#violet pyre

[purpleprincessonfyre]

Driving Miss Crazy 🚗 🔥 ❄

Liane let's her impulsive thoughts get the better of her and a certain Agent has to save her ass

Starring: Liane Felton, Cho Ji-Hoon ( @calmbeforezero )

Also features: Melissa Wallace, Mia Parker ( @ask-missparker ) and JJ ( @marvelsfavoriteuncle )

Rivals to frenemies, Fire vs Ice, Angst, Heart to heart

"Just exactly how are you this annoying? How many times have you been punched in the face because of what you say?" Ji-Hoon, thundered, gazing down at the blonde with that icy glare he seemed to have perfected for just Liane's snarky remarks and jabs.

"Oddly I think...only once? Yeah once." She replied coolly, inspecting her nails. "Are we done here? I'm going for a drive," she sighs, picking up her car keys as Ji-Hoon smirked. "With who's licence?" He replied, holding up his phone and snatching away her keys. "You know you're not allowed to drive, legally. That pink..thing in the garage may be yours but you are not qualified to drive it." He says, holding the keys out of her reach as she tried to to jump and grab them before the agent quickly froze the keys in his hand.

"No. Driving." He said sternly as her eyes changed colour, snapping. "Fine! I won't drive my own damn car! You happy?" She growled, storming off. Ji-Hoon pocketed the keys, satisfied. "Very."

Later....

"Uh Ji-Hoon?" A very panicked Melissa tapped Ji-Hoon on the shoulder, flanked by a raging JJ and an exasperated Mia. "What's happened?" He sighs, assuming its Liane's fault. "Uh so Liane disappeared and we assumed she had gone shopping or something but JJ's car is gone and the footage shows that she took it and we don't know where she's going.." Melissa says as she shows him the tracker following her phone fast. Ji-Hoon paused and watched the tracker, starting to see why they were all stressed. "But...Liane can't drive, she's a terrible driver, why is she doing this?" He asked, taking the laptop from Melissa. "We don't know but she's not slowed down and she hasn't stopped once. And we're pretty sure she doesn't know where she's going." Mia answered as JJ was pacing.

"When I catch that primadonna...for taking my car- my...car...." He breathed in a dangerous tone as Mia turned to Ji-Hoon. "Did...you say anything to her?" She asked as he sighed a little. "I told her flat out she can't drive anywhere. And I took her keys. And she said...she said 'Fine I won't drive my own...damn car,' dammit!" He muttered, standing up. "She's doing this on purpose, to make a point. A really stupid point. God...I cant-" He had barely got in the door. He'd just returned to The Tower after a long mission. And the first thing theyd done was fight and bicker. His bags were still at his feet. She had really done it this time.

"I'll go after her. That car won't run forever, JJ when did you last fill it up?" Ji-Hoon asked, making a plan. "About a week ago, so it was at half a tank I think." He replied as Ji-Hoon ran a hand through his hair, holding back a lot of rage. "I'll go after her. You track her and keep me informed, that car's gotta run out at some point. And I'll doubt she's feeding herself either.." he muttered, grabbing his jacket. "I'll get her back here in one piece, or at least try," He said as he headed out to go and save Liane's ass. Here we go again.

=======

"God why would I do this? Where am I going? Why am I so stupid?" Liane cried out, tears rolling down her cheeks as the sun was setting behind her as she kept her foot on the gas, mascara burning her eyes as the car started to sputter and choke, the speed quickly decreasing as the car's fuel gauge finally hit zero as the silent road just lay ahead, Liane had not thought this through. What had been the end goal here? She couldn't even remember at this point. She just sat there at the side of the road, crying as she heard a familiar sound coming towards her as none other than Cho Ji-Hoon flew over the car and herself before landing right by the front window, his hands on his hips, eyes icy.

"What in the actual fuck were you thinking, Felton?" Ji-Hoon asked as Liane just burst into tears, shocking Ji-Hoon's smirk off his face as he saw what a mess she was. Her makeup running down her face, her hair tangled up, and now she was slamming her head into the steering wheel which he quickly stopped her from doing. "Hey, don't do that, you might hurt yourself...seriously though Liane, why did you do this?" He asked, taking a seat in the passenger side as she turned to him. "Because I'm stupid. And impulsive. And crazy. And a fucking idiot!" She cried out, gripping the steering wheel hard as her palms got warm.

"Shit, Liane!" Ji-Hoon cried, freezing her hands immediately as she sobbed again. "Why am I like this?" She asked, as Ji-Hoon wondered if she needed an answer. "Because deep down, despite everything you still crave attention? And you can give it all you like but you can't take it so you take everything to heart and let it chip away at you until you try something crazy and potentially dangerous which ultimately thrusts you back into the spotlight for all the wrong reasons?" Ji-Hoon answered as Liane sniffed. "Since when did you become a mind reader?"

That made him chuckle. Nothing she ever said to him or ribbed him for really had an effect on him. Yeah it pissed him off once or twice but he knew her game. She wanted a reaction, something to justify her actions. And it only pissed him off so much because he knew she wasn't stupid. She was smart and had the capacity for kindness and compassion. He had seen it. Ji-Hoon sighed. "JJ is mad. Like not screaming and shouting, he's gone deathly quiet. You really disappointed a lot of people today. People who stick their necks out for you when they honestly shouldn't. You need to stop this reckless behaviour. I've been back for five goddamn minutes and you are still a thorn in my side. This needs to end. I mean it, Liane." He said firmly, looking her in the eye.

"Or one day, we might not be there to stop you. And you'll do something dangerous and stupid and...." he swallowed hard but it was the truth. "And we won't want to save your ass. We won't want to stop you doing something dangerous that could get you in big trouble or even worse, get you killed. Trust is a powerful thing, Felton. If you break it, its gonna be really hard to fix it with those guys. Especially with JJ." He finished as Liane stopped crying, closing her eyes. "It just happens, I get these stupid ideas and I can't stop, not until something gets in my way. I want to stop but my foot stayed on the gas. Fuck..." she trailed off, the warmth of her hands melting away Ji-Hoons ice as they sat there in the darkness.

"First, you apologize. Profusely, no bullshit, you give JJ a proper apology for stealing his car. Second, get your ass back to therapy, Petra will straighten you out good I guarantee it. Third, think twice or even thrice before acting on these impulses. Think four times if needs be, just don't be so quick to jump on a bandwagon when you get these ideas. Think of Belladonna, would you really want her following your example like this? Seeing you self-destruct over and over again and thinking it's okay?" Ji-Hoon asked, looking Liane in the eye.

"God no, I'd hate for her to do any of that, she's my daughter, she shouldn't have to do that for attention." Liane replied, suddenly disgusted with herself as Ji-Hoon nodded. "Exactly. So lead by example. Take responsibility for yourself. And your actions. You ready to go home now?" He asked, helping her out of the car slowly. Liane nodded, wiping her tears. "But what about the car?" She asked as Ji-Hoon wrapped his arms around Liane tight, looking skyward. "Mia's taking care of it, now hold on tight." He instructed as they took to the skies, heading home.

"JJ's going to kill me..." Liane sighed as they glided across New York. Ji-Hoon chuckled. "Nah, he's probably taking that rage out on something healthy. Like a punching bag or on the shooting range. Unlike you...why the hell did you stop going to therapy?" He asked, giving her a glance and seeing it written on her face. He sighed. "You thought because you were doing better that you didn't need it...okay no surprises there," He answered as they landed safely at The Tower. Liane just stayed silent as Ji-Hoon faced her, taking hold of her shoulders. "Go back to therapy, Liane. It's not about...fixing yourself or your past. It's about moving forward. Leaving the past behind. Sure you can feel guilty about the bad stuff but you're allowed to grow and change, Felton. We all are." He finished, walking back inside with her.

"I'm sorry for always picking on you, it was dumb and childish. And the nicknames...it was stupid." Liane finally said as Ji-Hoon gave her a half smile, grateful for the apology but not wanting her to change her habits with him. "Hey you're good. Honestly it wasn't that bad, your insults were always pretty lame. And I didn't mind them. I know how shit your brothers were, none of us are blind to that. You were their punching bag, you saw an opportunity, I became yours. A punching bag that could fully kick your ass, mind you, but it gave you an outlet. So I don't mind being your outlet. If it means you get to feel a little bit in control." He smiled, walking towards the kitchen.

"I am going to make tea for us and you are going to apologise to JJ." Ji-Hoon stated as Liane went to reply but he simply said, "Neither of those things are optional. And since I am technically your higher up, that's an order, Felton." He said briskly as Liane sighed and headed off to the training space to find JJ, bracing herself for impact as she knew he would be her toughest apology to gain forgiveness with. Ji-Hoon was right, it was time Liane Felton grew the hell up and faced the music.

Hope you enjoy! First time writing with a bit of Ji-Hoon's perspective...hope I did him justice @gcthvile and feel free to write a part two if you wish @jackiequick from JJ's perspective since you did contribute to the fact it was his car she stole.

@askstevella @ask-starrk @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @wizzzardofoz @ethan-lensherr @afterhours-witheli @sci-fi-lexcon @ms-tiana-xoxo @the-x-ladiesofnyc @therealdaydreamstark @sadiesadieagentlady @spotted-ac-richards @trulysummersprivate

Tags: @jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @aidanxsophxoxo

[ask-missparker]

The Chilling Adventures Of Super-Mamas 🧸

— Super Mamas 🍀, friends 🫧 and son 🧸 today

Summary: Sometimes you need a boost of confidence to get things rolling

|✨🧸💞🦋|

Warning: Fluffy and very sweet angsty plot

Setting: Liane Felton’s Designer Store 🪻

Characters mentioned: Rochelle, Rick, Michelle, Peter and Rei

Introducing: Harry Shum Jr as Jake Kwan, The Personal Assistant & Darling Good Friend

~~

The currently blonde girl stood in front of the mirror and shyly said, “Oh my gosh, you sure that this dress is fine? I can totally understand if you don’t want me to..”

“Luna, sweetie, relax! We are designing this dress for your specifically for a reason, duh.” Liane said sitting on her knees pinning the fabric together.

“Yeah but what if it’s too expensive and you can’t find the right stuff for it.”

“That’s why you’re the client and I’m the designer, you give me the money for this stuff. You’re gonna look gorgeous!”

“Yo-you su-sure? I’m just…I am just so nervous.”

“Nervous about what?”

“My we-wedding..wh-what if something happens? O—or Ricky d-doesn’t show..?”

Liane paused what she was doing and looked up at her friend with a ‘bitch you serious?’ look. As Luna looked away a little shyly, rubbing her shoulders as if she was being judged.

The blonde in a purple dress sighed and smiled, “Luna, sweetheart, calm down. You and Rick are so lovey dovey with each other, no way in hell, he is going to leave you waiting at the alter.”

“Y-you sure? Cause I heard grooms might get co-cold feet and not show up.” Luna said with a sigh playing with her nails.

“Okay everyone gets nervous on their wedding day, I know I did, but you have nothing to worry about. And for real girlie, you and Rick are so darn lovey dovey it’s annoyingly obvious how in love you guys are.”

“We are not…I mean, we are in love..but it’s no-not obvious..”

“Last week at an Avengers meeting, you two were holding hands and basically nuzzled into each other’s arms.”

“Ohhh..hehe oops..”

Jake Kwan, Liane’s assistant and personal friend, chuckle in agreement with her boss. He even commented how they are disgustingly cute together from what he seen, hoping their wedding day goes off with a splash.

“You see! Your wedding is gonna be great, maybe just as nice as Rochelle and Michelle’s wedding day.” Liane added with a grin.

“You mean the same wedding where Doc Ock came in and swooped the bridal party off to the side?”

Said a voice jokingly.

They looked over their shoulders to noticed Mia walking in with snacks, drinks and carrying Elliot in her arms. He was playing with his toy Lighting McQueen and only half paying attention to the others. Luna smiled waving at them. Jake looked up from his phone at the moment to smile at the brunette.

Liane glanced at Luna, “Okay not the best example but you get my point. Things went off with a bang for them!” She then turned to look at Mia as she took Elliot for her arms, pressing kisses against her son’s face as she said, “And what are you two doing here?”

Elliot answered, “Mommy said that we can come and see you!”

