the storm came in, vicious and unrelenting. The winds howled their protests, demanding to keep her in her cabin in the Illyrian mountains for the birth. And the very earth shook, like Ramiel Himself knew. Knew the way the Illyrians; lords, soldiers, and females alike, stopped to stare whenever they were near. Not to sneer at his mother’s untamed wings, but the life inside of her. Like the babe not yet born, was seasoned general, commanding everyone’s attention with her mere presence. Rhysand and his family knew it then, that like he, his little sister possessed power that none of them could possibly fathom. But in the way that he triumphed over night, perhaps she would command the sky itself.

And when labour came that very night, swift and far too many weeks early, they had no choice but to stay. His mother, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Madja and her assistant. The High Lord’s son, had faced countless battles, had once been nailed to the ground by his wings, and forced to watch as his own soldiers were tortured. But never, had he felt such helplessness as he heard his mother’s cries of pain. Never, he had felt such fear as his mother bled and begged him to save his sister’s life no matter what. And when the child’s first wails pierced through the air, his mother still very much alive and crying from joy, all at once, the storm settled. Like Ramiel had let out a breath of relief, for the birth of their Illyrian princess.

So much had changed in the year that his little sister came into this world. In those first few weeks, when Rhys could barely keep himself away from her. When baby Nyx, still unaware of most things around her, kept absentmindedly reaching out a delicate, little hand towards him. For the first time in his centuries-old existence, he felt like he finally had something was truly his. His little sister. This innocent, pure little thing. Of all the horror he had seen and was for responsible for in his years, that he could be given such a precious gift, astounded him. Even his sanctimonious prick of a father, changed considerably. Rhys was never sure about his father’s feelings towards his son, and even though he was more than capable, he was too afraid to use his daemati gifts to look into his mind and find out. Not because Rhys was afraid his father didn’t love him. He was afraid that he did. That in his own callous, twisted way, he loved his son and that was how he showed it. Rhys swore to himself out of fear, that he would never turn out like him. And when his sister was born, he became fearful for a different reason. But it was different with Nyx. His father doted on her, though he never outwardly showed it. Rhys could sense the way his demeanour changed whenever she was around. The way his eyes melted when she would smile up at him with those endless violet eyes. His violet eyes. Rhys knew without a doubt his father loved his daughter, but for the first time, he wasn’t afraid.

