#and then i noticed the piece of glass sticking outta my foot and she watched me try to pull it out with my nails

[definitelynotnia]

got a piece of glass stuck in my foot and my mother chose that moment to start yelling about how stupid and lazy i am like :) we're not taking customer feedback right now ma'am :) there is literally my blood on my hands can u please maybe wait :) and do this at another time :)

[beetlebitchywitch]

So hi! I wrote this fic back in December as part of a Secret Santa with the Dante’s Inferno AU crowd, and I got @neitherworld! And since some people are being RUDE and claiming self-shippers are just too cowardly to ship Beetleb@bes, here’s the fic I wrote of her OC Bambi and Movie Beej on a special night at Dante’s to show how fun of a character she is. Enjoy!

WARNING: Mild nudity, some sexy stuff, I’d say rated M but not fully NSFW

Like any normal night at Dante’s, the bass was thumping so heavily Bambi could feel it rattling her posture collar. Her eyes scanned the show floor, catching Madame’s gaze for only a moment before she was off to scold a random ghoul for getting too handsy during his lapdance. Up on the stage, Mal was winding around the pole in a way that enchanted everyone in attendance, though the way Lorelai’s wings glittered under the spotlight as she danced her famous “feather fan” number drew just as much attention. She grumbled good naturedly under her breath as she turned back to face the bar- honestly, those two had such natural moneymakers, and here she was stuck with a stupid jello neck. Whatever, her tits made up for any lack of “exotic” flavor. Speaking of flavor, the bright pink cocktail on the bartop was calling her name, set down gently by Niphera with a soft smile. Bambi squealed, bringing the drink to her lips before pausing for a moment, sending them a sly smile.

“NiNi, what’s in this exactly?” she asked, thrumming her perfectly manicured nails against the bartop. She knew how much her...electric personality could overwhelm them, so she tried her best to keep her energy to herself while holding a conversation with them.

“Nothing that will get you too drunk for your next set,” they chuckled, wiping down a glass absentmindedly. “You know Madame doesn’t like it when you perform after drinking too much.”

“Oh, what does she know?” she huffed, the cocktail sloshing a bit as she crossed her arms. “I happen to think that a little liquid courage makes my performances even better!”

“Perhaps. Or it could be like the time you yakked in a mafioso’s lap and had to use a week’s earnings to pay for his dry cleaning.”

Just the memory made Bambi pout even harder.

“Stupid prick, demon earns 20 times what I do shaking my ass by dealing in some shady shit and he has the nerve to take money outta my paycheck? And now I have to get cut off like some little baby impling.” She sighed deeply. “Whatever, this shit looks tasty anyway. Thanks, bubs.”

“Anytime,” Niphera said softly, getting back to pouring their next order of drinks. “Besides, it’s the least I could do on your birthday.”

Bambi’s eyes widened above the rim of her glass, which she excitedly put down with a beaming grin.

“My birthday? Goodness, how ever did you know about that?”

“Well, let’s see,” Niphera said with a sarcastic, but good natured bite. “Could it have been the notes under all of our pillows reminding us of your birthday? Or perhaps the sash you’re wearing right now that says ‘Birthday Girl’?”

Ok, so maybe Bambi could be a bit over the top. So she wanted a little extra attention on her special day, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!

“Well, I’m glad my gentle reminders worked! Because today is my day and if I wanna celebrate it by getting wasted on Netherbooze and taking my top off, then that’s how I’m gonna do it!”

“Your top’s already off, Bam.”

She looked down, and then paused.

“...So it is...my bottoms then!”

With a heavy sigh, Niphera moved to the other side of the bar without a word, an unspoken cue for Bambi to leave them alone. Their relationship was odd, but Bambi did her best to make it work and respect their boundaries...most of the time. Sighing, she turned back to her drink, taking a few messy gulps and giggling when she could feel rivulets of booze trickling down her neck and between her tits. If anybody was watching her, they were sure getting a good show.

“Well hey there, little fawn. Ya sure seem to be enjoyin’ yourself.”

Bambi froze, her happy grin immediately turning to a small scowl. Of course he would be the one to show up looking for some tail and interrupting her night.

“What do you want, Juice?” she asked absentmindedly, “Can’t you see I’m a little busy?”

“Oh yeah, sure as hell can, sugar tits. I gotta admit, of all the fine specimens in this place, you sure do have the nicest rack,” he rasped, pulling out a slim cigarette and lighting it by setting the tips of his fingers on fire. He took a deep drag, holding it for a moment before letting out a hard cough, not even hiding his amused smirk when the smoke blew into Bambi’s face, causing her to break into a coughing fit. She glared up at him even as her lungs spasmed, questioning whether a slap to the face or a knee to the nuts would be more fun for her.

“Well,” she interjected, letting out her last few coughs. “You sure know how to treat a lady, don’t you?”

“Come on now, babes, I don’t see no lady here,” he said with a grin, taking another puff of his cig and thankfully blowing it behind him. “But I do see a smokin’ hot broad in need of a good time.”

“Since when do I have a good time with you?” she retorted, sticking her tongue impishly. She was exaggerating, of course- her and Beetlejuice had plenty of fun teasing and playing cat and mouse before retiring upstairs for a quickie, but tonight she was not in the mood. She was tipsy, she looked drop dead gorgeous with her tits out and smothered in body glitter, and she felt like a bad bitch, so she wasn’t about to let some shambling corpse turn her into his pet for the night. She turned back to her drink, fully intent on ignoring him completely until he went off to hump some other unlucky girl’s leg. After a few moments, when she could still feel his presence behind her, she grunted in annoyance, turning back around. “Ain’t anybody ever tell ya it’s impolite to stare, stunad?”

“Ooh, I didn’t know the little deer had claws,” he laughed, only infuriating her more. “Besides, ya ever known me to be polite? Remember who you’re talkin’ too, babes.”

God, she was getting so fed up with this conversation. She was not gonna let some lousy, rancid, good for nothin’ ghost ruin her big night. She turned her stool towards him and shot him with a withering stare, which infuriatingly only seemed to amuse him further. She was about to give her a piece of her mind when- “Well, would ya look at that. Didn’t realize I was talkin’ to the birthday girl.”

Her eyes widened, them flitting down to the sash practically crushed between her tits.

“Yeah…what’s it to ya?” she asked warily. Her and Beetlejuice had clearly never been fond of one another, so she doubted he had anything good up his sleeve for her, and goddammit she just wanted to enjoy her fucking birthday! “I swear to Satan, Juice, if you pull any funny shit I won’t even have to call Ivan, I’ll rip that pencil you call a dick off from between your legs myself.”

While she hoped she sounded even the tiniest bit threatening, she was met with a bellyaching laugh from the ghost with the most, causing her to pout and cross her arms indignantly.

“One helluva performance, dollface, but ya don’t gotta worry. Not even I would pull any tricks on a lady’s birthday. In fact…”

She watched with a difficultly admitted curiosity as he began to rustle around his filthy coat, cringing only slightly when puffs of dirt floated to the floor as he aggressively searched his multiple pockets. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he rustled around for a few seconds more before pulling out-

Oh.

“Holy smokes,” Bambi murmured in awe, staring at the absolutely stunning diamond ring clutched between Beetlejuice’s fingertips. With a high pitched squeal, she bounced up and down on the stool, reaching out to snatch the ring from him and slide it onto her finger. “A little snug, but damn that’s one helluva rock! Juice, what-”

“Least I could do, since it’s your birthday and all, kid,” he said dismissively, looking...sheepish? Bambi smirked, grabbing onto the lapels of his coat and pulling him in close, noticing how his eyes immediately fell to her exposed tits now that there was only a foot between them, wide with shock that she was actually seemingly coming onto him.

“Is that all you wanted to give me for my birthday, BJ?” she asked sweetly, her words so laden with honey that you’d think they were in a beehive. Immediately, his demeanor flipped from shock back to his typical shtick, growling softly beneath his breath as he wrapped both arms around her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin.

“I can think of a million things I could do to that pretty little body that’d make this birthday one you’d never forget, little fawn,” he growled softly. This close, she could smell the musty dampness of him, though it never perturbed her, letting out a tiny squeal of a giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Just one question, Juice,” she whimpered teasingly, letting her tongue drag lasciviously across her lower lip. She could feel the ache in him as he held her close, but it was always her MO to tease before letting him have her...if she would let him have her.

“Anything, doll,” he assured her, clutching her waist tighter with desperation. “Ya wanna go topside and wreak some havoc? Come home covered in blood and fuck while we’re all messy? Come on, babes, say the word and I’ll have ya back before Madame can notice yer gone.”

“Mm, that does sound nice,” she mused, sliding one hand down his cheek and chest before walking her fingers back up slowly, daintily, feeling his need for her increase with every gentle touch. “But BJ, I gotta know…” She cupped his jaw and pulled him in close, her lips hovering above his ear as she spoke with the softest whisper. “...Is the rock real?”

She had her answer just by the way he stiffened in her arms. Fucking cheapskate.

“Now hold on, babes, ya don’t understa-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, she was out of his arms and grabbing the last half of her drink, splashing it in his face without a care. God did it fill her with power to see him standing there, floundering with booze dripping down his skin and suit and taking a layer of grime with it. She smirked, hopping down off her stool with her typical bounciness.

“Find some other pussy to give herpes to, Juice,” she quipped happily, as if she hadn’t just threw her drink in his face. “If ya wanted a cheap slut, you shouldn’t have come knockin’ on my door...I’m keepin’ the ring though. It may be fake, but hey, so is half of me!”

And with that, she was back off to the floor, sliding up a pole without a care in the world as the crowd cheered around her, and Beetlejuice just continued to stare. She knew he’d get her back for this someday, but for now, she had to say that, either living or dead, this was the best birthday she’d ever had.

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“No One Mourns the Wicked Part 1: What is This Feeling?” Low Honor!Arthur Morgan x Low Honor!Reader

For those of you who saw my post about the multi part fic based on a musical, wait no longer because this is the first part! Okay, I know what you’re thinking; ‘Wicked and cowboys? Amber, you’ve really lost it this time!’ Just trust me on this one, and I promise you’ll enjoy ☺️

The first part of this fic was loosely based on the song What Is This Feeling? from the Broadway musical Wicked. I’ve been listening to the soundtrack on repeat for a solid two weeks and it has consumed my life so obviously I had to tie it into my fics.

There has always been a tinge of rivalry between the two of you, one might even say, loathing. Between constant clashing around camp and the stress of being roommates, theres a tension between you and Arthur. What kind of tension you ask? One might say the tension is...wicked. 

Part 2

There was only one word to describe how you felt towards Arthur: loathing, pure unadulterated loathing. He’s rubbed you the wrong way ever since you became a part of the gang. He bumps you on purpose as he passes you when your hands are full, he insists on joining jobs you’re on, ‘to ensure your dumbass doesn’t mess it all up.’ And to top it off, you shared a tent.

The two of you were polar opposites as far as you were concerned. He woke you up every morning at the break of dawn, rummaging around loudly as he got ready for the day. You swore he did it on purpose. Usually you didn’t care about clutter, but when you’re forced to share a space with someone you can’t stand it’s like every little sock or shirt on the floor boils your blood.

But what sparked this detestation? It all started years ago, when the two of you were teenagers and you had just been brought into the gang by Dutch. You had only been around three days and most of the camp’s inhabitants came in and out from jobs frequently.