“Oh did she now? Looks like mommy forgot to text me on the way over.”

“Mama, mommy got you guys donuts!”

Mia looked over sheepishly as she was carefully hugging Luna a sweet hello, making sure to not wrinkle the fabric or get a pin stabbing her side. Liane send the brunette a look before rolling her eyes and chuckling.

As his mommy walked over to his mama, Elliot rushed over and grinned as Luna scooped him tickling him. Luna felt ten times better holding her cute little nephew as they talked about cartoons and whatnot. Even so, Elliot called his auntie pretty which made Luna smile and blush a bit at his compliment.

Liane eyes widen slightly and lightly gasped, “Oh my..Eli Taylor, honey! Be careful with the dress! You too Luna, please be careful it’s not done yet.”

Mia placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, “It’s fine, hon, the dress is gonna get wrinkled and whatever anyway.”

“But it’s not just the dress, it’s the whole look. It’s not done yet and we might change it. Girl, you don’t understand fashion as hell as I do.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious. Lia, relax it’s fine.” Mia smirked and then muttered, “Besides, knowing who Luna’s man is that dress is gonna get wrinkled anyway.”

“Mia!” Liane replied smirking as she laughed, “Be nice!”

“What? The man is half wolf! That dress ain’t gonna last two hours on the dance floor.”

“Girl, sweetie, you’re too much at times, but true they are gonna dance together and make a romantic scene. Straight out of some classic Disney movie.”

“We weren’t like that, right?”

“Oh no, we were pretty chill. I think I spent half of the night taking pictures with guests and watching the fireworks in the backyard.”

“And dancing. We danced to Maroon 5 Sugar like it was no tomorrow. But mhmmm that wedding cake was so good!”

Liane laugh as she joked, “Fat ass.”