Looking at her now, with eyes that resembled their father’s, alight with excitement, and the soft midday breeze ruffling through her wild, curly hair that resembled their mother’s. Rhysand could see the future as clear as the warm winter sunlight. He knew her true power would not lie in battle, but in making real change. He believed that this babe, who would someday grow into a strong, brilliant female, with Illyrian blood flowing through her veins and Illyrian wings to take her to the skies. Someday she could be a symbol for what was possible. Someday, they could ensure other females like her, can hear the songs of the wind. Someday, when he is High Lord of the Night Court, and she, the General Commander of the Illyrian armies. Together they could build a future that was good for all. Someday, Nyx. But today, she will learn how to fly.

~~~

I am so sorry for this. I don't know what kinda fucked up feelings i was in to conjure this but i was in dire need of some pre-acotar IC fics so i decided to make one myself.

Bonus: THINKNING ABOUT CASSIAN CALLING RHYS' BABY SISTER DARLING HAS ME SOBBING!!! HE IS SUCH A GIRLDAD YOU CAN'T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.

[passionfruitbowls]

Marichat May Day 2 - Ghibli AU

@marichatmay

Rated: G Word count: 1,162

Read on AO3 

—————————

The streets were currently abuzz with pedestrians and passing by cars which, unfortunately for Marinette, was not a good thing. Having spent at least half an hour searching high and low for this black cat that was allegedly supposed to help her, she was starting to feel a bit worn out (the scorching heat didn’t help either).

If she was being totally honest with herself, she still couldn’t quite believe everything that had happened in the past few days. Who would have thought that saving a random street cat from certain death could lead to... this? A box of dead rats left in her locker as a “gift”, unexpected pieces of catnip hidden in her pockets, and a parade of talking cats appearing outside her house to thank her for rescuing their kingdom’s prince! She wouldn’t be surprised if it all turned out to be a massive fever dream.

Squinting her eyes in the hopes that she would have more luck, Marinette eventually spotted a quaint-looking café across the road from where she was standing. Several tables and picnic chairs had been placed in the outside area, and in one of the chairs sat a large, chubby black cat that seemed to be sleeping. She crossed her fingers and tried to appear as confident as she could, then strode over to the café.

As she walked, Marinette began mulling over everything that the strange voice had told her the day before, the words replaying themselves inside her head.

Marinette, listen carefully to me. You must find the Cat Bureau, they will help you with your problems. Go to the café on the main road, there you will meet a large black cat named Plagg. He can show you the way.  

For a brief moment, Marinette simply stood and stared, unsure if this was a good idea. What if someone saw her? They’d think she was insane!

Eventually, she figured that since everyone else seemed too engrossed in what they were doing to notice, she might as well give it a shot. Bending down so that she was face-to-face with the cat, she raised a hand to her mouth and whispered, “Excuse me, are you Plagg?”

The cat’s ears twitched and it turned its head round to look at her, unblinking. Its eyes were a dazzling bright shade of green, so bright that Marinette could practically see her reflection in them. When it didn’t give a further response, she tried again.

“A voice told me to come find you. It said you could help me.”

Still, the cat didn’t reply. It didn’t even do so much as let out a meow. Marinette bit her lip and sighed in frustration, then stood up.

“Well, I guess I’ve got the wrong cat. I’ll see you around.”

She turned around on her heel and was just about to leave when, all of a sudden, the sound of a voice behind her stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Hey, wait a minute.”

Marinette slowly turned around again, and saw that the cat had hopped up onto the table and was looking directly at her.

“You want me to take you to the Cat Bureau, don’t you?” It asked. Marinette smiled and nodded.

“Yes! So you really are Plagg?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

The cat swiftly jumped down onto the ground, and then began making his way across the street. Marinette tightened her grip on her school bag and followed after him.

Some time later, after Plagg had led her down countless narrow alleyways which she had never seen before, the pair reached a small clearing near the city centre where the sun was still shining brightly. Marinette gasped in awe at the sight in front of her - it was a long, winding road full of small houses that dated back to at least the early 1900s. Each one seemed to be a different colour, ranging from peach pink to mint green, giving them a homely feeling.  

Marinette felt a gentle tugging at the hem of her skirt, and looked down to see that Plagg was now standing up on his rear legs, pointing to the cul-de-sac at the very end of the street.

“It’s up this way.”

They kept on walking until they reached the cul-de-sac, and stopped outside of a white cottage with a green roof that was noticeably smaller than the others. All of the lights were switched off, with no sign of there being anyone inside. In addition to that, there was a rather worn and rusty bench right beside it, which Plagg promptly sat down on, picking up a discarded newspaper that had been abandoned there.

Marinette stared at the cottage in silence, dumbfounded. Was she supposed to knock, or wait to be invited in? She didn’t want to come off as rude.

Luckily she didn’t have to worry for long, because not a minute later the lights suddenly switched on with no warning, and the door ever so slowly creaked open to reveal a tall figure standing in the hallway. As they stepped forward, presumably to greet her, Marinette felt her heart skip a beat - this was really happening!

The figure turned out to be a young man around the same age as her, except he was much more well dressed than she was, in a slim-fitting black tuxedo with a face mask to match. She took in the sight of him for a moment, still in shock, and noticed that there seemed to be a pair of cat ears sticking out beneath his hair. His eyes were a striking shade of green, similar to Plagg’s, and shone unusually bright beneath the shadows of the buildings above him.

“Good evening, young lady! My name is Adrien Athanese Agreste, but you may call me Chat Noir.” He said, bowing down gracefully as if she was a princess and he a courtier.

Marinette sensed a blush beginning to form on her cheeks, and bowed as well out of politeness.

“It’s nice to meet you!” She said. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Marinette... what a beautiful name.” He murmured thoughtfully, taking her hand in his and kissing it tenderly. Marinette had to bite down on her lip to prevent herself from saying something stupid - if she hadn’t been blushing before, she definitely was now. This Chat Noir seemed to be quite the gentleman.

“I take it Plagg brought you here seeking my help?” He asked. Marinette smiled and nodded, suddenly feeling like her brain had been turned into mush.

“Yeah, I’ve been having a bit of, uh... cat trouble lately.” She eventually managed to say. Chat Noir grinned cheerfully and gestured for her to come inside.

“Well, fear not, because you’ve come to the right place.”

Marinette felt a wave of relief wash over her as she grabbed onto Chat Noir’s hand and followed him into the cottage. For the first time in what felt like ages, it seemed like everything was going to be okay.

[aidemint]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐩 - 𝐒𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐨

Word Count: 2700

Warnings: None!

__

There was always a boy with peach-colored hair that I would see in the village.

From the confines of my house, I would stare out the window and watch him meander about the streets of the city. He would always be clad in patterned robes with a mask strapped to his head, and a sword tied to his belt. I always wondered what it was for. Perhaps he was a samurai, like the ones I'd read about in the old storybooks, though he didn't quite look the part.

But one could dream.

As time passed, and the world grew older, I noticed that he was now accompanied by a smaller girl with jet-black locks. They would run together and weave through crowds without a care in the world. She looked younger, and wore an outfit with a similar design as his. A younger sister, I reckoned.

The more that I observed them, the more I would feel a certain emptiness inside my chest. I would get lost in my own thoughts more often, pointlessly staring at my hands as I curled and uncurled my fingers, watching pieces of my butterfly skin flake off and settle on the cuffs of my kimono.

It stung, but my heart ached even more.

I'd always wanted someone to keep me company.

It was a nice thought, something that provoked my imagination.

It helped me cope.

__

My condition was rare.

Though I was a whole being, I was forever cursed to live a wretched life filled with nothing but pain and agony. My skin would come off at the slightest movement or touch, which made washing myself or getting anywhere an extremely tedious task. And if the gods hadn't bound me to my hermit life enough, I had eyes that were not capable of rendering large amounts of light, which meant that I couldn't go out during the day if I didn't want to blind myself.

And I didn't want to lose my sense of sight, as it would mean no longer being able to see the peach-haired boy and his sister. So there was no other option for me. The day was detremental, and the night posed too many risks, with unimaginable monsters lurking around, so I had no choice but to remain as I was -- alone and weak.

I could only sit and watch the world pass by from the confines of my room, where I was forever trapped, cursed to my prison. As I had delicate skin and soft eyes that could not take in light, my flaws rendered me useless, and therefore I had to pay reparations to the world by staying inside.

There were many people that believed that I did something sinister in my past life, and that was the reason why I had so many imperfections now. In this age, it was commonplace to believe such a thing. I understood why they could even mention something as terrible as this, but couldn't help but feel sad at the thought.

Matters became even worse once my family got word of the rumor. Being especially spiritual, they immediately suspected me and made it their priority to discard the person that would bring bad omens into their family. They promptly left me with half of their savings and their old house, and moved away to somewhere else.

I tended to my belongings quite well and always cherished the little bits of home with gratitude, but I always missed them, despite never truly knowing who they were and what they looked like.

I hoped that they were well, without me.

But even though my family left, the rumor still remained, however, forever haunting me and my very existence. Speculations only grew as the years went by. The townspeople had somehow reached the conclusion that I had been cursed because my past life had not lived their existence justly.

Sometimes I would sit and wonder about it.

Was it really my fault?

Why did the gods condemn me so?

Had I really committed such a cardinal sin?

If I did, I think would've remembered it.

__

Most days were spent making woven goods that I sold to the townspeople in exchange for groceries and such things. On the mornings that the peach-haired boy came to town, I would wait for him by my window and patiently stare into the open until he came. He and his little sister would walk around the town, sometimes getting groceries, sometimes not. They looked happy when they were together outside, enjoying the many wonders of a fulfilled life.

How I longed to live like them.

But I wasn't truly in a position to complain, as there'd always be one person to stop by my house every once in a while.

Urokodaki always came to pay me a visit, which was nice. He would bring me miso soup and small bits of dried seaweed in exchange for woven baskets. Every month, he would even stay and tell me about his travels and tales from his life -- glimpses into the outside world that I never got to experience for myself.

And perhaps it was because he was so near and dear to me that I always drank the soup with fervor, making sure not to waste even the slightest drop. I hoped that if I appreciated it enough that it would never stop coming. I never wanted the stories to cease.

That bowl of miso soup was the only light of my life that my heart could hold without stopping.

I could never thank Urokodaki enough, even for such a small bowl of soup, but he seemed to be the gift that kept on giving.

One day he brought the peach-haired boy along.

When I opened to door to let the elder in, I gasped upon seeing him with the boy I'd watched for so long. Immediately starting to worry that the place was unfit for him to see, or that I looked too unruly, I accidentally strained my skin too much and tore a new gash into my shoulder. Wincing and biting back a cry, I tried to mask the pain, but relented as Urokodaki gently took my hand and led me inside so that he could bandage me.

At that moment, I knew that I would be unable to face the boy for the rest of the day. It was foolish of me to have hoped that another would be able to understand. Why should he try to understand? I was the town's hermit, a monster among the children, and a symbol of strife among the grown.

No words were exchanged that afternoon. We all just sat and ate, and after we had eaten, Urokodaki and the peach-haired boy departed. I cast no farewell gesture to the pair, only giving a small, sad smile to the elder has he exited my house.

Days passed and life went on in accordance to the usual schedule. It was boring, but served as a reassurance that nothing out of the ordinary would happen after that encounter with Urokodaki's student. But even if I was happy that my life was the same, I couldn't help but feel disappointed at myself. Subconsciously touching the bandage on my shoulder, I sighed while imagining what my life could have amounted to if I got to know the boy I'd been admiring for such a long time.

Cursing at myself, I angrily started to thread the reeds to a chair covering, fueled by the utter shame and regret in not jumping at the opportunity to know someone new. In doing so, I hadn't realized that someone was knocking on the door. The sounds from outside continued for a few minutes before I realized that they were there. Needless to say, I was particularly surprised. Urokodaki never came this early, and an unexpected visitor wasn't very common. Despite how unconventional a stranger was, they were always welcome.

I slowly got up to open the door and once I had unlocked it, I was met with an unanticipated face.

It was the peach-haired boy.

My eyes widened in shock, completely dumbfounded as to why he would come again. Had I not scared him off last time? I simply watched him as he awkwardly waited for a response from me. When I kept staring, he cleared his throat and decided to break the silence.

"Uh," he spoke, "Is it alright if I come in?" I blinked and immediately nodded slightly, moving as fast as I could to the side in order to let him in. He looked at my figure with a concerned expression while I shuffled to close the door behind him. It looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he refrained from it and moved to another topic.

"Is your wound doing alright?" he asked, matching my pace as we walked towards the table set in the middle of the closest room. I smiled at his consideration and felt a sudden tug at my heartstrings.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt, so don't worry too much about it," I lied, "Besides, I get them all the time. I'm used to it." Despite this, the boy didn't look too assured, but chose not to press on.

When we got settled, he brought out the miso soup from his bag and set it on the table, along with two spoons and a small container of dried seaweed. I looked at the dish, anticipating it, but somehow, something didn't feel right. It felt like a stone had settled itself into my chest, weighing my insides down and putting my appetite to rest. Setting down my spoon, I gazed into the yellow-ish liquid and hesitated. This drew the attention of the pink-haired boy.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, wearing a small frown, "Have I done something wrong?" I shook my head gently, sighing and swallowing the dread that pooled in the pits of my stomach. There was one thing I needed to question him about. His response didn't matter, after everything I'd been through, but I needed closure.

"What do you think of me?"

The peach-haired boy looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

"After being in the village for some time, I imagine that you know what the people say about me." He went silent.

I had all the time in the world, so I waited. The boy seemed lost in thought, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his breath steady and lips pouted, in perhaps perfecting a reply that was sweet enough for my ears.

When five minutes went by, I asked him another, simpler, question in case he couldn't comprehend my comment about the village.

"You do know what tall tales about me the children tell each other, right?" He nodded. I maintained a small smile through the query, though my eyes got darker with every proceeding question.

"What are they?" I'd already recognized that he knew I was aware of the rumors. The peach-haired boy paused before answering in a soft tone.

"They say that you're cursed. They think that you're a monster." I hummed and returned to the main topic at hand after his reply. The words stung, but after the countless tears that had been shed over time, I learned to take them.

"So do you think the same?" I inquired, "Am I a monster, with my butterfly skin and delicate eyes? With my scars and-"

"I think you're beautiful."

Stopping, I locked gazes with him and stared in skepticism.

Are you mad? I wanted to shout, Is this some kind of sick joke? A fetish, maybe?

However, I withheld myself and stammered more questions.

"Why did you take such a long time in the beginning?" The peach-haired boy looked away, a rosy coloration dusting his cheeks.

"I didn't know if you would believe me or not." The tenseness in the atmosphere relieved itself at that moment. I began to feel my throat conjure weird bubbles and my shoulders start to hunch up. A chuckle burst out of my mouth unexpectedly, and louder ones followed after. My vision blurred as tears started to leak out of my eyes and spill onto the sides of my face. The peach-haired boy looked starstruck, watching me laugh.

Once I had finished, I looked at him, gingerly wiping the water droplets off of my cheeks and chin, my irises clear and sparkling.

"Then that settles it," I said, hiccupping, "That settles it." The corners of my mouth remained upturned as I picked my spoon back up and mixed the soup so that it clouded up again. Taking a sip, I grinned as the liquid ran smoothly down my throat and sent shivers up my spine.

It was still warm.

__

After a few more meetings over the course of two weeks, I didn't see Sabito again for the next three months. It was disheartening, to say the least. Though I would always wait by the window in anticipation, he never showed up with the girl. Instead, there was a long-locked black-haired boy, clad in similar patterned robes as he. His eyes appeared as blue as the sky in a cloudless afternoon, and his jaw was angled finely. Guessing that the stranger was a replacement market-boy, I started to worry.

Has something bad happened to Sabito?

When the thought would surface, I simply shook it off, convincing myself again and again that the peach-haired boy was well. Urokodaki frequently updated me with messages via crow, that Sabito was training, and nothing else. This served as a reassuring factor to quell my anxiety through the days in which I felt especially lonely.

Unfortunately, it just so happened to be one of those hours. Currently, I was in a spell of panic.

What if he never came back? What if he perished?

Merely thinking about it made my blood run cold and my fingers numb. I wouldn't even know how to react if that happened. The only thing I could do was hope that Sabito was alright. I felt helpless, defenseless, utterly hopeless.

In my fit, I hadn't realized that there was a knock at the door. It took me a couple minutes to fully register what was going on.

Was this deja vu?

Getting up from my position on my seat, I moved quickly to the door, unlocked it, and was immediately met with an unfathomable sight.

Breathlessly, I began to cry. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks with haste, landing delicately on my robes. My hands were clasped over the smile upon my features, catching the gentle sobs I let out.

There Sabito stood, with longer hair and a small sack in his hand. He grinned, his lavender eyes crinkling as he did. I could see my reflection in his glossy irises.

"Master said it was my turn to bring the miso soup again." I laughed and tried to run towards him, but only managed a meager shuffle.

"Sabito!" I cried, my arms outstretched. He caught me in his embrace, gripping onto my robes as hard as he could without risking any injury being made to my skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took in his scent, his being, his presence with as much attention as I could muster.

"I missed you," he whispered, voice cracking, "So much." I sobbed, my chest filling with nothing but endless adoration. Eventually separating, I fluttered my eyelids open and gazed into his wisteria eyes, then kissed him. My heart jumped at the sensation. With fingers gingerly combing through his hair, feeling his soft locks and getting tangled in the new length, I basked in his presence and familiar scent. He kissed back with the same fervor, gripping my waist with his gossamer hands, sending me into paradise.

When we broke away, I couldn't help but smile at his dopey expression.

"Can I come in?" he murmured, placing a peck on my forehead. His voice was irresistibly smooth, like silk flowing in the wind -- undulating and perfectly formed. Giggling as he kissed my lips once more, I couldn't ignore how much I loved him and his being.

So of course, I let him in.

[yandere-wishes]

Isolation  //Yandere Hermes x reader//

This is a christmas gift for @yandere-romanticaa I hope you like it darling!

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

Somewhere along the last few decades, Hermes the God of messages, thieves, travel, trade, wealth, luck and music had fallen in love with a peculiar mortal girl.

(Y/N), a basted born child, who, out of her mother's shame had lived in the woods for her entire young life. In an almost complete solitary.

When (Y/N)'s mother had dragged her into the depressed woods she'd been no older than 12 months. Too innocent and unaware of the miserable life ahead of her. As the years went by (Y/N) frantically searched for a friend. As a chubby child, she'd wobble outside attempting to talk to the birds and squirrels. Yet soon she learned they would not reply. Her next target came to be the flowers and trees, but as alive as the flora seemed it too never responded. The poor girl would beg her mother to be let into the civilizations she'd read in her books. To meet and speak to other humans, others that looked like her, spoke like her, other of her species. But vicious isolation had long since driven her mother to the brink of madness. The old woman feared the society that had sunned her. In her sick mind, she'd warped people to appear as hideous beasts waiting, lurking to sink their fangs and claws into her and her precious little daughter. She refused her daughter's request every time. Looking into the young girls (E/C) eyes with her hallow ones and proclaiming lovingly that she must stay here away from the world in order to remain safe.

As (Y/N) hit the age of 7, insanity threatened to abduct her mind just as it had done with her mother's. She'd speak to the walls and the wooden floor. She'd sing to doors and dance with the blankets. It was only a matter of time before her mind was last too.

Fortunately for the doomed darling, one day, a certain god only slightly older than a millennium was flying around in the same dreary forest. Having engaged in a rather competitive game of hide and seek with his older brother and sister Apollo and Artemis. The young god known to most mortals as Hermes dodged trees and sore above bushes. Giggling joyfully as he attempted to find an adequate hiding place. His stary blue eyes looked up observing the treetops for a split second. 'No' it would be the first place they look. His gaze than wondered to a nearby pond, glittering and glistening in Helios' rays. He thought, brain pondering for a fraction of a second, he decided against it. No point in getting himself all wet over a silly little game. Finally, the messenger's eyes landed onto the forest ground. Surely there must be a certain rabbit hole or grassy hill. Those would be perfect, not even Athena's mind would consider searching for him there.

As the young god descended he looked took in his surroundings. It was much darker down here, the trees were thicker and an odd musty seem filled the air. Little Hermes walked around for a bit desperately trying to find a place to hide. 'Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let them find me' he thought silently to himself. The reached smell was getting worse and frequently the young god was rather scared of the dark. He walked further in arms rubbing at his shoulders. He was mortified! Something was going to leap out from behind one of those bushes and attempt to consume him!

As fear ran a mock in Hermes' brain a bizarre noise made its self known throughout the silent woods. It caused the young immortal to practically leap out of his skin. What was? Was it some sort of beast? Maybe a nympho or maybe something worse? Gulping down his courage the god followed the sound. Walking wand walking until he made it to to a tree. The noise was loudest here, he looked around trying to find the source of the noise. When he finally turned to look at the other side of the tree he noticed a small human child curled into a tight ball making the bizarre noise. For endless seconds Hermes started at "it" trying to comprehend why the mortal girl was in such a position and why she was making such a racket. It took him some time before he builds but the courage to kneel beside her and poke at her side. Slowly the girl untwisted her self form her ball like forme. She turned her head to see who was being such a nuisance.

The girl's eyes went wide. It was some sort of sparkling creature. To an extent, it looked like her and her mother. Crunching down on two legs, having two arms and an oval face with a nest of messy blond hair laying on top of it. But this "person" had flappy white wings on their heels and gold particles floated around him, making him appear as though he was the sun god himself. The girl screamed, who was the person? She tucked her head between her knees and continued to cry. This was so so scary, where was her mother? She wanted her mother now! Loud sobs started leaving her mouth, her body was quivering. Fear was the only thing present in her mind.

There it was again, that bizarre noise. Why in Zeus' name was this mortal child making it? "Hey, hey you!" Hermes proceeded to poke her, shake her and yell at her. "Stop making that noise, it's annoying!" but the young god's demands went unheard.

Hermes stepped back, he pondered some way to get the girl to stop her dreadful noise making. He threw his head back and groaned, uncle Poseidon was right humans were exasperating and preternatural creatures. The two sat like that for some time, both mentally alone, trapped by their worries and fears.

'Please go away! Leave me alone'

'Stop making that noise, talk to me tell me why you're doing such a thing!'

Slowly a plan started forming in Hermes' mind. He quickly summoned his staff, pointing it towards the ground underneath the mortal girl. Large olympian flowers sprung from the ground, they tied together, creating a bed that lifted the girl slightly off the ground. It stopped the noise momentarily, as the human unwrapped herself and looked around.

"How did you do that!" she asked in her soar and broken voice.  Astonishment shone in their large eyes. Hermes let out a giggle, humans were amby such little things. "It's easy really just a simple mind spell that Apollo thought me years ago!"  For a second all went silent...

....

.....so...

YOU KNOW THE GOD APOLLO!!

Hermes stepped back, letting out a gasp of shock and surprise. Why was she so surprised? Had this mortal no idea who he was? Wasn't it obvious? "O-of course I know him....haven't you figured out who I am?" Hermes' was offended, this mortal had no idea who he was? Why was she so strang?    

Whilst glaring at the girl, Hermes proudly puffed up his chest a loudly declared.

"I am Hermes' God of messages, thieves, travel, trade, wealth, luck, and music! You, mortal are in the presence of the greatest deity in all of Olympic history-"

"Aaahhh"

A golden arrow flew through the air, landing directly in front of Hermes' sandaled feet.  Both human and god quickly turned to see who had tried to attack them. In the distance, a stunning woman in a deep purple toga stood, bow in hand and a smirk dancing across her face.

"Come on Hermes' time to go..."

The demand floated around the air for a brief second. So he wasn't lying, (Y/N) thought to herself.  She stared up at the by - no God- as he slowly started making his way over to the woman. Briefly, he turned around and shot her a sweet smile and a wave before he and the woman vanished. Leaving behind a dumbfounded (Y/N) who now regretted having lost her chance to maybe make a friend.

Yet the next day the god boy returned. Under the pretext that (Y/N) had merely piqued his interest. And yet again the day after he yet again returned. This had been the norm for roughly 14 years now. Hermes had watched as (Y/N) grew from a curious child into a lovely young woman. Through the years the pair had grown close, doing practically everything together. But things, especially the good ones never last for too long.

Hermes now sat at the edge of mount Olympus overlooking the mortal world. His posture was hunched over, propping up his head with his fist. A dreary expression masking his entire face. Today was it, today was the dreaded day. The day his beautiful (Y/N) would escape from her forest cage and finally find the freedom and civilization she'd spend her whole youth attempting to discover.

All that just meant that Hermes no longer had (Y/N) all to himself. For all these years (Y/N) had looked up to him as her savior from the madness that had come with her isolation. Now she no longer needed saving, no longer would she need Hermes to be her hero nor her friend. There would be others who could save her, the "real" mortal heroes and surely she too like all mortal women would fall in love with them. It was such an annoying though to bear.

Hermes flopped on to his back starring up at the clouds that made up the higher levels of Olympus. Oh, how he wished that (Y/N) could be all his. He closed his eyes for a moment savoring the wish, please, please come true he begged in silent. When he opened his eyes again the air had gotten colder, the atmosphere was much darker tainted with blood red. He could feel an anonyms presence towering over him.

"I hear that you have fallen in love, young Hermes."

"What the-"

Hermes turned, his eyes wide and fear slithering into his flesh. Before him stood the underworld goddess of madness, insanity and maniacal love,  Mania. She was a horror legend on Olympus, one of the only goddesses to not fearing to be a rival to Aphrodite and undoing most of her work. It was said she was the reason behind Hades stealing away poor Kore and all so many Olympians claimed to have seen her right before abducting their darlings.

Why was she here? Was she trying to seak an audience with him? The youngest of all the Olympians.

His body shook, words bubbled up to his tongue and then died there. His lips quivered as he attempted to open them. "W-wh w-w-why wh-why a-are y-y yo-y y-you h-her here?" His words came out in shards glistened in his fear.

The Goddess let out a haughty laugh, "Why little Hermes you summoned me here with that tiny wish of yours. I'm here to help you, darling!"

Hermes stared at the goddess something wasn't right here. Was he about to do something dreadful? Was (Y/N) going to be in danger because of him?

"How"

The goddess smirked a sadistic joy danced in her eyes "You desire that mortal girl all for yourself, right love? Well, why not simply take her?"

The messenger pondered the proposal for a moment. It really would solve all his problems. But would (Y/N) be happy with the whole outcome. She was just about to reach her freedom, could he be so insensitive to strip his dearest friend of her lifetime wish?

When Mania noticed the young boy's hesitance she lifted an eyebrow becoming him to speak his mind.