Dutch had asked you to meet him in the local town for a drink, he wanted to discuss your first job with the gang. As you hitched your horse, you noticed a guy around your age leaning against the support beam outside the saloon. Easy pickin’s you thought to yourself. As you passed him; your hand oh so gently entered his pocket, but he turned to you and drew his pistol like lightning.

Shit you thought to yourself as you drew your own, eyes locked on his. There was a tense moment of silence as you faced off, it was ended by Dutch as he rode up and hitched his horse. “Arthur my boy, looks like you’ve already met Y/N.”

Arthur didn’t lower his pistol. “Aw hell Dutch, is this the new blood you was talkin’ about?”

As soon as his eyes shifted towards Dutch, you placed a warning shot at his feet. He jumped back and you gave him a menacing smile. “New blood for you maybe,” you turned to the door to enter the saloon. “But you’ll find yourself dead quickly if you undermine me boy, and don’t you forget that.”

Dutch laughed at the bewildered look on Arthur’s face. He wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, “what a woman! Come on son, I’ll get you twobmore acquainted over a drink.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I think we’re already more acquainted than I’d like to be.”

“Get over your hurt pride and be nice.” Dutch said quietly as they entered the saloon. The two men approached you, you already had shots down on the table for you, Dutch, and Arthur. Dutch slapped Arthur on the back hard as you looked up at them. “Ah, Y/N lovely as ever. I think Mr. Morgan here would like to apologize to you for gettin’ off on the wrong foot.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and Arthur sputtered and turned to Dutch. “Me apologize? Like hell! She’s the one who tried to rob me! I ain’t apologizin’ for shit.” He crossed his arms defiantly.

“Okay,” You said evenly as you sat up. You snagged the shot glass that was originally for Arthur and knocked it back. “I guess I’ll keep this then.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and slumped in the chair in front of you. “Didn’t want yer damn drink anyways.” He huffed.

Dutch sat beside him, not hiding his amusement at the exchange occurring. He knocked back the shot in front of him. “Thank you, my dear you’re very kind.” Arthur shot him a look. “Now, you have a job you’d like to discuss?”

You nodded, waved over the bartender for more drinks, and leaned in speaking quietly. “Okay so, the plan is....”

That was years ago, but you and Arthur have been on rocky ground at best since then. You could still remember the screaming match the two of you got into when Dutch informed you the two of you would be sharing a tent.

“It’ll teach you two to work and live together...hopefully. You can have your own tents when you learn to get along.” Dutch had said as he walked away. The two of you took Dutch’s word as gospel so you just had to suck it up and deal with it. Needless to say, you were still sharing a tent to this day.

At least with age Arthur became tolerable, and much to your relief, a good bit quieter. When you entered the tent, he was lying on his cot, writing in his journal. He grunted to you as you entered and you threw up your hand in a lazy wave. You plopped down onto the cot, exhausted.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days,” Arthur said quietly. “Started thinkin’ I’d finally lucked out and you got yourself eatten by a bear.” He was hiding his smile behind his journal, teasing you had become one of his favorite pastimes.

“Very funny.” You said keeping your face buried in the pillow.

“Caint hear ya over there, get yer face outta that pillow.”

You sighed and turned your face towards him. “Can you not see I’m tired, Morgan?”

He tore a piece of paper from his journal and started balling it up between his fingers. “Yeah, I can.” Just as your eyes began to flutter closed, he threw the paper ball at you and it hit you right between the eyes. “But I really don’t care.”

Your eyes flew open and your annoyance was building. “You’re lucky I cant feel my legs, or you’d be a deadman.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You use that threat way too much for me to take it seriously anymore.” He looked at you teasingly, “I think I’m startin’ to grow on ya. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you enjoy my company.”

“I enjoy having a roof over my head and a safe place to stay.” You retorted flatly. “And I don’t think Dutch would be very keen on lettin’ me stick around if I killed you.”

Arthur threw another paper wad at you, “so what you’re saying is your threats are pointless?”

“That’s it!” You lunged across the room and straddled him down under you. Your hands pinned his wrists to the bed. “I swear to God Morgan if you don’t leave me the hell alone, I will end you!” Your eyes met his and he had a strange look in his eye.

“Arthur could you-“ John poked his head into the tent, looked at the two of you and poked his head back out quickly. You heard him laughing. “Never mind, I’ll leave you two at it!”

You looked down and felt an embarrassing amount of heat rise to your cheeks when you realized what sort of position you were in. You jumped off him quickly. “Going so soon?” Arthur teased. “But we were just gettin’ to the good stuff.”

You rolled your eyes and left the tent. “In your dreams, Morgan.”

Arthur stared at the ceiling of the tent and readjusted himself. His mind kept reeling back to the way your body felt up against his, your face inches from his, pinning him hard to the bed. He couldn’t shake these thoughts no matter how hard he tried. You drove him crazy, but not always in a bad way. You were stubborn, arrogant, and always did things your way even if it endangered the plans. In a way you reminded him of himself, the way you always had a witty comeback or the way your lip curled up in disgust when you were angry. What was this feeling? He had decided loathing, but his hardened member was telling him otherwise. He bit his lip and watched the closed flaps. A pair of your dirty underwear was halfway under your bed and he stared at it for a moment before grabbing it. What the hell are you doing? His brain screamed at him. He knew it was wrong, but the thought of your hips pressed down against his groin invaded his mind again. As he sat on the bed, the thought of you returning made him feel conflicted. In all reality, you would be beyond pissed to come back and find him pleasuring himself, a pair of your used bloomers in his hand. But, the thought of you coming back and seeing him sent a shiver down his spine. He imagined your voice turning silky smooth, lust in your eyes as you took his hardened cock in your hands and pumped him slowly. He heard footsteps approaching the tent, he quickly tucked your underwear in his pocket and laid on his stomach. There was a gentle rap against the tent flaps, “decent?” You called from outside the tent.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “not decent!” He called back. His hips rolled against the bed at the sound of your voice.

“Ugh, well get yer self decent, Dutch wants us to go and stake out Caliga Hall. Meet me at the hitching posts when you’re ready.” You called to him, and he listened as your footsteps faded away. Your voice had that annoying belittling tone that he hated and he knew if he wasn’t out there soon, you would drag him out of the tent by his ankles. He sighed heavily and shoved your underwear into his satchel and tried to focus his thoughts so the bulge in his pants would fade away.

He grabbed his hat and left the tent. He approached you and Dutch and as you spotted him, you mounted your horse. Arthur’s gaze landed on your ass as you pulled yourself up. “Get a move on, you lazy ass!” You called to him. Your voice was heavy in annoyance and your impatience was written clearly on your face.

“I’m comin’ goddamn it.” He grumbled. This was what made him so angry towards you, the way you bossed him around and treated him like some grunt around camp made his blood boil. He mounted his horse and Dutch took off first with you right behind him. You shot a smug glance back at him as you rode beside Dutch. The two of you always got competitive when riding, especially with Dutch. There were multiple horse collisions throughout the years due to this rivalry, but his eyes trailed down your back slowly and a term he had heard but never understood floated into his mind, hate fuck. He remembered Micah retell a story around the fire late one night, all the girls had gone to bed so the men were discussing their various sexcapades. Arthur remembered with disgust and confusion as Micah described his experience with a woman he met in a bar. He couldn’t stand her, the way she talked, her voice, her personality, he hated everything about her and he said that’s what made it so good. A couple of the men agreed, it made it easier to get rough and they didn’t feel as bad about one night stands.

Arthur would never admit it, but he really hated one night stands. He only did it once, and it left him feeling empty, even though he never saw her again she burned in his mind for weeks afterwards. He barely knew her but the emotional attachment of being so vulnerable with someone was too overwhelming. Unfortunately being so long between the tender touch of a woman, saying he was sexually frustrated was an understatement. It didn’t help sharing a tent with a woman either. Even though he drove you crazy, you were still comfortable enough with him to change in front of him, you would turn away from him of course and make him swear to close his eyes. He only peeked when he was certain you weren’t looking and he would be lying if he said he had never pleasured himself to the thought of you. He told himself it was just because he lived in such close quarters with you, it’s not like he wanted you. Okay, maybe he wanted your body but did he want you? Your shitty attitude? Your smart mouth? On that he was quite certain he didn’t want.

“So, what’s the plan Dutch?” You asked as you pulled your horse beside Dutch.

“We’re gonna check out the layout of Caliga Hall. The lovely Mrs. Braithwaite has asked us to torch their tobacco fields.”

“Wonderful!” You exclaimed wickedly.

Dutch nodded. “After we stake it out, I want you and Arthur to come back after daylight and burn it to the ground. Right now we’ll be looking for hidden entrances, holes in the guard, any little sliver you can sneak in and out of with minimal alarm.”

You barked a short laugh. “Minimal alarm? I think that’s a bit of an understatement.”

“That’s why you’ll have Arthur, as back up when things get hairy.”

You groaned. “Come on, Dutch! You know I can do this on my own!”

“I know sweetheart, but ya just gotta trust me. And give the guy a break, will ya? He ain’t so bad when ya get used to ‘em.”

You rolled your eyes. Dutch was right and you knew it. Arthur wasn’t the worst man around camp, that’s for sure but it seemed like with every glance between the two of you, this feeling sparked within you, something strong and powerful and for lack of a better word, you went with loathing. Your stomach flipped whenever he said your name, and your heart jumps when he walks into the tent after a long day away from camp. You thought it was hatred, but hatred was reserved for the likes of Micah. Was it anger? It had a burning feeling similar to anger, but without the uncontrollable rage behind it. You decided loathing was a good name for whatever this feeling was, or atleast that’s what you hoped it was.

You slowed your horses and dismounted as you came upon a hill overlooking Caliga Hall. You pulled out your binoculars and laid flat against the ground beside Dutch. Arthur pulled in not far behind you and followed suit.

“Every entrance is guarded, and it looks like they’ve hired some extra muscle.” Arthur whispered.

“If we come in from the west side, there’s a small breach in the fence.” You pointed to the edge of the field and one of the posts in the fence was broken. “I’ll douse the fields, Arthur you keep watch on the hill, bring your rifle and you can snipe them off when I ingnite the fields.”

“No,” Arthur hissed. “I will do the dousing and you can be the watch dog.”

You opened your mouth to argue but Dutch cut you off. “No, you’ll both go down and douse the fields, then one of you will take out the guards while the other starts the fire with that barn over there.” Dutch’s finger pointed, and followed along as he talked. “That’s where they dry and process the tobacco leaves. Then you’ll light up the fields. Arthur, you take out the guards in the fields while Y/N gets the barn burning. Once that barn lights up, you’ll have all their men coming down on you.” Dutch lowered his binoculars and looked at you. “Once they start comin’ you two need to book it the hell outta there. You hear me Y/N? No gettin’ greedy out there. You too, Arthur.”

The two of you nodded in unison and Dutch stood. “Let’s head back to camp. You’ll need the moonshine from the Braithwaites to ignite the fields. See if Sean has any fire bottles you can use. If not, get him to show you how to make them.” He mounted his horse. “You two are my best men, I know you won’t let me down. I’ll see you back at camp.” And he was off, leaving only a cloud of dust.

You stood and extended a hand down to Arthur. He took it and groaned as he stood. “Jesus Arthur, you must be gettin’ old groanin’ about like that.” You teased.