“Thank you for noticing. I’ve been doing squats lately.” Mia joked in a silly accent chuckling loudly.

~~~

As time went on, Mia and Jake helped Liane with the dress after removing it off Luna.

It was kinda obvious that Luna was still a little indecisive about how she wanted the final cut of her dress to be. It wasn’t unusual for Liane to have that in clients who had a bunch of other things on their mind. So she was willing to give the girl all the time she needed to have her dress be perfect.

Elliot was playing building blocks with Luna and coloring. It was obvious that spending time with her nephew is what she needed after everything.

Suddenly Luna asked, “How did you know your wedding was going to be good?”

Mia looks up from her phone as she took a break from helping Jake and Liane. They were the professionals after all.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Mia asked respectfully curious.

Luna sighed resting Elliot on her lap as she explained, “Well um..I mean, how did you know that your dress was perfect, the flowers were right…the setting is just so beautiful…and um…th-that everything about it is absolutely amazing…?”

“Hehe I wasn’t expecting everything to be absolutely perfect. Well Liane was but I wasn’t. I am not that kind of person despite how I act.” She admitted.

“Ooohhh…b-but why? H-h-how?”

“With our current line of work, and with how life is, I realize that you have to take things how they are and make the best of it.”

“..w-woahhh!”

“Yeah! I get it everyone dreams of the perfect wedding, but I feel like the perfect wedding is more like, what’s perfect for you. Is it the dress? Is it the flowers? Is it the wedding? Then everything else will fall right into place.”

“Okay, yeah, I see what you mean! I gotta find what’s perfect for me.”

“Mhmm exactly! At the end of the day, all that matters is your and your groom are alright, and that everyone is celebrating the good times together.”

Luna grins, “Wow, Mia, you are so smart! That sounds like a great plan.”

“Thank you for the kind compliment, but you’re smart too.” Mia added smiling.

“W-what? N-no..I am not that smart.”

“Luna, don’t. Don’t head down that road with me, on the whole I am not smart enough bit, you are. End of discussion.”

“B-but..?”

“No buts! You are smart, your are sweet and you are very kind at the end of the day. I mean, come on you’re getting married!”

As the words exited Mia’s lips, Luna smiled once again at the reminder that she is marrying a pretty great guy. Her fiancé Rick Banner. She was pretty lucky. And if she knew her fiancé, he was just as nervous and excited as her.

Maybe Mia and Liane were right? Her wedding day was going to be pretty awesome after all.

She looked down at Eli in her arms, who was showing her his new plushie as she squealed and played with him. She wondered many things about her future with Rick. Mia chuckled watching her son play with his auntie. One of her favorite things to watch.

If she will be a good wife and partner on the field, if they will still be as sweet to each other after they get married, if they will have a family of their own and will they move out from Avengers Towers?

Luna hopes she doesn’t move out of The Tower anytime soon with Ricky. She loves it there way too much and she knows he loves it too.

However she does think about the others relationships sometimes and becomes curious.

She watched Mia and Liane, Michelle and Rochelle, along with the most recent couple Peter and Rei, seeing them all having it figured out. Hell, Pepper and Tony have it all figure out. Or at least, that’s what she thinks for the couples. Luna knows that she have their own struggles, inner turmoil and anxiety about stuff.

She just hopes she will get there one day.

But seeing how she’s getting married very soon, she’s definitely heading in the right direction.

—

THATS ALL FOLKS! 📖 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS 🥺✨

Please let me know what you think 💭

Tags: @ask-starrk @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @wizzzardofoz z @thechoooooosenone @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @marvelsfavoriteuncle @elzabeth-stark @sci-fi-lexcon @jackiequick @blueboirick @gcthvile @cherrysft @meiramel @trulysummersprivate and etc

[purpleprincessonfyre]

I'll have a go! Reminds me of those magazine interview questions.

The basics:

Liane Alice Georgina Quinn Felton

21

Aries ♈

Aggressively positive

Very impulsive

Habits:

I overspend when seeking approval

Immediately affectionate around sadness

Turning on the charm when I want something

Dating evil assholes

Being forgotten

Family:

Milton and Elizabeth Felton

Quentin Felton, William Felton, Joshua Felton, Matthew Felton, Richard (Dick) Felton Jr

Seeing Taylor Swift on tour (Yes I'm a huge Swiftie shoot me)

Barbie Dreamhouse (it was custom built and I loved it)

Ooh I gave myself a pretty bad haircut with kiddie scissors when I turned ten and Mom made me wear a wig until it grew back

Definitely my cousin Rochelle. She's like my little sister I never had 💗

Chelley and I once snuck out to go to a concert, she wasn't allowed but we snuck out anyway and when her Dad got mad I said it was my idea and she was off the hook

What they prefer:

Coffee but I try to stick to tea because apparently I get a little hyper?

Daytime. Night showers look cool but I'm an early bird so morning shower

Baths when I don't need to do my hair, showers for washing hair

TV. I fall asleep during movies and miss things. TV however I can watch a few episodes and then switch it off.

Reading. Definitely. Writing is hard.

Depends. I do love Ethan but I also love @finlayholmes in a Platonic way and that's really powerful

*sees Fin reading over her shoulder* Lemonade. Definitely not...iced tea....

Ice cream! I love cookies and cream or cheesecake ice cream, especially in Italy

Cupcakes. They're cuter and you feel less guilty eating a few cupcakes rather than an entire cake

Beach. Mountains look cute but beaches are just better

Favorites:

Long Live by Taylor Swift. That song just brings back so many memories.

Band? Oh uh ABBA. Love Mamma Mia

My signature fit when I'm solving crime. My pleather lavender jacket, plain white tee, skinny jeans or a skirt, my heart shaped sunglasses, my signature gold heart locket and my thigh high white heeled boots. Paired with a hot pink lipstick and my Michael Kors purse.

I know it's cliché but London. The weather sucks but it is kinda pretty even in the rain. Damn you Fin!

Ethan saving my ass in Sokovia in that battle against the robots. I was so mad at him back then but now I look back and smile

Finlay. The first person to call me on my bullshit and then put up with me long enough to become my best friend 💜

It's close but Tangled. Punzie was too cute and Flynn...reminds me of Ethan shuddup

Grey's Anatomy. I'm always on the edge of my seat watching. It's addictive.

Aight I'm tagging The Tower! Your turns.

@askstevella @ask-starrk @ask-missparker @therealdaydreamstark @finlayholmes @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @luna-d-marsh @rickb-chaos

@jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @cherrysft @missstrawbs2001 @meiramel

☾ cute character questions ☽

the basics:

name: age: zodiac sign: one good trait: one bad trait:

habits:

one bad habit: one good habit: one habit they can’t break: one they’ve broken: what they’re afraid of:

family:

their parents names: their siblings names: favorite childhood memory: favorite childhood toy: embarrassing story: favorite family member: a story about that family member:

what they prefer:

coffee or tea? showering in the day or night? taking baths or taking showers? tv or movies? writing or reading? platonic or romantic love? iced tea or lemonade? ice cream or smoothies? cupcakes or cake? beach or mountains?

favorites:

song: band: outfit: place: memory: person: movie: show:

[purpleprincessonfyre]

AvengerFan3000: If you could be trapped in any Romantic Comedy movie, which would you choose and why?

Ooh that's a good question! Um if I was able to choose then I would have to say Mamma Mia!

Yes it's cheesy *looks up* Fin's laughing at me, I LIKE CHEESY THINGS!

I'm sorry but being stuck on a gorgeous island Greece as either a mother with three hot ex flames on the way for her daughters wedding or being a bride-to-be with three mystery Dads who all want to be part of my life and a life having grown up on a Greek island in the sun? There is literally no downside!

You feel sad, sing an ABBA song!

Horny? Sing an ABBA song!

Drunk? SING AN ABBA SONG!

Best. Case. Scenario.

And both of those characters get the guy in the end.

So to answer your question...Mamma Mia! Now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go rewatch the movie and stream the soundtrack via the Tower's speakers.

"Yesssss I've been broken hearted, blueeeee since the day we parted,

Why, why, did I ever let you go?"

But nowwwww it is YOUR turn! Fellow Avengers, if you could be trapped in a Rom Com of your choice, which would you choose?

@askstevella @ask-starrk @ask-missparker @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes (ha) @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh

@jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @cherrysft @meiramel

[ask-missparker]

Normal people by day, Vigilante by night / The Purple & Red Duo AU

—> In this universe, Amelia is a Spider-Woman and Liane is the powerful Blaze. They keep meeting in and out of costume but never in the same room to see the other change. 

————

The night was dim and darkened by the bursting buildings of the capital city of New York. The headlights from cars and trucks flashed across the streets like a giant cloud of smoke, as the dust settled over the lamps above. Gloriously bright for a moment where the night could fall ever so slightly into the darkness it seemed to fight.

She sat near the rooftop of Empire State Plaza down on 35th Avenue near the main entrance of the corner store belongs to her favorite sandwiches in the whole neighborhood. She was a huge foodie, what can she say? Sudden the moment stopped as she got a strong smell of fire coming a few blocks down, as she jumps off the rooftop, swinging around and run down the street to find the building where the fire broke.

She saw civilians running around in a field of chaos, police shouting over one another and yelling from inside the state. She took a deep breath and rushed into, helping the men and women out as quickly as possible. She saw a little boy on the ground crying as they seemed to have lost consciousness and couldn’t find his mother.

“Crystal!” Yelled a loud voice that must’ve belonged to the said mother outside wondering where her child was.

She crawled down to reach the boys level and kneels with a reassuring expression, despite the mask over her eyes, as she said, “Hey, sweetheart, I’mma get you out of here, okay. What’s your name?”

He hiccuped a cry before saying, “..ch-Chris..but my-my mama..ca-calls me Crystal..I’m scared…”

“I know you are. But you’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh-okay..”

He reached up for her to carry him as she gladly did, resting him above her hip she moved out of the hallway and down the stairs into the streets, as he screamed for his mother was he saw her face. She gladly handed Crystal over to his mother and nodded before asking the Police, if there were any other citizens inside. He said a few were still inside as she nodded and followed him back into the burning building.

As she stood up the stairs, she got a glimpse of a purple light and a scream from what seemed to be a women, another vigilante?

As the night went on, her gaze fell back and forth to the women in purple who seemed to be helping out as well. She could hear her shouting and screaming, at one point she even looked at her face before turning back to the citizens at hand. She was loud, but she couldn’t the blonde woman for her actions due to the fire happening.

Once she was certain of what happened, she rushed in one more time to make sure all the men, women and children were protected, not harmed within the fire. She heard coughing and groaned to herself, finding the blazing women on the ground pounding to get herself from standing up. She screamed for help and began to cry out in agony for her own safety.

The women in red rushed over trying to grab her attention from the crowd of fire surrounding them, as she looked up at her whiny face. She noticed that as holding her down, thick black wood fall down on her leg. The woman bends over forward lifting the item off the purple carpet as the blonde wiggled free and held up her hand to stand.

The reddish women took her hand, lifting her up from the ground and asked, “Are you alright?”

“I will be..th-thank you. Wh-who are you?” She asked coughing a bit, limping as she follows the brunette out the door.

“Uh, you can call me Mockingbird..but others like to say Spider-Mock.”

“You don’t look like a spider? But your actions are quick like one.”

“So are yours. Wait who are you?”

“…uh..um..Violet Pyre..”

“Pretty name..but you also look like a Blaze to me with that look.”

The blonde smiled as the brunette waved at her before walking off the field to let the cops handle the rest. The blonde looked up to see the women swing away as she shouts, “Wait! Are you a..heroine here?”

But she didn’t get her answer.

—————-

A few days later, the blonde was at an event that Sunday. A designer event to showcase to new artists and fans their latest collection. There were billboards filled with name of famous brands outside and inside well known fashion magazines, reports from around the globe and beyond just to get a glimpse of the new products.

Any press was good press.

Anthony Edward Stark was there with his family and friends. The Richard family was invited and well, even lesser known members of the community were presented on stage and on the red carpet. Some people were just invited to fill the gap of space between the audience and their favorite band of musicians. Hell movie producers and directors arrived as well.

Suddenly someone bumped into her.

“Woah! What where you’re—” She shouted almost bumping her hip into the chair next to her as she turned around to face the person.

She was met with a set of brown eyes covered behind a pair of black almost brown rim glasses, black jeans, a blue poppy seed blouse and white flats. Her hair was in a half up-half down hairstyle with a pen behind her ear. She was carrying a small bag and holding a large clipboard in hand.

“Oh sorry! But you should really watch where your going Miss—?!” She exclaimed with a furrow brow raised, leaning against the table behind her.

She gripped her clipboard and replied, “Uh..Parker! P-Parker from The Daily Bugle, ma’am..”

“Ma’am? I am not an old lady! And the name is Felton. Liane Felton. I’m one of the designers here—wait did you say Daily Bugle?”

“Uhhhh yeahhh, why? My boss’s boss is J. Jonah Jameson.”

“I have been trying to get a hold of them for weeks. Come on, take my picture!”

“No..Why should I?”

“Duhhh you’re a photographer! Take my picture of me and my designs.”

Parker shook her head ‘no. maybe next time, ma’am’ as she walked away. Felton crossed her arms and pouted saying she didn’t need her anyway. As the night went on, both of them followed each other’s gaze and began separate conversations with other people there. Parker was minding her own business snapping pictures of designers, taking notes and making small talk that translated into interviews with people. Felton went on to make mental notes, complimenting other people in conversation and sharing topics among others. Hell she drank and danced as well.

The fashion industry was booming in recent excitement as the fashion show opened up with Bruno Mars performing a song and designs from different artists walked out. Everyone took pictures, clapping and spotlighting the event designers too.

The party kicked off with music, drinks and other entertainment going on. Liane walked around chatting with other people and serving herself another glass of champagne as her eyes darted over to the brunette from eariler who was leaning against a table by herself fumbling with a camera. Liane hummed fighting the urge to be a snob and realize how rude she was to the girl, sighing. A ping in her ear made her feel uncomfortable and awkward about her actions.

When she walked over, she giggles to herself looking at the girl who seemed to be talking to herself, pushing up her glasses. It looked like she watching an old school cartoon with the girl looking as if she was talking to the Angel and Devil on her shoulder, then disappearing. It looked awfully cute to her, noticing the gentle expression on the brunette face as she shyly waved at her once she approached. Taylor Swift’s song ‘I can see you’ was playing in the speakers, as Liane sang along watching the band performed from the stage.

She hated the silence.

“Ughhh I’m sorry okay!” Liane exclaimed blurting out the words, winces looking at the woman.

“Uh, what?” Said the woman looking up at her, with a slight smile and chuckled.

“I am sorry for being rude earlier! You didn’t deserve be acting like a snob.”

“Uhhh um..it’s okay, Felton.”

“I just been stressed lately and the pain in my neck from working late nights.”

“I figured as much.”

“And I was almost late here—wait what?”

“I said, I figured. With you being one of guests here, you wanted to make sure you were ready for tonight and must’ve been nervous..”