Hermes gulped than stated his worries. Yet barely had he begun that the insane Goddess let out another burst of laughter. "Hermes my boy you wouldn't be taking away her freedom quite the contrary! You'd be gifting her a much better sense of freedom here on mount Olympus!"

"But I thought that only deities may enter Olympus?"

Mania's smirk grew wider she reached into the pocket of her blood-stained toga and lifted out an old looking bag. It was small, able to fit completely in Hermes' palm. "This bag" Mania started "contains a spell that I mastered in order to help Apollo bring his darling to Olympus, I'm sure you too will find t useful. Just get her to eat one of the candies inside and all should work out from there. Good luck"

With that, she began to vanish, particle by particle until noting was left.

Hermes let out a breath, clutching the bag tightly to his chest. "You heard what she said (Y/N) this is for you. I'm doing this so you can have your freedom!"

(Y/N) ran down a path in the woods, she'd been on it hundreds of times. But this was the day! The day she'd follow it to the end. She's been able to meet actual live people who she could talk to, interact with maybe even feel in love with! The pure excitement made the young girl walk even faster, she was all so close!

"Where you going to leave without saying goodbye?"

(Y/N) stopped in her track a large, bright smile blossomed on her face! She quickly turned around and joyfully ran to the source of the voice! "Hermes! I knew you would pop up before I made it out of the woods!" She tackled her friend in a bone-crushing hug, it could possibly be their last.

When (YN) stepped back she noticed a grim shadow  Hermes's face. Something was off about the god but she just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"Hey" Hermes was the first to break the silence. "I got you a parting gift." He outstretched his hand and in the palm, a decorated piece of chocolate appeared. Astonished by its beauty (y/n) quickly took the candy and gulped down in one quick bite. Right as she swallowed it the world began to spin everything went in circles faster and faster and faster. She shut her eyes almost as a refelex. Only to find that she couldn't open them again. what the hell was going on! Her mouth wouldn't open to yell for help. Slowly she started to slip from concludes.

Hermes stood beside the body of his dearest friend. He watched as a golde light traced around her limp body. Slowly he kneeled and cradled her in his arms, burying his face the crook of her neck.

"I'm sorry (Y?N) this is all for you... I swear"

[yeeharley]

8 and 11 for Halloween prompts please🥺

Of course, dear! I really hope you like it!

8: came to investigate someone screaming next door

11: dog chased me up a tree when I tried to knock on the door

Isn’t it a major Halloween faux pas to follow the sound of extremely loud, shrill, terrifying screaming and find out what it is?

That feels like a bad idea. It feels like the moment a clown jumps out of the bushes and chops your head out. It feels like Harley is about to die a bloody and horrible death.

But it also feels like he really wants to know who’s making that awful noise, so. Onwards and upwards.

Armed with a baseball bat from his little league days and an amount of trepidation that could kill a horse, Harley creeps out of his apartment and closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. The screaming is quieter, further in between (which probably isn’t great).

The sound of a dog barking has joined it.

Don’t the Robertsons have a dog? A german shepard?

Yeah, they do.

Is the Robertsons’ dog mauling somebody to death?

Maybe, Harley thinks, creeping along the boundary of bushes between his house and his neighbors’, baseball bat still slung over his shoulder and gripped between white knuckles.

He would rather not have to hit a dog. He’s always liked them, but if someone is being actively attacked, he’s probably going to have to.

Abby would kill him if she found out.

She’ll have to never find out.

There aren’t many trick-or-treaters out anymore, which is probably a good thing considering the amount of attention screaming on Halloween would draw.

Harley crosses the yard, bare feet crunching against short-cropped grass, and makes his way around the driveway. The barking is louder now, more frequent.

And there it is.

Yeah, it’s the Robertsons’ german shepherd (Gertrude, he thinks, but it could also be Giselle or something else that starts with a ‘g’. Probably Gertrude). 

“What’ve you got?” Harley shouts, breaking into a light jog as Gertrude comes into view. She’s barking up the side of a tree, one paw set against its trunk, jaws moving quickly to reveal really sharp teeth (dear God, that’s terrifying). 

There’s another shout from the canopy of the tree. Then, “Hey, would you mind helping us get down?”

A boy’s voice, lower than that of the screams. So there are… two people in the tree? 

Okay. Okay, he can deal with this.

Harley reaches down to grab Gertrude by the collar and pulls her back, gritting his teeth as she tries to move closer. She’s big, strong, but not as strong as him. He’s able to pull her back to the house and attatch her leash (she must’ve gotten off of it) to the doorknob before turning back and peering up at the top of the tree.

Just as he’d guessed, there are two people clinging to the slim branches. One is a little girl in a Spider-Man costume- sans mask- with teary eyes and a bag of candy clutched between her little fists.

The other is a boy who looks to be around Harley’s age. He’s not dressed in a costume, just a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt, and his curly hair droops down around his eyes as he peers down at Harley with a nervous grin on his face. 

“Uh- hey,” The boy says, freeing up one of his hands to wave. “Can you help us out?”

The little girl chokes out another sob, gripping the boy- her brother, maybe- like he’s her only lifeline.

“Yeah, I got you.” Harley drops the bat to the dewy grass, shaking his hands out before stretching his arms up above his head. He can reach just shy of the girl’s feet, but it’s high enough for the boy to lower her into his grip. 

The minute she can, she wraps her arms around Harley’s neck and attatches herself to him like a little monkey. He chuckles and bends down so her feet, clad in light-up sneakers, can reach the ground.

“I’ve gotta get your brother down now, okay?” He says gently, before nodding at her bag of candy. “Eat some of that while I help ‘im.”

She nods eagerly and digs into the bag with relish, fear clearly forgotten. “Thanks, mister.”

Main problem taken care of, Harley turns back to the boy in the tree and tilts his head, trying to figure out how in the world he’s supposed to do this. He can’t weigh that much if the branches can hold him, which is good, but he’s still just a little bit too far above Harley’s head for this to be easy. 

“What’s your name?” Harley calls up, neck craning uncomfortably.

The boy blinks, bites his lip. “Peter Parker. That’s Morgan.”

Sounds familiar, but he can’t seem to place it. 

“Alright, Peter.” God, this is hard. “Uh- can you come down a little so I can reach you?”

Peter grits his teeth, shakes his head. “I, uh, don’t think so?”

“You’re stuck?”

“In a way.” He shrugs before reaching up to grip the branch above his head. 

“Think you could jump?” Harley asks, spreading his arms wide like he’s about to catch something. “I won’t drop you if you do.”

From the way Peter’s face pales, he’s not exactly fond of that idea. Nontheless, he swallows convulsively and nods, staring down at Harley like he’s his saving grace. 

There’s a nasty scrape on the side of his face. It’s dripping blood into his eyebrow. Looks painful.

“Alright,” Harley says quietly, carefully. “Go ahead and jump. I’ll catch you- promise.”

He sees the minute Peter’s legs tense. He swings out, eyes clenched shut, and drops neatly from the treetop into Harley’s arms (he really doesn’t weigh that much, so it isn’t terribly difficult).

There’s a pair of arms around his neck and a pair of eyes fixed on his, glimmering with something akin to surprise. Harley stares, dumbfounded, as Peter tilts his head slightly to one side and makes absolutely no effort to get down.

He’s awfully cute. 

Even with the steady trail of blood making its way down to his eyelid.

“You’re bleeding,” Harley mutters. 

“Scraped my face on the tree when I was trying to get her up.”

Absently, he reaches up to brush his thumb over Peter’s eyebrow, wincing as the boy hisses and blinks rapidly. “You alright?”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the red that stains Harley’s finger. “I think so.”

Harley stands there, still holding Peter securely in his arms, transfixed by the pink color of his lips, until there’s a quiet cough and a hand tugging at his pants.

“You got candy at your house, mister?” Morgan asks impatiently, staring up at him and showing off the little spider insignia painted onto her right cheek. “You gonna put Petey down?”

Harley chokes out a strangled laugh and sets down Peter as quickly as he can, leaning down to pick up his baseball bat. Peter brushes himself off, cheeks faintly pink, before turning to look down at Morgan.

“He’s done enough, Morg,” he says gently. “I think it’s time we go ahead-”

“Yeah, I’ve got candy,” Harley says. Smiles and jerks his head at his own house. “And first-aid supplies. You shouldn’t walk back with your head bleeding like that.”

If it’s possible, Peter’s face seems to get even redder. “I couldn’t impose on you like that-”

“It’s not an imposition if I invite you.”

Morgan laughs, high and clear, before attatching herself firmly to Harley’s leg and looking imploringly up at Peter. “He’s got candy!”

It’s obvious that he can’t say no to her; Harley recognizes that- he’d felt the same way about Abby when she’d still lived with him. Peter nods slowly, the corner of his lips curling up, before he reaches down and slips his hand into Harley’s.

Oh.

Oh.

Oooooooh, okay.

Harley leads the siblings (maybe?) back to his house, head turned away from Peter to hide his smile, before depositing his bat beside the front door and leading Morgan to the stash of candy under his kitchen sink. She happily starts to fill her bag, stuffing handfuls of candy into her pockets and under the neck of her suit.

He loves kids. God, he loves them.

When Morgan’s happily occupied, Harley sits Peter down at the counter before pulling his first ait kit out and digging through it for butterfly bandages, alcohol, and cotton pads. He perches on one of the stools a foot or so away, leaning in slowly and dabbing at the cut as gently as he possibly can. 

Peter still hisses and grits his teeth, but he doesn’t move, allowing Harley to finish his work and tape the bandages over the cut, holding it closed. The bleeding has pretty much stopped at this point, only a slow drip of red, and Harley leans back with a satisfied hum.

“Thanks,” Peter murmurs, reaching up to poke at his forehead. “I appreciate all your help.”

“No problem,” Harley says. He packs up the kit, closes it, and pushes it aside.

He does impulsive, possibly stupid things all the time.

This might be one of the most impulsive and stupid of them all.

He grabs a pen off of the counter, pulls a napkin out of the nearest drawer, and scribbles down his number before pressing it into Peter’s hand.

“Text me when you get back to wherever you’re supposed to be goin’,” he says with a smile. “So I know you got back safe.”

Peter nods and grins back at him, folding the napkin into fourths and shoving it into his pocket.

“Thanks.”

Thirty minutes after they’ve left, Harley’s phone vibrates twice in his jacket pocket. His stomach erupts into butterflies as he pulls it out and reads through the messages, eyes wide, a warm feeling growing in his chest.

hey it’s peter? we got back safe so

also i was wondering if you’d maybe want to get coffee with me sometime? totally fine if you don’t but i figured i might as well pay you back

Harley blinks, biting his lip. He feels like a lovesick teenager about to go on his first date- is that a date? That could totally be a date, right?

Yeah, I’d really like that. You free Saturday?

absolutely.

[pinkrae]

100 Ways to Say “I love you” #8

23. “I’ll wait.”

Pairing: Raven and Zachary Zatara

Setting: Comics

Age: late teens

------

Black hair dropped down her shoulders. A strand of hair that kept falling in her face and that she kept tucking behind her ear as she focused on the book before her. Delicate fingers sliding between the pages as she flipped them over. Blue eyes gently jolting from left to right as she read the words at an impressive speed. Soft breaths, the smallest tug of lips forming into a smile, silent chuckles. A certain warmth filled the otherwise mostly empty room. It was quiet, but not too quiet, mostly thanks to the buzzing of the TV. It wasn’t awkward or tense. It was… nice.

The remote rested in his hand as he lazily switched between channels. Although he tried to, he couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything lately. Anything but her. It was driving him crazy. He became impulsive and his magic was all over the place. But now that they were both sitting here, each doing their own thing, he felt strangely calm. It was almost relaxing to be here with her, even if she didn’t pay him nearly as much attention as he did to her. He couldn’t help it. His eyes kept wandering over to her like some force was making him do it. 

She was beautiful, though. Focused. Completely immersed in whatever story it was that she was reading. She looked so stunning when she was focused. Always so serious, keeping to herself, always quiet. But when she spoke, god, it was like music. Her words were always to the point, always truthful and meaningful. If she were to cast a spell on him, he wouldn’t even fucking mind. As long as he could get lost in her voice.

“Your stare is distracting.” Speaking of the voice. Hearing her suddenly break the perfect silence, Zachary almost dropped the remote, but managed to save the situation just before it actually fell on the ground.

“Well, I’m sorry there’s nothing else interesting to look at here,” he apologized.

“I’m not that interesting either,” she protested, her eyes still solely focused on the book. 

“That’s what you think.” His lips curled into a grin as he switched to another channel yet again. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her lips purse, but she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Silence was her answer in most situations. It was charming and frustrating at the same time. 

“What are you reading anyway?” The teen magician spoke once again, as if trying to make conversation. Well, she’d broken the silence first, might as well go for it, right? Though, to no one’s surprise, without missing a beat, Raven simply lifted the book up enough for him to be able to see the title, while still not sparing a second of a glance to him. Disappointed, he looked at the title that was written in a language he most certainly didn’t understand and scowled.

“Fun,” he deadpanned.

“Definitely more fun than you’re having moping around all day and complaining you have nothing to do.”

“Well, someone’s snappy today,” Zach raised an eyebrow at the girl. But all he received in return from her was a hum. 

“Listen”- he sighed- “I’m just trying to make conversation here, okay? And you’re not giving me a whole lot to work with.”

“Because I’m trying to read in peace, Zachary,” she responded and sighed in light annoyance. “If you want to pester someone, I’m sure Gar is around-”

“Ugh! Gar this, Gar that!” He exclaimed suddenly with a groan and tossed the remote on the coffee table, standing up from the couch. “Do you ever shut up about him?” 

Now that finally got her attention. Her blue eyes snapped up at him in complete surprise of his sudden outburst of emotions. Was that- a spark of jealousy she felt from him?

“Why can’t we just talk, Raven?” Zach continued in an exasperated manner. “Whenever I try to get close, you walk away. Whenever I strike a conversation, you dismiss it. Hell, you barely even look at me half the time! Is it really too much to ask to simply spend time with you? Am I not good enough even for that?” 

“Zach-”

“You know what, forget it,” he finally breathed out and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze falling down to the ground before he turned to leave. “I’ll just- Go bother Gar or something.”

Raven watched him slowly make his way to the door, slightly dumbfounded by his behaviour, but at the same time, not really. It had been building up for a while now, she could feel it. A sigh left her lips as she closed her book.

“You know,” she started, watching him stop in his tracks, “if you were this honest more often, this conversation might’ve gone differently.”

“What do you mean?” He frowned slightly as he turned around to look at her.

“You hide behind a mask all the time. You’re this incredibly talented young magician. The best in the world. Future celebrity. You act like everything needs to be served to you on a silver platter. You expect the things you want to be given to you. You want me to come to you just because you know I am able to sense your feelings.”

“Well, but don’t you?” He took a step towards her. “You’re an empath, aren’t you? You know exactly how I feel.”

“Just because I know how you feel doesn’t mean I should do something about it,” Raven scowled at him. “I don’t go to someone every time I feel they’re sad to comfort them. I don’t relieve everyone of their stress every time they feel anxious about something. People need to feel all of these things on their own. And they need time to process them and come to terms with them. That’s what makes us grow as human beings.”

Zach listened to what she was saying, his eyes darting back and forth in deep thought. All this time he’d been trying to impress her with his wits, his charm, his magic. But those were all superficial things. A mask, as she put it. Because he knew that’s what worked with all the other girls. He could impress any of them with a mere snap of his fingers. But not Raven. No, she was probably the only person on this cursed planet that actually looked behind all that. And man was he a fool to think otherwise.

“So if”- he walked over to the couch again and placed his forearms on the backrest, looking at Raven- “I were to ask you out, would you?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how genuine you are. And how much of a show off you’re planning to be if we do go somewhere.” Her blue eyes looked right at him as she spoke, sending a soft tingle down his spine. For the first time, he felt like she was actually looking at him. And it made his heart skip a beat. That and the fact that she didn’t outright say no to the idea.

“So then if I were to sit close to you, you wouldn’t scoot away?”

“I- usually don’t?” 

“No, I mean,” he walked around the couch and sat down again, only this time close enough that their legs touched, “really close?”

His voice grew quieter at the last words and it was Raven who felt a tingling sensation now. Their bodies were touching and their faces were mere inches away and she was suddenly frozen on the spot. Her words got stuck in her throat as she tried to scramble up a coherent sentence.

“I- I don’t think… I have anywhere left to scoot,” she somehow still noted the fact that she was sitting at the very edge of the couch and all that she had behind her was the armrest. But again, it wasn’t a no. And seeing her flustered like this all of a sudden made a grin stretch across his face. 

“And if I were to do this?” His arm then reached around her shoulders to hold her, but she stopped him midway.

“Well, now you’re pushing it.” However, the small grin on her face was an indicator that she wasn’t entirely against it either. So instead of making all the way around her shoulders, his hand gently settled on her cheek. 

“What about this then?” His voice dropped even lower to a whisper as he brushed his thumb against her soft skin. He knew perfectly well that he was going way out of his line here, but he just couldn’t help it. The surprise in her eyes, the blush in her cheeks, the sharper breaths she was taking, it all made him want more. 

“Zach-” Raven breathed out, but he only smiled in return. It was a smile she’d never seen before, however. It felt… genuine.

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait.” 

“What?” She blinked in confusion.

“I’ll wait,” he repeated with more confidence and finally backed away.

“Wait for what?” A light frown formed on her face.

“Till the day I can hold you like that,” he smiled at her and stood up once again. His mood had brightened and not only could she sense it, but it was visible as well. She hadn’t seen him like this before. And she wasn’t even sure what exactly happened here.

“You are a confusing man, you know that, right?” Raven raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly.

“Well, I do like the element of surprise,” he winked at her with a chuckle of his own. The tension that had been in the room just a moment ago seemed to have evaporated as both of them smiled at each other. For the first time, the smile that she reserved for people like Tim and Gar, was finally directed towards him. It felt like a door had just opened and all he needed to do now was to step through it. 

“So then, would you go out with me some time?” In a moment of courage, he quickly asked before that faded away too. “And I promise to not be a show off.” He promptly added just in case she were to protest. His smile faltered a little, though, when she took her sweet time to reply. It may have been only moments, but for him it felt like an eternity. Was it too fast? Too bold? Too pompous of him to think she’d even say yes? But then- She smiled.

“You tell me where you want to take me and then we’ll see.” 

It wasn’t a no!

[grandinquisitorzelfortz]

The Grand Inquisitor Zelfortz: Mandy’s inquisition

Hi Guys, thak a look to my story.

WARNING IN THIS STORY YOU CAN FIND MANY VIOLENT MATERIAL. iF YOU ARE SENSIBLE PERSON, DON'T READ IT IN THE OTHER CASE YOU ARE WELCOME

In the kingdom of Sinaider, in the capital city of Jest. The fortress of the Inquisition is found. Here every day, young women are arrested on charges of witchcraft, heresy, adultery, homosexuality and prostitution. Subjected to torture and rape, up to their confession. Imprisoned or burned at the stake, this is the fate of the poor women of the kingdom.

At the head of all this, there is the terrible inquisitor, Zelfortz, better known to all with the name "Devilinquisitor". He is a vile and cruel man who, with the help of his loyal witch hunters, has arrested poor and innocent women in order to torture and rape them in person.

Today we will talk about the arrest and interrogation, of the beautiful young Mandy Stiller, whom she will find herself in the hands of the cruel inquisitor.

A large number of people had gathered in the center of the city of Jest. Around the square, from which stood 5 wooden poles. To each of these shovels, there were women linked. These are witches. They are going to be executed by the inquisition.

On a wooden stage, there is a man. He has on him, a long black cape, covering the shoulder straps of a plate armor, also black. The head is hooded, while the face is hidden by a gloomy and threatening mask.

<< People of Jest !!! >> the man screamed. << Today, we are gathered here to execute these 5 witches, in the name of the supreme inquisition that I, Zelfortz known as Devilinquisitor, represent >> The people, stood there staring at the poor girls tied to poles and with piles of wood underneath at their feet. <<Let it be a lesson to all women who dare to practice the occult arts of witchcraft! Executioners !! Proceed, light the pyres, let the fire purify these evil creatures, that their souls can be blessed. >> The five executioners seized fire torches. Each of them, placed in front of each pole, then threw the torches, based on the pyres. The flames grew from below, and quickly enveloped the bodies of the poor girls.

Their screams of pain and terror echo throughout the square as the flames destroyed their bodies. Soon the screams vanished, the smoke of their bodies on fire, rose towards the sky, so much so that even those who had been on the other side of the city could have seen them. Just like our dear Mandy.

Mandy Stiller, a beautiful, young, 24-year-old girl with long black hair, chocolate-brown eyes, small, sensual lips, looked out of her home window. From there she watched the smoke rise into the sky. She knew that witches had been burned today, and she knew that the cruel Devilinquisitor was responsible. She had always been terrified of it. The idea of ​​ending up in the hands of that sadistic madman was an idea that terrified her and the reason was simple. Mandy has always had a passion for men, she loved being possessed by them. She loved, foot fucked sentences. In fact, her feet are very beautiful and well cared for, like those of a princess. Size 7, with long and slender toes. Given this passion of hers, she has always been a prostitute to support herself. First in the low funds, then in the luxury brothels, until she had to retire to the suburbs, due to the recent amendment, where it been declared that: The prostitutes were like witches and therefore were punishable by the inquisition.

Mandy knew that, the reason is that, The chief inquisitor, is a sadistic bastard who, loves to torture and rape women, and who chooses the ones he likes, like his slaves, while the less appreciated, makes them go to the stake and, since she, is a beautiful girl as well as, a prostitute, she is at risk.

After washing, the young girl dressed as she had to go shopping. A long white silk dress that reached to the ankles, a small green scarf held on the shoulders, and flip-flop sandals, from which you could see her beautiful feet. She left the house and stayed there for a few hours.

In a couple of hours later, Mandy was coming back after shopping. She had a basket with food, which she held by the handle, but as she turned the corner she saw something. In front of the door of the house, 5 guards are placed, armed with halberds, shields and helmets. With them there were also two men, armed with large two-handed swords, held on their backs, wearing black steel studded armor, and covered with a brown leather jacket. Witch hunters. As soon as Mandy saw them, her blood froze. She braced herself, and went on, hoping they were just passing through, but she was wrong.

As soon as they saw her, the six immediately approached, surrounding her, to prevent any escape route. << Mandy Stiller ?? >> One of the witch hunters said. Mandy, she forced herself and answered << Yes gentlemen, how can I help you? >> << There are charges against you. We were given the order to take you to the Chief Inquisitor >> << Accuse ?? >> Said the young girl << Which accusations are you talking about ??? >> << Stop talking, now come with us >> In a moment, Mandy, was immobilized. Two guards cuffed her wrists, with iron handcuffs attached to a chain. << Hey ?? What are you doing??? Let me go !! I didn't do anything !!! >> She said, scared and confused. << Shut up !! >> One of the witch hunters said, the tall thin one.

Mandy, she tried to escape from her abductors but, the handcuffs she is chained to, do not allow her any escape, plus, two guards hold her by the arms, with a firm and tight grip. << Let me go right away !! I didn't do anything >> The poor girl screamed for help while she was dragged away. The people who had just found themselves there, watched the scene. Suddenly, they found themselves outside the street, in the main street. Waiting for them is a cart pulled by two horses, on which there is an iron cage, inside there are 7 women of various ages. << Get on the filthy slut >> With a push, the two guards pushed, poor Mandy, into the cage. << This was the last one! Next then, let's go back to the fortress of the Inquisition >> As soon as Mandy heard this, she panicked << Noooo please !!! You can't do it >> She screamed, clutching the bars of the cage. << Enough !!!! I told you you have to shut up >> One of the witch hunters screamed, hitting the bars with a riding crop. Mandy discouraged and terrified, she turned away from the bars. Meanwhile the wagon began to move along the road, escorted by guards and witch hunters. The direction is only one ... The fortress of the inquisition.

In the fortress of the inquisition, Mandy, she was chained by her wrists to the wall of a large cell room. It's the infamous "Great Cell". Where the arrested women were kept, and then interrogated one by one by the head inquisitor. In the big cell besides Mandy, there are the other 7 women, like her, were arrested. Some are very young, two in particular, not even 18 years old. << Why, why why. How did it happen? how did it happen? >> One of the poor women wondered. She was huddled in a corner, repeating herself and wondering how she ended up there. They didn't look like bad girls, and yet, here they are, waiting for their destiny.

Mandy, too, is terrified. She knows very well that she is innocent, but will she be able to convince the inquisitor?

At one point, two guards arrived. Entering the cell, they observed, the prisoners who, terrified, hid themselves. Then they approached Mandy, freed her from the chains and dragged her out of the cell. <<Where are you taking me?>> She said, frightened. <<To the Lord Inquisitor>> said one of the guards, who held her by the arms. << What does he want from me? I didn't do anything. >> << Silence. Save your breath for the interrogation. >> Said the other guard. Mandy, she was silent, as they dragged her down a stone corridor. They stopped in front of a door, one of the guards knocked. << Next >> A voice was heard inside. The guard opened the door and entered. Mandy was dumbfounded. In front of her there were 5 people, sitting behind a heavy chair, made of mahogany wood. At the center is Devilinquisitor, at his sides two inquisitors, with robes similar to his, while on the right the chancellor holding a quill pen, and finally on the left, there is the commander of the witch hunters , wearing the classic armor of the hunters.

Mandy, she is be made to sit in a wooden chair in the center of the room, she facing them. <<Well let's see, you have to be Mandy Stiller, right?>> The inquisitor said. << Yes sir, it's me >> the girl replied frightened. << Mandy Stiller, according to testimonies, you would have been accused of: practicing the illegal profession of prostitute, to hide occult arts of witchcraft, with the aim of seducing married men, using your feet as a weapon of your seduction. Do you admit these accusations? >> Mandy she was stunned, she never would have thought that someone, could have slandered her like this. << No my Lord, these are groundless and meaningless accusations. Slander. >> The girl replied after a moment's hesitation. << Ah so would all be calumnies? And does that remind you of anything? >> The inquisitive lord showed her a little red book. Mandy, her eyes widened. It was her book, where she kept the names of her clients and the money she received.

<< Not I know what it is, my Lord >> she said trying to make the fake daze. << Don't lie !!!! >> The chief inquisitor, slams the punch on the table. << You know it well. Here you have noted the names of all those who have paid you to have sexual relations with you. And will you know about the amendment written by me? Where I declare that prostitution is illegal, since all prostitutes are actually succubates, of seductresses, and who often practice the dark arts, and indulge in acts of obscenity, in the witches' sabbaths. >> Mandy, she listened to the mad accusations of the chief inquisitor. There was nothing true, she knew. << Besides >> Devilinquisitor continued. << Many of the names written here, belong to married men whom you, with your dark arts, have seduced. >> << They are all falsehoods. I've never done anything like that. It's true, I got paid by those men but, I'll also have the right to live, I'll have to eat. >> Said the young woman with force of force. << Don't try to play the poor unfortunate girl >> Devilinquisitor retorts.

<< In this book there are large figures in gold and silver, according to the testimonies; you worked in the luxury brothel called "The queens of the night" >> Mandy she is shocked, she couldn't believe that the chief inquisitor had managed to gather such detailed and accurate information. Unfortunately, it was the truth, she worked in that place, and it is true that she earned a lot, as it is true that she never started out of hunger but, because she likes to have sex and especially she loves when men, they love her feet. The chief inquisitor pounds his fist on the table. Reply. Do you admit your faults? Do you admit to being a witch and a succubus? >> << No, no, my lord, you must believe me. I am innocent. Please have pity. >> Mandy, she burst into tears, kneeling, hands clasped, she pleaded with the cruel Devilinquisitor.

Devilinquisitor looked at the two inquisitors, nodded to them, stood up, and said firmly. << Mandy Stiller !!! Given your refusal to cooperate with this sacred court. I Zelfortz, called Devilinquisitor, supreme head of the inquisition. I order your interrogation to be continued in the dungeons, in the torture chamber, where you will be subjected to torture until you tell the truth. >> << Oh no please !!! Don't torture me, I'm innocent. Have mercy !!!! >> Mandy, she begged with all her strength but, now her destiny was marked. << Enough !! Guards, take the prisoner to her cell. Where she will wait, to be taken to the torture chamber, where I myself will be torturing her >>