“Yeah, well we’re the same age so if I’m old, so are you.” He mounted his horse. “I’ll catch you at camp later, I’ve got a quick errand to run.”

“Need me to come with?” You asked as you climbed up your horse.

Arthur flushed and tipped his hat down to cover his face. “Jesus what are you, my mama? I can handle this myself.” With a quick pull at the reigns he was off.

“I was just tryin’ to be nice damnit!” You snapped back. You didn’t mean to sound so hostile, but he ignored you. He knew being ignored was a big pet peeve of yours and it made you even angrier knowing he knew that. “I’m gonna kill that man one day.” You grumbled as you led your horse down the trail.

Arthur felt a pang if guilt when he heard the slightest note of hurt when you called after him, but he couldn’t help but panic when you offered to join him. He certainly didn’t want you following him so he made sure to check over his shoulder multiple times as he tore down the trail. When he was certain he was alone, he peeled off the trail and deep into the trees of a small forest that ran along the path. The trees were thick and he made sure he was deep enough to not be disturbed. He unmounted his horse and grabbed his satchel; as he turned away he realized how awkward his horse would make this just dumbly staring at him. With a swift slap to the hindquarters, the horse dashed away towards the main road. He let out a heavy breath as he pulled out your underwear. He allowed himself to think about earlier this morning, you pinning him to his cot. He thought of your bare back between changing shirts. The way that one button down you have is a little too snug over your chest, causing the material to part between buttons. He thought of the way your ass looked in the riding pants you wore today. It didn’t take much to get him hard, he unzipped his trousers and brought your undies to his face. With a deep inhale, he began pumping himself. He was desperately wishing you had followed him.

“Hey Y/N, welcome back!” Lenny called as you hitched your horse. He looked around you, “No Arthur, huh? Did ya finally lose your patience and feed him to the wolves?”

You laughed as you headed towards your tent. “Not this time, unfortunately!”

When you got to your tent, you rummaged through your things until you found the shirt you were looking for. It was darker and a little tighter, better for stealthier missions as the dark fabric didn’t stand out at night and tighter material didn’t make as much noise rustling against your body. The buttons were a bit tight to your chest, but it didn’t matter as long as it did it’s job. After you changed your shirt and got your things together you went out to find Sean. He was sat in front of the fire with a drink in his hand. You came up behind him and grabbed the bottle from his hand quickly. “Oi! What’s the big idea?” He exclaimed as he jumped up.

“I need some fire bottles. How many ya got?” You asked as you handed him back his bottle of whiskey.

He took a quick swig, “I only got two put together right now, I’ll have to make more if you need more than that.”

You nodded. “I’ve been meanin’ to get you to show me how to make those for awhile now, after you.”

You followed him to his tent and he began pulling out the supplies and walked you through the process. It was fairly simple and between the two of you putting them together you had more than enough in no time. Sean helped you carefully load them onto your horse and you thanked him as he left. He threw up a wave as he wandered back to the fire. Just as you began towards your tent you heard the clomping of hooves and turned to see Arthur barreling into camp. He stopped his horse just in front of you and dismounted. “Welcome back.” You greeted him and matched his pace as he walked towards the tent. “How was your errand?”

He eyed you under the brim of his hat, he couldn’t help but notice the exact shirt he had just been thinking of. He cleared his throat. “Fine. Probably could’ve used your help.” He allowed himself a sneaking smile.

You looked at him and rolled your eyes. “Ugh, you’re gonna get yourself killed one day, you know that? Grab me next time.”

He had to hide his blush, “I’ll keep that in mind.” You opened the tent flap and held it open for him as you passed through. “I’ve already got my things together. I’m going to try and get some shut eye. Try not to be too noisy getting your things together for once, okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “No promises.”

You sighed in annoyance as you laid on your side and closed your eyes. “Why do I even bother?” You muttered.

Arthur breathed a laugh and began loading his satchel with supplies. As he was digging his hands found the cotton material of your bloomers and his face went hot. He turned to make sure your eyes were closed and quickly shoved them under his mattress. His eyes trailed back to you, the way you were laying was causing more distress in the buttons over your bust more distress than usual and one had popped undone. He could barely see the skin under the shirt, but that’s all it took and he could feel his pants getting tighter. “Shit.” He breathed. Your eyes opened slightly, “What is it?” You asked in a sleepy voice.

He turned himself away from you. “Nothing, just go back to sleep.”

You groaned and shut your eyes. Arthur sighed and made a promise to himself he wouldn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

It didn’t take long for him to break that promise. After your breathing evened in a deep slumber a small moan escaped your lips and Arthur’s gaze shot to your face faster than he could control. Your lips were just barely parted and your face had softened with sleep. Maybe we could work, he thought. If she was this quiet all the time.

But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had slowly begun to find your banter charming, if not just a little bit annoying. He found himself looking at you more often lately, and he also couldn’t help but notice more frequent trips to the woods with you on the forefront of his mind. He shook it off, but it was slowly becoming harder and harder to shake. He didn’t know what his feelings meant and that was what fueled his frustration towards you. But when he looked down on you like this, he could pretend you were just a normal girl and he was a normal guy. He could pretend the two of you weren’t cold hearted killers, but why did he pretend these things? He told himself you were just there, right place right time. You were a sort of place holder for a woman in his life. He only thought of you when touching himself because he had no one else to think of. But that wasn’t entirely true there were plenty of good looking women around camp, so why did he always think of you? Arthur didn’t like the way his thoughts were headed so he pushed the away. He grabbed his journal and headed out of the tent, hoping some drawing would clear his thoughts.

When you woke up, the sun was just beginning to set. You sat up and stretched. “Mornin’.”

Arthur was laying on his cot on the other side of the tent.

You yawned. “Hey.” You grabbed your hat from the night stand. “You ready?”

His hat was sitting on top of his face and his arms were tucked behind his head. Your eyes trailed his muscular arms, he was quite handsome when his mouth was shut. He didn’t remove the hat when he spoke. “Not yet.”

You scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired now. You had plenty of time to nap earlier.”

Arthur took the hat from his face and looked out the open tent flaps. “Ain’t dark enough yet.” He paused before putting the hat back over his face. He pointed down at your chest.

You looked down, noticed the button and fixed it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You looked around the room, bored. “So,” You began. “What kinda errands were you runnin’ today?”

“None yer business.” He was glad the hat covered his face, he would rather eat shit than let you see him blush.

You groaned. “Ugh, why are you always so difficult?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He responded.

“Damn it Arthur, move that hat I can barely understand what yer sayin’!” You threw your pillow at him and knocked the hat from his face. “Hey! Watch where you throw that thing!” He threw it back at you with a little more force than necessary.

You caught it and rolled your eyes. “You’re such a child. I’m goin’ to see if Pearson’s got dinner ready.”

He sat up, “can you bring me some?”

You gave him a sweet smile. “Eat shit, Arthur.” And you disappeared behind the closed flaps of the tent.

Arthur smiled, couldn’t have said it better myself.

You exited the tent at the perfect time, Pearson had just begun serving dinner. You stood in line patiently and as you turned to sit at the fire with your food you noticed Arthur emerge from the tent and make his way to the dinner line. John plopped down beside you. “Where’s your man?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Ain’t got one, where’s yours?”

“Very funny.” John elbowed you, “don’t act like I didn’t see you and Arthur gettin’ cozy this morning.”

“Pfft, please. I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” You tried to keep your voice steady and casual.

“I’d believe ya, but yer cheeks are mighty red!” John teased.

“Don’t you got someone else to bother?” You snapped. “What you saw was me about to strangle Arthur from pure annoyance and nothin’ else.” Your tone was more defensive than you intended, why did you care what John thought?

He stood, “Whatever you say.” He turned to leave then stopped. “It’ll happen one day ya know.” And he left before you could respond. You looked down into your stew. You couldn’t figure out why John’s words bothered you so much. They left your stomach in knots. A heavy hand fell on your shoulder.

“You ready?” You nodded up to Arthur and finished the remaining stew in your bowl.

“Let’s do this.”

The sky was now completely black with night, and fate must’ve been on your side as the clouds were covering the moon, leaving very minimal light. The only light around was from the torches of the guards in the field. You and Arthur split, he took the fields on the right, and you the left. You snuck quietly through the fields, draining the big jug of moonshine as you went. As you finished, you headed to the barn. Shit. There was a man standing directly in front of the barn doors. You turned and saw Arthur across the fields. He caught your eye, picked up a small stone and threw it. “Hey, who’s there?” The man trailed off in the direction of the noise and Arthur gave you a thumbs up.

Arthur watched you slip into the barn and he pulled his knife. Four guards were more than easy enough. He quietly snuck up on one after the other, covering their mouths, pulling them down, and sticking them with his knife. The most noise any of them made was a gurgle. After he finished the last guard in the fields, he headed towards the barn.

As you opened the door to the barn, a man turned to you. “H-“ your throwing knife landed between his eyes before he could get the word out. You removed the knife and began dousing the tobacco hanging from the walls and ceiling. After the last drop of moonshine dropped the from jug, you nodded to yourself. You pushed the barn door open and almost ran straight into Arthur. “Good timing. You ready to burn this bitch to the ground?” You whisper, adrenaline already pumping.

Arthur handed you a fire bottle, “I’ll give you the honors.”

“How sweet.” You said as he laid the bottle in your hand.

“Now, as soon as this barn goes up we’re gonna need to-“ Arthur was cut off with an explosion of heat and fire. You were giddy with adrenaline and didn’t even hear him speak. Angry voices were immediately headed towards the barn. With a silent nod to each other you split. Arthur pulled his repeater and you took the bag of fire bottles. You ran threw the fields like a child, throwing fire bottles like a flower girl tosses petals down the aisle of a wedding. The sound of bullets flying and fire blazing was like a symphony to you. In all the chaos you felt most alive.

A cry shook you to the core. You turned and against the light of the flames you saw Arthur fall. Everything went slow motion as his body hit the ground. Your body moved faster than it ever has, tossing bottles at the men closing in on Arthur. It kept them at bay long enough for you to grab Arthur and fling him over your shoulder. “You alive?” You asked. Your voice shook.

“Yeah.” He groaned. “Just took a bullet to the leg.”

You picked up his repeater and whistled for your horse. “Good. Don’t go dyin’ on me just yet.”

You kept as fast a pace as you could, tossing fire bottles behind you as you went. Bullets flew passed you as you hobbled with Arthur on your back. Your horse came flying down to you and you flung Arthur on the back of your horse. He grunted with pain when you threw him down. You grabbed his repeater and turned back to the fire. Men were coming through quickly. You tore through them with deadly accuracy, but they were coming in too fast. You climbed on the horse and dug your spurs in deep. “Come on girl, let’s ride!” You turned and looked down at Arthur. “If you’re still awake down there, whistle for your horse. I’m gonna need to lose your extra weight if you expect to get out of here alive.”

He didn’t say anything, he brought his fingers to his lips and let out a loud whistle. Bullets were whizzing by you and you turned to return the fire. Men fell behind you as you went, but more took their place. Arthur’s horse came quickly andbyou stopped to help him up. You gave him back his repeater and pulled out your pistol. You needed to help Arthur on his horse, but you also needed to shoot the men coming towards you. As you helped him down, you shot wildly, your concentration split. Arthur was losing blood quickly and he was having a hard time keeping his balance. You had one last fire bottle, and if you timed it perfectly, you could take out most of the men in one fell swoop. After Arthur got mounted, you slapped his horse’s rear. “Get outta here, I’ll be right behind you.”