“..uh yeah! That’s it, I am really sorry for the inconvenience that I caused to you tonight.”

“It’s okay. Yeah you were mean..but it is understandable.”

Liane sighed in relief, “Can we start over? I’m Liane.”

“Amelia.” Replied the reporter.

“Care to dance? Let lose?”

“I-I can’t. My boss might..”

“Is he here?”

“No?”

“So you can spear a little bit of time for yourself. Come on, loosen up!”

“Fine..”

She followed the lead of the blonde onto the dance floor as the music started to pick up speed. The two danced together sharing a few moments to drink, eat and relax a bit more that evening. The Fray and other artists played on the speakers, as the dance floor filled with more people.

It was nice.

//

Soo I know this was short but I got inspired lol. What do you guys think of this glimpse of the tiny AU?

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @cherrysft @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @sherloquestea

[blooming-violets]

Saints and Sinners || Under the Banner of Heaven

[Jeb Pyre x fem!Reader]

Summary: Jeb falls prey to his darkest temptations while working a case.

Warnings: adult graphic smut, a cheating fic, heavy LDS religious themes and traumas, brief mentions of the murder of sex workers, light fem!dom/male!sub roles but nothing too crazy, brining it back to the religious trauma stuff - a lot of strong feelings of being trapped in a family/religion you don't feel like you belong in, if you are someone who feels offended with merging religion and sexual themes then this is not the fic for you

Note: "Reader" is nicknamed Daisy as her stage name as a stripper/sex worker. She has no physical descriptions apart from having female anatomy/a human body and wearing a sun dress. She can look however you'd want her to which is what makes her a reader character. Apart from that, she is her own character.

Jeb Pyre considered himself to be a decently good man. 

He was well groomed. He was respectful. He loved his family. He gave his job 100% and loved his neighbors. 

He was a devout son of the Heavenly Father. 

Or, at least, he used to be. 

He had been hiding his true self for his family's sake. He was trying, but failing, to keep up his appearance of perfection. Every day was a new struggle to keep up his flawless Latter-day smile. Docile and submissive. Never making waves. Never voicing questions. Day after day, trapped in his own mind, slowly being eaten alive by his ever growing doubt. It was only a matter of time before he cracked. 

She was his forbidden fruit. The temptress sent straight from the devil to corrupt his soul. The snake in his garden. 

His latest case had led him straight to her doorstep. There were sex workers in the city being murdered. A killer who vowed to cleanse his city from their filth. Jeb hadn’t even known there were sex workers living in his area. He’d never even seen a strip club before he was forced to step inside one to investigate. It was a terrifying world he wasn’t sure how to navigate. 

She had taken his hand and led him through the darkness. 

Daisy. That’s what she called herself. Her stage name. She had told him it was after Daisy Buchanan. The paragon of perfection for men to lust after but hiding a sardonic, amoral soul. It seemed to fit. She was the kind of woman he’d leave a green light on for but never be able to obtain. He knew her real name for his investigation but she refused to have him call her by such. She claimed only the people who truly loved her were allowed to utter her true name. To everyone else, she was just Daisy. 

He used to believe that all sex workers were women who needed saving. They had lost their way from God. They were impure. Drug addicts. Abused. Lost souls desperate to be saved. 

But she fit none of those roles. 

She was strong and sure. A business woman. A homeowner. She didn’t need a man to provide for her. Everything she owned was achieved through her own tenacity. When he looked at her, he saw someone who truly enjoyed their job. He struggled to wrap his head around that fact. A woman shouldn’t enjoy having sex for a living. She shouldn’t enjoy selling her body to perverted men. She should remain pure and devout until marriage. He often wondered what her future husband would think of her lewd, depraved acts. 

And then he remembered that she never wanted to marry. 

What an absurd thought. A woman with no desire for a husband? Utterly bizarre. 

She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he was tempted by the wickedness of her world. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew better than to dance with the devil. Yet, here he was. Allowing her to occupy every existing thought in his brain. She was the one he thought about late at night. She was the name he moaned into his pillow in the early hours of the morning while his wife slept beside him. She was the one he dreamed of being able to touch. 

The one thing he couldn’t have, was the one thing he truly coveted. For Jeb Pyre was a sinner. He wasn't a devout man. He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Father. 

And he hated the life he was forced to be living. 

Everything was an act and he was tired of playing his part. 

So, when a killer murdered two of her work acquaintances, and put her in his targets, Jeb decided to personally oversee her protection. After all, she had been such a help to the investigation thus far. He needed to keep his best informant alive. 

Even if that meant risking everything he had to spend the night in her arms.

Jeb parked his car on the street directly outside of her house. From out here, one would never know what kind of person she was. It looked no different than any other house on the block. He wondered if her neighbors had any idea. He couldn’t imagine if they knew, they would let her stay in the neighborhood without a fight. They’d blame it on the guise of protecting their innocent children from the evil whore but the truth was that they hated anyone who dared to step outside their carefully crafted circle. They hated those different from them. 

But who were her clients then, if not the men who claimed to hate everything about her? 

Everything was a facade. He was so used to hearing people say one thing but act the opposite. The men who would run her from their neighborhood if they knew the truth, were the same men who would cash out their family’s credit card to spend a night with her. Publically, they would denounce her. Privately, they would take whatever they desired from her.

He was no different from them. The perverse thoughts inside his head were just as bad, if not worse. He had seen too much in this job. It had twisted his core. His mind was polluted. He was lusting down paths he could never travel. 

Jeb rapped three, strong knocks on her door. It was later in the evening. He knew she wasn't at the strip club because he had a copy of her schedule in his car glove box. There were other women he had to keep an eye on, too, but she was the one he chose to personally protect. She was the one he feared to lose the most. It was irrational, he knew that. She had no notion of his fantasies keeping him up at night. To her, he was just the lead detective on a case. 

He caught her peeking out the top window of her front door, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and he gave a friendly wave. At least she was smart. She wasn’t opening her door to just anyone. 

He listened to the clicks of two different locks and smiled as she opened to him, “Good evening, ma’am. Detective Jeb Pyre, remember me?” 

She forced a tight smile in return, “Of course I remember you. Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?” 

He let out a half hearted laugh. She was beautiful but she was scared. Women she had worked with were dying. It was supposed to be his job to keep them safe.

He tried to take a subtle glance down her body. She was wearing a sundress and nothing else. Warm yellow with tiny white flowers dotting the sleek fabric. One of the thin straps was sliding down her shoulder. The dress clung tightly around her torso to highlight her stunning cleavage and flared out over her hips whenever she moved. Women around here never wore clothes like that unless they also donned a buttoned up cardigan and tights. To see her display her body so openly caught his breath in his throat. He had to shift on his feet to readjust himself. He refused to allow her to see how excited his body was reacting to hers.

It was unprofessional. Wrong. 

“Not at all. Do you have a moment to chat?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. 

She gave a sharp inhale, “Is everything okay? Did someone else get hurt?” 

Jeb shook his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted…”

What did he want? He wanted to commit a sin. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her entire body. He wanted to slide his cock between her beautifully plump lips. He-

He was going to hell. 

“I just wanted to stop in and let you know that I’ll be stationed outside your house for the rest of the night. With everything going on, I thought it would be best to station some people at various hot spots around town to keep an eye on things.” 

Her eyes narrowed, “My house is a hot spot?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Detective Pyre, but I don’t do business out of my own home. No one knows where I live. I use a stage name at work. No one there knows my real name. I’m not a street walker, I’m a stripper who occasionally takes up extra clients in the vip rooms when the money is good enough. My house isn’t a revolving door for men to come and go whenever they please like some brothel. I’ve taken some time off work for the next week to lay low, anyway. A lot of the other girls are doing the same. I think I’ll be alright.” 

Jeb chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip, feeling like he had offended her, “I didn’t mean to imply…anything…” 

This was not going how he intended. He wasn’t used to women talking back to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“You being stationed out in your car all night, in front of my house, is only going to cause more eyes to look at me. My neighbors already think I’m some crazy heretic for not attending their church. I don’t need them looking further into my life. Thank you for stopping by and offering your support but I don’t need it.” 

As she started to close the door, Jeb stuck his foot between the crack, wincing as it slammed into his shoe. He felt immediate guilt for doing such a strong handed act with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. He couldn’t spend another night laying in a bed next to a wife he no longer loved. 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly added when he saw her look of outrage. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous the man we are hunting is. He could have already followed you home. He probably already knows where you live. I wouldn’t put it past him to break in. I’ve seen it before.” He gave a quiet sigh, nearly begging for her approval. “Please. Let me watch over you tonight. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was supposed to be here.”

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. He watched her peer side to side down the street, taking in her surroundings for anything unusual. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “But do you have to be parked in the street? Can’t you pull your car into my garage so no nosy neighbors will see and spend the night inside? I have a perfectly adequate couch for you to hang out on.” 

Jeb smiled, relieved, “I can do that. Thank you.” 

He shouldn’t be this excited about being inside her home. 

As he slowly walked through her place, he took note of the items she owned. Her house looked like any others he might enter. There were pictures of her with friends hanging on her refrigerator, a television in the corner of the living room, a brick fireplace with a little ceramic frog on top of the mantle. A cozy, hand knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everything looked normal. He felt stupid for imagining her living inside of sex dungeon. Whatever that might look like. He still had a lot of biases he had to work on.  

She walked into the living room after him with a glass of ice water, offering it to him, “The bathroom is the first door on the left down the hall. My bedroom is the last door. There’s a spare room to the right where I do my step aerobics. I have a basement with some empty rooms down there but I don’t really use them. Then there’s the kitchen and, obviously, living room. The front door and the basement door are the only doors into the house besides the garage. It’s a pretty small house with thin walls so you should be able to hear anything if there’s a break in.” 

Jeb smiled politely in thanks. He knew what he was doing would be considered nefarious in his community. A married man spending the night in a single woman’s home, a stripper, no less, would be the gossip of the town. It wouldn’t matter if he was a detective keeping watch on someone who could be in danger. He was still a man alone with a woman. The first night he was ever alone with his wife was their wedding night. It was no wonder Daisy wanted him to park in the garage so people wouldn’t talk. She probably had a hard enough time as it was. 

“I won’t take up much room,” he said. “I don’t want to be a burden. Only trying to help to keep everyone safe.”

“Isn’t this usually the type of job you give to the rookies?” She asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. She crossed her legs at the ankles like a respectable lady should and, somehow, she still looked like a seductress doing so. “Does the lead detective usually make overnight house calls?” 

The skirt of her dress was short. It bunched up around her thighs as she sat. He willed himself to only look at her face and keep his eyes from wandering. 

Jeb blushed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion, “We don’t have too many men at the station. I volunteered to lend an extra hand.” 

She leaned back, eyeing him up with a type of bold, observant intelligence he wasn’t used to seeing, “What does your wife think of you spending the night with a whore?” 

He anxiously twirled his wedding band around his finger. She spoke with such brashness it caught him off guard.

“I told her I was spending the night at the office,” he wasn’t sure why he willingly answered so honestly and without hesitation. 

She had that kind of spell over him. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to give her things. Wanted to tell her all his secrets. She was a siren luring him to his destruction and he was willing to sail his ship straight into the rocks if it made her happy.  

A smirk tugged up the corner of her lips, “Ah, I see. So you’re a liar. What else are you lying to her about?”

Jeb choked on the water he was sipping. His eyes widened. 

“I’m not-what-I’m not-” he sputtered out.

She laughed quietly to herself, “Calm down, detective. I was only joking. An LDS man telling his wife a lie? That’s never been heard of before.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. 

He ran the back of his hand over his lips to hide his smile. He liked her. He liked her sass. She didn't care what he thought of her. She wasn’t playing a game like everyone else he knew. It made him want to tell her the truth. Every truth. Everything he had been holding in for the past year. 

He hated his wife. He didn’t just not love her anymore, he despised her. 

Her words had been echoing in his ears for over a year now, “I love you but I can’t struggle through this with you.”

She had left him when he needed her the most. She chose her faith over him. He should have known. He had married her because of how devout she was. Her love for Heavenly Father was what drew him towards her in the first place. Now, it’s what cast him away. 

If he didn’t pretend, Rebecca would take everything from him. She would leave him for nothing if he didn’t keep on impersonating a saintly man. As if they hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together. As if he hadn’t devoted everything to his family. She would rather jump ship than dare to stand by his side when he needed her most. He would have never left her if she had been in his place. He would have held her hand and walked her through her doubts but she couldn’t do the same. Her love was conditional. 

He hated her for that. 

He hated himself for hating her. 

Rebecca’s faith was what kept her moving forward. It was all she ever knew. She lives in the LDS belief that Jeb, with his priesthood, is the one who must usher her through the veil when she passes so she can enter the highest form of heaven. Without him, without his beliefs, she was fucked. 

Jeb smiled to himself. He liked that word. 

Fucked. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

That was his life.

A big fucking lie. A pile of steaming bullshit. 

He had just met Daisy five days ago and she had already pegged him for exactly the kind of man he was. A liar. A stripper knew more about him than his own wife. She could see straight through the fabricated, bullshit act he put on and he had only been inside her home for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and she could already see the depravity leaking out of him. 

God, he was pathetic. 

“I don’t believe in a God,” he blurted out, shocking even himself with the outburst. 