The two guards, took Mandy by the arms, and dragged her away from the room, while the chief inquisitor, put a stamp on the accusation card, of the poor girl, and getting ready for the interrogation of the other prisoners.

The young girl is kicking and struggling like a madwoman, but the forced grip of the guards did not allow her any movement. They took her down to the dungeons, where the cells were. Arrived there, the guards undressed her. First they took off her sandals, then tore off her dress and left her naked. Mandy screamed as the guards palpated her. << What are you saying, we'll fuck her? >> One of the guards said. << Are you crazy ?? Didn't you hear, what did Devilinquisitor say? He wants to torture her in person, so we don't have to twist a single hair. >> Said the other, scolding his colleague. << Ok, at least let's fuck her feet, whoever you want to notice. >> << Listen, when he says he wants to torture one in particular, it means he wants it all for hisself. We do this so we enter the other cells, if I'm not mistaken some witches are back from the infirmary. We willfuck'em and then we will be back to work. What are you think? >> Mandy is astonished by all this. << All right, let's do this. Too bad, because it's a really sexy girl. Come on let's dress her up as a prisoner and throw her in the cell. >>

The two guards grabbed a gray-white linen robe from a counter. << Come on, put this on >> He said, handing her the garment. Mandy wore it, then the guards opened a grating door, entered a huge corridor, where there were cells on each side. At the corner of the door there is another guard sitting on a desk, with a large book, in which the names of the prisoners and the number of cells where they are held are noted. << Who do we have here guys? >> He said, raising his head from the big book << Mandy Stiller, chief jailer. She arrived this morning >> << Well, take her to cell number 32 >> said the chief jailer holding out a bunch of iron keys to them.

The two dragged her along the corridor. Woman's sobs could be heard, coming from the cells. Mandy is increasingly scared, not just because before, they wanted to rape her but also for what awaits her in the torture chamber. The two guards stopped in front of one of the cells, precisely numbered with 32. When the lock was opened, the young girl was pushed into the cell. <<Well, darling, this is your cell. See you later for your tour in the torture chamber ahahahaha >> The door slammed shut, between the laughter of the two guards. Mandy, she looked around confused and scared. The cell had a corner bed, a torch on the wall, lit up the room, allowing her to see the vase at the end of the small cell. At one point she heard screams. She spun around. There was no one, at first she didn't understand but, there is a small grate in the floor from which they come, the harrowing screams of tortured women. Mandy didn't know but every cell has grates on the floor, connected through a dense network of channels to a single duct, which ends up right in the torture room. A diabolical idea to terrorize poor women kept segregated even more, before ending up in hell. Poor Mandy, she curled up on the bed, clutching her chest to her knees, and began to cry. She cried, as did the other poor women who, like her, were waiting for the fatal hour.

A few hours later

Mandy had fallen asleep on the bed. Curled up and scared. It had been several hours since she was taken to her cell. At a certain point there were footsteps, then the sound of the key inside the lock, and finally the door opened. <<Hello>> said one of the guards in a mocking tone. Mandy who, she was sleeping, awoke with a start. << What do you want ?? >> She said frightened << it is now, my dear. The chief inquisitor wants to interrogated you. >> << Stay away from me. I don't want to go anywhere >> She said curling up on the corner of the bed. << As if you had a choice >> The two guards rushed towards Mandy, grabbing her wrists, they placed handcuffs to which an iron chain was attached. << Noooo stop, leave me. I am innocent. >> She said wiggling like crazy. << Be silent witch. Save the voice for the interrogation, trust me you'll need it all. >> << I'm not a witch. Let me go bastards !!! >> << Just shut up >> You look at her gave her a strong slap. Mandy looked at him angrily. << Come on, let's go >> Said the guard holding the chain. The poor and frightened girl was dragged away from the cell. The guards crossed the entire corridor, then came to a flight of spiral staircases. They went down with the girl who, she never stopped squirming and complaining. The guard was pushing her. At the end of the ramp, they found another corridor in front of them. Also crossed, they stopped in front of an imposing and massive door of wood and wrought iron. Mandy she had a strange premonition. One of the guards opened the door, Mandy was dragged inside it, and what she saw was terrible.

It is a gigantic torture chamber, where dozens of poor girls and women are cruelly tortured, in various ways: Some with their feet stuck in stocks, they are tortured with tickling, others suffer from roasting their feet, then there are those stretched on the rack, other young girls, chained to the ceiling, whipped and tormented with red-hot irons, others suffer the rope and others are tortured on the wooden horse, on the judas crudle, in the inquisitive chair. Still others suffer from water torture, finger compression, and nail removal. All combined with the terrible acts of rape. The Inquisitors, who are moving around the torture chamber, are trying to make confess the poor unfortunates. The torturers, chest stripped and hooded head men, who subject their poor girls to torments and in the end the scribes who take note of the interrogations. In all her life, Mandy, she would never have believed she was in such a situation. The young woman immediately panicked. << Oh my God !! Let me go, I did nothing, let me please !!! >> She said, begging for mercy. << Shut up witch !! >> The guard said, slapping her cheek. The young girl began to cry. << damn cowards. I did not do anything. Let me go away >> The guard was about to hit her again, when he was stopped by a forced hand. Turning around, she saw him, the cruel Zelfortz. << Ah great inquisitor !! >> The guard said, with a deep bow. << As you ordered, we brought you the accused, Mandy Stiller >>

Mandy, she looked up, the terrible Zelfort, she's in front of her but, she's not wearing the same clothes. Instead of the robe with armor and the mask; he wears, a hood with two holes for the eyes, a long sleeveless cape, which goes down to the ground, held tight by a belt, to then appear in front, showing leather trousers and black boots. On the chest is engraved his mark, a large red "z" on which a "d" and an "i" are superimposed. Devilinquisitor, Mandy observes, whose face is wet with tears. << Take off her handcuffs >> He said with imperative tone. The two guards immediately executed the order. Mandy felt her wrists, sore from the uncomfortable handcuffs. Approaching her, the cruel inquisitor, she stared straight into his eyes. << Mandy Stiller, as I had already told you, given your refusal to confess, I will be forced to torture you, so the truth can finally comes out. So, confess the charges against you? >> Mandy she collapsed on her knees, her hands clasped, began to plead with the cruel Devilinquisitor. << Oh please my Lord !! I'm innocent, you have to believe me, please don't torture me !!! >> << I see that you leave me no other choice. Torturers !!!! >> From behind him appeared two types with hooded heads, bare-chested, and wearing black leather trousers and boots. They are torturers, sadistic helpers of the Inquisition, who have only one purpose, to torture poor maidens. << Did you call us, great Inquisitor? >> One of them said. <<Yes, we must torture this witch as long as she confesses>> said the cruel Zelfortz. The girl watched the two thugs approaching her. They took her by the arms and lifted her from the ground. << How do you want to torture her ?? >> One of them said. Devilinquisitor, approached Mandy, first looked her in the eye, then looked down, watching her feet. Under the hood, the cruel inquisitor, he smiled evil. << The feet! I will torture her feet >> << Oh my God noo, do not torture my feet I beg you >> The poor girl started to get in fear, between all the points of her body, the feet are surely the most terrible. << My dear Mandy, since you have committed sin with your feet, they will be the protagonists of your punishment. Next put her on the torture table that is there >> He said pointing at the bottom. The torturers, who hold Mandy by her arms, dragged her down the hall. In the left corner of it, there are all the variants of stocks used to torture the feet of poor women. << Okay this one here Grand Inquisitor ?? >> One of the torturers said that he had stopped in front of a raised wooden table, where at the end of it, there is a massive wooden stock. <<Yes, that's fine, I had this in mind>> The great inquisitor said. Mandy looked around in terror, looking at what the feet of the prisoners had to endure. Tickling, whipping, goat's tongue, fire, red-hot irons, burning coals, needles and pincers. The mere thought that her feet are about to be subjected to these torments terrifies her.

<< Denudate her >> Devilinquisitor said. One of the torturers, pulled up Mandy's arms, while the other, pulled from below, the prisoner's robe << Hey what are you doing ?? Nooo !!! >> The poor woman remained naked, she tried to cover her nakedness but, the torturers did not allow it. Devilinquisitor, he watched her body. Tight hips a beautiful breast with pointed nipples, thin and toned legs and arms. << A beautiful and young body, perfect to torture >> Zelfortz said with loud laughter. << You're a monster, let me go >> The girl said, full of anger. << How dare you filthy witch !! >> One of the torturers said, hitting her in the face. << Just wasting time, put her in the torture table >> << Stop me let me go !!! >> She screamed, wriggling like crazy, in the powerful arms of the torturers. With force, they laid Mandy on the table, she continually squirmed, so that, one of the torturers, was forced to sit on top of her, holding her arms still, while the other torturer, grabbed her ankles, and blocked with heavy stocks. Then the two men blocked her body with leather straps. One stuck at the legs, the other thighs, one blocked the abdomen and the other blocked the trunk starting from the shoulders. The wrists instead, blocked on the sides by metal handcuffs.

Mandy she is completely immobilized, the only part of the body she can move, they are her feet, with a distance of 10 cm between them. Zelfortz, he observe the young maiden. He watches her carefully, especially her feet. Slightly blackened, after having walked barefoot but always beautiful, with long, slender toes, smooth and well-groomed soles. <<You have beautiful feet, Mandy>> said the great inquisitor. She didn't answer, <<They must also be very delicate, it doesn't surprise me that the men you seduced and misled, they made themselves so easily bewitched>> he said as he approached a table on which several instruments of torture were placed. Zelfortz picked up a long wooden stick and thin, the girl tried to observe him, to understand what he had in mind. He approached her. <<I’ll make you scream Mandy Stiller, the filthy succubus witch and whore. I will make you scream with pain and in the end you will confess >> He said making the stick vibrate. Mandy swallowed noisily, as she understood what he would torture her with. Devilinquisitor, walked to her feet, continuing to vibrate the stick. He stopped in front of those wonderful feet toying with it << For this, my dear, I will subject you to a type of torment that, I always reserve whores like you…. the bastinado. >>

Mandy terrified her, I look at him, while she raised her arm and gave a deadly blow to her soles << Take this witch !!!! >> SMACK << AHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIII NOOOOOOO >> The poor girl screamed, the blow of the stick on her helpless soles were terrible. SMACK another blow another scream of our poor girl << AHHHIIII NOOOO PLEASEEE >> SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK The fierce Zelfortz, delivered as many as 5 strong blows to the poor plants of the feet of Mandy, which, throwing back her head, emitted some terrible screams << AHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIII MY POOR FEEET AHHHHIIIIIIIIIII IT'S TO HURT !!!!! >> << If you want this to end, you must confess now !!! >> He said as he struck repeatedly, the poor feet of her. << NOOOO I AM INNOCENT AAAAHHHHHHHHH >> SMACK SMACK SMACK

The stick is made to vibrate on her blushed soles. << Confess confess, Mandy Stiller, confess now !!!! >> << NOOOO never !!!! >> I scream her desperately. The cruel inquisitor, dealt 10 powerful blows of stick on the defenseless soles of Mandy. The poor woman screams with pain, but she is strong, she tries to resist. << Do you decide to talk or not? >> Said the cruel Zelfortz. Mandy gasps in pain, she looks him straight in the eyes << No, I have nothing to confess, I am innocent >> << AHAHAH poor stupid! Look at your feet, they are already marked by the stick, still more blows and they will begin to bleed. >> Said the terrible inquisitor, with a sadistic tone. << I am not afraid, because I am innocent AAAHHHHIIIIII >> Mandy she had no way to finish what she was saying, since the cruel Devilinquisitor, gave a violent blow to her feet << Stop lying, confess now >> He said as he continued to hit the soles of Mandy's feet. << AARRGHHHH NOOOOO I am innocent AHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHIIIIIIII >>.

Mandy's feet are bleeding, marked by the wounds inflicted by the stick, her toes clenched in an attempt to make the doloe less strong, her feet moving in an attempt to escape the stick kernels with futile success. Mandylei squirms like crazy in an attempt to break free but, the massive stock prevents her from moving, what she can do is just bang her head on the table. Her face is marked by pain, at every whiplash she screams loudly. For the inquisitor, those screams are poetry.

<<Well, look how these little feet bleed.>> He said mockingly, looking at the soles of Mandy's feet that started bleeding. << I wonder if now, your language has dissolved my dear Mandy? >>. Mandy she, panting with pain but, she can still resist. << No I have nothing to say to you and know that I have already been subjected to the bastinado >> she replies firmly to the inquisitor who observes her with eyes swollen with sadism. << Oh I know well >> He said, as he started to walk around her << I know well that in the brothels the prostitutes, when they behave badly, are punished with the bastinado, but >> he said stopping in front of her face << However, I also know that the lashes that were given to you were not very strong and this was done so as not to disfigure your feet for too long. So my dear, I know very well that such lashes are not normal for you >> Mandy swallowed noisily << Given the fact that we are only at the beginning >> the girl understood that she had deluded herself, it is true, the matron of her brothel she used to punish her and her companies with lashes on the feet but, they were light, this is a real torture, inside of her the terror grows ever stronger, since she knows, what horrors he must still show.

<< Torturer !!! Bring me the stick number 2 >> Said the ferocious Zelfortz to one of the torturers nearby, holding out to him the stick that he still had in his hand << Immediately great inquisitor >> the torturer said that, he went towards the instruments bench. The great inquisitor observes the swollen and injured soles of Mandy's feet. << Here is Lord Zelfortz >> The torturer handed the inquisitor an equal stick to the other, if it were not for the fact that it is all wet. Zelfortz, approaches the girl << Do you see this Mandy? >> he said, approaching her face << This stick may seem different from the other, but it is not so >> He said moving towards her feet << This stick has been left in salt water for hours. Do you know what that means? >> Mandy she didn't answer, she just stared at him, terrified. << It means that, when I hit your soles, the salt will penetrate the wounds, causing a sharp pain. >> << Oh my God !! Please don't do this to me, have mercy >> She replied << There will be no mercy for you, witch >> He said << Confess your sins and I will end your suffering >> << But I am innocent, how do you want me to tell you >> He replied, whining the poor girl. << Enough, let's continue the interrogation >>

Mandy squinted into her eyes and held her breath as the inquisitor raised his arm to hit her feet. SMACK << AHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIII >> The girl SMACK SMACK SMCAK shouted another three very strong blows. Mandy shrieked in pain, as the inquisitor had said, the salt penetrated the wounds, unleashing a terrible pain << Oh my God, enough I beg you AHHHHIIIIII my poor feet AHHHHHHHIIIIIII >> The poor girl screamed and begged for mercy. Her feet were hit with fierce violence, the wounds opened, and the salt penetrated even more. The pain is terrible, the girl screams and cries, never would she have imagined herself in such a situation. The sadistic Devilinquisitor continues to hit Mandy's feet, observing the wounds on her plants with sadistic excitement. << Confess damn witch, confess now !!! >> He screamed as he whipped her << AHHHHHHI NEVERRR AAARHHHHHH PLEASEEE AHHHHHHH YOU EVIL MONSTER AARRGHHHHHHH >> The toes twitched and a celestial vision contracted like crazy inquisitor.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

The cruel Zelfortz, gave 10 strong blows, the wounds on the soles of Mandy, they covered themselves with salt, triggering a terrible pain, the girl screamed in pain, as if she were possessed, banging her head on the table and biting her lip << AHHHHHHHIII STOP STOP STOOOOPPPP >>

<< Not bad, my dear Mandy >> The inquisitor said, stopping the torture. <<I must say that you are really resistant >> handed the stick to the torturer, and approached the face of the girl << Your feet are well hurt, bled and aching but, you are not going to confess >> Mandy she looked him straight in the eyes, she took strength and spat on his hood. << Dirty slut >> shouted one of the torturers. The inquisitor raised his hand, stopping it, wiped his hood and stood up. <<The witch wants to be tough! It will mean that we will move on to the next part of the session. Torturers, prepare the witch for feet roasting>> << with great pleasure Grand inquisitor >> they said, while they hurried with the preparations. Mandy she's terrified, as soon as she entered the torture room, she saw many girls with their feet in the stocks, tortured with fire << Oh please have Mercy>> << I already told you, I will not give you any mercy>> Said hi in a saidist tone.

Devilinquisitor approached the scribe who, until that moment, had reported the torture session of the poor girl << Scribe, take care to take good note of everything >> << With certainly great Zelfortz >> he said with a heavy bow. Mandy tries to regain her strength. Suddenly she saw one of the torturers carrying a brazier, the other holding a bucket in one hand and a bellows in the other. The First put the brazier on the ground under Mandy's feet, the girl felt a slight heat under her feet. The other handed, first to the colleague the bellows, then with the bucket he approaches the feet of Mandy, bent down and with a ladle began to pour oil on them. << hey what are you doing at my feet ?? >> << We prepare them for roasting >> said the torturer << It is oil, which is poured on your soles, which, once in contact with the fire , it will start to burn and given that, your feet are injured, such punishment will be greater than, in the case of your witch sisters >> Devilinquisitor, pointed with his hand to a whole series of girl, who are undergoing the same torture. Their feet are full of bubbles and burns, they scream and beg for mercy. The terror is unleashed inside poor Mandy. << Oh please don't do it, don't torture my feet in that way have mercy >> she said terrified, while the torturer pours the oil carefully, along her soles << Remember to pour the oil also between the fingers of the feet and mind of pouring also on the heels, which are the part that burns first >> He ordered the inquisitor to the torturer, who immediately executed the order, spreading with his hand, her fingers of Mandy's right foot, pouring the oil between them, Mandy moved her toes instinctively. << Stop please !!! Don't do it, I'm innocent, I'm not a witch >> The girl continued, as she felt the oil running down her toes << Your obstinacy will be downfall, Mandy Stiller, but I believe that once your greasy suns come into contact with fire, you will change your mind. >> He said with his inquisitor and sadist, the torturer having ended up with her left foot, went to the another and poured the oil into her left foot. After the preparation, the torturer got up, put the ladle in the bucket and moved with it, giving the possibility to the colleague to place the brazier of hot coals under the feet of the girl. Mandy immediately let out a groan, her anointed and bled soles, they sensed the heat even though mild. The great Inquisitor, placed himself in front of her feet with folded arms, then with a nod of his head said <<Torturer, proceed. Make this witch confess, stir up the fire >> << With great pleasure Lord Zelfortz >> he said as he bent before her feet; he took the bellows and inserted it into a special hole in the brazier and began to blow in the air, the heat began to increase.

A small flame appeared, Mandy she began to feel the warmth rising beneath her feet. The terror grew bigger and bigger inside her. The flame grew even bigger, and began to touch the greasy soles of Mandy's feet. <<AHii nooo, take it out of fire. AHIIII>> the girl complains, she starts moving her feet in an attempt to escape the flames, to no avail. The torturer removed the bellows, the brazier is on fire, now everything is ready, all that remains for the girl is to scream.

<< AAARGHHHH NOOOOO IT'S BURNING AAAHHHHIIIII PLEASEEE STOOOP AAAHHHHH >> Mandy she began to scream louder, the flames grazed her feet, which she moved frantically on all sides, screaming and despairing. << Confess Mandy Stiller. confess to be a witch and a succubus, confess >> shouted Zelfortz, while watching with pleasure the scene << AAAAHHHI NOOOO I AM INNOCENT >> she shouted desperately, while the flames licked her soles causing a stabbing pain, the heels began to blush , as well as the rest of the feet, the oil also, in contact with the flames, began to heat up. Mandy felt the heat coming into her flesh as the oil began to burn in the wounds inflicted by the stick. Devilinquisitor observes everything with sadistic gratification << OOOUUCCCHHH STOOPPP PLEASE HAVE MERCYYYYYY AHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIII >> << Stop this obstinacy, confess and put an end to your suffering >> Zelfortz said, as he approached her << You can't resist Mandy >> The inquisitor head bent towards her face, grabbed her hair, lifted her head << Look how your feet burn! >> he said pointing with his finger << The lashes I have given you are nothing compared to this . Look at your sisters while they suffer your own torment >> Mandy continues to deny the accusations, Zelfortz, tugs her head, gives her several slaps on the face of the girl horribly deformed by pain.

The feet are now blushed, the oil has also started to become boiling especially in whip wounds, it has begun to burn more, causing terrible burns. Mandy screams and pleads, her feet dance in the flames, the toes too, she wriggles like crazy, tries to tear the laces that hold her immobilized, bangs her strong head on the table wall, grinding her teeth in pain .

It has now been 20 minutes since Mandy was taken to the torture chamber after watching poor women being tortured and raped; the girl suffered a tremendous flogging first on her feet and now the terrible torture known as roasting of the feet, one of the most used tortures de Zelfortz, and not only because it is one of her favorites but also because it is one of the most painful.

Devilinquisitor continues to tug on the girl, now pulls her hair, continuing to try to make her confess. Incredibly, Mandy resists, on the contrary, she almost seems to be able to bring out a mysterious force, but there is also to say that it is only at the beginning of the torture, there is still a lot of pain that the great inquisitor has in store for her.

<< Confess ... confess confessss !!!! >> << NOOOOOO NEVERRRR OUUUCCHHHH MY POOR FEET AHHHHHHIIIII >> Poor Mandy cried << Cursed, confess now or your feet will continue to roast all day >> Threatened the great inquisitor < <I AM INNOCEN I AM INNOCENT AHHHHIIIII LET ME OUT AHHHHHHH IT'S BURN ARGGHHHHH PLEASEEEE >> << You will speak Mandy Stiller, you will do it and how, and then I will subject you to other torments >> He continued to threaten her

Mandy screams, her feet continue to roast in flames. The heels are blackened and full of burns and blisters, formed in whiplash wounds, these bladders swell and then burst, forming wounds in the wounds that then end up burning causing even more damage. The rest of the soles is not yet blackened but, as in the heels, numerous blisters have formed, especially in the wounds, where the oil has created an effect similar to frying. Mandy screams and shouts, feels the blisters inside her flesh burst and burn, feels the fire that penetrates inside her, screams, pleads, squirms and grinds her teeth, her face is marked by pain, wet with tears and sweat and from the blood of the lip, causes of the slaps of Zelfortz.

<< Enough, remove the brazier >> The great inquisitor ordered with the outstretched arm. Immediately the two thugs removed the brazier from under Mandy's aching feet, she could finally catch her breath. Zelfortz, approached the girl's feet, bent to ascertain their status. <<Mhm let's see how these feet are put >> <<You want me to call one of the doctors? >> Zelfortz turned to the scribe, and glared at him << Idiot! You think the great Zelfortz doesn't know whether to continue or not? >> said one of the torturers. The scribe looked down and apologized. Zelfortz returned to the girl's feet. He watched them carefully, looked at the state of the blisters, especially those formed in the stick wounds. He noticed that the heels are well blackened but not excessively damaged. Obviously he knew that this torture in general is applied to the feet up to 4 times until confession, but since the witch was first subjected to bastinado and then to the roasting of the feet, 1 or more other can be applied. For him is not a problem, he has something else in mind to tear the girl's feet apart.

<< Well my dear Mandy, your feet are in the right condition for another session >> he said addressed to the girl << So my question is the following: do you admit to being a witch? Do you confess your faults? Have you distorted good husbands and tricked them into committing adultery? >> Mandy, who until then was trying to catch her breath, stared at him with a terrified look. <<Oh, please believe me, I'm innocent. I'm a good girl, have mercy >> << You are a witch and a succubus, you are a filthy whore, who insists you don't want to admit the evidence. At this point I am forced to resume with torture >> << Oh no please !!! Enough torture have mercy >> Mandy said crying << If you don't want the torture to resume, confess now !! >> << But I am innocent, as I have to tell you >> she replies.

<< Enough !!! >> Screamed Zelfortz << Torturers, put the brazier back under her feet >> he said in an imperative tone << No please! have mercy >> SAid screamed crying the girl, while one of the torturers towards some handfuls of oil on her feet, the other approached the brazier. When the colleague had finished working on the girl's feet, he placed the brazier under Mandy's feet. The girl barely felt the flames beneath her feet, threw violent screams << AAARRGGGHHHHHHHHH NOTTT AGAAAIIINNNNN !!!! >>. The flames quickly wrapped Mandy's feet, which began a flickering dance of pain, while the feet move up and down, left and right and with the toes that seem to go crazy. << AAAAHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHIIII STOOOOPPP PLEASEEEE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH >> she cries and begs for mercy, so much is she squirming that her ankles, by dint of the jerking of the legs, have hurt themselves on the wooden walls of the cracks of the stock, as well as the rest of her body, marked by the leather laces to which she is locked. The interrogation continues, as Mandy screams like crazy, her feet are terribly injured, from the toes to the heels, myriads of blisters have formed and continue to form on the living flesh. The pain is heartbreaking, Mandy searches for her, trying in every way to resist torture, she knows that if she gives in, she would be sentenced to be burned or imprisoned, in which she would be tortured and raped every day. Inside her head, this thought scares her but at the same time feels like a strange feeling of excitement, on the other hand she has always been a strange girl, when the matron of the brothel punished her, she got excited every time, so that some men they paid her to tie her to bed and torment her with candles and little whips, certainly the flame of a candle is not comparable to the brazier that is roasting her feet but, inside of herself, besides pain, fear, humiliation, she also feels excitement.

<< So Mandy, do you decide to confess ?? Next it costs you to give me your confession and I swear I'll be kind to you >> He said bending over to her face << Just say that word "I confess" and all your torment will end >> he continued, << NOOOO NEVERRR I AM INNOCENT I AM INNICEEENTTT AHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIII >> infuriated Zelfortz, he grabbed her hair and began to slap her face << Damn witch confesses >> he said hitting her, tearing her and shaking her, as if the torture that her feet are going through was not enough, but she is strong << NOOOOO FUCK YOU AHHHHHHHHH >> << Damn I'll make you I'll regret what you said >> The great inquisitor let go, << give me the chimney tongs, now !! >> The torturer, snapped and in an instant he handed him some walking tongs, with which he grabbed a burning coal from the brazier, raised it and said << Now I'll make you scream even more cursed> > Mandy she saw the red nugget that he held, she understood immediately, the terror traveled through her << OHH NOOOOOO PLEASEE EVERYTHING BUT THAT >> FUUUSSSSHHHHHH

Zelfortz, pressed the burning charcoal on the sole of Mandy's left foot, which shouted with even more strength. <<Imagine this. The brazier is full of'em and I'll use them all, first on your feet and then all over your body, I'll stick one in the pussy and the other in the ass if it's necessary. Do you understand the filthy witch? >> The great inquisitor screamed with anger, the torturers stared at him bewitched, seeing their leader, torturing the her in that, is for them an example of great virtue. He removed the coal and put it back in the brazier, where he grabbed another, but the girl did not give in, not even now that her feet are hurt. Zelfrotz felt the excitement growing inside him more and more. With speed he pressed the coal into the sole of Mandy's left foot. FUUUSSSHHHHH The hot nugget blew out, followed by smoke, the great inquisitor, inhaled it, and was enthusiastic. << AAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHH SOTPP STOPPPP AHHHHHHHHIIIIII PLEASEEEEEEE STOPPPPPPP AHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIII >> The girl's mouth opens so much that she risks displacing her jaw, drooling from it, while tears have moistened her face, a heavenly vision for the great devil inquisitor, continues to sadistically press the burning coal, left it pressed until it lost heat, then quickly put it back in the brazier, and grabbed another, Mandy saw it, began to cry and scream << NNO NO NO STOP I BEG YOU STOPPP AHHHHHHHHHIIII >> the girl felt the burnt flesh of her feet in contact with the fire, in fact the brazier is still there to roast her feet. << Speak, confess now or I'll press it on your heels >> he said holding a hot coal with pliers. The girl is now at the end of her strength, Zelfortz, she knows, and tries to press right on this. << So? Do you speak or should I resume torture ?? You should choose quickly, also because your heels are too damaged, I will have to switch to your juicy toes. >> In fact the fire had blackened and burned the poor girl's heels, but the toes are still suitable for being tortured.