Bullets flew passed you as you stood your ground. 3...2...1...Now! You threw the bottle with perfect precision and it did it’s job. You mounted quickly as the screams of your enemies echoed through the night. It stirred a sick desire in your heart and you felt more alive than you ever had. You rode hard and found Arthur’s horse stopped just up the road. “What the hell are you doin’? You coulda-“ you stopped. “Shit, Arthur!” He was slumped against his horse unconscious. His white horse was stained with the red of his blood and you felt an intense urgency. You tethered his horse to yours and rode a little farther down, a safer distance for camping.

You pulled the horses into a thicket off the trail. You started a fire quickly and pulled Arthur down off his horse. “Damn it, Arthur.” You groaned. “Heavy bastard.” You dropped him to the ground quickly.

“Ow.” He groaned.

“Glad to see you’re still kickin’.” You said, trying to keep your composure.

“I’m surprised you care.” His voice was low and raspy.

“Yeah, me too. First thing we gotta do is get this bullet out, okay?” You handed him a bottle of whiskey. “I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt pretty bad.”

You dug your knife into the bullet wound and he winced and gasped in pain. The sound of his agony caused tears to prick your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You croaked over and over again, until you dug the bullet out.

Arthur was breathing heavily through the pain. “I always thought you liked hurting me.” He took a swig of whiskey then handed it to you. You took a swig and poured it into his wound. “Aughhh! Damn it that hurts!”

“I know, sweetie I know.” Your voice was heavy with concern and it made Arthur’s heart lurch. He had never seen your face contorted in such worry and fear, and over him no less. You never used a pet name for him before either, unless you would consider ‘jackass’ a pet name.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I need to cauterize the wound.” Your eyes were focused on his leg, trying to keep your mind as steady and clear as possible.

“I know, just do what you have to do.” Arthur clenched his jaw and prepared himself for the pain.

You stuck the blade of your knife into the fire and kept it there until it was red hot. “You ready?”

He let out a shaky breath and brought his arm over his face. You inserted the knife into the bullet wound and he thrashed wildly against you, stifling his screams into his arm. You looked up at him and he was biting deep into his forearm. The way the pain twisted his face broke you. Tears fell from your eyes as you twisted the blade, the smell of burning flesh invading your nostrils. It only took him seconds to pass out from the pain, but those seconds were brutal. You checked his pulse after removing the blade and wiped the tears from your face. You took the bandages from your satchel and wrapped his leg carefully.

Your body was shaking all over and you had to choke back the oncoming sobs. You had no idea what had come over you, the sight of Arthur’s body falling to the ground replayed over and over again in your head and it terrified you. But what terrified you more was the realization you didn’t want to be without him. It shook you to the core when you realized you needed him. You wanted to hold his hand and tell him everything was going to be okay. This feeling, does it have a name? You thought it was loathing, but now you’re not sure. He looked so vulnerable resting against a boulder near the fire. You brought the whiskey bottle to your lips and drank deeply. With each gulp of alcohol, you stared at Arthur and contemplated what you were feeling. You always knew he was handsome, that was a given. But was it also a given for you to yearn for him like you did? You found yourself envisioning the way his arms would feel around you and it invoked a deep hunger from within. This new feeling was invading your every thought and you couldn’t escape it. With liquid courage running through your veins your willpower weakened, and you found yourself scooting yourself closer to him. He was still unconscious and you studied his face. His thick beard hid his sharp jawline, but you could see the outline from the light of the flame. Before you could help yourself you found your fingers gently brushing his beard. It was so much softer than you imagined. You looked down at his big hand and picked it up with your bother hand. It was warm and rough, covered in calluses and scars. You put your fingers between his and leaned your head against the boulder. You leaned your head against his shoulder. He was so warm and soft, you nuzzled your face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. You had no idea when sleep took you, but it held you deeply.

Arthur stirred early and the first thing he felt was your even breathing on his collar bone. He opened his eyes and looked down to find you curled into his side, loosely clutching his hand. He winced in pain as he shifted and he remembered the night before. He remembered you taking care of his wounds, and right before he blacked out he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of you crying. Over him though? There was no way. But, you were also curled up in his side clinging to him desperately. He moved slowly, careful not to disturb you. He couldn’t put weight on his leg, so when he tried to stand, he just fell to the ground with a heavy painful thud. “Goddamn it,” He groaned.

The sound of him falling woke you instantly. You sat up quickly and when your eyes fell to him, you had to fight the urge to roll them. You stood, “Damn it, Arthur. I just digged a bullet from your leg, you know better than to try and stand.”

“Yeah,” he groaned as you wrapped your arm under his and helped him up, supporting his weight. “I just didn’t wanna wake ya is all.” You pulled him to his horse and helped him up on his saddle.

“Since when? I thought it was your personal goal every morning to wake me with your incessant noise.” Your voice wasn’t as pointed and antagonizing as usual.

You took down the camp quickly and mounted your horse. “Let’s get you back to home, darlin’.”

Arthur looked up at you in surprise and you looked away. Again with the pet names, plus he could’ve sworn there was a flush of pink across your cheeks. He felt a deep yearning within him, but didn’t fight quite so hard to repress it.

The ride back to camp was silent. The two of you were lost in your own thoughts. Neither of you thought these feelings were loathing but neither of you had a name for what was gripping them so tightly, making their hearts feel light and their stomachs knot when the other looked at them. Maybe this feeling wasn’t loathing, if not what was it?

Part 2

[count-demonlord-of-decadence]

THE NEW GIRL (She’s a Natural)

Ishtar Knoxville sat on the walkway one floor above and perpendicular to her family's three bedroom condo. Here she could observe her family's comings and goings discreetly. Not that her family took any notice of her except for when she was in trouble. But she learned early that the lack of attention provided ample opportunities to observe and learn. Ishtar wasn't like the other girls that attended her public high school. All they cared about was clothes, Instagram likes and what kind of cars people drove. When Ishtar was seven, her little brother Giuseppe Jr was born, erasing any presence she had in the family. Her school life was painfully ordinary until middle school when her friends wanted to act all grown. They were suddenly immersed in makeup, boys and social media. Ishtar tried to keep up but her “friends” quickly made it clear she was cramping their style. Ishtar rejected the conformist matriarchy her ”friends” embraced and they made her an object of mockery and ridicule. Ishtar took refuge in the school library, the last place any “cool kid” would be seen.

The last day before winter break of her seventh grade year, Ishtar was exploring a box of used books donated to the school when she discovered a copy of Justine by Marquis de Sade. The librarian told her it was inappropriate for school but didn't mind if she took it home. She read the whole book that very night. She was enamored with the philosophy, violence and sex. For the first time in her life she saw a world free from the superficial bullshit and embraced a life devoted to the pursuit of pleasure. Of course at age 11 her pleasures consisted of reading, candy and masturbation. And read she did. By her first day of high school she'd read every book deemed pornographic and subversive she could download. Her parents were all too happy to get her gift cards as gifts because it was relatively inexpensive and readily available. When her family asked what she was reading she just responded with the current most popular young adult novel. She was packing a bowl of the low quality high priced weed 14 year old girls have to buy when a strange little man knocked on her family's door.

His facial features made him look like a rat, a rat wearing an expensive suit. He seemed out of place in a suit to Ishtar, more of a blue collar man. The cigarette he was smoking didn't seem out of place. Her father, Giuseppe opened the door recognized the man and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“You outta your fucking mind coming here!?” He exclaimed in hushed tones, unaware that his voice echoed of the walls. “I got kids in there.”

“Oh sorry bother you at your home Giuseppe,” the French accent and added sarcasm made the man's voice slightly more pleasant than nails on a chalkboard, “But you don't return my calls, texts, e-mail or faxes.” Ishtar swallowed a chuckle at that line. “And we need to talk. We've gotten some complaints about your high prices. The Syndicate doesn't mind if you skim a little here and there but you've been marking up the prices and pocketing the difference. Other dealers do the same. And that was cool but now your prices are so high customers are thinking about going to other suppliers. Now the competition knows they could potentially corner the market by simply lowering their prices. Imma tell you the same thing I told the other guys,” he handed him a slip of paper “these are the new prices. Be a good boy and stick to them, or else.”

Giuseppe Knoxville being half black half Italian suffered no disrespect, especially from a man a foot shorter and 75 pounds lighter than himself. But it was the pat on the cheek that set Giuseppe off.  He grabbed the little man by the throat and balls, threatening to toss him over the rail snarling, “Who the fuck you think you are? Come to my house, disrespect me, in front of my kids! You fucking worm! You're just a goddamn go for! A fucking bell boy! I've taken shits with bigger balls than you! Don't ever come at me with no disrespect! Next time your candy ass will be flying to the ground floor!” Giuseppe released the man and stormed back into the condo. The man took 70 seconds to massage his balls and throat before leaving. Ishtar noted it was the coolest thing she'd ever seen her father do.

A week later, Ishtar was sitting in the same spot when the same rat looking man appeared. He wore the “Canadian tuxedo” comfortably with a Dallas Cowboys hat on backwards. Behind him were four eccentrically dressed individuals. The first was an African American wearing a burgundy top hat, tailcoat, dark glasses, and cotton plugs in the nostrils, as if to resemble a corpse dressed and prepared for burial in the Haitian style. The grouped stopped so a rubenesque Asian woman cosplaying as Saya from Blood-C could paint an ornate skull on the Black man’s face. A 6'1" natural blonde woman wearing a Pocahontas costume watched the painting with visible signs of impatience. Ishtar mused that her breast had to be fake. Last was an is immensely tall and and bulky man. He has long, powerful arms and legs, massive hands and feet. He has shoulder-length slick black hair and imposing facial features. He was dressed like pro wrestler Pete Dunne. The face painting completed, the Big guy turned the knob and opened the door. Ishtar knew the door was locked, having locked it nine minutes prior behind her, and surmised he broke the knob with his hand. The five entered and closed the door behind them. Ishtar dashed home. The doorknob was indeed borken when she entered. Before she could take in the scene, the blonde woman closed the the door and stood guard in front of it. Ishtar noted the woman appeared to be in her 40’s and clearly worked out. The big guy had his foot on her fathers left cheek, pinning his face to the floor. He had her father’s arm left torqued up in a such a manner that guaranteed damage. Her mother, Jessie was holding eight year old Giuseppe Jr., covering his eyes and ears. Isis, her older sister had her face pinned against the refrigerator. A kunai pointed at her throat kept her docile.

The Black man squatted, his crotch inches from Giuseppe's face and spoke with an Eastern European accent, “Permit me to introduce myself; my name is Count Demon Lord, leader of the Black Magick Syndicate. It seems you ignored my instructions and disrespected one of my men.”

The big guy released some of the pressure on Guiseppe’s arm so he could speak rationally.

“Please I can get you the money! I’ll apologize! I’ll do anything you say, just don’t hurt my family!”

Demon Lord rolled his eyes and stood up, the big guy added more pressure to the arm until Giuseppe was silent.

“OH, please er… what was his name le Fou?”

“Giuseppe Knoxville” the French rat looking guy replied.