She gave him a few, stunned blinks in response, “...Okay.” 

Jeb cleared his throat, his face heating with embarrassment, “I don’t know where that came from. I deeply apologize.” 

If he was with anyone else, his confession would have been met with gasps of horror. With her, it was nothing more than a passing sentence. 

She was perfect. He wanted her. Badly. That sundress was only working to fuel his indiscretion. 

She leaned her head into the palm of her hand as she rested it on the arm of the chair, “Is this…something you’d like to discuss further, detective? Men seem to enjoy emptying their traumas onto me. I’ve consoled many men over the years. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” 

“I-” he stammered, his ear heating up in shame for his actions. “No. I’m sorry. Again.”

She wasn’t his therapist. He didn’t have a therapist. Only crazy people had therapists. And he wasn’t crazy. 

Or maybe he was. 

Life might be easier if he was crazy. 

“I love my wife,” he stated. He only said that to try and convince his brain to stop lusting after the woman he was meant to be protecting. He was here to make sure no one broke in. He was working a case. He was not here to turn to sin. 

She nodded her head, pretending to follow along with whatever obvious breakdown was going on inside his mind, “That’s good. A lot of men love their wives. A lot of men don’t. That’s a part of life.” 

“I love…no…” Jeb sighed. Fuck it. The rant was coming out. He couldn’t stop it. He was already too far gone to keep it repressed any longer. “I don’t love my wife. I hate her. Every time I look at her, all I feel is animosity. I think she’s the dumbest woman I’ve ever met and I know that’s wrong to think. I know that makes me a terrible man. I’m an awful husband. It’s just that she blindly follows whatever the profit says. Whatever a bishop tells her to do, she’d do it without a second thought. They could tell her to get on her knees and suck them off because Heavenly Father commanded it so and she would do it. She doesn’t see anything further than her own nose. She follows and never questions. And, I understand, because I used to be the same. I used to believe because that’s what I was taught to do. Blindly believe. That’s all there ever was. 

“She’s never seen true evil. Not like I have. Because she refuses to look even though it’s all around her. I see it everywhere. She puts on her little Mormon blinders and never dares to take them off. So, she follows. And she makes my girls follow. And she makes me follow or else she will take the girls away from me. I am raising my daughters in a world that hates women. My wife is letting them be preyed upon. She’s happy to let them be squashed into submission. Keep sweet. Pray and obey. Learn to worship your future husband. Never think for yourself.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, feeling himself losing it. His voice cracked. “If I give up, is there no hope for my daughters? Who will protect them if not me? My wife would marry again, quickly, so she can still get into the celestial kingdom when she dies. She’ll marry someone who won’t waver in their beliefs. Another man would raise my girls. He won’t care about them. Not like I do. They’ll be sold off to the first Mormon boy they fancy. They’ll be married at 18. Never attend college. Never think for themselves. Never get a job. Because I won’t be there to inspire them to reach for more. I’ve seen what kind of men are out there. My daughters won’t be safe unless I play the part my wife created for me.”

He opened his eyes to look over at the woman across from him. Her face was neutral but her eyes were burning with an eagerness to know more. His sudden outburst of lament had stricken something deep inside of her. He had captured her interest like he was a strange bug forced under a microscope that she wanted to dissect. His spiel may have exploded out of nowhere but she was already on board to follow along. She seemed like someone who enjoyed a feisty debate. He needed someone who wouldn’t hold back. 

“You claim your wife is the dumb one, yet, here you are, spewing a load of shit all over my living room,” she mused, giving him a snarky grin. 

Jeb’s jaw dropped. He forced himself to quickly regain his composure and took another swig of cold water. The fire behind her eyes was enticing. He desperately wished his wife could show that kind of passion once in her fucking life. He hated the docile, sweet act. He craved raging forest fires not babbling brooks. He licked his lips, ready to swallow anything she threw back at him. This is what he wanted. Someone to argue with. Someone he could express himself with without fear of rejection. He wanted this fierce lioness to eat him alive. 

He just wanted something that felt real for once. 

She stood up to pace around the room in front of him while she spoke, “Do you realize your wife is like that because she knows nothing else? That is her way of survival. She chooses to believe instead of question because questioning is terrifying. Questioning means losing everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Your entire world crumbles under your feet if you dare to question. Want to ask me how I know?” She stopped her aggravated pacing to shoot him a look of annoyance. “You’re a man. You have so many options still available should you fumble. If she were to question her faith, she would lose her family. Her mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. She loses them all. And then she is left with what, exactly? I doubt your wife works? Does she have her own career? Skill sets? Does she have her own income? Does she have her own car? Bank account? She dares to question, she is left with nothing. But you know that already. Obviously. Because you are just as scared to speak your truths out loud. You’re no better than her.”

She stopped momentarily to catch her breath, flipping a strand of hair from off her forehead. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hips swayed when she walked. He adored her temper. It felt so natural. Real. She wasn’t holding herself back to placate him. She acted on her own accord without worrying about how others perceived her. 

He wanted to toss her onto this couch and take her right here. He could only half listen to her rant through his ever growing desires. 

“How do you know your wife doesn’t think the same thoughts as you? How do you know she doesn’t hide her truths locked up deep inside her mind and never dares to speak them? It’s fine to voice your opinions when you’re in the safety of my house. To you, I am nothing, I’m just a stripper. A prostitute. Hooker. Harlot. Whore. Whatever you want to call me. I pose no threat to you because, to you, I am so far below you that my voice does not matter. You feel safe to speak freely inside these walls because you face no real consequences here. You’ve seen evil? Well I’ve lived evil. You’re here because of the evil that wants to be inflicted upon me. Because I think differently from you. Because I use my body as a tool. Because I don’t subscribe to your values. Someone out there thinks I deserve death simply because I exist in a way he doesn’t approve of. You want to blame your wife for your problems. Blame yourself because you’re no better than her. You’re all a part of the same system.” 

Jeb sat there in silence. The condensation from the glass of ice water clutched in his hand dripped down his wrist. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he took it all in. He was torn between fully digesting her words and imagining her naked, writhing body under him as he dragged the ice cube from his glass down her stomach. 

“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a whore.” 

He didn’t even like saying that word out loud. He felt a dark cloud of shame rain down around him. But was she wrong?  

He had never imagined his wife in the scenario currently playing in his head. He saw Daisy as a sex object willing to be exploited to his darkest temptations.  

She stopped in front of him. She placed her finger under his chin and lifted his head up to look at her. His wide, pleading, brown eyes took her in, silently begging for some kind of clarity to fix his entire life.

“Tell me what you think of me, detective. Tell me the truth. When you look at me, what is it you truly see?” She murmured down at him. “Why are you really here? It’s not to discuss your lapse of faith, or your wife, and it’s not to keep me safe. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what it is you truly want? Don’t you lie to me.”

The way his world saw it, Rebecca was pure, because she had remained a virgin until marriage. She lived and breathed by the Book of Mormon. Daisy was a condemned sinner, because she sold her body for sex. She was beyond saving. Even the outfit she wore was considered taboo. Modest clothing was the foundation stone to sustaining abstinence. She was the sinner. 

But so was he. 

Jeb was no saint despite the role he was trying to play. 

He took a deep breath and recited the scripture, “He that looketh on a woman to lust after her, or if any shall commit adultery in their hearts, they shall not have the Spirit, but shall deny the faith and shall fear.”

Her eyes flicked with curiosity and a smile tugged at her lips. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, “You lust, Jeb Pyre? For me?”

He licked his drying lips, gently pushing her hand away from his face, “Yes.” 

She nodded, knowingly, “You don’t know what you want. Your mind is in one place but your actions keep you in another. I am not the answer to your problems. Many men have tried but all have failed. The answer is never found between the legs of a whore. Unless, that is, what you say is true and you don’t think of me that way. Something tells me, though, that you’re lying to us both.” She gave him a wink, turning on her heels with her dress spinning out around her, and swayed down the hallway towards her bedroom. “Have a good night on the couch, detective. I’ll be retiring to my bedroom should you decide you need me.” 

She let those last few words linger in the air, the weight of them settling down around him, as the door closed behind her.

The cuckoo clock hanging on her wall let him know that midnight was here. The sudden sound breaking the peaceful silence had caused him to jump up from his spot on the couch and reach for the gun at his hip. Jeb rolled his eyes in the clock's direction and lowered his hands back to his side. He might still have some residual PTSD from his former cases…  

Her house was dark and quiet. 

He liked it that way. Sometimes he missed the quiet. She hadn’t left her bedroom since she entered. Without her in his sights, he could better attempt to control his impulses. He was too weak to be trusted around her. If she hadn’t left when she did, he would have given in. It had taken everything in him to not follow her blindly into that bedroom like a dog on a leash. 

Jeb ran a ragged hand over his face. He wasn’t tired. Late nights were where he thrived best. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. She’d awoken his mind in a way he thirsted for. Even just being in her house, prowling silently down her hallway, gave him a thrill. He felt like a naughty school boy getting into mischief after class. He longed to feel something more. His life was full of boredom and she offered him the keys to adventure. He longed to find solace in the arms of a stripper. 

A soft light illuminated from under her door to let him know that she was still awake down there. He wondered what she was doing hidden away out of his sight. She had invited him to join her. She had invited him to relish in his sins. It would be a line that, once he crossed, he would never be able to erase. The second he gave in to her, he wouldn't be able to stop. He was already past the point of saving. One little push was all it would take for him to delve into the madness. That glowing light under her door beckoned him to her like the light of God calling him home.  

He slipped into her bathroom instead. 

He ran cold water out of her orchid pink sink to splash over his heated face. His eyes sought his reflection in the mirror to stare deeply into his own battered soul. This was his crossroads. Whichever path he took would alter the rest of his life. He had already committed adultery in his mind. It was now the act to see if his body would follow or not. 

The sight of a black and golden lipstick sitting on the edge of her sink caught his eye. Jeb reached for it, popping off the cap, and twisting it up. A deep, berry red. A color housewives wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He brushed his thumb over the top to coat his skin with the color of her lips. The bottom of the stick was engraved with the name of the shade. Walk of Shame. He smiled a wicked smile to himself. 

He knew what road he was going to take. He would take that walk of shame. 

Jeb placed the stick back where he found it. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, mulling over his decision, then carefully plucked it off his body. He placed the ring around the lipstick, listening to it rattle against the ceramic sink, and gave a long, soft sigh. A weight had been lifted from him. He quickly exited the bathroom and allowed his feet to lead him straight to her door. He stood outside, silent, listening. 

Soft moans floated under the door. Little whines. Whimpers. 

His eyes slipped closed and his lips parted. He knew those sounds. She was putting on a show for him. All he had to do was raise the curtain and let her perform. His hand hovered over her door knob. 

It was okay. She had invited him in. 

“-should you need me.”

He needed her. He hadn’t engaged in sex with his wife in over eight months. He needed her now more than ever. 

He slowly and silently turned the knob. Inch by inch. Until he was able to push open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to peek through. He had to make sure she was safe behind those walls. After all, that was his job. 

She laid across the bottom of her mattress. Her sundress was gathered around her hips. Her legs were parted wide, aimed straight at the door, as if she knew he would show up. He was that predictable. Through her half closed, dreamy lids, her long, elegant fingers drew delicate circles through her glistening flower. His breath caught in his throat when he watched her dip a finger deep inside of her. His cock sprang to life, begging to be touched, pushing at the loose fabric of his dark gray suit pants. 

He should close the door. He should leave. 

This was wrong. He needed to repent. 

“I see you watching me, detective,” she whispered to him as he hid away in the dark hallway, lurking in the shadows like a predator. She let out a soft whine, dragging her soaked finger in circles around her clit. “I know you’re there.” 

Jeb swallowed. She was the devil. A demon. He had no power over her. Heat flushed through his veins. His breath was already coming out in heavy pants. He was chained to the doorway, captivated by her seduction. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. 

“Have you ever seen a woman masturbate, Brother Pyre?” She moaned. “Have you ever seen a woman touch herself like this?” 

His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping tightly onto the wood for support. No. He hadn’t. It would shock him if he found out his wife secretly masturbated in private. She was so well behaved. Masturbation was a sin. She would never dare allow anyone else besides him to touch her, not even herself. 

“Do you like to watch me?” She whimpered, sinking her finger back inside of her. “I was hoping you would come. I know you, detective. I see through you. Your mind is just as perverted as the rest of us. You want to give in. You want to taste what is forbidden to you. It’s okay. I won’t tell.” 

She looked hotly up into his eyes, staring straight into his corrupted soul. He was too weak. He had no resolve. The devil looked too appetizing. The sins of the flesh were tempting him forward as he let the door push open to reveal himself in all his shame. 

She gave him a warm smile, taking in the sight of the bulge below his belt. Her fingers swept through her folds, slippery with her arousal. With the expertise of someone with diligent practice, she used two fingers to part the outer petals of her womanhood to reveal to him the hot, sinking abyss he craved to explore. 

Enraptured, he could not tear his eyes from the slender digit plunging into her soaking depths. His mouth opened and closed, silently, begging to seek a taste of such a treasure. He watched in a starving trance as she anointed her needy pearl, bathing it in her honey, tending to it like a precious garden. Her eyes locked with his, burning, tempting him to join her in her display of debauchery. 

Oh, lord, he was tempted. 

Through heavy, ragged breaths she spoke, “Watch me, detective. Gaze upon the kind of life you were kept from. Look at what you could have been given. See what you missed out on.” 

He was watching. His eyes were padlocked to her dancing fingers. She was beautiful. His heart sought to hold her in his arms while he touched her with a wild abandon. 

“Do you like what you see, Jeb?” She moaned out his name extra low and tantalizing. 

He almost came in his pants at the sound of his name in her mouth. A shudder ran through his tightly wound body. 

“Answer me!” She demanded from him.

He gasped, “Yes.” 