<< AHHHHIIIII NOOOO I WONT DO ITTTTTTT AHHHHHHHHHHIIIIII >> she cried, in an extreme act of resistance. Zelfortz, put the burning coal back in the brazier, and grabbed a red-hot scale, and slipped it between the first toe of his right foot, Mandy she felt something burning her toes, trying to move them, but it is useless, the red-hot scale has well embedded. << Do you like it ?? It's called torture of the scales of the dragon. In practice, in every crevice of the toes, I insert red-hot scales, what do you say ??? >> << NOOOUUHHHHHHHH PELASEEE I BEGYOU AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHI >> she screamed, while the cruel great inquisitor grabbed another inserting it into the other slit between the toes, then another and another, the girl is in a hell of pain and fire, she no longer understands anything, she only feels pain: the fire that burns her now destroyed soles and of the red-hot scales that are put in her poor toes.

<< AHHHHHHHH STOPPP PLEASE STOOOOOPPPPPPP >> Mandy screams and screams, while Zelfortz does the same as in the other foot of the girl. The torturers observe with what mastery, inserts the red-hot scales between each toe of the left foot but, without neglecting the right foot, since the frantic movement of the girl makes some fall, but he inserts others above all, when the girl involuntarily spreads the toes , allowing the scales to be inserted quickly. << STTOOOOP PLEAESEEE AAAARGGGHHHHH NOOO MOOOREEE AHHHHHHH I BEG YOOOOUUUUUU !!!! >> she continues to beg. Zelforzt, does not stop, seems possessed, continues to torment the poor fingers of the girl, continues without stopping. << AHHHHHHHH STOO STOPPPAHHHHHHHHHHIII I CONFESS I CONFESSSSSS >>. Mandy spoke that fateful word, that word he had been waiting for almost 40 minutes. << THEN DO YOU CONFESS ??? CONFESS TO BE A WITCH ??? >> << YES YES YES YESSSSSSSS AAAARGHHHHHHHH I AM WITCH I AM A WITCHHHHH !!!! >> << Very well. Remove the brazier >> he said to the torturers, who prepared to remove the remaining red scales from the toes of her feet and to move the brazier.

Zelfortz, one rides the l and dirty hands and approaches the girl. Mandy gasps violently, her body is sweaty and hurt, her feet are in terrible condition. The great inquisitor leans close to her face << Then Mandy Stiller are you confesses to be a witch ?? >> << Yes i confess aff aff >> << Well,do you admit to have seduced married men and to have induced them to commit adultery ?? <<Oh yes aff aff aff I have seduced innocent and married men >> meanwhile the scribe, takes note of every talk that comes out of her mouth << Do you admit to be a succubus ??? >> << Yes I admit afff aff admit it aff aff >> << Well now tell me of the sabbaths, Where did you do them and with whom ?? >>

Mandy she with the few strengths left told of how she had practiced sabbaths in the forest outside the city, she mentioned the names of some women she knew, some were her friends other people she hated, but she no longer cares, she knows that if if he didn't say anything else, he would torture her again and this she can't stand. << Well, scribe you have written down everything ?? >> << You great inquisitor >> << Good! You two, free the prisoner, scribe, get her to sign the confession >> << Of course, Lord Zelfortz >> the two rested, while they were about to open the stock, and to untie the leather straps. Her body is covered by the signs and flies left by the straps, while the ankles bleed, from the cuts caused by the stock. The scribe approached the exhausted girl, while the two torturers supported her. She handed her a sheet of papyrus paper, where a detailed account of her interrogation was written, and finally the part where she admitted her faults. << Signed here >> the scribe said, holding out a pen of duck’s feather to Mandy, the girl she can barely grasp the pen and with even greater effort, signature on the point indicated by the scribe. After signing, she let herself go, the two torturers smiled at her. << Good >> said Zelfortz, observing Mandy's confession sheet << Scribe, bring this confession from the chancellor Varkins >> the scribe took the confession, made a deep bow and walked away. Zelfortz approached the girl, looked at her and noticed that her pussy is wet << I see you're excited >> Mandy she looked down at the embarrassment

<< Now it's time to purify your body >> he said as he undoes his pants << Your feet that have been the weapon of your heresy and witchcraft, have been sufficiently punished, now it's up to your mouth> > Mandy she looked at the terrified scene, but strangely she felt a certain excitement, especially when she watched the hard penis of the chief inquisitor. Zelfrotz, he grabbed her by the hair and forcefully thrust his cock into her mouth, forcing her to give him a blowjob. << Suck strong witch, sucks the great cock of the great inquisitor >> he said as he started to fuck the girl's mouth quickly.

The girl makes muffled sounds, similar to strangling. Zelfrotz is sticking his cock out and slam it onto Mandy's lips, then thrusts it back into her mouth, penetrating her mouth with force. <<Yes, so good, take it all>> he said as he rubbed his cock along her face. Then he gets his balls licked and then starts fucking her in the mouth again. Mandy sucks her hard, she is now completely subjugated by the inquisitor. Zelfortz after several minutes removed the penis of her mouth, takes her by the chin and looks her straight in the eyes << Now it's time to cleanse the most important part of every witch, your pussy >> In a moment she put the girl from behind, he took a few seconds to contemplate the girl's beautiful ass, then grabbed her wrists and held them tightly with his left hand, while with the other he thrust his cock into the girl's pussy. Mandy winced when she heard the big inquisitor's cock, rock hard, penetrate her pussy. With strong pelvic blows, devilinquisitor, began to fuck the poor girl's pussy hard. The girl gasps and enjoys, despite the humiliating situation and the excruciating pain of her tortured feet, but the great inquisitor in his cruelty, knows how to fuck a girl. He do penetrates her hard, takes her buttocks with her hands, while she moans like crazy. Continue for 15 minutes then pull out his penis, and rub it between the buttocks of Mandy, then come in huge abundance on her bottom. << Ahh what a great fuck, you were good >> He said with the penis in his hand << Go ahead and clean well what's left >> He said holding out his penis towards her face. Mandy she in a total act of submission, licking the sperm off the glans. She licked well, then she finished, Zelfortz put his penis back in his pants, satisfied with what he had done << Bring her out! In the infirmary from the doctors, I want him to be fit for the trial. >> He said to the tortures who took the girl in her arms and carried her out of the torture chamber, she fainted with fatigue in the torturer's arms.

Several days later

More than two weeks had passed, Mandy has been incredibly cured, she doesn't know which ointments the doctors used for her feet, but they did a miracle, almost all the burns disappeared, but she still can't walk well. She is now in the cell, where in recent days, she has been fed. Still she can't believe what happened, the terrible way she was tortured and raped and the incredible feeling of excitement she felt. In her there is a very big confusion, she can't understand why she did felt those sensation. Suddenly the cell door opened << Hello young lady >> Said one of the prison guards << What do you want? >> replied the girl frightened << it's time to go to the trial, Zelfortz is waiting for you >> in a moment they grab she put the handcuffs on her wrists, and by the chain attached to them, they dragged her out of the cell. They led her to the high floors. Although the wounds had almost disappeared, she continued to walk with difficulty. They crossed a very long corridor, until they found themselves in front of a large hall. It was the court of the Inquisition. She was placed in a cell with other girls. The room consists of a large podium where several people are seated, then there is the tribune, where the judge should sit. << Standing !! The supreme inquisitor Zelfortz enters, >> said a chamberlain. They all got up as soon as they saw, Zelfortz making his entrance, he is dressed just like the first time he and Mandy met. With him there are the same people who were there during the interrogation. They sat in their seats, the inquisitors on the left and the chancellor, the commander of the witch hunters on the right, while Zelfortz sat in the middle, on a raised floor.

<< Damn bastard >> comment one of the girls << Because of him, I ended up here >> said another. Mandy carefully listened to the terrible tales of the unfortunate girls. << That bastard tortured me on the rack for 2 hours then he raped me >> said one of the blonde-haired girls << Ah !! I was struck by the torture of the goat, I never laughed so much >> said another dark-haired girl << On the other hand, he first roasted my feet and then burned my breasts >> one of the girls said she too with blonde hair << Also to me, damn, he literally destroyed me>> said the one who is in the corner with red hair.

<< Make the first defendant come >> He said Zelfrotz, slamming the wooden hammer on the large and massive table. It took about 20 minutes before any defendant could hear his verdict. Two were condemned to the stake while the others to the prison, where they would have been tortured and raped for 20 years, cried and shrieked like mad women. << Let the accused Mandy Stiller come >> Zelfortz said from the top of the stand. Mandy, she was dragged out of the cell and made to kneel on the ground, in front of the great inquisitor.

<< Mandy Stiller, age 24, born in Jest. Guilty of the following offenses: Witchcraft, seduction, prostitution and heresy. I Zelfortz, called devilinquisitor, supreme head of the inquisition, condemn you to prison for 30 years, where you will be subjected to torture and purification, every day. This is the will of the inquisition. The session is closed >>

Mandy, she didn't cry and screamed, she let the guards drag her out of the courtroom. But instead of taking her to the basement, in her cell, they took her to the upper floors. After many minuts, they led her up to the top floor of the fortress. << But where did you take me? >> she said confused << You are in my lodgings >> a familiar voice, and then she saw it, Zelfortz was already there waiting for her << You can go >> you told the guards with haughty nod of his hand, then he approached her << But what does it mean, I shouldn't be in my cell ?? >> said the girl << Oh no !! See my dear Mandy, I couldn't see how excited you were during the torture session. Or so decided to keep you here, as my personal slave >> He said as he grabbed her by the arm. The girl is increasingly confused, and not only from the gloomy furnishings of the accommodations, a mixture of dark walls and tapestries and red carpets but, also for the meaning of his words. << Come on I'll show you something >> The great inquisitor, dragged her to the lodgings, and they arrived in what, must be the bedroom. An immense room in the middle of which is a huge bed, Mandy she had never seen such a large bedroom in all her life. But he didn't stop there, he led her to an iron door << Beyond this door there is the room of my pleasures >> he said opening the door.

Mandy could not believe her eyes, it is a torture room, n ande as the main but, full of every kind of gimmick to create pain << Here will be where I will torture you every day, but at the same time you will be treated like a queen >> << Oh my God, you really intend to do this> > She said << Oh yes, let's say I want to explore your body in various ways, but not today, you still have to recover. Now take a bath, later the doctors will check you, now I have to go, when you're ready I'll torture you and I'll find out that nice tight pussy you have >> he said, as he closed the door, then headed for the exit. Mandy, she could hear his footsteps, getting weaker and weaker until they disappeared. She felt confused but, in a strange sense even happy, perhaps he had managed to bring out her masochistic side? Who knows in any case, Mandy sat on the bed and fell asleep like a child.

<< Great inquisitor !! >> shouted one of the inquisitors in the service of Zelfortz << Tell me everything, what is it? >> << Head, some witches have made different names, there is need that you analyze the reports of the interrogations> > << No problem, it will be a pleasure >> The great inquisitor Zelfortz said as he prepared to investigate new victims.

Continue

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 27: She’s Trying to Make a Devil Out of Me

Shizuka emerges from her blanket of darkness, waking with a jolt. The first thing she sees is Moya staring down at her, a worried expression melting into relief. “Moya?” she mutters, looking around.

She is lying on a narrow bed in an enclosed space with white walls. Equipment of various purposes line the walls. It takes her a moment to remember first what an ambulance is, and another to realize she’s in one.

“Hey, Shizuka,” Moya groans, falling painfully into the seat next to the gurney, rubbing her side. Her right arm is in a sling, and she is covered all over in hastily applied bandages.

“... Ph-Phantasma, where--!? Where is she--?!”

She sits up to receive a flash of red and blue light in her face. From beyond the doors at the back of the ambulance, she can see the exterior of the gym. Gathered in front of the entrance is another ambulance, a police squad car and an imposing steel paddywagon, LAPD emblazoned on its side.

And there, despite towering over the officers, Phantasma appears incredibly small. Her head hung low, her ankles and wrists cuffed together. Her mask is gone, and the face that hid beneath is that of a middle aged woman, lined and framed by a surprising amount of dark flowing hair, streaked with grey.

“Whu--?

“You can relax. She’s done. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you saved us…” Moya says, calming her. Shizuka sinks into the bed, her head suddenly light as air. She barely hears her friend speaking. “You kicked the fight right out of her. They say a fight’s only done when one opponent’s lost the will to win, and I never thought I’d see that happen to Phantasma. She lost everything… even this.” Moya raises her still-functioning left hand, and in it is a silver disc.

Shizuka peers at it, taking a moment to register its shape and form. Squinting, she sees the vague outline of a humanoid figure reflected in the silver material. But it is not her reflection, nor anyone else’s.

The figure moves slightly, as if alive within the reflection. In that instant she recognizes what it is, despite never seeing one before, and snatches it from Moya’s hand. She stares. “Where did this come from!?”

“... Phantasma’s head,” Moya says, puzzled, “Like I said, you knocked it right out of her. Her Stand ability’s in this thing, apparently. ABRAXAS is gone for good now.”

“Then this really is…! Do you know what this is!?”

“Do I know what…?” she paused, then taps her forehead with her finger, “Sure I know. I’ve got one too.”

“What!!? But where did…! How?” She springs up, sitting straight on the stretcher, clutching the disc.

“Whoa, easy. You’re still injured…!”

“Moya, you have to tell me! It’s important!”

“... Brother Dust. He gives these to everyone he deems worthy. I don’t know where he found them, but they’ve been the key to his power since the beginning… I assumed you got your Stand the same way, just from a different source. Your family, I’m guessing…?”

She shakes her head. “I was born with my abilities, I’ve never even seen one of these discs in person before. But my nephew told me about them. There was a man, years ago, who used these to give people power and sent them to kill the Joestars. But he’s dead! He’s been dead for almost six years now… Where did he get these?” she says, looking up at her friend. Moya has no answer other than a scowl directed at Phantasma.

A paramedic appears and hops in the back of the ambulance. Before he can say anything, Moya steps out, taking the disc away from Shizuka as she goes. “Moya…?” she says, but gets no answer. The ambulance doors shut and the vehicle drives off, blaring its siren.

Moya, her body damaged all over, limps with purpose towards the squad cars. The officers are pushing Phantasma into the paddy-wagon. “Wait!” Moya calls, and the officers turn.

“You’re injured, Detective,” says one of the officers, raising a hand, “Let us take care--”

“Shut up! You… What is this? Where did you get it from? Where’s Dust keeping them!?” she demands, shoving the disc in Phantasma’s face. The masked woman says nothing. “Nothing to say? What’s the matter? You had so much to say before! Where are your grand fucking declarations now!?”

Receiving no answer, Moya presses harder. She steps closer and gets into her face, which remains impassive. Humbled, but still with a hint of dignity. “What was it all for? What the fuck did you do it for!?” Moya shouts, before the ache in her body catches up with her and she sways on her feet.

“Easy, Pezzente!” calls the officer. “You know the procedure! We’ll get her back to the station, then we can start asking questions! You’ve done your part for the day, Detective. Let us do ours.” Moya steadies herself, still waiting on an answer from her former mentor.

“...For you,” Phantasma says softly. Moya freezes in place and grits her teeth. Almost doubled over, she does not turn around as the luchadora is stuffed into the back of the paddy-wagon. The paramedics pull Moya back to the ambulance, as the wagon rumbles to life, and drives away.

                                                       ***

Her story was not a special one, she had grown up poor in Tijuana, worshiping luchadores on an old television set with bunny ear antennae, dreaming of standing among them. She was simply one of the few who achieved that dream.

Phantasma stares at the wall of the paddywagon. Her escorts are divided from her by a thick metal grate. She makes no attempt to speak to them, and they do not address her.

The masks drew her in, originally. Luchadores hid their faces, their true names. In doing so, they became more than simple athletes. To her, the mask was a talisman, crafted from transcendent material. Like the shamans of ancient times, in wearing the visages of the gods, became those gods, made flesh and blood. Gateways, through which she could abandon weakness. Abandon humanity.

But it was false. The masks she wore were polyester and spandex things. The matches were little more than games, entertainment for children. She was not a clown. She was extraordinary, forced to dally with the ordinary. She would not be held back by weaklings. And so she was not.

In her first title match, she hit her opponent just a bit too hard. A single palm shot to the chest. The challenger coughed, then sputtered. She kicked her legs and choked. And then she died. It mattered little. There was a place for her among the cartel, and before long, that place was at the very top. Mexico City became too small, so she extended her hand north, to San Diego, San José, and Los Angeles.

But Brother Dust, at last, shattered her illusion. She was no superhuman, no demigod. Just a foolish woman in a mask. There was power in the world beyond her comprehension. But he promised. By his hand, she would be granted that power. She would finally achieve that which she had pretended to have for so long.

Phantasma feels her face. Her flesh and bone, her human face. The one she had tried to escape from, but never had. It had been lurking underneath the entire time. She cannot remember what it looks like.

“Hey, Burnley, what's the matter?” Says the cop in the driver’s seat, breaking Phantasma from her trance. She can hear them from behind the partition. The cop glances away from the road to pat his partner on the shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Burnley groans, hunched over, clutching his guts, “I just got this cramp out of nowhere.”

“Nnh, now that you mention it, my head kinda hurts all of a sudden,” the driver rubs his temple, squinting at the road, “Ah, shit, it’s bad…! I don’t think I can drive like this. You think you can take over?”

“No way, man! Feels like my guts are tearing themselves up! God damn you, Rick, I told you we should’ve gone to Taco Bell, but you just had to try the local cuisine, didn’t you!? Oughh, Jesus, it hurts…”

Burnley leans forward, pressing his forehead on the dashboard and groans. A gurgling noise comes from his gut, so loud Phantasma can hear from. The cop starts belching. She grimaces, and turns to the wall again. She turns back sharply at the sound of Burnley belching, followed by a loud splattering.

The dash in front of Officer Burnley is soiled by a frightening quantity of blood and chunks of flesh. All of it vomited by the officer, who stares at it with dumbfounded horror. His partner, Rick, shouts at him.

“Burnley!? Burnley, what was that!? What happened?!!” The driver cries, his face similarly covered in blood, flowing from every orifice on his head. His eyes are all white and flecked with red. “I can’t see! Burnley, what’s happening?! I can’t fucking see anything!”

She listens hard, trying to discern what is happening, when a trickle of blood pours from her nostril. She dabs at it with her fingers and stares at the blood, only then noticing her hand shaking. “What? What is this?”

It is not just her hand. Everything loose in the paddy-wagon is shaking violently, as if caught in an earthquake. Burnley succumbs first, his whole body convulsing as though he was possessed. Then the driver succumbs, shaking so hard he can't even speak, let alone drive.

The wagon swerves off the road, the driver's foot stuck on the accelerator, Phantasma notices only now the convulsions in her body. Like her insides have acquired minds of their own, she feels her insides writhe, her blood vessels bursting.

As the paddy-wagon picks up speed, she slides to the back and kicks at the bolted door, again and again. For all her titanic strength, the door does not give. Dull pangs of pain run up her leg.

“No!! NO!!!” she shouts, kicking desperately, “I CANNOT DIE THIS WAY!!!”

The paddy-wagon mounts the curb and swerves, flying off balance and flipping in the air. The pedestrians have barely enough time to duck before it crash-lands upside down, halfway through the window of a fashion store.

Yet the wagon remains suffers no damage, inside or out. It remains intact, even as its occupants continue to convulse. Lying on her back, Phantasma's eyes roll into the back of her head as even her brain shakes itself into mush. This is the way she dies.

[imaginedisish]

Uncontrollable Urge (Colin Ritman x Stefan Butler) Part 1

A/N: Hey guyssss!! I loved writing this. It’s based on an anon request I received a day or two ago asking if I would write an imagine about what would happen if Colin was able to comfort and calm down Stefan before he kills his father. I fell in love with it and felt like I needed to write it ASAP! (hehe title is a DEVO reference btws:)  P.S…this one is kinda short…but it’s because ITS A TWO PARTER AAYYYEE! So, here it is...

Thanks for all the love <3 xxxxx Send me some more requests and I’ll write them up :) (I’m writing Donnie Darko and happy Colin fluff next :) one or the other should be up tomorrow) xxxxx

Summary: What would happen if Colin was able to stop Stefan from killing his father? Well guess what…he can. (Part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Language (lots), angst, references to murder and drugs, semi-panic attack??? (it’s kinda implied), FLUFF!!!!!!!

Word Count: 1195

“D-dad, s-stop,” Stefan pleads, his hand rubbing anxiously at the glass ashtray on the kitchen counter. Another day, another fight with his father. 

“Stefan talk to me, please. Tell me what’s wrong,” Mr. Butler demands in a commanding voice. Stefan simply shakes his head, and turns away from him, growing in anger at his father’s constant worry. 

“Please, jesus christ. Leave me alone!” Stefan complains angrily. 

“No. Let me help you!” Mr. Butler cries out. “We need to go to Dr. Hayes. We will leave this instant, do you understand?”

“She isn’t going to do anything. She never does!” Stefan screams. 

“Well something has to be done, Stefan. You’re unwell.” 

The constant questioning, checking in, and overall lack of understanding that Mr. Butler portrayed each and every day had been pushing Stefan to the brink for quite some time. 

But today...today felt different to Stefan. He knew it would be his breaking point. This time, he had felt the urge to act upon his well hidden anger. 

Stefan strengthens his grip on the glass ashtray. Deep down inside, he wanted to fight the urge. He didn’t know if he really wanted to do this, and if he did, he feared he’d regret it. 

But the voice in his head persisted nevertheless, cooing, luring him into the trap of his impulses. 

Kill him, kill him now, Stefan thinks. He quickly attempts to shut down these terrible ideas. 

Still, there was something so appealing about them. 

“Stefan? Are you going to say something?” Mr. Butler is relentless in his attempts to help his son. Stefan, more annoyed than ever, slowly and silently lifts the ashtray off the counter. 

If he did the deed now, his father would never expect it. There would be no fight. He would simply come tumbling down. 

There was no more thinking about it. Stefan knew what he had to do. 

Turning around quickly, ashtray in hand, Stefan brings his hand up, preparing to strike. 

But then, the unexpected happens. Stefan stops instantly, realizing that his father was no longer in front of him.  

“What?” Stefan questions. 

He spots his father on the other side of their two story home, opening the front door. 

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” Mr. Butler asks politely. Stefan had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the doorbell ring. 

“Thank god...thought I was too late,” Colin mumbles under his breath. Stefan watches as the top of his platinum blonde hair and the silver, bulky rims of his glasses peek through the doorway. Stefan didn’t need to see his face to know it was Colin. It just was. It had to be.

Mr. Butler looks back at the blonde boy perplexed, unsure as to what he meant.

“Oh, sorry mate,” Colin says, putting one of his personally rolled cigs in between his pale, full lips. “Colin Ritman, I work with Stefan.” He extends a hand out to Mr. Butler. Mr. Butler accepts the gesture, and immediately turns to Stefan. 

“The Colin Ritman, huh?” Mr. Butler smiles widely, and Stefan feels his cheeks grow red. “I’m Stefan’s dad, Mr. Butler. But you can call me Peter!” Colin nods his head in response, and spots Stefan. 

“Sure thing mate,” Colin says to Mr. Butler, and pats the middle aged man harshly on the back as he makes his way closer to Stefan.

Once he can see Stefan, Colin stops in his tracks. He gives Stefan a look that says:

I know what you were about to do. 

Silence quickly falls upon the room, and the two boys simply stare at each other. Stefan takes the image of Colin in. He sports a blue blazer with a New Order shirt underneath. Peace sign and guitar pins adorn the blonde boy’s left blazer pocket. 

“Well, I’ll let you two have the room!” Mr. Butler says, leaving the room and heading upstairs. 

“Thank god I got here in time. You were about to be seriously fucked,” Colin says in a cocky, matter of fact tone. He knows that he saved the day. Even more so, he recognizes that he successfully said a big “fuck you!” to the normal timeline by stopping Stefan before anything could happen. A metaphorical middle finger, if you will.

The ashtray shook in Stefan’s trembling hand. As annoying as his father could be at times, Stefan would never wish for him to be dead. The realness of the situation began to make itself clear in Stefan’s head. 

Suddenly, It begins to feel as though the walls are closing in, and Stefan struggles to breath. He fights back his tears as Colin comes closer to him.  

“Listen,” Colin says quietly, “You can’t let those urges control you, Stefan.” Colin’s crystal clear, blue eyes stare deeply into Stefan’s. 

He slowly guides Stefan’s hand, the one holding the ashtray, onto the kitchen counter. Stefan lets go of the ashtray, and it slams down on the counter. Colin keeps Stefan’s hand in his own, and he leads their hands down by their sides. Colin then proceeds to stick his practically freshly lit cig in the ashtray after only seconds of use. 

Stefan looks down to his hand, and watches as Colin slowly repositions his fingers so that his fingers would intertwine with Stefan’s. Stefan is absolutely dumbfounded by the normally witty and aloof boy’s actions. 

Yet there was something so entrancing about whatever it was that Colin was doing, sucking Stefan in with every second that passed by.

“What are you doing?” Stefan questions harshly, but he doesn’t remove his hand from Colin’s comforting hold. 

“Relax,” Colin whispers to Stefan, who’s now trembling under Colin’s touch.

He was THE Colin Ritman, how could Stefan not listen to him? How could he not completely melt to the slow movement of Colin’s lips, or the intricate and infinite cacophony in the rebellious wit that ever so effortlessly spilled out of Colin’s mouth. 

Maybe it was Colin’s enchanting scent, that overwhelming fusion of weed and cigarettes, just barely masked by notes of vanilla and honey. Maybe that was what made Stefan’s heart jump into his throat every time Colin came around. 

Colin realizes the pain in Stefan’s eyes, and pulls Stefan into a tight embrace.

Slowly, but surely, Stefan feels his murderous urges become a mistake of the past. A sense of ease fills his stomach. Colin pulls apart from Stefan, holding the boy by his shoulders.

Stefan blinks his emerald eyes, and a single, unexpected tear trickles down his right cheek, over his light brown freckles, stopping at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Colin’s voice was warm and inviting. He reaches a hand to Stefan’s face, brushing away at the spot where the tear had stopped. 

“I think I am now,” Stefan answers. Colin moves closer to Stefan again. Stefan stares up at the tall, confident blonde boy.

Colin puts his hands on the nape of Stefan’s neck, and kisses the crown of Stefan’s head lightly. 

“Let’s fix things, alright love?” Colin proposes in a hushed tone, his lips not moving from where he had kissed Stefan. 

Stefan nods.

“What do we do first?”

[thanksraph-yourealifesaver]

Life Saver (Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 2: I’ve Seen that Movie Too

Rating: Teen

Warnings: swearing and alcohol

Word Count: 1,465

Summary: Pizza counts as an emergency, right?

A/N: A huge thank you for the positive feedback from the first chapter! I’m so excited to keep this story going. A quick note on ages, I aged the boys up a year from the 2014/16 movies so they were born in ‘98 instead of ‘99. Please keep sending in feedback:)

             I stared blankly at my DVD collection for a good 15 minutes before settling on Pacific Rim. I really didn’t feel like watching anything I had to think during. I popped the disc in to let the previews play while I ordered a pizza.

             I still had a while for the pizza, so I flopped back on the couch to watch the beginning of the movie. As I was about to press play, my eyes drifted to where I’d dropped my phone beside me.

             I took a deep breath and pushed aside my better judgement. Then, I picked up my phone and opened my contacts. Lonely on a Friday night is an emergency, right? I wasn’t gonna tell him that, though.

             Does too much pizza count as an emergency?

It was taking him a while to respond, and it made me anxious.

             probably not considering theres no such thing

             What if it comes with a side of Pacific Rim?

             15 min

              Raph showed up not long after the pizza did, climbing through the window I’d left open for him.

             “So, do you not have any other friends or somethin’?” he asked looking down at me from across the table.

             I mimicked his crossed arms and narrowed my eyes. “Excuse you, I do have one,” I insisted, “she just has date night tonight.”

             Raph’s eyes widened, and he smirked. “So that’s why you wanted me here,” he teased.

             I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and I hoped they weren’t too red. “Well, no, I just—”

             “Relax,” he laughed, “just screwing with you.” He touched his hands to his chest. “I’m just here for the melted cheese and giant robots.”

             I masked my sigh of relief with a smile. “Don’t forget the giant aliens.” I nodded towards the couch. “Make yourself at home. I’ll grab pizza.”

             “Sure as hell nicer than mine,” he commented settling into one of the cushions.

             I climbed over the back of the couch and handed Raph his plate. “Don’t tell me you live in that sewer I found you in,” I joked as I tucked my legs underneath me. My knee brushed up against his leg, but that was pretty much inevitable on my tiny couch.

             “I do, actually,” he chuckled at my dumbfounded expression. “It’s not that bad if you don’t mind the smell.”

             “It’s a fucking sewer.”

             Raph laughed again. “Yeah but we got our own little section blocked off, rooms made up,” he was clearly getting a kick out of my facial expressions, “we call it the lair.”

             I shook my head so I could form a response. “Okay, now I know you’re shitting me.”

             He was still laughing. “I’m really not.” I kept studying his face looking for any sign that he was, in fact, joking. He wasn’t. “You gonna start the movie or not?”

             I huffed in defeat and hit play settling into the movie fairly quickly.