“Right. Now see here Giuseppe this isn’t about the money. We have plenty of that. Hell this isn’t even about the thievery or the disrespect. We’re big fans of that kind of behavior. The truth is we have money and power beyond your wildest dreams. and the boredom that comes along with it. So when le Fou told us of your altercation, we found what we always seek, a flimsy excuse to act on our most deviant desires. So spare us the pleading and begging, we’re not interested. We’re not here to scare you or teach you a lesson. You all are our prey, and no amount of money or words will change that. Accept your fate so that you might entertain us a bit. Teah…”

The big guy took his queue and loudly broke Giuseppe’s humerus. His scream was drowned out by the laughter of the eccentrics.

“le Fou, search this hovel for anything of merit. Teah, break his legs. Zara, bring me that girl.” The rubenesque Asian woman dragged Isis by her dyed blonde hair to Demon Lord. Isis was 20 years old and had the kind of body other women slave in the gym for. Her face has always been described as angelic. She had her own room, but was suppose to move out and college so Ishtar and Giuseppe Jr. wouldn’t have to share. Their parents never pressured her to do so though. Demon Lord had Isis down to her bra and panties with seven strokes of a karambit he had secreted on his person. Giuseppe had his protests silenced by Teah loudly breaking his left tibia, much to the delight of the eccentrics. Giuseppe groaned an idle threat which provoked Teah to break his right femur. Demon Lord was roughly fondling Iris while Jesse, their mother, continued to cover Giuseppe Jr’s eyes and ears; begging for God to deliver them from this ordeal. Isis took this moment to resist, clawing at Demon Lord’s face. His response was a right hook that landed just under her left eye. Isis hit the carpet barely conscious, the bruise already starting to form under her tears. He then sliced off her bra and panties and raped her. Teah held Giuseppe's head, forcing his eyes open so he could watch.

Before he could discharge, le Fou returned with a pillowcase full of items in one hand and a book in the other. Ishtar could see it was her copy of Justine. From the sudden tension in the room Ishtar assumed interrupting Demon Lord’s raping had dire consequences for the interrupting party. Le Fou apologized saying, “Please forgive my rude interruption but I thought you’d find this of merit.” and handed him the book. Demon Lord took the book, his face expressed shock as he stared at the cover. He stood, his erection pointed directly at Ishtar, still staring at the book, “Which one of you animals reads this filth?!” he venomously demanded. The only person who spoke was Jessie, reciting the book of psalms from memory. “Brynhild!” Demon Lord was enraged “Cut pieces off that little boy until I get an answer!”

The blonde woman moved, but Zara grabbed Ishtar by the back of her neck so she couldn’t escape. Brynhild snatched Giuseppe from his mother’s arms effortlessly. She produced a balisong and threatened to cut off the crying boy’s middle finger. Giuseppe was having his broken arm manhandled by Teah. When Demon Lord started to sodomize Iris with his lizard skin shoe did Ishtar proclaim the book was her’s. Demon Lord approached Ishtar, kneeling in front of her asking, “This is your book?”

“Yes.” Ishtar murmured.

“You’ve actually read this?”

“Twice.” she nodded.

“What did you think about it?”

“Well, I like how the characters do whatever they want without fear of any consequences.”

“Have you read the sequel? Juliette, or Vice Amply Rewarded?”

“Yes, I finished it about a month ago.”

“What is your name Child?”

“Ishtar.”

“After a goddess of sex, desire, justice, and political power; perfection. Ishtar, our syndicate is full of libertines who follow the treatises outlined in de Sade’s books. Our money and power allow any action to go unpunished by law enforcement. That’s why no police are coming, none of your neighbors will check on you. I offer you an invitation into our syndicate, and a life of vice amply rewarded. Or you can watch us rape, torture and murder your family and luxuriate in it. But know that revenge and justice belong to the rich and powerful and none are as rich and powerful as us. We’ll never be arrested or tried for this. No one would deign to take our lives on your behalf.”

Ishtar thought it over. Her father was a successful contractor out of high school until three years ago, when he injured his back on the job. But because Giuseppe wasn’t following established safety protocols, the company refused to pay his medical bills. He exhausted their savings on a lawsuit he lost. All because he wanted the world to understand he was a real man, full of arrogance and machismo. In the seven years since Giuseppe Jr was born, Ishtar could count on one hand the number of times her father had a meaningful conversation with her; save holidays, birthdays, and half assed parenting during the commercials of baseball games. His son was the focus of his love and affection. Why should she act in the interests of such a man?

Jessie Knoxville wasn’t Ishtar or Isis’ biological mother. That honor belonged to Isabelle Flores-Knoxville, currently known as Prisoner #97S444. She was convicted 12 years ago for arson in the second degree and two counts of attempted murder for fire bombing a warehouse owned by an alleged racist. Two security guards were present with one dying, though she was found not guilty of one count of murder in the first degree. Sentence: 18 years, eligible for parole in five which was denied for amassing other charges while incarcerated. Jessie Knoxville was a woman who assumed her first two marriages to abusive douchebags were due to her lack of faith in God. Every ill and woe in this world was due one’s poor relationship with God, according to her. She became devout and seven months later she meets Giuseppe Knoxville. After a 298 day courtship they were married, which Jessie believed was God’s blessing on her. Ten months later Giuseppe Jr was born, another miracle she attributed to God because her first two marriages produced no children. God didn’t keep her from gaining 65 lbs from an increasingly sedentary lifestyle since becoming pregnant.

Ishtar wished her sister refused to move about just to spite her, knowing once her room became Ishtar’s, she’d never get it back. But the truth was Giuseppe squandered their college fund on that failed lawsuit, and Isis would throw this in their father’s face whenever Jessie wasn’t in earshot. But that was a smokescreen for Isis did not talent of any kind. Her grades have always been poor, since kindergarten. Jessie and Ishtar have openly pondered if she has an undiagnosed learning deficiency. She couldn’t learn high school cheerleading routines, sing to save her life or act her way through a high school play. She couldn’t paint, draw, sculpt or weave.

She could barely add an app to her phone without assistance.

Giuseppe Jr was only seven and understood his parents would never believe he could sin. Twice his school accused him of vandalism and both times they denied he was capable of such behaviour. Ishtar once accused him of stealing a pair of her panties, but their parents assumed she’d misplaced them. Isis accused him of stealing some money from her and nothing was done. He acted with impunity and at that thought Ishtar had her answer. Thinking upon characters from the books she’d read, she put her hands on her hips and replied, “Vice amply rewarded please.” earning an applause and cheers from the eccentrics.

“Excellent!” Demon Lord mused, “You may have the honor of orchestrating their fates.”

“Do we have to kill them?” Ishtar asked.

“Only if you desire it child. Some fates are worse than death”

“Good. I really want them to suffer and go on suffering. I assume no act is taboo?”

“My child, if one here will not commit the act you envision, we can have someone here who will in thirty minutes.”

“In that case, I want one of you to sodomize my little brother.” Ishtar chose her words so the Giuseppe Jr wouldn’t understand. The eccentrics all looked to Teah, who released the father, licked his lips and took hold of the son. Brynhild took over the job of guarding the father while Demon Lord resumed his raping of Isis. Jessie became hysterical and tried to rush Teah, but Zara stopped her with a quick kick to her liver. By then Teah had the boy naked and on the carpet in front of his father. Teah removed his own clothing, revealing an uncircumcised member as large as Ishtar’s forearm. Using only his spittle as lubricant, Teah violently forced his prick into the boy, pulling his hair to keep his face in his father’s line of sight.

Jessie began to scream about the wrath of God and how vengeance will be his and how they’re all going to Hell. “Le Fou was it?” Ishtar asked of the little man to which he nodded, “Go into my bitch sister’s room, find her dildo and stuff it into my STEP mother’s mouth.”

“I thought these would come in handy.” Le Fou replied producing Isis’ John Holmes Realistic Dildo and a roll of duct tape from the pillow case. Zara zip tied Jessie’s hand behind her back as Le Fou approached. Between the two of them, it only took 50 seconds to get the dildo secured in her mouth.

Ishtar used the basting brush from the kitchen to paint an inverted pentagram on her father’s face with the blood leaking from her brother’s continually violated anus. She then kicked him in the ribs six times before asking someone to castrate him. Brynhild was happy to oblige. Le Fou brought her a fillet knife from the kitchen and helped Ishtar strip and restrain Giuseppe while Brynhild did the deed. Ishtar took her father’s genitalia and put them in the microwave and set it to cook on full power for 29 minutes. Giuseppe fainted from the pain, much to the disgust of the eccentrics.

Ishtar then approached Teah, staring at Jessie as she said, “I want you to discharge in my mouth so I can show these cunts I’m in for well more than a pound.” Teah intensified his thrusting to expedite orgasam. When on the verge, he pulled out so swiftly splattered wherever possible. Ishtar aimed the blood and shit covered member to her mouth. Ishtar was startled by the kinetic energy of the discharge; it’s thickness made it impossible to swallow in two gulps. What she couldn't swallow, she spat in her little brother’s face. Taking this cue, Demon Lord pulled out and discharged his thin, yet plentiful semen all over Giuseppe Jr’s face; the eccentrics applauded.

Ishtar went to the kitchen and returned with a can of insecticide. She handed it to Brynhild and ordered her to shove it in Jessie cunt. Upon hearing this, Jessie offered the fiercest resistance she could, which was futile given her condition. Brynhild laughed as dodged and blocked Jessie’s kicking as a diversion, Teah grabbed her by the neck, picked her up and slammed her back into the armchair only Giuseppe was allowed to sit in. Before she could recover, Brynhild tore her cheap sweat pants and cheap panties off and Teah grabbed her heels and spread her legs as wide as possible. Ishtar took the cap off and opened her mother’s vagina for penetration. Brynhild lubricated the spray can with juices fingered out of Jessie and herself and used both hands to shove it in. She simply whimpered through the ordeal, until the spray activated; then she screamed and thrashed about as best she could. This amused the eccentrics. Teah and Brynhild released her so she could fall to the floor and give birth to the spray can.

Isis began to stir and at Ishtar's command Zara stood her up by her hair and cuffed her behind the back. Ishtar caressed her sister's smooth skin with the flat of the fillet knife as she spoke, “How many times did you call me lesbian, dyke, creep and retarded?”

“Please Ish…”

“How many times did you punch, kick and slap me? Why did you hate me just for being your sister?”

“I'm sorry Ishtar. Please stop…”

“YOU'RE ONLY SORRY TO SAVE YOUR MISERABLE LIFE YOU STUPID FUCKING COW! But I have no plans to murder you, yet. I want you to experience the lesbianism that disgusts you so. Zara, can you make this bitch cum like she never came before?”

“Not my bag babe, but Brynhild can.” Zara shoved Isis into the armchair and spread her legs like Teah had done Jessie as Brynhild knelt and began cunnilingus. Meanwhile Jessie began to make coughing and choking noises in between random spasms. Demon Lord lacerated her left cheek while cutting the tape. He removed the dildo from her mouth and she vomited violently. This brought Giuseppe back to consciousness, who could only wail in pain and despair.

“Yes! Oh my gods yes!” Ishtar shouted. “That sound is what I wanted to hear! The sound of a man being devoured by is despair, his anguish!” Ishtar stripped off her clothing and began frigging her hairy cunt. “Teah,” she commanded, “fuck my father up the ass. Lube it with his whore’s vomit. Le Fou, fuck his whore up the ass. Have them face to face so they can kiss each other. I wish to discharge my fuck upon their faces.” Demon Lord to position behind Zara adding, “This cunt craves prick, and prick it shall have!”