A smile spread across her lips, “Good boy. Men like you work so hard, don’t they? You give and give and give but who ever takes care of you? Let yourself relax, detective. Let yourself give in. Let me care for you. Let someone else take control for once.”

Her eyes closed, lost in the rhythmic tones of her own words, casting her enchantment over them both. She had known he would come seek her out. She had known he would watch. She wanted him here. All he craved was to feel wanted again. 

He took a tentative step into her bedroom, closing the door behind him, and sealing his fate with the click of the lock. 

“That’s it, baby,” she cooed. “Come a little closer. Take a look at your new toy. All for you.”

Jeb held his breath, shuffling slowly forward a few more paces. His heart was racing. His skin was on fire. His mind was made up. 

“Why don’t you let Daisy see what her Gatsby is working with, hmm? Take your belt off. Unzip your pants. Show me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand. 

He swallowed, his nerves sending him into a frenzy, as he undid his belt, lost in her trance. His eyes stayed glued to her hypnotic fingers casting circles of magic around her clit. Subconsciously, his tongue dated out to lick his lips, desperate for a taste. 

His hot, heavy cock fell out into the palm of his hand. He listened to her sharp inhale at the sight. It was followed by a purr of approval. 

“I want you to touch yourself but keep your eyes on my pussy, detective. Watch what I’m doing. Watch how wet you’re making me. Listen.” Two fingers sunk into her, squelching and sloppy, as she pumped them in and out. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sound and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. With the tip of his thumb, still stained with her lipstick, he smeared around his own wetness leaking from his tip. He worked it down his shaft, slowly pumping himself through his fist. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the day I met you,” she breathed, keeping him in her watchful sights, each of them working to build their own pleasure. “I saw you then like I see you now. A lost man in need of guidance. I dreamed of you touching me. That first day, when you called me into your office. I imagined spreading my legs for you as I sat on top of your desk, throwing papers to the floor, while you ate me out in front of the large window. I dreamed of you finding me at my work, paying extra to take me to the back rooms, making me suck your cock while you grabbed my hair and prayed to your pathetic God.” He wanted to eat that arrogant smirk straight off her face. “You like watching me, don’t you, pretty boy? You like hiding here, away from the world, where only you and I can bear witness to the blasphemy of your true self. Show me who you really are.” 

He whimpered, tugging on his cock a little harder. He was a sinner. An adulterer. A pervert. A heretic. A liar. 

“Tell me what you want to do to me, detective? Tell me all the ways you’ve dreamed of fucking me while you slept next to your frigid wife.” 

Jeb stuttered over his words, trying to force them out his tightening throat, “I’ve-I’ve…dreamt of dragging you to temple, b-bending you over the sacrament table, and fucking you in front of the congregation so they could all see what kind of dirty whore you are.” 

Tears pricked in his eyes as the shame battled it out with the unbridled lust. He had never spoken like that in his life. A sense of vitality flowed through him. It made his cock twitch in his hand and he stroked it more fervently. 

She licked her lips, letting out a light, amused laugh, “Such a naughty boy, detective. I know there’s more darkness in you. I want to hear it all. What else do you dream of?” 

“Taking you into my home. F-fucking you-” he stumbled over the word “fucking” as it still felt so forgein on his lips to openly talk this dirty. “In my bed. On my wife’s side. Forcing her to watch while I make you unravel on my tongue. Showing her exactly what she is missing out on. Showing her what kind of man I could be if she’d only open herself up to experiment more.”

He couldn’t believe the filth he was allowing himself to admit. These were his private thoughts. They were never meant to be exposed to anyone. She had that effect on him. His skull was cracked open and his most shameless self was laid bare. 

“You’re poor, poor wife,” she mewled. “She deserves to have someone tend to her needs, too. I know she wants it. All women do. You’ve just never pushed her far enough because you’re weak, Jeb Pyre.” She removed her fingers from her pussy and sat up, letting her dress fall back over her hips. She stared him down with her possessive gaze. “Get on your knees,” she ordered. 

He didn’t even hesitate. He released his hand from his cock and knelt down before her. She slowly got to her feet to take a stand directly in front of him. She was so close he could smell her sex clinging to her skin. 

“Men like you are always searching for something to worship.You told me you don’t believe in God. You told me you’ve lost your way. You have nothing to hold onto.” She trailed her finger, still glistening with her slick, over his bottom lip. “If you’ve lost your God then worship me instead. I’m your new God now, detective. Open your mouth and worship me. Cleanse my fingers with your tongue.” 

His lips parted and she slipped two fingers over his tongue. He closed around her, bathing her clean, tasting the remnants of her devine pussy. She slid her fingers down his throat causing him to gag. 

“Good boy,” she murmured her praises to him. “Sing me your devotions. Relax your throat. Soften your tongue. Take it like a man.” 

Jeb reached up to gently take hold of her wrist. He showered her hand in soft kisses, trailing up her arm and back down again, lapping at the tips of her fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth, moaning as she glided down his throat. 

“Look at how hard you are. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to follow directions. Desperate to pray to anything that will have you.” 

She jerked her hand away from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. She grabbed his chin in her grasp. Her nails dug into his cheeks. 

“Who’s your God, Jeb Pyre?” She asked. 

“You,” he replied. 

“Prove it. Pray at your altar.”

She lifted the skirt of her dress to expose herself to him. Her foot rested on the edge of the mattress so he could get an eye to eye look with his new lifeline. Jeb let out a shaky breath. His hands extended to wrap around her waist, drawing himself closer to her. He tilted his head to bring his quivering breaths to her heated core. She draped the hem of her dress over his head to curtain him the darkness where he belonged. In the dark, he could worship in secrecy.

His head pushed between her thighs to force her legs to widen for him. Her salty musk filled his senses, hooking him in like a drug. His eyes slipped closed at the first taste of the almighty. She was the bread of life. Honey flowed from the darkness and he relished in every drop. His tongue probed at her entrance, burying between her warmth, reaching deeper depths with lapping rolls. Teasing. Tantalizing. Tasting. He suckled at her clitoris, nibbling softly at the sensitive flesh, swirling her with his tongue. The sounds of her coos were all the praises he craved. He didn’t need practice to know how to please her. Surrendering to her was as natural to him as breathing. 

“A virtuous woman is the crown to her husband,” she moaned, quoting the scripture. “And, yet, your sinning whore is the one who sits upon your head like a crown.”

He shivered at the debauchery of her words. He smiled against her pussy and took his time to savor his meal. She was a blessing bestowed upon him. A crown upon his head. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly and tenderly. He tightened his grip around her waist to hold her closer, a desperate man clinging to his lifesaver, moaning against her heated skin. The way she ground herself against him, thrusting herself deeper against his tongue, was enough to trigger his own needs. He humped his hips into the air, thrusting into nothing. 

“Oh, sweet thing,” she hummed. “Is my favorite detective in need of some more attention? When was the last time you’ve had that gorgeously thick cock buried inside someone’s cunt?” 

He whimpered, not letting up on his assault of her pussy, and clung tightly onto her waist. Eight months. Eight torturous months. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with lust from trying to control her building orgasm. “I’ll take good care of you. I don’t want you getting too drunk off my pussy. Can’t have you completely let go before I’ve had my fun. Come here.” 

She slid out from his grasp by pulling herself up onto the mattress. Her eyes were glazed over with a needy passion. Glassy and wet. 

“Take your pants off,” she ordered. “I want to see you fully.” 

They were already half way down his thighs. With a little push, they pooled around his ankles, pulled down quickly by the weight of his gun belt. He kicked off his nice dress shoes and stepped out of his pants to leave only his temple garments. 

She smirked at the sight and hopped off the bed to take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his tie to pull him down to her level. Her lips trailed over his as his eyes fluttered close. She glided her tongue across his lips, cleaning herself from them, with a gentle hum of approval. 

“Who tastes better? Me or your wife?” She asked. 

Jeb flustered in her question, “I-I wouldn’t know. She won’t let me. She believes it’s a form of sexual transgression.”

“Did you think about her?” She questioned. “When your tongue was buried inside of me, did she ever cross your mind?”

Guilt filled him, “Not once.”

She smiled, releasing his tie from her grasp, and began to work on extracting him from his perfectly crisp, white button up until he was left in nothing but his sacred garments. 

She slowly eyed him up and down, “Keep the top on. I want you to remember exactly what your betraying as you fuck me.” 

She sank to her knees, pulling down his underwear with her. His cock sat against his left thigh, hard and in need of attention. Her nails dragged along his sensitive, delicate skin. When she reached the tip of his cock, she carefully pushed a nail into the soft flesh while he hissed in pain. She left a crescent moon imprint behind which she quickly leaned down to kiss better. It was her harsh reminder that even if she was on her knees for him, she was still the one calling the shots.

He quite liked how the pain made him feel but he was too nervous to ask for more.

Her throat relaxed as she slipped him between her lips. He skimmed over her warm tongue with little jerking movements from his hips to push himself deeper into her. He wanted to reach out and grab her hair but was afraid to touch her. Instead, he balled his hands up at his side, digging his nails into his palm to try and elicit a bit more pain. It wasn’t the same as when she inflicted it. 

Her head bobbed with an expertise that could only be brought from years of practice. It made his own oral skills seem novice and weak in comparison. His head leaned back as he stared at the ceiling, looking straight through it, and up into the heavens. There was no celestial kingdom up there. There was no God looking down on him. His heaven was right here in this room. His God was on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock. This was the true meaning of life.

Jeb moaned out her name. Not Daisy. Not her stage name. Her real name. The one he kept locked up in a file in his desk. The name he would slowly stroke his finger over as he spent his late nights searching through his notes. The name only people who loved her were allowed to use. 

She froze. 

His cock fell from her lips and she stared up at him with a playful vengeance. 

“What was that, detective?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous, but hiding an impish undertone. “I know I didn’t hear what I think I just did.”

He ran a hand over his face, too overwhelmed to be thinking straight, “Daisy. I meant Daisy.”

“You think you know me?” She got to her feet, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think you know the real me? Because I know the real you, Jeb, but do you know me?”

A heated red tint blushed across his cheeks, “I…don’t know…” 

“Of course you don’t. Are you ever sure about anything in your life?” She raised a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m sure of most things that I do and say and believe. Can you say the same?”

He shook his head, “No. I can’t.”

She flashed him a poignant smile, “Name one thing you are 100% sure of right this very second.” 

Jeb licked his lips. He knew.

“I am certain that I want to kiss you. Certain that I want to tear that dress from your body. And I’m certain that I want to throw you over this bed and fuck you like you deserve.” 

“Then let go, detective. Give in. Become the animal you’ve always repressed. What are you waiting for?”

It was all the release he needed. 

His fingers wrapped around her wrist to drag her against his body. His lips crashed down onto hers as he held her in his arms with a steellike grip. She didn’t kiss him back, so much as, surrendered her mouth to him. Her body went nearly limp and he kept her on her feet with his own strength. Her surrender brought forth a rush of devoted emotions and blind, sexual desire turning him into the beast he longed to become. He seized at her hair, tugging, pulling, wildly gripping, and attacked her mouth like it was the holy spirit he sought to believe in. She shuddered before his onslaught and melted into him. The more he reached for, the more he stole, the more she wanted it. She was driving him insane with an unrestrained passion of pure lust. He pitied any man who didn’t fall to his knees to worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth was a sin that he wanted to violate. 

Jeb violently grabbed at the straps of her sundress, nearly ripping them off, as he tore them down her body. The dress thumped to the floor to leave her completely naked and exposed. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t try to hide and play with her coy modesty. She stood proudly before him exactly how a goddess should hold herself before a mortal man. 

He slid his hands up her sides, grazing over the swell of her breasts, feasting on them with his eyes. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, pinching and flicking, while he attacked her mouth once more. She parted her lips to submit his tongue into her depths, sucking on it and twirling it around her mouth. Whenever he pinched her gorgeous nipples between his fingers, she would let out the most delicious moan and thrust her chest against his palms. His heart was racing with a pace that might kill him if he didn’t force himself to breath. His head was spinning in a dizzying whirlwind of thrill. 

Jeb sank down and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, lashing at it with his tongue, listening to the gospel choir of whimpering moans coming out of her. She had shoved her nail into the head of his cock so he took a mouthful of her flesh, just under her beautifully darkened areola, and bit down hard. He had never bitten his wife in his life. He liked the way it felt as he tumbled deeper into his own carnal depravity. He wanted to defile her body and join her in their mutual corruption. 

She arched her back, letting out a gasping shriek and letting it tumble down into a slurry of cooing whimpers, “Oh, Jeb. Yes. Yes.” 

A circle of intended teeth marks, glistening with his saliva, shone proudly back at him. He liked marking her skin, claiming her as his own. It felt animalistic. Primal. A growl ripped from his throat, he was sick with lust, feverish and sweaty, panting with need. He grabbed at her hips and spun her around, pushing his hand between her shoulder blades to shove her face first into the mattress. Her ankles spread wide to allow him to have easy access. 

He took a stumbling step back to admire the sight. Her pussy was glistening and spread open in wait for him. Beads of sweat dotted along her back down her spine. Her ass was sticking upwards, parted, so he could see her tight, little hole. She looked more ready to be fucked than anyone he’d ever seen. His wife had never presented herself to him like this. He imagined her splayed out in this same position and gave a breathless laugh. He could hardly even create a mental picture in his mind, it was so improbable. 

“Something funny back there, asshole?” 

Jeb gave a dark laugh in response, “Just the neverending joke that is my life.” 

He lined the head of his cock up to her pussy, coating the tip in her slick, and bumping it back and forth over her clit. 

Murder. Denying the Holy Spirit. Adultery. 

Three of the worst things a good Mormon man could ever commit.

He’d already knocked denying the holy spirit off his list…might as well add another. 

He sunk his cock into her. Steady and true. She let out an exhale and he watched her head tilt back to enjoy the sensation. So hot. So tight. Perfection. She was here to be fucked. Here to take his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathed. 

He felt no shame. It was unusual for a Mormon not to feel shame but, tonight, buried balls deep in this woman, he felt nothing but relief. This was everything his body needed. He wanted fast and rough. He wanted to take her from behind with a feral abandon. He wanted to do all the things he wasn’t allowed to do until he was gripped with satisfaction. 