~~~

             “Damn, that’s a good movie,” Raph said, stretching his legs as the credits rolled.

             “I’m so glad someone shares my taste for higher cinema.” I turned towards him excitedly. “Have you gotten to see the new one yet?”

             “Well,” he began, rubbing his neck and avoiding my eyes, “I can’t exactly go to the movie theatre.”

             “Oh.” I was a little embarrassed by the comment. I guess that in the time he had been here I forgot that he’s, you know, a fucking turtle. “Wait! I know!” He turned his head toward me skeptically. “I have a buddy that can get it bootleg for us. I can have it for next week.” I saw the apprehension in his eyes. “That is if you want to come back again.”

             A soft smile broke over Raph’s face. “Yeah, I would like to come over again.” Then he nudged me in the side. “I thought you said you only had one friend.”

             I wanted so badly to defend myself, but he was right. I had said that. “Okay, one friend that I actually hang out with,” I said crossing my arms over my chest.

             We just kinda looked at each other for a moment while I worked up the courage to ask him what had been on my mind all night. “So, what exactly do you guys do? You and the…other turtles?”

             “My brothers.”

             “What?”

             “The four of us. We’re brothers.”

             “Oh.”

             He went on to tell me about each of them. Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and their father Splinter (who’s a giant rat???). He told me about Shredder and the Foot and how it had been pretty quiet after they lost track of them during the fight with Krang.

             I had remembered that. It was kind of hard to miss the giant floating spaceship-ball-thing over Manhattan.

             He told me about a new gang that occasionally kept them busy now, the Purple Dragons, who they were starting to think had some relation to the dormant Foot Clan.

             His recollections blended together seamlessly. Raph seemed so excited to get to tell the stories of his and his brothers victories this way.

             Hours blurred together as I sat enraptured. Eventually, Raph glanced towards the kitchen clock and shot to his feet.

             “Shit,” he exclaimed, “I gotta go.”

             I sat, gapping up at him, still at a loss over everything he’d just told me.

             “So, Pacific Rim 2 next week?”

             I shook myself out of the daze to stand next to him and tried to match his casualness. “Yeah, same time?” I managed.

             “Sure thing,” he said with a smile. “See ya, (Y/N).” He made his way to the window and slipped out into the darkness.

             I stood in front of my couch still slightly in a daze. “See ya, Raph,” I said to nothing.

             Raphael had saved the world twice and my life once. And he just spent his Friday night eating pizza and watching a movie with me. And next week we’re gonna do it again. Holy shit.

~~~

             I pulled my hand out of the fridge two beers heavier and turned my attention to the couch. “How old are you anyway?”

             “20,” Raph answered from my ‘living room,’ “why?”

             “This is why,” I said holding up the bottles. I leaned back against the fridge. “Not sure I feel comfortable giving alcohol to someone who’s underage,” I teased.

             “Oh, come on!” he pouted. “I saved the world twice and—and we don’t even know exactly how old we are. I could actually be older than you for all we know.”

             “Hmm,” I mused making my way to the couch, “I dunno. I remember what I was like when I was your age.”

             “And how long ago was that?” he challenged.

             “About 2 months ago,” I replied with a smile, handing him one of the bottles in my hand.

             “You’re an ass,” Raph joked as he took the bottle gratefully.

             “You love it,” I replied with an elbow to his side and hit play on the movie. The quality was pretty good considering the movie had barely come out two weeks prior.

             About halfway through the movie I finished my beer. It wasn’t enough for a buzz, but it was enough to embolden me to shift on the couch until my legs were stretched out over Raph’s lap. He stiffened at first but quickly relaxed, one hand sliding up to wrap around my calf and stroke it with his thumb.

             We stayed like that until the movie ended.

As the credits rolled, we stood to stretch and hug goodbye. I reached my arms up around his huge neck and squealed a little as he lifted me up.

“What do you wanna watch next week?” I asked as he made his way to the window.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he grinned as he disappeared.

My heart fluttered a little. Sweetheart. I’m gonna die.

~~~

             We spent the next week texting constantly. He told me patrol stories, I told him teaching ones. He asked a ton of questions about dance and the studio and my kids. Every time he did my heart squished a little. I had no idea what it meant, but I liked it. By the time Friday rolled around again I’d decided on Transformers to keep our movie trend going.

             We started the movie with my legs in Raph’s lap which he warmly accepted.

             A ways into the movie, his hand moved up my leg to my knee to pull me closer to him. He wrapped his arm around me, and I settled in to the space he made, my head resting on his shoulder.

             He was the first to speak when the movie ended. “Wadaya say next week we do my place? Meet my brothers.”

             I hoped I wasn’t blushing as I looked up to reply. “I’d love to.”

[queenofcats17]

New Prompt Set

Submitted by @magicalmonsterhero

(As promised, I waited.) ————— -Mask AU (Inspired by this) -June Prompts 2 B: Sammy, Norman, & Allison pick up Henry & Toons -Rock concert (‘Meanwhile On the Outside’/Good AU)

Sorry this took so long.

When Sammy had been young, it had seemed as though the world was filled with endless possibilities. His family had been fairly well off, allowing him to pursue his obsession with music wherever it led him. His parents had been supportive of him, giving him all the love and attention he needed to grow and be confident in himself. Jack had always been there to make sure he didn’t go too far, of course. (Their families had known one another forever. The two of them were practically brothers.)  But regardless, he’d felt invincible, as though nothing in the world could stop him. Then everything had changed. 

He’d been in his second year of college when the call had come. There had been an accident. His father was dead and his mother had been left as little more than a vegetable. Despite the insistence of the Fains that they would take care of everything, Sammy had left school to take care of his mother. For a few years, everything was fine. But out of nowhere, Sammy’s mother had taken a turn for the worst. The bills started piling up, forcing Sammy to get a job. Jack managed to get Sammy a job as a bank teller at the same bank he worked at. The next year, Sammy’s mother had died. 

Now, it had been 6 years since he’d dropped out of school, Sammy was 26, and he was rather unsatisfied with his life. He was still working the bank job Jack had gotten him and had absolutely no life. He went to work, then he went home, occasionally going out to get food or buy books or something. It was a rather sad life. Jack worried about his friend quite a lot. Especially since Sammy had essentially become a doormat in recent years. Today was a perfect example of that. Jack had come into work to find Sammy being accosted by some senior employees who were trying to force their paperwork on Sammy. 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Jack snapped, storming over to them. The two men exchanged a glance and bolted. Everyone in the bank knew better than to mess with Jack. 

“You can’t keep letting them do that,” Jack said, looking over at Sammy. 

“It’s fine. They’re awful at paperwork anyway.” Sammy muttered, sipping at his coffee. 

“Sammy, you can’t just let people walk all over you for the rest of your life.” Jack sighed, leaning on Sammy’s desk.

“Don’t be ridiculous! That’s not what’s happening.” Sammy laughed. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Really? Because that’s what it seems like is happening.” Jack said incredulously before sighing. “What happened to the fiery Sammy I knew when we were kids?”

“I guess somewhere along the way.” Sammy hesitated, staring down at his coffee mug. “…My fire just went out.” For a moment, the two just sat there in silence. Then Jack slapped Sammy’s back. 

“Tell you what,” he said. “We should go drinking tonight.”

“What? Seriously? We haven’t done that since we were 21.” Sammy’s brow furrowed. “Besides, the last time we went drinking we ended up getting arrested for public intoxication.”

“That was just because Wally and Shawn were along.” Jack waved a hand dismissively. “That won’t happen this time.”

Sammy sighed heavily, taking a sip of his coffee. “Alright. Where do you want to go drinking?”

Jack grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “The Dancing Demon.”

Sammy nearly choked on his coffee, prompting a very long and drawn out coughing fit that caused most of the office to stare at him.

“Are you crazy?!” He hissed, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “That place is owned by the mafia!”

“So’s half the town.” Jack shrugged. “As long as we keep our heads down, it’ll be fine.”

“You have to be kidding me.” Sammy groaned, resting his head on the table.

“Plus, there’s a cute girl who works there that I think you’ll like~” Jack said in a sing-song voice with a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. 

“Jack.”

“I know, I know. I promised I’d stop setting you up. But this is different.”

“That’s what you said last time.” Sammy couldn’t help but let a touch of bitterness enter his voice. 

“I really am sorry about what happened with Allison-”

“Don’t.” Sammy cut him off. “Let’s just not talk about it, okay? The bank’ll be opening soon and we need to get to work.” Jack hesitated but eventually sighed and walked off to his own station. Sammy returned to the paperwork that had been laid out in front of him. He didn’t understand why Jack made a big deal out of him doing the paperwork of others. It meant that people left him alone for the most part. It was less trouble to just do what they wanted him to. 