It was arranged and performed as described.

When all save Giuseppe and Jessie had discharged, Ishtar packed a suitcase with her meager belongings. She dressed and departed with the eccentrics. Teah Demon Lord, and Le Fou were in one car, Zara, Brynhild and Ishtar in another. Demon Lord’s group had sped off ahead, and as Ishtar’s group followed the spotted Giuseppe Jr three blocks away. He walked like a zombie, naked and dripping blood from his rectum. Ishtar bade Brynhild pull over and she opened her door saying, “Junior! Thank God you got out of there too! Quickly, get in before they find out we’re gone.” Giuseppe Jr was apprehensive, also seven and in a lot of pain. No one answered any door he knocked on, no passerby offered him help or listened to his pleas. This was the only help offered him since leaving the condo. He took Ishtar’s hand and got in the car. Ishtar closed the door behind him and told Brynhild to drive. The doors loudly locked and they sped to catch up to the other car.

“Relax little brother, everything is gonna be alright from now on.” Ishtar smiled. This brought a cackle from the driver seat. Giuseppe Jr got a good look at Brynhild in the driver seat and panicked. He tried to open the door but couldn’t, the doors had childproof locks.

[tap-dat-agent]

Who Knew? (Merlahad) 6/?

Part 6

“You see ‘im?” Eggsy smiled, watching Roxy from a distance. It amazed him, the way almost every bloke (and some ladies, too) on the floor had their eyes on her and yet were too distracted by how gorgeous she was, in her tight black dress, to notice her focus on second-floor balcony.

“Just about,” Roxy’s voice picked up on a well-hidden mic despite the volume of the music and the sea of drugged out clubgoers jumping at the opportunity to bump and grind against her. “Second floor, right of the stage.”

“Right.” Eggsy directed his gaze to the second floor and zoomed in, catching just the fluff of faux hair on the man they’d been canvasing all day. “He’s packed in with his mates in a crowded venue. What could go wrong for us?”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Roxy cooed, swaying her hips to some god-awful DJ remix. “What about the partygoers on V-day?”

“That was different,” Eggy shrugged. “Complicit and all that.”

“And the rEvolution cult?”

“I didn’t hit all of them,” Eggsy shrugged again, “just the unlucky few who were brainwashed to kill me.”

“Galahad,” Merlin’s voice broke in, from the surround-sound mic piece equipped in each arm of Eggsy’s glasses, “I’ve got confirmation through Lancelot’s feed. That’s indeed Karloff.”

“I’m going in,” Eggsy said, with a smirk, standing determinedly from his table.

“What do you mean you?” Roxy scoffed. “I’m always the honeypot, remember?”

“I did my homework,” Eggsy shot back, moving through the throng of people. “Karloff’s into the gents.”

“What makes you think he’d be into you, though?”

“Please,” Eggsy scoffed, his smirk endless.

“Between Harry, Tequila, and you, what makes you think you’re his type?”

“I’m everyone’s type.” Eggsy ascended the elaborate spiral staircase leading to a second-floor balcony of dining tables, private booths, and undisclosed rooms. “What gay man wouldn’t want me?”

“Merlin,” Roxy huffed into the air, the roll of her eyes in the ruffle of her voice. “Would you explain to Galahad that just because someone’s gay doesn’t mean they’ll wanna shag anything with a pulse?”

“Let the record show that even homosexuals have standards.”

“Hey!”

“Ha.”

“Now, get on with it!”

“Harry, where are you?” Eggsy paused amid a sizeable crowd, staring straight at Ernest Karloff from three meters off and to the right of an adjacent entryway that he assumed led to the club’s behind-the-scene operations. “I’m about to make my move.”

“I’ve taken an alternate route,” Harry answered, nondescript to the fullest.

“You not in the club? Could’ve danced your way through, bruv,” Eggsy smiled to himself, really just wanting any and every excuse to see what Harry dancing looked like.

“I am but, given the make of individuals patronizing this establishment, I’d stick out like a sore thumb were I to simply saunter across the dance floor.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Harry’s right, Galahad. Let ‘em be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked Merlin, his voice and demeanor as poised as ever, but even Eggsy felt a tinge of dread shoot up his spine at the defensiveness in the man’s tone.

The length of dead air before Merlin’s response spoke volumes to the same.

“It’s not as if you’re of the club-going variety, are ya?”

“And what’s the club-going variety look like?” Harry probed Merlin’s meaning, in a sharp Kingsman suit, standing at the center of an elaborately decorated office. “Should I have blundered in as boisterously as imaginable, wearing ill-suited designer accessories and a football jersey, or do you have something to say about my age?”

“…Well, you and I aren’t exactly spring chickens, are we?”

Eggsy, silently laughing at Merlin’s expense, spotted Roxy who had gone red in the face with the discomfiture of hearing the two men bicker. When he remembered Merlin could see him staring at Roxy, Eggsy had to try even harder not to laugh out loud.

“I could listen to this all night,” he happily sighed, tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Well, tough shit,” Harry snapped back, “because I’ve already accessed the offices from a secret lift in the basement. I took out two goons on my way up. I wager you have roughly ten minutes to charm the pants off Karloff, find out whatever you can firsthand, and put a bullet through his skull before things get terribly interesting.”

“Right,” Eggsy nodded, assuming a determined mindset. “Goin’ in, goin’ in.”

Eggsy eyed Karloff’s posse, eventually catching the man’s eyes with a wink and a smile. Karloff considered him for a moment, his eyes lingering on Eggsy’s body, before urging him forward with the wave of his hand.

Eggsy moved in when an ‘INCOMING MESSAGE’ alert flashed across his glasses.

“Eggsy?” Princess Tilde appeared before Eggsy’s eyes. “Eggsy, are you there?”

“Princess Tilde,” Eggsy said, gobsmacked, ducking out of sight. He attempted to disappear in the loose sea of bodies occupying the upper floor, very much aware of the curious glances on offer by Karloff and Friends. “Hey, babe! I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tilde stared in bewilderment and, though she couldn’t possibly see him, Eggsy felt like she could see him. “You don’t call for days, and you can’t talk to me right now?”

“Shit.” Eggsy knocked himself on the head for his obliviousness. Amid the excitement of Merlin’s rapid recovery, finding Roxy alive and well, and their current mission, he’d neglected to check in with his own wife. “I’m sorry, babe, really I am. I forgot to call.”

“Yah, no shit,” she agreed. “I’ve been so worried but, if you were working, I didn’t want to jeopardize mission.”

“Not at all,” Eggsy squeaked out, reassuringly, though his eyes strained to focus on both the worry in Tilde’s eyes and the eyes of those now watching him with cautious consideration.

“Eggsy, you can’t do this to me. You have to talk to me.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, I’m sorry but…I gotta go.”

“What? Eggsy, I can’t hear you.” Tilde moved in closer. “Where are you? Are you at a club?”

“Gotta go now!”

“Eggsy…!”

Eggsy closed communications, the knowledge that he’d pay for hanging up on Tilde gnawing at the back of his head, but he had to. He’d garnered a bit of suspicion, enough to blow the mission wide open, so as he pretended to put away a phone and readjusted his track jacket he did so with an easygoing smile on his face.

“Let’s keep the personal calls to a bare minimum, shall we, Galahad?”

“Yeah, sure…”

Eggsy’s smile quickly dropped in finding Tequila had moved in on his target.

“Oh, what the fuck?”

“You took too long,” Tequila muttered behind a cocktail glass, smiling above Karloff’s hair piece. “Puttin’ the whole mission at risk.” Tequila slinked his hulky body down against Karloff’s side, draped in a half-buttoned silk dress shirt and form-hugging trousers, and offered the older man the drink in his hand.

Tequila wound an arm around Karloff’s shoulders and winked Eggsy’s way.

Tequila was right, of course, but that didn’t stop Eggsy from telling him to, “Fuck off.”

“Galahad. Tequila’s got the target. Regroup with Whiskey and Lancelot downstairs and ready the exits.”

“Fine.”

“Ich kenne dich.”

“Pardon, mate.”

“Ich kenne dich, nicht?”

Eggsy tried brushing past someone on his way back downstairs but the bloke wouldn’t let up, hanging onto his sleeve.

“’xcuse me?”

“Ich glaube, ich kenne dich,” the man, maybe a few years older than Eggsy and a foot taller, elaborated. “Woher kenne ich Sie?”

Translations worked their way onto the bottom of Eggsy’s lenses.

“Sorry, mate,” Eggsy shrugged, backing away. “Don’t think you know me...”

“Ich sicher, tue ich!” The man pulled him in closer, a zealously hopeful grin on his face. “Sind Sie berühmt?”

“Get off me, bruv!”

“You’ve got eyes, Galahad. Get the heck outta there.”

Eggsy wrestled his way out of the man’s grip and pushed him back against a dining table. The act caused a considerable amount of commotion as other club goers quickly became curious onlookers. The man, his eyes unblinking, glared at Eggsy as he backed away.

“Ich kenne ihn! Ich kenne ihn von Irgendwo!” The prick retreated all the way back into Karloff’s inner circle, all the while wagging an accusatory finger Eggsy’s way. “Ich kenne ihn von Irgendwo!”

“Well, fuck me,” Eggsy breathed, the legion of Karloff’s men simultaneously rising from their tables and reaching for their weapons.

“Good and proper, Eggsy. Tequila, now!”

“Ugh,” Tequila rolled his head back, pulled out a previously concealed six-shooter, and shot Karloff—two taps to the back of the head.

The sound of gun shots alerted everyone. The DJ, especially, hopped off the stage and bolted for the entrance like a bat outta hell and hopped up on E.

Karloff’s goons didn’t know who to take out first, Eggsy or Tequila, so the two agents took advantage of the confusion. Eggsy pulled out his Tokarev TT-33 and went to town, dodging innocent bystanders as they fled left and right. Tequila opted for close-combat, when he ran out of bullets, until he got hold of dead goon’s gun.

“Everyone out, now!” Whiskey, in an equally fitting, shimmery blue ensemble, yelled across the main floor, waving the fleeing masses towards the exits. A melody of tearful and fearful screams and shouts could be heard in the absence of music and in the presence of gunfire. Eggsy entered a Zen mode, adapting his fighting style to the chaotic rhythm playing out before him. “Lancelot, the basement!”

Eggsy dislocated a goon’s knee with the stamp of his foot and shot him in the head. He looked over the balcony to make sure Roxy was alright. Not that he didn’t trust her skills, having recently experienced her stealthy accuracy firsthand, but that didn’t stop him from wondering, worrying, glancing her and Whiskey’s way every so often.

“Got it,” Roxy said, pulling her gun out from a strap hidden beside her left breast. She shot two down before they could raise their weapons but two more flanked their sides.

“I got them,” Whiskey said, and Eggsy looked over just in time to watch the woman pull a series of dart-like objects into the grooves of her fingers and toss them with enough force to stick the two goons in the neck and forehead.

“Holy shit!” Eggsy blocked a punch. “Were those…pens?!”

“Nice shot, Whiskey! Harry, the basement’s clear if you wanna head back down.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said, emerging from the entryway upstairs, a suitcase in one hand and a gun in the other. He quickly shot the goon fighting Eggsy and the goon whose beefy hands were wrapped around Tequila’s neck. Eggsy and Tequila looked to him appreciatively. “Right then, lads. Shall we?”