Jeb grabbed her hips for leverage and began his awakening. Tonight, he was becoming a new man. He fucked her with quick, short thrusts that slammed into her. Her ass slapped against his stomach with each pound. She filled the room with the sounds of her gasps and erotic moans. Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she’d even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.

He didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. Those were problems for later Jeb. Present Jeb had everything he could ever need. 

Sweat dripped down his forehead. Ragged, heavy, heaving breaths tumbled from his lips. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her upwards, so he could feel her body against his. She arched her back with her head rolling against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair fusing with the musk of their sex. He fumbled his hands around to capture her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, her rock hard nipples dragging across his palm. She reached an arm around the side of his head to hold her steady from the onslaught of vigor his hips were causing her. 

“Oh, fuck, Jeb!” She cried. “You needed this, baby. You needed this to happen. Let go. Let it all out. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

Jeb whimpered out a sob in response, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. All he wanted was someone to listen, someone to take care of him, someone to understand. 

He tumbled them both against the side of the mattress, falling on top of her. Her head turned, leaning against the covers, so he could shower the side of her face with wet, tear stained kisses. He nibbled on her earlobe, lapped his tongue at the corner of her lips, and dragged his teeth along the edge of her jaw. She was made to be devoured. His hips hammered with an agonizing precision into her heat. They were trapped in a hurricane, holding onto each other for dear life, as the maelstrom of building emotions swept them away. 

He could feel her clenching down around him. He knew she was close. He was, too, but he wanted her to cum first. His goddess deserved to reach euphoria before he did. His hand slipped down her side and wedged itself between her hips and the mattress to find a home between the slick fire of her lips. She whined, bucking her hips, the moment he found her clit, tormenting it with his fingers. 

“Cum for me,” his raspy, lust drunk voice growled in her ear. “Let me feel you unravel on my cock.”

Her body shook. Waves rippled over her skin with each hard pound of his cock into her. He could feel her tightening. Clenching. Gripping. A mangled yelp tore from her throat. When she orgasmed, she gave him everything. Her entire body surrendered to him. It burst from her with everything she could give. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted in a silent shriek, her spine arched. Like a demon possessing her body, she writhed under him with jerking, frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arms around her, collecting her tightly against him, to try and hold her together so she didn’t combust into the flames of Hell. 

He let out a whimper as he desperately tried to hold off his own orgasm. He wanted to let her ride out her ecstasy on his cock without him cumming inside of her. 

Her legs gave out and she sunk onto her knees, letting him slip out of her, “I got you, baby. I’wan’taste you. Use me.” 

Without missing a beat, she ushered him straight out of her pussy and into her wet, waiting mouth. His eyes closed as his head fell back. He let out a long, drawn out moan. His hand found her hair, no longer feeling nervous to touch her or manipulate her how he pleased. He helped push her forward to take more and more of him. He wasn’t going to last much longer. 

She let him slide down her throat, relishing his cock with her tongue, tasting herself on his tender flesh. He balled a fistful of her hair into his grasp. 

“I’m-I’m-I” he stuttered out, not able to finish the sentence, but she got to the hint. 

Her pace quickened. Her suction around him tightened. He felt himself tense up before an explosion of dopamine flooded his brain with a loud cry of pleasure. 

She straightened her back, moaning softly, as she swallowed down the hot spurts of his semen. Her fisted hand continued to massage his shaft while her mouth tended diligently to his crown. 

Jeb’s mouth hung open, tears flowed freely down his face, and he eventually managed to stumble backwards away from her. He crashed into the back wall and slid down to his ass, shaking. 

She crawled across the floor to drape herself into his lap. His arms snaked around her, thankful for having something to hold onto. His mind felt like he was floating away. His body felt amazing but his emotions were in turmoil. She stroked her fingers through his hair and left soft kisses along his neck. 

He had done it. There was no going back now. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured against his sweat stained skin, as if reading his mind. “You did what you had to do. Sometimes your body knows better than your brain. It was telling you what it needed. It’s just like taking a spoonful of medicine to fight off a cold. There are times when you need to give in and give your body what it craves.” 

He craved her. Daisy. And everything that she represented. Even at this moment, after he had already had her, after he had given in, he should be feeling horror, disgust, shame, but he only wanted more of her. That’s why the tears were freely flowing. Not because he was humiliated by his sins but because he wanted more. 

This was the life he wanted to live. He had gotten a taste, a spoonful, of the other side. A side he could never have. A side he would always be reaching for but never able to obtain due to the religion he was trapped in. His priorities had to remain elsewhere. He had family to care for. Children to raise. He was their only hope for a different future. He would never allow Rebecca to take his kids from him. He would do whatever he needed to keep her docile and oblivious. He could save his children from the inside, even if that meant selling his soul to a God he didn’t believe in. 

Everything was so clear to him now. There was no more confusion. No more doubt. 

Daisy and his green light. 

The inability to ever reach what he truly desired. 

A/N: If you dare to ask me to write a part two and you don't reblog detailing in great detail everything you liked and enjoyed about this story, then I will curse your entire family and block you. No one gets to ask for a part two without doing their damn part and reblogging first xoxo

Tagging some people who seemed like they might be interested in this smutty lil fic: @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @lxinesux @liz-allyn (i dont care if youre hardly on tumblr anymore liz i will tag you in everything i do until the end of time deal with it)

[purpleprincessonfyre]

Happy Trans Visibility day Ricky and Happy Easter to those who celebrate 🐰🌷🐑🥚🏳️‍⚧️

I have left hidden Easter Eggs all over the Tower so feel free to go hunt for them! They all have mini prizes inside them based on where you'll find them! Have fun, gang! Oh and Eth you should check in your closet for your Easter gift....💜

@askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @ethan-lensherr

@jackiequick @gcthvile @cherrysft @blueboirick @meiramel

[lunarburdened]

tag dump 2/??. genshin edition.

[theveryworstthing]

hawk design update. this gentleman has gone scarlet with age and will probably turn pyre soon.

a good way to tell a hawk's age at a glance is to note their coloration. newly kindled hawk chicks come in a range of whites, blues, and violets that shift to warmer colors as they age, and eventually end up in deep red territory.

[novaursa]

The Silent Pyre

- Summary: It was a rainy night when Blood and Cheese came to deliver you your half-sister’s message; a son for a son.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. Aegon and the reader have four children, the oldest son named Aeron, a daughter, Daena, and twin boys, Vaelon and Baelon. These events happen after Twin Fires and before The Fire That Binds Us. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot. Anonymous user inquired about these events, and I've decided to post it and share it with you all, it has been stashed away for too long in my file graveyard.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (no adult content, but there are graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 5 133

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The night is heavy with the scent of rain, the coolness of autumn seeping into the stones of the Red Keep. The fire in Helaena’s chamber casts long shadows across the walls, flickering as the wind howls faintly outside. You stand by the door, the weight of your crown pressing down upon you as you gaze at your younger sister. Her pale hair gleams like moonlight as she kneels by her children’s cradle, whispering a soft lullaby. Her voice is a quiet, fragile thing, a melody that seems almost too delicate for the world that surrounds you both.

“Helaena,” you murmur, stepping closer. She lifts her head, her violet eyes distant and unfocused, as though she is seeing something far beyond the chamber walls.

“Y/N,” she replies, a small, distracted smile gracing her lips. “Goodnight. May the Seven bless your dreams.”

“And yours, sister.” You reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sleep well.”

With one last glance at her serene face, you turn and leave the room, pulling the door shut softly behind you. The corridor outside is eerily silent, the usual clamor of the servants and guards muted, as if the Keep itself holds its breath.

As you walk through the darkened halls, a sense of unease begins to coil in your chest. The silence feels unnatural, like the calm before a storm. The rain patters against the windows, a steady rhythm that should be soothing, but instead heightens your anxiety. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, the chill of the stone floors seeping through your slippers.

Your thoughts drift to Aegon, waiting for you in your shared bedchamber. You picture him sprawled across the large bed, his platinum blond hair tousled, perhaps with a goblet of wine in hand. There is comfort in the thought of him, of the warmth of his body against yours, but it does little to dispel the growing dread that gnaws at your insides.

As you approach the nursery, the unease sharpens into fear. You pause, your hand hovering over the door. The sound of something crashing softly from within reaches your ears—a faint, almost imperceptible noise, but enough to send your heart racing. The shadows behind the door shift, moving in ways that shadows should not.

You swallow, forcing down the rising panic. Your children are in there, your precious sons and daughter. Steeling yourself, you push the door open slowly, trying to remain as silent as possible.

The scene before you is one pulled from the darkest of nightmares. The warm, cozy nursery is cast in a pall of terror. Your eyes first find your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, bound and gagged on the floor, her eyes wide with a terror that you have never seen before. She struggles against her bindings, her muffled cries like the wail of a ghost in the suffocating silence.

But it is the two men in the center of the room who capture your attention—the one holding your eldest son, Aeron, in his arms, a cruel knife pressed to his throat, while the other stands nearby, his presence looming and sinister. Your son is awake, tears streaking down his face, his small body trembling in fear.

“Do not scream,” the man holding your son whispers, his voice low and threatening. “Or the boy dies.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a wave of nausea rising within you as the reality of the situation crashes down. You force yourself to remain calm, to not give in to the terror clawing at your heart.

“What do you want?” you manage to say, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

“Vengeance,” the other man—Cheese, they will call him, from his size and the rat-like cunning in his eyes—replies coldly. “For son's blood has been spilled. Now, it is your blood that must pay.”

You take a step forward, and the knife digs deeper into Aeron’s tender skin, a small whimper escaping his lips. Your entire body tenses, every instinct screaming at you to protect your child, but you are powerless, bound by the threat that hangs over him like a blade.

“Let my son go,” you plead, your voice cracking. “Please. He is but a child.”

Cheese’s grin is twisted, devoid of mercy. “A choice, Your Grace. You must choose one of your sons. Two to live, and one to die.”

The words hit you like a blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the world spinning as the horror of what they ask becomes clear. They want you to condemn one of your children to death. To choose between your sons.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I cannot.”

“You must,” the man holding Aeron insists, his voice a menacing growl. “Or we kill them all three.”

You look between your sons, your heart shattering into pieces. Aeron, your eldest, so brave despite his fear, his wide eyes pleading silently for you to save him. And twin boys, Vaelon and Baelon, still asleep in their cribs, blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them.

Tears blur your vision, the anguish of the choice tearing at your soul. You cannot do this. You cannot be the one to decide who lives and who dies. But their lives, three of them, hang in the balance, and the choice is yours to make.

“Please,” you beg once more, though you know it is futile. “Do not make me choose.”

Cheese steps closer, his breath foul as he leans in. “Choose, Queen Y/N. Or your precious children will all die, and it will be on your head.”

The weight of your crown feels like a curse as you stand there, trembling, the choice before you too terrible to comprehend. Your hands are shaking, your heart breaking, as the words begin to form on your lips, but they can't leave them.

The world narrows to the unbearable choice before you, every second stretching into an eternity. You stand frozen, the screams of your heart drowned out by the silence that has gripped your throat. Aeron, your firstborn, stares at you with wide, tear-filled eyes, pleading for a salvation you know you cannot grant him. And there, in their cribs, laid Vaelon and Baelon, so small, so unaware, their chest rising and falling peacefully with each breath.

It is the smaller and younger twin’s innocence, his lack of awareness, that seals your fate. If he must die, let it be without knowing fear. Let him slip from this world in the safety of his dreams.

Your decision comes not from cruelty, but from a twisted, desperate kind of mercy.

“Vaelon,” you whisper, your voice a broken thing. “Take him.”

The words taste like ash on your tongue, a confession of the darkest sin. The man holding Aeron grins, his eyes alight with a sadistic satisfaction. But even as the choice leaves your lips, a cold realization claws at the back of your mind—this was never meant to end well. They were never going to let Aeron live.

You see it happen almost in slow motion, the knife glinting in the dim light as it draws across your eldest son’s throat. The sound that escapes him is a choked gasp, eyes widening in pain and betrayal as the blood wells and spills down his neck.

“No!” The word tears from your throat as you lunge forward, but it is too late. The man has already sliced deeper, crimson blooming like a terrible flower. Yet, Aeron is not yet gone. The blade catches as the man’s hand slips, and in that moment of weakness, Alicent—your mother—finds her strength.

With a fury you have never seen, she throws herself against the man holding Aeron, her bound body knocking him off balance. He stumbles, the knife digging deeper but freeing your son from his grasp. Aeron falls to the floor, clutching at his bleeding throat, his small hands stained red.

A scream of pure, primal rage rips from your chest as you hurl yourself at the man, the world around you narrowing to a singular purpose: kill him. You grab for the knife, your hands slick with Aeron’s blood, and wrest it from his grasp. The man struggles against you, but your desperation lends you strength. With a wild, desperate thrust, you drive the blade into his side, feeling the give of flesh and bone as it sinks in.

He gasps, a wet, gurgling sound, eyes wide in shock as he stumbles backward, clutching at the wound. You pull the knife free and stab again, and again, each strike fueled by the agony that has consumed you. Blood splatters across your face, warm and sickening, but you do not stop until he falls, lifeless, to the floor.

In the chaos, you do not notice Cheese until it is too late. He has turned his attention to one of the twins, to Vaelon, your youngest, the one you had chosen to condemn. As your daughter, Daena, screams—a piercing, heart-rending sound that echoes through the nursery—Cheese moves swiftly, seizing the smaller boy from his crib.

“No! Please!” you cry out, scrambling to your feet, but your voice is drowned by the sheer panic that has overtaken you. You are too far, too slow. Vaelon’s eyes flutter open, confusion and fear flickering across his tiny face as the knife flashes once more.