“Um, excuse me?” Sammy looked abruptly up from the paperwork, quickly shuffling it away. It wouldn’t do to have paperwork out when he had a customer to attend to. He was dumbfounded once he saw who the customer was, however. Standing before him was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Long blonde hair, a shapely form, a tight dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways. He found himself at a loss for words.

“Hi, I was wondering if I could open up a savings account here?” The woman brushed some hair behind her ear as she leaned on the desk.

“Right. Of course.” He cleared his throat and reached into one of his desk drawers, drawing out the appropriate paperwork. “Now, what name will the account be under?”

“Susie.” She said. “Susie Campbell.”

“That’s a lovely name.” The words slipped out before he could stop himself. He mentally cursed as he looked up at Susie, expecting her to be upset with him. Instead, he found she was trying to suppress laughter. 

“That’s very sweet of you.” She giggled. 

“Well, I try.” He felt his cheeks begin to heat up. 

“You know, you’re pretty cute.” Susie leaned on his desk. “Why haven’t I seen you around here before?”

“Maybe you just haven’t come to this bank before?” He smiled nervously. “I mean, I’ve been here for years now.”

“I should come here more often then.” She laughed, giving him a wink.

“That…I’d like that.” He couldn’t help but smile. 

After a few more minutes of talking, they got the paperwork for the account sorted out. Sammy was sad to see her go, but she had promised to come back. He sighed dreamily as he watched her walk out the door. 

“Oooh~ Who was she?” Sammy felt the familiar weight of Jack’s arm around his shoulder. 

“J-Just a client, Jack.”

“Just a client, you say.” Jack’s smile widened. “Then why is your face so red?”

“I hate you,” Sammy muttered, covering his face with his hands. “You are the absolute worst.”

“You know you love me~”

“Shut up!”

“Fain! There’s a client here to see you!” One of their superiors shouted from the upper floors. 

“Coming, sir!” Jack disentangled himself from Sammy. “We’ll talk about that girl later, okay?”

“No, we won’t.”

“And we’re definitely going drinking tonight!”

“No, we aren’t!” Sammy said, although he was sure Jack hadn’t heard a word he said as he walked away.

True to his word, after work Jack caught Sammy as he was trying to sneak out. 

“You didn’t think you could get away, did you?” Jack asked with a mischievous smile. 

“Jack, I really don’t want to do this.” Sammy groaned. 

“What if I told you that the Dancing Demon is where your mystery girl from this morning works?” 

“She…She works at the Dancing Demon?” Sammy asked tentatively.

“Mm-hm. She’s a singer. Best singer in the whole city, if the posters are to be believed.”

Sammy chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“If you really don’t want to go, I won’t make you,” Jack said. “But I was pretty sure you’d want to see her sing.” Sammy groaned quietly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Jack was right. He did want to hear Susie sing. Honestly, he just wanted to see more of her. But was it worth venturing into mafia territory?

“Alright.” He finally said. “I’ll go.”

“Great!” Jack slapped his back. “Go back home and get changed. I’ll meet you there.”

“Um, alright.” Sammy smiled nervously. He headed back to his apartment, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this. It was going to end badly, he was sure of it. But…Surely it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? He hadn’t gone out with Jack in ages. And Susie had seemed to like him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He started humming to himself as he picked out some clothes to wear that night. He wasn’t really sure what one wore to the club. He’d never really been a clubbing person. Maybe a suit. That seemed like a safe bet. But whether to wear a bow tie or a tie…

When Jack arrived, Sammy was still dithering over what to wear. He hadn’t been this excited about going out in ages. Jack let himself in, he had a key after all.

“Hey! Sammy! You ready?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

“Almost!” Sammy called back from his bedroom. “I’m just trying to figure out what to wear!”

“What? Really?” Jack wandered into Sammy’s bedroom. “You’ve worn the same outfit for like 6 years now.” Sammy flushed, turning back go shoot Jack a poisonous look.

“Going to work is different from going out.” He snapped. “I want to look nice!”

“Right, um, sorry.” Jack rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “You need any help?” Sammy turned, gave Jack a once over, then shrugged.

“I guess you could help. You don’t look too shabby.” He said.

“Well, let’s see what we can do.” Jack chuckled. He’d forgotten what it was like to see Sammy actually excited and interested in something. It was nice to see Sammy so happy. Together they managed to pick out a nice little suit and tie combination. It was one of Sammy’s nicer suits, but not so nice that it couldn’t get dirty. Additionally, Sammy had opted for contacts instead of his usual glasses.

“Well, don’t you look sharp?” Jack said, standing back.

“You really think so?” Sammy blushed again. He’d slicked his hair back in an attempt to look cooler, although some stray strands were already trying to work themselves loose.

“Of course!” Jack slapped his back. “You’re gonna knock ‘er dead!” Sammy laughed and shoved Jack playfully.

“So, are we walking?”

“Do either of us have a car?” Jack asked with a wry smile.

“Good point.”

They headed out after that. It was a nice night, especially for early October. Warmer than usual, but not warm enough to be uncomfortable. Both men were in a good mood. However, as they got closer and closer to the Dancing Demon, Sammy began to lose his nerve.

“Jack, are you sure this is a good idea?” He asked, starting to glance nervously at his friend. “What if we end up pissing off the mafia somehow?”

“Sammy, it’ll be fine.” Jack put a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “You overthink everything. I doubt you’ll say anything to make them angry.”

And Jack was right. Sammy didn’t say anything to anger the mafia members who ran the place. He did, however, do something. What Jack and Sammy didn’t know was that Benjamin “Bendy” Drew, son of the local mafia boss Joey Drew, was dating Susie Campbell. Susie had been forced into a relationship with Bendy in order to become famous. She’d wanted to get recognized. She’d wanted her name to be known. She didn’t want to live in the shadow of her sister Alice for the rest of her life. So, she’d made a deal with the mafia in order to get it. She wasn’t proud of it. The deal had been made when she’d been young and far foolhardier.

To his credit, Bendy treated her well. He gave her lavish gifts and promoted her act all over town. He never forced her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She was his girlfriend in name alone, really. He got his sex from other women. Susie didn’t mind being his girlfriend. At least most of the time. But there were many times when she’d find someone she really liked, only for Bendy to drive said person away. She was ‘his’. People were allowed to be interested in her but never pursue her romantically. She often fantasized about a knight in shining armor coming to rescue her, even though she knew it was selfish. Still, a girl could dream. She sighed to herself as she sat at the vanity in her dressing room. That guy at the bank had been really cute. She’d really wanted to get his number. But it would have been terribly rude to ask when he was at work. She’d been on the other side of the counter before. She didn’t want to impose on him. Maybe if she was lucky, he’d show up at the club.

“You’re on in five, Susie.” The door to her dressing room was opened a crack and one of Bendy’s lieutenants stuck his head in.

“Thanks, Charley.” She said, waving her hand vaguely. She liked Charley. For a mafia member, he was a pretty stand up guy. He’d never admit it, but she was pretty sure she reminded him of his estranged daughter.

“You alright?” Charley stepped inside. “The kid’s not giving you any trouble, is he?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Susie assured him, getting up and smoothing out her dress. “Ben’s not being any worse than usual.”

“Well, alright.” Charley hesitated. “You come get me if he does anything, though. I’ll give him a talking-to.”

“Thank, Charley. You’re a doll.” She got up on her tip toes to kiss his cheek before heading out to the stage. Edgar and Barley were arguing near the stage entrance, as they usually did.

“Hello, boys.” Susie laughed softly.

“Heya Miss Susie!” Edgar said brightly, waving to her.

“Evenin’, Susie.” Barley rumbled.

“How are you both doing, tonight?”

“Edgar ate a spider.” Barley said, a small smirk appearing on his normally stoic features.

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Edgar went bright red, trying to swat at Barley. The old sailor easily kept him at arm’s length, though.

“Pardon?” Susie’s smile faltered a bit.

“One of the new boys dared Edgar to eat a fried tarantula.” Barley said. “Said he’d give ‘im 100 dollars for it. None of us thought he’d do it.”

“Jokes on him, ‘cause I got my 100 smackaroos.” Edgar folded his arms, trying to look proud. Susie could tell he was on the verge of throwing up.

“Well…Good for you.” Susie smiled politely.

“Have a good show.” Barley said. Susie nodded slowly before taking a deep breath and stepping out onto the stage.

“And now, our very own Angel of the Stage, Susie Campbell!” It felt good to hear people cheer when they heard her name. She walked up to the microphone, scanning the crowd. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the man she’d hoped to settled at the table in the very front row. He certainly cleaned up nice, she had to admit that. She bit her lip, shifting a bit as she took the microphone in her hands. She had to make this performance a good one. The music started out as a gentle piano tune.

“I’m just a lonely angel, sittin’ here on a shelf. At times it seemed, if I just dreamed, I’d not be by myself.” She crooned. “I never gave up hopin’, that you would come along. How bleak it seemed, till you found me, so now I sing this song.”

The music began to pick up a bit, drums and other instruments coming in as Susie picked up the microphone, beginning to strut across the stage. 

“I’ll be your angel, sent from heaven above. Your little angel, cast down for you to love. I’ll be your angel, ya fit me just like a glove. So wontcha say a prayer to me baby?” She sauntered over to lean down and tap Sammy’s nose before walking off again. “Cause I’ve been waiting, and I’ve been so alone. Ain’t had nobody I could call my own. So be my angel and say a little prayer to me. And when I fall it’s into your arms. I never could resist all your charms, you devil!” She paused to blow a kiss to the audience, which elicited cheers and hoots.

“It’s far too late, my soul can’t be saved. Cause when I hear hear ya, callin’ my name, you angel! My heart goes she boop de boop boop she boop bee do wow! Brush off my halo and try out my wings. I’m just your puppet, when ya tug on my strings.” She rolled her shoulders seductively, trying to ignore the guilty look on Bendy’s face from where he sat in his booth. “I’ll be your angel, and fly straight into to your heart. I’ll be your angel, and fly straight into to your heart. Sha boop de boo boop she boop bee doo bow!”

As soon as she was finished, the audience erupted into thunderous applause. Susie couldn’t help but smile wider, her gaze wandering down to where Sammy was sitting. To her delight, he looked absolutely enraptured. She did a few more songs before finally descending into the crowd. She was swarmed with admirers, but she only had eyes for one man. Sammy’s heart almost stopped when she stopped in front of him, leaning down on the table.

“What’d you think of the show?” She asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“It, um, you were amazing.” Sammy stumbled over his words, cursing how clumsy his tongue suddenly was.

“Aw, aren’t you sweet?” She laughed, leaning toward him. “I’m glad you came. I was hoping I’d get to see you again.”

“I…I wanted to see you too.” Sammy smiled. “I wasn’t sure if it would be rude to just show up at your workplace but, well, I…I wanted to hear you sing.”

“Well, singing is what I do here, honey.” Susie said, laughing.

“You have a lovely voice.” Sammy leaned on his hand, staring dreamily at her. “Like an angel. A true angel.”

“Oh my!” Susie’s voice went up an octave, her face flushing as she swatted at his shoulder. “Aren’t you a charmer?” She’d been called an angel before, but it felt different coming from Sammy.

“Susie! Next song’s in five!” Charley called to her from the side door. Susie sighed, straightening up.

“Guess it’s back to work for me.” She said, smiling apologetically. “But let me leave you with something.” She reached into her dress and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Call me sometime.” She winked, planting a kiss on his cheek before walking backstage. Sammy stared after her, almost unable to believe what had just happened. He’d gotten her number. He quickly tucked the card into his pocket, lest he lose it, and sighed. He’d gotten her number.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing, making eyes at my girl?!” Sammy was jolted out of his reverie as he was roughly spun around. His heart sank as he saw just who it was. Bendy looked absolutely furious. 

“Y-Your girl?” Sammy stammered. 

“Susie’s my girl,” Bendy growled, grabbing Sammy by the lapels. He was a good deal smaller than Sammy, but Sammy knew full well that Bendy could probably lift him off the ground if he wanted to. 

“Oh, my God,” Sammy whispered, his heart starting to pound. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-I’ll leave right now, I swear-”

“You’re not getting away that easy, stringbean.” Bendy’s eyes narrowed. 

“Let him go, Ben. He didn’t know.” Boris put a hand on Bendy’s shoulder, trying to pull him away. Bendy shrugged him off.

“If I let him get away with this, then I have to let everyone get away with it,” Bendy said, his eyes never leaving Sammy’s face. “I’ve gotta set an example, Bo.” 

Boris sighed and withdrew his hand. “Alright. But don’t hurt him too bad. Susie’ll be mad at you if you kill another guy for looking at her.”

“Will do, Bo.” Bendy gave Boris a wink before turning his attention back to Sammy, grinning maliciously.

What happened next was a blur to Sammy. Bendy called over some goons and took him out back, where they proceeded to beat the shit out of him before going back inside. Sammy laid on the hard concrete, whimpering quietly and hoping that if he stayed still everything would stop. 

“I better not see your face back here again,” Bendy said, staring down at Sammy with cold eyes. Then he turned and went back into the club. Sammy continued to lay there for a few more minutes, praying that the pain would stop. To make things even worse, it had started raining rather hard. Soon enough, he was thoroughly drenched. Sammy began to cry quietly. He never should have come with Jack to the club. He should have just gone home. He just wanted to go back to his boring life. 

“Geez, kid. You alright?” He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched back. Whoever had touched him chuckled. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I just want to help.”

Sammy opened one eye and looked at the speaker. A man was hunched over him, the light of the streetlight backlighting him and creating almost a halo. He’d lost one of his contacts, unfortunately, so the man was rather blurry. But Sammy could still make out the man’s flaming red hair.

“There we go.” The man smiled, putting his hands up. “See? No weapons. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sammy opened his other eye, trying to push himself up from the ground. Unfortunately, his arms gave out from under him, sending him crashing back to the ground. 

“Let me help you.” The man took Sammy’s arm, draping it around his shoulder and helping Sammy to his feet. Sammy stumbled a bit but was able to stand properly with the help of the man.

“Alright, let’s get you back home.” The man said. “Tell me where to go.” Sammy nodded weakly. 

With Sammy’s direction, the man helped him back to his apartment. Sammy thanked whatever god there was that his landlady was asleep. He didn’t want to explain why he was all beat up. She’d never let him hear the end of it. They walked up to Sammy’s apartment door and Sammy fumbled out the key with shaking hands, fitting it into the lock and opening the door. He stumbled in, tossing his keys in the bowl he kept on the table by the door and collapsing onto his couch. His savior looked around with a smile playing on his lips. 

“Pretty pathetic setup you got here, kid.” 

“Gee, thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” Sammy snapped, rolling his eyes. 

“So, you do still have some fire in you!” The man started to laugh, leaning on Sammy’s kitchen table. For a moment, Sammy felt a sense of defiance for this man, a sort of spark of anger. But as quickly as the fire was lit, it went back out again, smothered by the politeness he’d drilled into himself. 

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just very tired.” He drew back into himself. The man let out an annoyed huff, walking over to sit beside Sammy on the couch. 

“You don’t need to apologize. You’re allowed to speak your mind.”

“No, I’m not,” Sammy replied without thinking. 

“Oof.” The man grimaced. “What happened to you?”

“A lot of things.” Sammy mumbled, his head in his hands. The man sighed, patting Sammy’s back gently.

“Look, kid, let me offer you some advice.” He said. “If you let people walk all over you now, they’re gonna be doing it for the rest of your life. You gotta learn to stand up for yourself.”

“It’s not worth the trouble.” Sammy shook his head. “It’s better to just keep my head down. Look what happened tonight!”

“Tonight wasn’t your fault.” The man gently pulled Sammy into an upright sitting position. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But…” He paused and grinned. “I can help you do something right.” The man’s face was still a little blurry, but Sammy could make out his mischievous grin. That was strange…He had scars around his mouth.

“I…don’t know what you mean,” Sammy said.

“You will.” The man winked at him, patting Sammy’s shoulder. “I think you’re gonna love my mask.” Before Sammy could ask what he meant, he found himself waking up to the sound of his phone ringing. There was no sign of the man who’d brought him back. Sammy checked the clock on his microwave as he got to his feet, wincing a bit as he did. It was 2 am.

“Hello?” He asked, picking up the phone.

“SAMMY?? IS THAT YOU? ARE YOU OKAY?!” Sammy winced again at Jack’s voice on the other end.

“Jack, lower your voice.” He said. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Sorry.” Jack did so. “Are you okay? I couldn’t find you anywhere. Did something happen?”

“…Yeah. Something happened.” Sammy said after a moment. “It, uh, turns out that Susie’s dating Benjamin Drew. And he doesn’t like other people talking to his girl.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Sammy admitted.

“Did he…hurt you?” Jack asked quietly.

Sammy blatantly didn’t answer the question. “Could you tell everyone I’m not going to be in tomorrow?”

“…Okay.” Jack sighed. “But I’m coming back later to check on you.”

“That’s fine.” Sammy chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he hung up the phone and headed to bed, collapsing face first onto his mattress. He didn’t even notice the mask that had somehow appeared on his couch.

He still felt terrible when he woke up the next morning. Groaning, he sat up and went over to the mirror to survey the damage, grabbing his glasses as he went. He looked awful. His suit was rumpled and dirty, spotted with mud and blood. His hair was messy and similarly caked with dirty and blood. He was developing a number of bruises on his face and, judging from the pain he was feeling, there were probably others under his clothes. He sighed heavily.

“Guess I’m going to the cleaner’s later.” He muttered, discarding his suit and getting into the shower. Sure enough, he had bruises all over his body. Partially, he was glad he hadn’t broken anything. Mostly, he was just tired. When he got out of the shower, he put on some underwear and a bathrobe and curled up on the couch. This was why he didn’t try to get out of his comfort zone. It always backfired on him.

Suddenly, he heard a knock at his door. Frowning, he sat up. Who could be visiting him now? Jack was at work, wasn’t he? He couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to see him. He didn’t really have any other friends.

“Give me a minute!” He said, getting up and tying the bathrobe a bit tighter.

Susie took a deep breath, pushing back some of her hair and smoothing out her dress. She wasn’t sure if she was overstepping some kind of boundary, visiting him at his home. But she couldn’t let Bendy chase this one away. Sammy seemed like such a sweetheart. She really did want to get to know him better. She brightened when the door to his apartment opened, and then let out a small squeak. Sammy looked absolutely awful. He had a black eye, bruises all over his body, and his posture was hunched and defeated.

“Oh, my-” Susie’s hand immediately went to her mouth.

“M-Miss Campbell!” Sammy stood up a bit straighter, his cheeks darkening. “What- What are you doing here?”

“God, look at what he’s done to you.” She clicked her tongue, taking Sammy’s face in her hands and running her thumb over his cheek. Sammy blinked, feeling his face heating up even more.

“Do you, uh, want to come in?” He asked, his voice going up an octave. “It feels a little awkward to just stand here like this.”

“O-Oh! I’m sorry.” Susie quickly withdrew her hands. “N-No, I better not stay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I got your address from your friend at the bank. I’m sorry for intruding. I was just worried.”

“It’s alright.” Sammy cleared his throat. “I, uh, I appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry Bendy did this to you.” Susie lowered her gaze, her grip on her purse tightening.

“It’s fine-” Sammy started to say, but Susie cut him off.

“No, it’s not!” She stamped her foot. “I’m tired of him chasing off everyone I care about! You’re a sweet man and I want to get to know you!”

“You…You do?” Sammy’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

“I…I do.” Susie nodded slowly, hunching her shoulders and brushing some hair behind her ear. “So, um, if you wouldn’t mind…I’d like to see you again sometime.” She glanced up shyly. “You have my number.”

Getting up on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. Then she scurried away, giggling to herself. Sammy stood there for a moment or two, hand on his cheek, staring dreamily into the distance. Finally, he closed the door and went over to sit on his couch. It was then that he noticed the mask on the couch.

“What’s this?” He murmured, picking it up. It resembled a cartoon demon, with pie-cut eyes and a big smile. He turned it over, trying to find some manufacturing label or brand. But there was none. And it looked to be made of wood.

“Where the Hell did this come from?” He certainly didn’t buy something like this. Wait…Hadn’t the man who’d brought him home mentioned a mask? But he still wasn’t sure if the man had been a dream or not. Maybe he should put it on…

“Later.” He shook his head, throwing it back on the couch. He needed to treat his injuries for now.