A stray bullet came out of seemingly nowhere and struck Harry in the upper right quadrant of his chest. He faltered, his once immaculate suit now stained with blood splatter, but never let go of the suitcase in his hand as Eggsy and Tequila quickly rushed to his side.

“Harry!”

Roxy turned round and quickly shot the goon aiming from the stage, not letting up until he collapsed on top of the DJ booth.

“No…”

“It’s only a flesh wound,” Harry said, shakily, looking straight into Eggsy’s glasses with a grim smile. Eggsy and Tequila helped Harry down the stairs and at the center of the now emptied venue sans them and some twenty dead henchmen that littered the floor. “Lancelot, Whiskey,” Harry nodded. “Are you alright?”

“We should be asking you that.” Roxy frowned.

“Did it go clean through?” Whiskey asked, assessing the damage of Harry’s injury. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Authorities are en route and headed your way. You lot need to get out of there.”

“We can leave through the back,” Whiskey offered. “There’s a street level to the hidden elevator.”

“You need to split up,” Merlin said, his voice somewhat disturbed. “You’re too big a group to go together. Whiskey and Lancelot, take Harry and hotwire a car in the back. Galahad and Tequila, make it to the taxi at the safe zone. Everyone meet back at the rendezvous point. I want Harry back on the jet for medical assistance, YESTERDAY.”

Everyone did as Merlin ordered, departing with worried but determined faces.

Eggsy couldn’t stop himself from watching as Whiskey and Roxy stumbled off with Harry even if he fucking tried.

“Galahad, what the hell are you doing?!” Tequila pulled him along by the collar of his jacket. “Come on, man!”

The two pushed out of the club with abandoned, looking every which way for any lingering muscle. Sirens sounded imminently, creeping closer with every passing nanosecond. Tequila went left and Eggsy followed, his mind in too much of a fog for much decisiveness. All he could see was Harry, standing on the balcony, with blood pulsing out of the gaping bullet-sized hole in his chest. Harry’s lack of shock haunted Eggsy, dulled his sense of urgency, as he reimagined the moment Richmond Valentine shot him in the head with the same lifeless look on his face.

Tequila pushed him up against something solid and pressed his lips against Eggsy’s.

Eggsy almost shoved him off, on instinct alone, but the blare of sirens suddenly on top of them forced him to reconsider. He tugged on Tequila’s shirt, pulling him closer, forcing their mouths together in a more than convincing snog.

Berlin police cars raced past the alleyway they were standing in, followed by emergency vehicles and bookended with more police cars, their flashing pursuit and emergency signal lights dancing across Eggsy’s closed eyes.

The procession drove right past them and, just like that, Eggsy and Tequila were in the clear.

“Wanker!” Eggsy spat, eventually shoving Tequila off, scowling in the face of the man’s insufferable smirk. Eggsy made a show of wiping at is mouth, trying to get the taste of Tequila off his lips…fucking literally.

“I reckon myself a mighty fine kisser,” Tequila said, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers. “You should be so lucky.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Gentlemen.” Merlin’s peeved voice sounded alarmingly loud in Eggsy’s ears. “Get yer arses to the taxi NOW.”

Eggsy and Tequila did as they were told, retrieving the LTI TX4 Eggsy had inherited from Harry and driving off in resolute silence.

[demondean-for-kingofhell]

Wayside Inn

CHAPTER 2: HOUSE RULES

Inspection of the kitchen showed a burning oil lantern and dinner that was half prepared, but no staff. There was more noise from upstairs; sounds like footsteps shuffling across creaky floorboards, and the lights came back on.

Somebody asked a question but you were too focused on the small sound you thought you heard to your right. Was that… “Humming?” You looked to Dean for confirmation but he shrugged. He didn’t hear it.

You listened again; it was gone. Your stomach was churning. You wanted out of this damn house.

“Well, somebody has to be here. Either to turn the lights off and on, or to flip the breaker to get them back on after the outage.” Sam was busy watching the ceiling.

There was a loud bang from somewhere in the house, as if someone had dropped a heavy TV set, and the five of you jumped as one.

Dean swore under his breath. “Come on, let’s just get back to the lobby. Maybe they’re on the way downstairs and they need help with something.” He was off before you could point out that you felt much safer in the kitchen, where there was only one entry and exit point.

Everyone was on edge; eyes darting, heads turning and hands clutching at the smallest sound, whether it was one of the five of you making it or not.

The lobby was still empty. You sighed and looked around, waiting for...something.

“Guess we might as well take this investigation upstairs.“ Castiel suggested. “If nothing else we can go to our rooms and just wait until morning. I can leave some cash for the rooms.”

None of you had a better idea, so you let Dean take your hand and pull you up the stairs, Castiel and Hanna in front and Sam bringing up the rear, the house creaking above your heads the whole time.

As soon as Dean set his foot on the second floor landing all noise stopped. “Well, that’s not ominous at all,” you snapped, your eyes searching for a sign of anyone. “Come on, let’s just get to our rooms and wait until morning.” This entire experience had you on edge, and you weren’t so sure the car trouble had been an accident. The piece of metal sticking up out of the road flashed through your mind.

“This is us.” Castiel and Hanna waved goodnight and slid into room three, closing the door firmly behind them. You heard the lock slide into place. Not that you blamed them. You would be bracing a chair against your door if there was one available.

Sam went into room six, and Dean cautiously opened door number four. “All clear.”

You barely heard him, your eyes fixed on a big oil painting that spanned from the floor to nearly the ceiling. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, ever since you had climbed the stairs.

“Y/N!” The sharp edge to Dean’s voice made you jump. “Come on.” he was already in the room, waiting for you to step in so he could shut the door.

You didn’t grab your bag from the trunk, so you didn’t have anything to change into, but you flopped onto the bed. Which was clean, you were glad to note. Actually, it seemed the owners took the best care of the guest rooms. They were the nicest you’d seen of anywhere else in the house.  

Dean started to pace.

“I don’t think we should stay the night.” You argued, arms crossed over your chest. “I know you’re freaked out too. Don’t try to hide it.”

“Y/N, please stop.” he held up his hand, stopping his pacing to glare at you. “Yeah of course I’m freaked. But maybe they just have the worst sense of humor ever. I’m sure everything will be fine by breakfast okay?”

You lifted an eyebrow in response, not bothering to move another muscle.

“Besides,” his trademark charming smile was back. “It’s one night. What could happen?”

You didn’t dare ask what you would do then. The car was still broken and there was no cell service. You were miles from any kind of telephone.

It had been a few hours of normalcy. Basically Dean bugged the shit out of you because there wasn’t any cell service, and Sam was in his room. Either sleeping or studying, you weren’t sure. You heard Dean fall asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, but you just couldn’t. It wasn’t even this particular house, though that was a definite factor. You’d never been able to sleep the first night or two in a new place.

You thought you heard whispering, coming from the wall on Dean’s other side. You initially thought it was Sam, maybe talking to himself or trying to work out something in his book. But then You realized Sam’s room was on your side of the bed. Castiel and Hanna were across the hall. So maybe there was an unsigned guest? Or the owners were in that room talking?

So you stared at the ceiling. Waiting to fall asleep. You found it easier when you matched your breathing with Dean’s. You were almost asleep, hanging right on the edge of consciousness when the screaming started.

You sat up straight in the bed, Dean not far behind, your heart hammering in your chest and your hands shaking from being scared so suddenly. The sound wasn’t right outside the door, but you had no doubt the whole house could hear it. You slapped your hands over your ears, mostly to keep them from shaking.

“What the fuck is that?” He had to raise his voice to be heard, his eyes roaming the room. In the moonlight coming in the lace curtains you could see his gaze turn to you. You shook your head. How the fuck were you supposed to know?

“I want to leave!” You shouted, more to get the point across to Dean than to be heard. You knew there was a note of hysteria in your voice. “I don’t care if I have to go alone I’m not fucking staying here!” To prove how serious you were you climbed out of the bed and slid your sandals back on, slinging your purse across your body.

The screaming stopped abruptly, but your ears were still ringing. Dean had followed you out of the bed, wrestling his jeans back on and grabbing his shoes. Under different circumstances you would have laughed. “Yeah, go grab Sam. We’re heading out.”

Sam was already in the hall, fist raised to knock on your door, Castiel and Hanna behind him. “We can’t stay here.” he was pale, as if he was sick, but you knew that you were pale too; it was the house.

“Yes. Leaving.” You nodded, waiting until you felt Dean at your back to step out of the room.

You knew something was off as soon as you saw the front door you had come in through. “Wait, there’s no doorknob?”

Dean’s finger slid around the circumference of the hole in the wood. “What the fuck is going on?” He gave the door an experimental push.

Nothing.

“So it has to be locked from the outside.” Castiel pushed on the door too, maybe just out of frustration. “Deadbolted from the outside?”

You didn’t remember seeing a deadbolt when you came in. Besides, why would anyone put a deadbolt on the outside of a door? That didn’t lock anyone out. Which meant…

“They want us here.” Hanna’s voice was small, wavering. You didn’t think she would hold out much longer. “Whoever did that-” she pointed to the door. “They locked us in here for a reason!”

Dean turned to Castiel suddenly, the glint in his eyes the only thing showing how worked up he was. “How do we know it wasn’t you two?”

“W-what?” Hanna stuttered, clearly taken aback. “What if it was you?”

“You’re old enough to own this place. We’re just college kids.” Sam jumped onto Dean’s train of thought. Fuck. This was going to end badly.

“Sam’s right. We’re just kids. You two came down the stairs in your business casual. Already here, waiting for us. I bet you slapped that piece of metal into the road to fuck with my car!” Dean’s voice started to rise, but more creaking upstairs caught your attention. Whoever was fucking with you, you doubted it was the other couple.

Castiel followed your eyes. “Whoever’s up there, fucking show yourself!” His voice made you jump, bouncing off the walls and into the hallway to give his statement a lasting echo.

Sam caught Dean’s eye, still not believing the other couple were innocent. “There’s gotta be a backdoor, right? If nothing else for the employees to use?” He made his way back towards the kitchen, into the back of the house, and Dean followed, trying to keep both of you in sight.

“Y/N, come on.” he held his hand out as Sam continued to search, and your eyes flickered to Castiel. If they didn’t want to follow then you would leave them. You went with Dean, finding Sam in a small mudroom off the kitchen you hadn’t noticed before.

“Same as the front door.” Sam sighed in frustration, slamming his giant palm against the wood. “Dean, we gotta get outta here. We’re gonna end up on the seven am news if we don’t.”

“HEY!” Castiel’s shout from the other room made you all come running, Dean crashing into you when you stopped a good six feet from meeting them. “Look, this just fell down the chimney into the fireplace.” he was holding what looked like a battered piece of wood, maybe a two by four, about the length of your forearm.

It was covered in ash, which lended credibility to his claim it fell down the chimney. “What’s written on it?” Sam held his hand out and Castiel handed the board over.

Welcome to my home.

House Rules:

1. There is no way out. The more you try the shorter your lives become.

2. None of you will live to see the dawn.

3. Give me one dead body and I may let rule 2 slide.

The board was passed between everyone. You refused to hold it, your hands shaking so badly you wouldn’t have been able to read it anyway.