When night came, and he’d treated his injuries as best he could, he found his mind still going back to that mask. He set his dinner, a bowl of cold soup from the fridge, down on the coffee table and picked up the mask.

“It’s just a mask.” He said to himself. He turned it over again, snorting.

“I’ll look silly in it.” He chuckled before putting it on. Almost immediately, the mask suctioned itself to his face, secreting a black ooze that engulfed his entire body within seconds. When it dissipated, his skin was black as ink, and he was dressed in a suit far nicer than anything else he’d ever owned in his life. On his head was a rather jaunty looking fedora. For a brief moment, he just looked down at himself, stunned. Then he smiled to himself, adjusting his suit.

“Looks like I should take Susie up on her offer.” He had all sorts of ideas now. For some reason, he no longer felt scared or timid. He was going to sweep Susie off her feet and there was nothing Bendy could do to stop him. In fact…

“I think it’s about time I paid Mr. Drew a visit.” Sammy grinned. “Show him a true gentleman woos a lady.” He was gone in a puff of cartoony smoke, leaving only his cold noodles behind on the coffee table. 

[artificialqueens]

How Did He Taste? (Biadore) - Lemonade

Summary: Inspired by Ross and Rachel’s breakup on Friends.

AN: I wanted it to feel like you were watching the scene unravel with Biadore in the scenario, so there are a few similarities between the scene and the fic. I hope you guys enjoy!

“How did he taste?” The words burned like poison coming up from the back of Danny’s throat, spewing pass his lips. There was a jaggedness to his voice that had never been there before.

Roy winced, “W-what?” He was dumbfounded by Danny’s question. Not even  able to process what was just asked of him. How did he taste?

“C’mon Roy. You wanted to talk about it, let’s talk. How was he? Was he good? Was he tight?” Danny snarled. “Did he make you feel things I never could?” The resentment dripped from Danny’s tongue like venom. His pain apparent in his rage.

“Danny, stop.” Roy felt about an inch tall under Danny’s scorn. He knew he deserved it though. Who cheats on their fucking boyfriend? On their generous, loving, beautiful, dedicated, boyfriend. Roy felt a pain strike through his chest like a lightening bolt. He opened his mouth several times as Danny waited for some kind of response, but was let down every time.

“How could you do this to me?” Danny’s voice broke. He turned his back on Roy, walking farther into their living room as he covered his face with his hands. A cry was muffled behind the mask he created for himself.

Roy’s instinct was to comfort his boyfriend. To protect him. He took a step towards him before remembering he was the one who hurt him. He was the cause of all this pain and chaos. How did that work? How could you be willing to give your life up for a person just to be the one who killed them? “Danny,” Roy had to think about his words. This wasn’t a situation where word vomit and charm would aid him. Everything he said mattered. Every word had the power to further damage or heal their relationship.

“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t change anything, or take any of your pain away. I know I ruined everything. I ruined us, I ruined your trust, I ruined you,” Roy paused. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, he hadn’t exactly been making a case for himself. “The point is, I know what I did was wrong. I have no excuses. None. I was drunk, I thought you were cheating on me, and instead of talking to you I fucked some other guy. There’s no way around it, and no way I can take it back.”

Roy slowly approached Danny, who at first shied away, but reluctantly let Roy take his hand. “But I love you,” His voice cracked. “I love you so much,” he desperately kissed Danny’s hand. “I know we can get through this. We have to get through this. I don’t want to lose you.” Tears pooled in the younger‘s eyes, his lower lip pushed out in a pout and quivering. Roy reached up in an attempt to cup Danny’s face, but he pulled away.

“I can’t, Roy,” Danny cried. “I just can’t. All I can do is picture you with him,” a heavy whimper interrupted his sentence and broke Roy’s heart. “Your hands all over him, your lips kissing him, your bodies pressed together the same way ours do,” Danny’s voice had become a scratchy whisper. He had never felt as much anguish in his life as he did in this moment. “I thought of you as someone who would never hurt me. You took care of me, Roy. You saw me at my worst, and you saved me from that. You promised to protect me. To make me happy! What happened to that? Where along the line did you go from wanting to give me the stars to shitting on my heart, and everything we fucking built together!?”

“This is the most important thing to me!” Roy yelled back. “Us, we are! Not some random asshole I fucked in a bathroom stall!”

Danny gagged at the details, feeling like he might actually throw up if Roy went any further. He stared at him, red faced, watery eyed, snot nosed, and barely able to breathe between sobs, “But he was important enough to risk our entire relationship.”

Roy’s mouth hung open. If this wasn’t so devastating it’d actually be comical how stunned Roy was. “I-I love you,” he said as if it was the magic password to open some secret hideaway and he didn’t understand why it wasn’t working. “I love you. We can fix this. I can fix this. We’re not throwing away years, Danny. Good fucking years. Remember our first date? Sneaking out of the hotel room while filming to get ice cream and praying they didn’t catch us?” A faint smile painted on Danny’s face. “Or when we got locked out of the tour bus when we tried to sneak away to make out?” Danny’s smile grew wider as Roy went on. “And we found that lake, and stupidly decided to skinny dip. Then forgot where we put our clothes and had to explain to Visage why we were soaking wet and ass naked?” Danny laughed. Roy sighed in relief, he had gotten through to him.

“We’re Roy and Danny. We don’t let shit get in the way of us being together. We never have, and I sure as hell don’t want to start now.” Roy had made a bold choice of grabbing Danny and planting a firm kiss on his lips.

Confused, Danny leaned in for a split second. His hands almost coming to a rest on Roy’s shoulders before finding the resolve to push him away. “No! No, you can’t just kiss me and make things all better! You cheated on me! This isn’t our age difference, or schedules, or fans. You fucking chose to stick your dick inside of someone else and fuck them! You spat on everything we had! It’s not up to me to remember the good times, or forgive you, or work on things! It was up to you to love me enough to not be able to do something you knew would fucking destroy me. The thought of someone else’s hands on my body makes me sick,” Danny shook his head in utter disgust at the man he once thought the world of. “It just makes your dick hard.”

Empty. That was all Roy felt. No thoughts scrambled in his brain for the words to retaliate. His mouth felt dry with the realization that he was losing Danny. He had lost him. He was already gone.

“Danny, please. This can’t be the end.” Roy wasn’t above getting on his hands and knees to beg, but Danny looked exhausted. Roy knew his partner couldn’t handle anymore.

“Then why is it?”

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON POIZN’S LEAD RAP, LEAD DANCE KANG CHANYEOL...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 19 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: 99 Ent. SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): N/A INSPIRATION: Pretty much everyone from the third generation onwards was influenced to some degree by POWer and Chaneol is no exception. Seeing their rappers perform on television first got him fascinated by the entertainment industry and has influenced the direction of the road he’s walked thus far. He also has an affinity for Midnight and in more recent times has found himself subtly influenced by the way that they conduct themselves in the public eye SPECIAL TALENTS:

Can play any song by ear on the piano after hearing it once through.

Able to perform an uncannily accurate impression of the 99 Entertainment founder as well as his members

Accomplished beatboxer

NOTABLE FACTS:

His parents own an extremely successful fashion company have major investments in several industries

Chanyeol is a graduate of SOPA’s (School of Performing Arts) Practical Music department

Was the guitarist in a three piece punk band (Along the lines of Vanmal, but far wilder and grittier) before joining 99 Entertainment. This has largely been scrubbed from his history.

Has a level two small drivers license making it legal for him to drive a motorcycle despite not currently owning one.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

With Love Scenario seemingly heralding a change in fortune for Poizn, Chanyeol fully intends to ride the crest of that wave for as long as physically possible. He hopes to take advantage of the surge of new fans oblivious to the groups history to further the groups success as well as cementing a solo career. There is also chatter of an appearance on another rap variety show later in the year, likely Unpretty Rapstar, in an attempt to redeem his first appearance, though he is vehemently against the idea.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

Long term, Chanyeol wants to put as much distance between himself and 99 Entertainment as possible. He still harbours a lot of resentment for the way that events and scandals in the past have been handled and largely blames them for the way he’s been perceived in the public eye. Secretly he hopes that when the time comes his contract will not be renewed and he will instead be poached by a rival company, though he knows how unlikely this is. And so, if it doesn’t, he’s perfectly content to leave the industry behind.

IDOL IMAGE

Most idols are forced to wear masks, completely fabricated personalities or at least heavily distorted versions of reality, to fit the image desired by their companies. Pushed into boxes without so much as the chance to protest and thrown onto the stage with their new colours. Some take to it well, some can’t acclimatise and fall flat on their faces. On some rare occasions there’s no need to adapt, the person already ticking every box on the checklist, personality perfectly synchronised with the concept. This is the case with Kang Chanyeol.

Poizn have always been defined by their mischievous bad boy image, and even before considering his future prospects as an idol this was how he decided to display himself to the world. A carefully curated exhibition of attitude and cock-sureness, delinquency and unpredictability, bluntness and raucousness. And so the transition from trainee is near seamless, and rather than toning him down, burying his cockiness and smoothing the rough edges, they instead focus a magnifying glass on them. Amplifying and exaggerating them instead, the faint fog of arrogance that surrounds him doesn’t always win fans and he’s grown to be a somewhat divisive figure, but it it keeps the group on everyone’s lips.

Time has gone some way to tempering this. These days he is no longer the cheeky upstart with delusions of grandeur and no qualms about stepping out of line or speaking out of turn. The fiery passion that had previously defined him has frozen over. Every year that passes, every scandal that plagues them, and every poorly judged choice from company higher ups serves only to sour him, chilling his demeanour further. He still knows to play along with the group, to do as he’s told and paint the picture they’ve commissioned, and when to shut his mouth but there are times when he can’t hide the disdain.

A rebellion against 99 as much as anything else, he is often deliberately contrarian. A few years back they attempted to re-brand him, to fold this colder edge into his image and much to his chagrin it was, for the most part at least, accepted. The fans see a tsundere nature and a devil may care attitude, but he doesn’t pull his punches anymore and most days barely veils his contempt.

IDOL HISTORY

Money is the root of all evil, but it’s also one hell of a motivator.

It’s something that Chanyeol learns at a young age. To most children money holds little value, just scraps of paper and lumps of metal, but to his parents it is the single most important thing in their lives. To say that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth would be a vast understatement. The spoon is at the very least golden, the handle encrusted with rubies and diamonds. He never wants for anything. Every need and desire, the finest foods, clothes, education (Up to and including SOPA) is catered for with just a click of his fingers, always someone to wait on him. It’s a lifestyle that so many crave, and in his early years it’s one he adores.

As the years roll by however, the novelty begins to wear thin. As the years roll by however, the novelty begins to wear thin. He’s lucky if he sees his parents more than once a week, and even then, only for a few hours, instead raised by a vastly underpaid minder. They are more interested in their business than in their son, building the empire that he is one day expected to inherit. A kingdom for an unwilling emperor. They ply him with gifts, buy his affection and attempt to plug the gap with material possessions.

He struggles connecting with people his own age, having next to nothing in common with his peers. Most deem him too snobbish, too elitist to bother with him despite all of his efforts to prove the contrary. A few try to draw close, but a the years pass it becomes clear that they are less interested in him, and more interested in the family coffers. He grows to be distrustful, assuming an ulterior motive in everyone and burning up any would-be Icarus when they stray too close to the sun.

He feels ostracised, like a piece from the wrong puzzle; he just wants to be normal. To be noticed by his family, and seen as something other than a walking cheque book by his peers. To be appreciated as a human being.

A lone wolf in almost every sense of the word, on a diet of haywire hormones and teenage angst Chanyeol’s attitude only sours. Attempts to purchase his affection become more and more extravagant in turn. He starts acting out to get some sort of reaction, to pull some response from the ivory tower, but one never comes. Instead it just drives him further into the wilderness, those around him becoming even more reluctant to interact. By age ten he’s buried under a mountain of toys, age eleven drowning in a sea of electronics, and age twelve suffocating under a mass of musical instruments. A guitar, a piano, a violin; he doesn’t even know why. He’s never expressed any interest in the arts. Perhaps they’ve simply run out of things to buy him, or perhaps they truly knew so little about their own son. Either way, most are discarded or forgotten about.

Landing himself in (yet another) schoolyard fight aged fourteen is a turning point. Looking back he can’t even remember what caused the conflict, only that blows were traded and bruises exchanged. The school punishes them, and it forges a strange bond. They clash, but they would go to the ends of the earth for one another. Two kids mad at the world, feeling forsaken by everyone around them. It’s the first time that a real connection is made, and over the months they draw close. The new companion is entrenched in western music, and introduces him to the sounds of 1970s London and 1980s New York. The sounds bring him in and the attitude makes him stay. Fiery rebellion. No one person better than any other. Anarchy. Punk rock.

When the bassist leaves his friend’s band, he steps up despite not having played a note in his life. “The Sex Pistols couldn’t play when they were recording albums, so it’ll be fine.” He reasoned, digging out one of the guitars tht had been buried in storage for years. It was here that he learned how quickly he could pick up instruments, and first fell in love with performance. The band ends rather suddenly a little over a year later, and his outlook sours once more.

Age sixteen he’s asked by his parents, or rather an employee of theirs, to model for a few lines scheduled for release later in the year by subsidiarys of their main brand. Modelling is not something that he’s particularly comfortable, or even familiar with, but he agrees regardless. It’s likely just another money saving measure, he realises, but if he shows willing enough he might finally earn their approval. Despite his hesitance he takes to it like a duck to water, and returns to shoot promos for a twice more over the following months. None of the photos from the second or third shoot ever see the light of day.

After the third shoot he’s caught off guard, a stranger thrusting a business card in his direction babbling about an audition and then scurrying into the crowds outside the studio. Chanyeol simply stares at him dumbfounded. What’s prompted it he isn’t sure (That revelation would come later), nor is he certain how genuine it was. Though his initial reaction is to toss the slip over his shoulder he instead tucks it into his wallet, eyeing it cautiously over the course of a few days before curiosity gets the better of him.

It’s not a path he’s ever paid much mind; in fact it’s one he’s been actively against. The Korean entertainment industry is the antithesis of punk values in his mind, a hive money hungry businessmen watching over a factory floor where teenagers are stripped of personality. Now that the offer’s been made though, he’s rethinking. It would give him direction that he was sorely lacking, free him from the shadow of the family name, fans to feed his ego, and he’d be able to perform for a living… worst case scenario, he can buy out the contract.

As it turns out the stranger had been serious, and what’s more when the time comes for his audition he sails through. Contracts are signed, and he’s in. Clean. Simple. Nowhere nearly as traumatic and stressful as he’d heard others make out.

Training is manageable. Grueling, but manageable. He has less experience than most, weaknesses obvious from the outset but over time he learns to hold his own. The early months are rough, Chanyeol growing frustrated at his shortcomings and barely scraping through the first few evaluations, and he’s often tempted to quit but still he soldiers on. During this time he falls in love with hip-hop, noticing the similarities with the subculture that he knows and loves. The same rebellion, the same danger, the same edge. When it becomes clear that his vocals are weak, he instead focuses on rap and only then finds his feet.

There’s always a feeling that he’s treated differently though. The instructors are firm, they seem to be less harsh towards him. His attitude persists and for whatever reason it isn’t crushed underfoot. This is not a world that he knows well, but even he knows better than to test the boundaries, and so never steps too far out of line, but little things seem to slip through the net. It’s never said aloud, but Chanyeol feels it, and so do his fellow trainees. Nobody dares outright call it out for what it is, but they treat him differently. Some shun him, seeing the treatment as unfair, and some scramble closer hoping that mere proximity will make their ride easier. It’s an all too familiar vision of the past that begins to push him back towards bitterness.

Three years pass before he debuts. Time sees him hone his rap skills and become a skilled dancer, and though his singing still sometimes borders on woeful he has enough stage presence and charisma to excuse them. Poizn are an ideal fit, the concept a near perfect match for Chanyeol.

It’s decided that before they debut, Poizn’s rappers will partake in a rap survival show. To say that is unsure of the idea is an understatement, but as always he goes along with it without asking questions or voicing his doubts. He’s grown to see his group, and the company as a whole, as family, and worries that doing so will rock the boat and throw his members overboard. He surpasses his own expectations, becoming a favourite to win during the early rounds. Eventually he plateaus though, but each week he still comes out close to the top, even when he knows that he’s bottom of the pile. It serves only to feed his ego, to convince him that he is genuinely better than his competitors. This ego would remain unchecked to this day.  When he emerges victorious in the final episode he feels as though he can take on the world. He’ll have to be acknowledged now, to be recognised by the world at large.

They do recognise him, though it’s as a cheat rather than as a champion. The whispers start as soon as it airs. That his opponent was superior in near every way. It’s suggested online that the show is corrupt, that money has changed hands to secure a win. Though he outwardly refuses to believe it, unwilling to take that hit to his pride, as soon as he reads it he knows. The company privately confirms it to him, tells him to keep it secret and that they’re going to bury the story. Chanyeol is crushed. And furious. And bitter. And cold. He stays silent, bottles it up and leaves without a word.

That Christmas he returns home, and as is typical of the festive season things end in arguments. He confides in his parents, who have decided to make a rare appearance, about what 99 have done. About how torn up he is over it, how it’s almost destroyed him before he’s even begun. They simply shrug. “Don’t worry about it. Money is the best motivator.” His father says, barely looking up from his plate. It’s as though he genuinely doesn’t understand why people are up in arms. “We’ll write them another cheque, encourage them to dig a little faster. Or we just get lawyers involved.”

It’s said so flippantly that you’d miss it if you blinked. Slowly the cogs click into place. Another cheque. Through gritted teeth he asks the question, gets the answer he expects, and thus begins the shouting match. They didn’t outright buy his place in Poizn, but they paid enough to encourage a scout to wait outside the photoshoot and grant him an audition.  He passed on his own merits, but the fact remains that the only reason they saw him was because their palms had been greased. On top of that, a few extra Won had ensured that the entire process was a painless as possible and though he’d had to train just as hard as everyone else for his spot in the lineup rumours of special treatment were not entirely unfounded.

He doesn’t bother to ask why they’d done it, or why they hadn’t thought it worth mentioning. He assumes it’s another misguided attempt to buy his loyalty, or to keep their brand relevant. Nothing would be better publicity than the prodigal son of the fashion moguls becoming a star, after all. Needless to say they now speak even less than before.

Everything that he has, he only has because it was paid for. Every opportunity he’s been granted, the result of a dirty deal. How much was down to him? And how much was down to his bank account? Everyone he chooses to trust believes in him so little that they see the only path to success as corruption and bribery.

The stigma lingers like a bad smell, melding with the countless other controversies of the members that emerge shortly after their debut. The whispers persist weighing heavy on Chanyeol, anytime it’s mentioned he physically stiffens up and looks as though he’s about to launch across the room and punch you. With his background it’s assumed that he was the one to purchase the victory personally rather than the company. The public see him as a joke. Other idols see him as a cheat. Both simply sneer.

And he sneers back. If they want a villain, he’ll give them a villain.

His attitude only spirals. On camera he becomes gradually frostier, but manages to maintain the image that they’ve built their career on. Off camera he stops caring about how he’s viewed. Stops even trying to be personable, teeth bared and ready to lash out at any given moment. Blunt as a rock, his words drip with venom and tongue cuts like a razor. If you do good by him, he’ll do good by you, but otherwise he has no problem cutting you down as so may others have done to him.

It peaks when word spreads about him losing his cool at a fansign, lashing out. A “fan” dares to mention the competition and he flies off the handle, forcing an early end. It’s not committed to film, thank god, but suddenly everyone shifts into damage control mode. He’s removed from public engagements and promotions until the furore dies down. Time cools his temper, and it’s taken years to earn the trust of those above him once more, but he’s finally reached that point.

Poizn have spent a long time drifting under the radar, moving at their own pace, but the success of Love Scenario has shifted the goalposts. Where in the past it had felt as though they’d been coasting, a conduit for scandal and little else, this is a second chance. A shot at redemption. It’s enough to wake something up inside of him.

Long term, he’s under no illusions about his future. The chances of his contract being renewed are negligible at best, and frankly he’s jumping for joy at the prospect of ditching 99. The only reason he hasn’t jumped overboard yet is fear of dragging his members down with him. Besides, it would be foolish to depart when they were riding such a high so for now he’ll just do as he’s told. He’s quietly begun the launch of his solo career, and if their next comeback is even a fraction as successful he plans to take full advantage. Consider it an audition tape for any other companies interested in taking him on after he’s unceremoniously dumped.