You could see the stress piling up between the five of you; Sam and Dean convinced that Hanna and Castiel were behind at least part of this. You wiped at your forehead, trying to figure out what to do.

Windows. Windows led outside. You took the last few steps over to the nearest one, ripping the curtains back. Barred. Steel bars running horizontally and vertically across the panes, giving the impression that the big glass window was naturally divided into sections, as most house windows were. Blood rushed in your ears, anxiety creeping up on you, making your chest feel tight. You were having trouble drawing in a breath.

“Hey, hey sweetheart.” Dean rushed over to you as you reached out for him, your other hand over your mouth. “Hey, I’m gonna get you outta here, okay? If it’s the last goddamned thing I do. We’re gonna be okay.”

“What does that even mean, ‘give me one body’?” Hanna had hold of the board again, wide blue eyes staring down at the thing in disbelief.

To you it was obvious. Either the five of you chose a victim or whoever trapped you here would kill all of you.

CHAPTER 1: A BUMP IN THE ROAD

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[born-in-the-wrong-multiverse]

We Were Totally Just Here to Pick Up Bridesmaids: Part 1 - Dean Winchester

Perched on the hood of a car, separating herself slightly from the lively party-goers, Sophie watched as the groom twirled his beaming bride again on the dance floor. She squashed down the nagging envy that nibbled at the pit of her stomach, and forced a grin as one of her fellow bridesmaids and closest friend headed towards her. The absurd, puffy, royal blue dress threatened to drag itself through the dirt beneath her feet, and she was struggling to hoist the voluminous skirt up above her ankles. “Were we boring you or something? Or was all that PDA’ing sickening you as much as it is me?” Snorting a laugh, Sophie shook her head and held out a hand, helping Mandy up onto the car beside her. “Nah, I just needed some fresh air. Gramps over there,” she nodded in the direction of the bride’s grandfather and screwed her nose up, “Kept blowing cigar smoke in my face every time he cornered me for another chat. Took all my limited will power not to rip it outta his mouth and throw it like a stick; I’m sure he woulda run after it like a dog playing fetch. I haven’t seen him without one all night.” Mandy cackled appreciatively and nodded in agreeance before falling silent with a sigh. Several moments passed as they both observed the reception wordlessly from afar, lost in their own thoughts, before Mandy spoke again pensively. “Could you ever see yourself doing that?” “What? Do the twist in a white marshmallow dress?” Sophie teased as the bride did a half-assed version of the dance, moving more of her upper body than anything else in an attempt to stay upright. “Pfft, no. I know for a fact you would never be caught dead doing THAT,” Mandy scoffed, “What I mean, is do you think you’ll ever do all this? Get married, have a big wedding, settle down with Prince Charming?” For a long beat, Sophie stayed quiet as she watched the scene again thoughtfully. It all looked great, and seemed like a fairytale brought to life, but… “It’s not that I don’t want to, one day,” Sophie started slowly, fiddling absent-mindedly with the frills on her dress, “But I dunno if I’m ever gonna be ready for it. Monogomy, I mean. Marriage. The whole ‘Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich’ deal.” Throwing her head back giggling manically, Mandy clapped a hand to her mouth to try and stem the flow of laughter. “Not all guys are like that, Soph!” “Yeah, well, you get my point though, right? I mean, the rest of my life with one guy? Doing wife-y shit and always being half of a couple instead of just being ME? I couldn’t do it.” “So what you’re saying,” Mandy drawled playfully, “Is you don’t want to be a ‘we’ or an ‘us’. You just want to be ‘me’, ‘myself’ and ‘I’ for the rest of your life. You want to be ‘Just Sophie’.” Rolling her eyes, Sophie sighed loudly and groaned. “Well when you say it like that it sounds horrible!” Cackling madly again, Mandy smacked a hand to her friend’s arm and jumped up with a smug grin. “You know you love me. Now come on, I think they’re about to throw the bouquet. Ready to get your ass pummeled into the ground?” “Oh whatever!” Gathering up the many pleats and ruffles of their skirts, the girls scampered across the grass in their ridiculous heels, squeezing themselves into the throng of crazed single ladies crowding around the bride. Playful squeals of excitement hid the building tension as they all jostled with each other, arms outstretched high above their heads, fingers flexing in preparation for the toss. Counting to three, the bride doubled over for momentum before hurling the bouquet over her shoulder. A flurry of tulle, organza, lace and synthetic fibres lunged for the flowers, clawing for them desperately. Mandy tackled the bride’s younger sister to the floor as she wrapped her fingers around the stems triumphantly. “What in the hell is wrong with these chicks?” Sitting at a safe distance away from the action, the two brothers watched in amazement, a combination of amusement and disgust on their faces. Their tuxedos were mismatched creations complete with black ties, scuffed shoes and ill-fitting cumberbands. But they weren’t there to enjoy the party or mingle with wedding guests. Even if Dean was sinking another glass of champagne as they gawked stupidly at the gaggle of women fighting over the mangled bunch of flowers. Shaking his head, Sam fiddled with his tie awkwardly. “I have no idea, but I think I’d rather run into a Leviathan than one of them in a dark alleyway. They are…really…really kinda scary…did that one just bite the red head?” “Um…yeah…I think she kinda did,” Dean spluttered, eyes widening as one of the groom’s cousins sunk her teeth into Mandy’s wrist to try and force her to drop the loot. “Holy crap these chicks are crazy! Remind me never…never ever…to bring a date to a wedding.” “Oh, yeah, ‘cause you’re really ever going to be invited to a wedding and have an actual girlfriend to take with you,” Sam scoffed with a smirk, only slightly regretting the remark when Dean shot him an offended look. “Sorry, but you set yourself up for that one.” Shrugging off the hurt almost immediately, Dean tugged anxiously at his collar. “Yeah yeah, I know. Let’s cut the chatter and do some actual work, we’re here on business remember?” Trying to stifle his laughter, Sam nodded at Dean’s discomfort and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. Extracting herself from the mob of singletons, spinsters and bachelorettes, Sophie patted down her dress to make sure all her bows and ruffles were still in place, groaning at the loss of one her shoes. Her hair had fallen free from its many bobby pins and hung over her eyes lazily. She’d come nowhere near catching the bouquet; she hadn’t even been trying, but in the blur of action, she’d been knocked to the ground and swallowed up by the crazed horde. Mandy was back on her feet, bouncing up and down with an excited whoop, limp flowers dangling from her fist as she grinned ecstatically, winking playfully in Sophie’s direction. Rolling her eyes, Soph limped over to where her missing stiletto had jammed itself into a crack in the decking, and bent down to tug it free. As she flew backwards onto her ass disgracefully, heel in hand, she caught sight of the two strangers sitting at a table on their own. While everyone roared with buoyant amusement at her misfortune, Sophie frowned at the men as they looked up from the piece of paper they’d been pouring over. While one of them appeared to be appraising her, the other seemed almost panicked as he nudged his partner’s arm and muttered something to him. Yanking her shoe back on hastily, Sophie ignored Mandy’s playful jibes as she pushed herself back to her feet and hefted her skirt back up above her ankles. “Where you going, Soph? I was only kidding! And you’re going to miss the garter retrieval if you leave now!” Mandy called after her friend as Sophie ran after the uninvited guests trying to flee the scene. They were a lot faster than her, and clearly a lot fitter, but Sophie cut through the catering tent to corner them at the edge of the parking lot, short of breath and wishing she’d removed her heels first, but determined not to let them out of her sight. She couldn’t explain it, even to herself, but she didn’t like the look of them, and needed to know what they were doing there, if only for the sake of curing her curiosity. “What do you two think you’re doing here?” she panted, hands on hips, hair flopping all over the place. “You weren’t on the guest list, and believe me, I know everyone on it. So spill.” Sam glanced at Dean and Dean glanced at Sam before they both shrugged. “Okay, you caught us,” Dean sighed with whimsical reluctance, “We were gate-crashing the party. You know, have a few drinks, make new friends, convince a couple of jaded bridesmaids to come back to our hotel rooms with us.” “Except you weren’t making any new friends and you weren’t hitting on any bridesmaids,” Sophie interjected quickly. “In fact, I hadn’t noticed you all night until I landed on my ass back there. So,” she made a sound like a game-show buzzer, “Strike one, try again.” Shoving a hand into his pocket, Sam glanced sideways at Dean again, relaying a silent question before shrugging again and pulling an ID holder out. “Okay, we didn’t want to start a panic so we kept quiet. FBI, miss. Special Agent Vincent, and my partner, Special Agent Owens. We’re just here to monitor a person of interest, nothing more.” Screwing her nose up uncertainly, Sophie relieved Sam of his badge and ID with more than a little effort, scrutinizing it carefully before raising an eyebrow and snorting. “FBI my ass. This is a fake. The serial number on this badge is completely outdated and your ID was printed on a commercial license printer. You wanna try for strike three or shall I phone a friend for you?” Jaws dropping speechlessly, the brothers blinked almost frantically as they searched for a new lie. “Save it,” Sophie spat at last, “Nothing you say now is going to convince me. So I’m going to give you a choice. Leave now, stay away from my friends and their family, and I’ll forget I ever saw you. But if I see you around here again, I’m putting a call in to some friends of my own and you’ll never set foot in this state again.” Exchanging another look that conveyed a silent conversation, the boys held their hands up in unison, surrendering to her treaty. “We’ll just be on our way then,” Dean conceded, gesturing for Sam to lead the way, falling into step behind him before pausing and casting Sophie a cheeky grin with a wink. “By the way, smart choice going with the sensible panties tonight.” Feeling her cheeks filling with hot, furiously embarrassed blood, Sophie glared at the men as they walked away towards an old, battered Dodge Challenger. It took off, kicking up dust clouds and rattling along the gravel before disappearing onto the main road. “You’re a dick sometimes, you know that?” Sam chuckled as Dean drove, wrenching his tie off from around his neck and unbuttoning his black jacket. Or at least the few buttons that were still left on it. Even the white shirt beneath had suspicious stains that had, thankfully, been hidden beneath the jacket, and the top button was hanging perilously by a thread. His pants barely fit, but it was the best he could come up with at short notice. The shirt, shoes and tie were his own, but the rest had been raided from a good-will bin. Or rather several of them, until he’d compiled a complete suit out of discarded odds and ends. While they had suits of their own that did the job under normal circumstances, a little research had revealed that the wedding was a proper black tie event, and tuxedos were the go if they wanted to fit in. For the first time in years, Dean himself had shaved cleanly, and was already missing the familiar layer of stubble that usually hugged his chin and jaw. His outfit was in minutely better condition…if you ignored the fact his cumberband was being held in place by several safety pins and some discretely placed duct tape. His pocket square was in fact a paper napkin he’d gotten with his meal at the local diner, and his jacket was several sizes too big. But he’d made an effort to look presentable and plausible, and was admittedly pained that some girl had seen right past the charade. “She had it coming for calling us out like that,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road as he shook his head. “How did she know our ID’s were fake anyway? We’ve pulled this trick a thousand times before and even the real G-men didn’t pick the forgery.” “Well, maybe she is a fed herself and just pays more attention to detail,” Sam offered hesitantly, “Or maybe she was just bluffing.” Dean groaned and tightened his fingers around the wheel as he pressed his foot to the gas, eager to get back to their motel room for some well-earned sleep. “Either way, I hope that’s the last we see of her or we’re tanked.”