And then it is done. The light fades from Vaelon’s eyes as his small body crumples to the floor, lifeless. 

A silence falls over the room, broken only by the sound of your daughter’s sobs, Baelon’s baby gurglings and the ragged breaths of Alicent, who is desperately pressing her hands against Aeron’s wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Aeron!” You rush to him, dropping to your knees beside him. His eyes are glazed with pain, his breathing shallow and labored. The wound is deep, but he is alive, clinging to life by the barest thread.

Cheese is panicking now, his eyes darting around the room as if realizing for the first time the gravity of what they have done. The plan, whatever it was, has gone horribly wrong. He looks at the bodies—the man you killed, Vaelon’s small, lifeless form—and he falters, unsure of his next move.

“You will die for this,” you hiss, every word trembling with a deadly promise. “You will not leave this room alive.”

Cheese takes a step back, fear flashing in his eyes, but before he can act, you move. Fueled by a mother’s wrath and the madness of grief, you surge forward, the bloodied knife still clutched in your hand. He tries to fend you off, but he is no match for the fury that drives you. With a wild, savage strike, you plunge the knife into his chest.

He gasps, a final breath escaping his lips as his eyes go wide, then glassy. He collapses to the floor, joining his fallen companion in death.

You stand there, panting, covered in the blood of your children’s murderers, and of your children themselves. Your hands shake as you drop the knife, the sound of it clattering to the floor barely registering in your mind.

“Y/N,” Alicent calls out, her voice trembling. “Aeron needs you.”

You blink, the fog of rage lifting just enough for you to focus on your son. You drop to your knees beside him, your hands finding his, trying to staunch the flow of blood with trembling fingers.

“Stay with me, my love,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Stay with me. Please.”

Alicent is beside you, pressing her hands down on the wound with all her might. “He’s strong,” she says, though her voice wavers. “He will survive this.”

You nod, though your heart is breaking. You dare not look at Vaelon’s still form, his twin, Baelon, now wide awake in his crib, or at your daughter, Daena, who is now curled into a ball in the corner, sobbing for her brothers. You can only focus on Aeron, on keeping him alive, as the horror of what has happened sinks into your soul.

The night is no longer just cold and rainy; it has become a night of death and despair, one that will haunt you until your last breath. But you will not let it claim Aeron. Not him, too.

And as the dawn begins to break, casting pale light over the carnage, you hold your son close, praying to the Seven to spare him. To spare at least one of your children, as the taste of your own choice, the bitterness of it, poisons your every breath.

Aegon sits in the dim light of your shared bedchamber, his goblet of wine resting lazily in his hand. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls, but the warmth it offers does little to chase away the chill of the autumn night. He sighs, his thoughts drifting to you, knowing that you will join him soon. The bond you share, forged not only by blood but by a deep, consuming love, is one that neither of you can escape, nor would you wish to. Sleep eludes him without you by his side, as it always has since you were children. 

He takes another sip of the wine, waiting for the familiar sound of your footsteps approaching. The thought of the night ahead, of holding you close, offers a comfort that softens the weariness in his bones.

But then, a scream pierces the stillness of the night—a scream that he recognizes instantly as belonging to your daughter. It is followed by your voice, raw with anguish, echoing down the corridors.

The goblet slips from his hand, clattering to the floor as he leaps to his feet. The wine spills across the stone, forgotten as dread seizes him. He knows something is terribly wrong. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushes to the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Your Grace!” one of the Kingsguard calls as they fall into step behind him, but Aegon doesn’t respond. The only thought in his mind is to reach you, to reach his children.

He tears down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone, until he reaches the nursery. The door is ajar, shadows flickering ominously in the light from the hallway. The scent of copper fills his nostrils before he even crosses the threshold, a scent that chills him to the core.

He bursts into the room, but in his haste, he doesn’t notice the slickness beneath his feet until it’s too late. His foot slips on the blood that pools on the floor, and he stumbles, barely catching himself on the doorframe before he can fall.

For a moment, everything seems to slow. He looks down at the blood smeared across the floor, the vivid red of it stark against the stone. And then he sees the scene before him, a tableau of horror that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Two men lie dead on the floor, their bodies twisted in death, blood oozing from fatal wounds. But it is not them that hold his attention; it is the small, lifeless form of Vaelon, his infant son, lying not far from them, his throat cruelly slit. Aegon’s heart seizes, his vision blurring with tears that he fights to hold back.

“No… no, no…” The words are barely a whisper as he staggers forward, his mind unable to fully comprehend the sight before him.

But there is more—your mother, Alicent, is on the floor, her hands pressed desperately against Aeron’s throat, trying to stem the flow of blood. And there you are, kneeling beside your eldest son, your hands covered in blood, your face a mask of desperation and despair as you try to keep him alive.

“Y/N!” Aegon chokes out your name as he rushes to you, his voice filled with fear and anguish. “What… what happened?”

You look up at him, your eyes red and swollen from crying, and the sight of you breaks something deep within him. “Aegon… they… they killed Vaelon,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “They tried to kill Aeron… we… I couldn’t stop them…”

Aegon falls to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uselessly over Aeron, unsure of what to do. He can see the life fading from his eldest son’s eyes, the pale skin, the way his breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. Aegon feels a crushing sense of helplessness, something he has never experienced with such intensity before.

“Aeron, my boy… stay with us,” Aegon pleads, his voice thick with emotion as he brushes a trembling hand over Aeron’s hair. “Stay with us, please…”

Alicent looks up at her son, her own eyes filled with tears, though she fights to keep them at bay. “We need to stop the bleeding, Aegon. If we don’t… if we don’t…”

“I know,” Aegon says, though his voice is strangled. He tears a strip of cloth from his sleeve, pressing it to Aeron’s wound with a firm but gentle hand. “Stay with me, Aeron. You’re strong. You can fight this.”

But even as he says the words, he feels the cold dread settle in his chest, knowing that the wound is too deep, that his son’s life is slipping away with every passing moment. 

You lean into Aegon, your body shaking with sobs as you press your bloodstained hands over his, trying to help, trying to do something—anything—to save your child. But the blood keeps coming, seeping through your fingers, staining the floor beneath you.

“Please… please…” you whisper, over and over, your voice breaking with each word. “Don’t take him from us…”

Aegon pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you even as he continues to press down on Aeron’s wound. He can feel your pain, your sorrow, as if it were his own, and in that moment, he knows that this night will haunt both of you for the rest of your lives.

The Kingsguard finally arrive, swords drawn, their faces pale as they take in the scene before them. But there is nothing they can do; the threat is already gone, the deed already done. All they can do is stand there, silent and grim, as the horror of what has happened sinks in.

“Get a maester!” Aegon commands, his voice rising with desperate urgency. “Now!”

One of the guards rushes off without a word, the others standing watch as if expecting another attack, though it is clear that the danger has passed. Aegon looks down at Aeron, his heart breaking as he watches the light in his son’s eyes flicker and fade.

“Stay with us, Aeron,” he whispers again, but the words sound hollow, empty, even to his own ears.

Alicent, her hands still pressed against the wound, glances at you, her eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it seems to swallow the room whole. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice thick with grief, “he’s… he’s still fighting. But we need to prepare ourselves… we need to…”

“No!” You cry out, shaking your head violently. “No, he’s going to survive. He has to. He’s strong. Please, Aegon, tell her… tell her he’s going to survive.”

Aegon swallows hard, trying to keep the tears at bay as he looks at you, seeing the hope in your eyes, fragile and desperate. “He’s strong,” he agrees, his voice trembling. “He’s a dragon. He’ll survive this.”

But even as he says the words, he knows that they are more for your sake than for his own. He knows the truth, as much as he hates it, as much as it tears at his very soul.

And then, as if in response to your pleas, Aeron’s breathing hitches, a faint, ragged sound that sends a jolt of hope through your heart. But Aegon sees the truth in the way his son’s eyes begin to flutter shut, the way his small body goes limp beneath your hands.

“No, no, stay with us, please…” you sob, your voice breaking completely as you try to shake him awake, as if you can keep him from slipping away just by sheer will alone.

Aegon pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him, his own tears falling freely now. “Y/N… he’s…”

But before he can finish, the maester arrives, pushing his way into the room with a satchel of supplies. He takes one look at Aeron and immediately sets to work, but Aegon can see it in his eyes—the resignation, the grim acceptance of what is to come.

Aegon watches as the maester tries to stem the bleeding, his hands moving quickly, efficiently, but it is clear that he is fighting a losing battle. You cling to Aegon, your tears soaking into his tunic as you watch, your breath catching in your throat every time Aeron’s breathing falters.

Minutes pass, each one stretching into an eternity, until finally, Orwyle pulls back, his face pale and drawn. He looks up at Aegon, then at you, and shakes his head, his expression filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he says quietly. “There’s… there’s nothing more I can do.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you cry out, your hands trembling as you reach for Aeron, as if you can somehow pull him back from the brink.

“No… no, please, no…” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you cradle your son’s head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair.

Aegon feels his heart shatter completely as he watches you, as he sees the light finally fade from Aeron’s eyes, his small body going still in your arms. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but hold you as you break down completely.

The days following the brutal attack on your family pass in a haze of grief and despair. The Red Keep is draped in a suffocating silence, its once lively halls now cold and empty, as though the life has been drained from its very walls. The horror of that night lingers in every corner, every shadow, a constant reminder of the blood that was spilled and the lives that were lost.

Your remaining children, Daena and Baelon, are kept under the strictest watch by the Kingsguard. No less than two knights are stationed outside their chambers at all times, and they are never left alone, not even for a moment. The memory of what happened to their brothers hangs over the nursery like a dark cloud, and every sound, every creak of the floorboards, sends a fresh wave of terror through the household.

But it is you, their mother, who is most affected. The grief has hollowed you out, leaving you a mere shadow of the woman you once were. You spend your days in a state of numbness, your heart shattered beyond repair. Nothing and no one can console you, not even Aegon, who tries desperately to reach you, to bring you back from the edge of the abyss into which you have fallen. But his attempts are in vain. You are inconsolable, broken beyond words.

Aegon himself is a man consumed by fury. The fire of his rage burns hotter with each passing day, fueled by the sheer injustice of what has happened. He holds a small council meeting in the dead of night, summoning only those he trusts—or at least, those whose loyalties he can control.

In the dimly lit council chamber, Aegon sits at the head of the table, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white. His eyes are bloodshot, his face drawn and pale from lack of sleep. The tension in the room is palpable, every man present feeling the weight of the King’s anger pressing down on them like a physical force.

Around the table sit Otto Hightower, his face a mask of stern concern; Ser Criston Cole, his expression grim and unyielding; Lord Larys Strong, who watches the proceedings with his usual calculating gaze; Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, his fingers tapping nervously on the table; Lord Tayland Lannister, the Master of Ships, who remains unusually quiet; and Grand Maester Orwyle, who sits with his hands folded, his eyes downcast.

Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, a low, seething growl that sends a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. “How did this happen?” he demands, his eyes blazing with fury as he looks from one man to the next. “How did two men infiltrate the heart of the Red Keep, murder my sons, and nearly take the life of my other children without anyone knowing? Where were the guards? Where was the protection I was promised?”

Otto is the first to speak, his voice calm but firm. “Your Grace, we are all grieved by this tragedy, but rest assured, we are investigating every possible lead. The guards who were on duty that night have been questioned, and those found negligent will be dealt with severely.”

“Dealt with severely?” Aegon echoes, his voice rising with incredulity. “My sons are dead, and you speak of discipline as if that can undo what has been done! This was not just negligence—this was treason, betrayal of the highest order!”

Ser Criston Cole, ever the loyal sword, speaks next, his tone as hard as steel. “Your Grace, the Kingsguard were stationed as ordered, but the enemy was cunning. They knew exactly where to strike, and when. We are searching for any who might have aided them from within the Keep.”

Aegon glares at him, his anger still simmering. “You should have been there, Ser Criston. You should have been protecting my family, as you swore to do.”

Criston bows his head, accepting the rebuke without argument. “I failed you, my king, and I will bear that burden until the day I die.”

Larys Strong, who has remained silent until now, leans forward slightly, his voice smooth and unhurried as he speaks. “Your Grace, the men who did this were not acting alone. This attack was meticulously planned, designed to strike at the heart of your family and weaken your claim. There is but one who stands to gain the most from such an act of terror.”

Aegon’s eyes narrow as he fixes his gaze on Larys. “Speak plainly, Lord Strong. Who do you accuse?”

Larys meets Aegon’s gaze without flinching, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “Rhaenyra Targaryen, and her husband, Daemon. They are the ones behind this atrocity. They seek to undermine your rule, to sow chaos and discord within the realm, so that Rhaenyra might usurp your throne.”

Aegon’s breath hitches at the mention of his half-sister’s name. His hatred for her is no secret, but to hear that she might be responsible for the deaths of his sons sends a fresh wave of fury coursing through him. “You have proof of this?” he demands, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Larys inclines his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “The men who committed the murders—the butcher and the rat catcher—are known associates of Daemon Targaryen. They were hired by him to carry out this heinous act. The gold they were paid with was traced back to Rhaenyra’s supporters in King’s Landing. This was not just an act of violence—it was a message. Response to the death of Lucerys Velaryon by the hand of Prince Aemond.”

Aegon’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into the wood of the table. “A message? They dare to send me a message by murdering my sons? Two innocent boys?”

“Yes,” Larys replies, his voice as cold as ice. “They wish to show that you are vulnerable, that your rule can be challenged. They wish to provoke you into rash action, to draw you into a conflict that will weaken your position.”

“Rash action?” Aegon scoffs, his anger flaring anew. “They think they can provoke me? They think I will sit idly by while they murder my children?”

“Your Grace,” Otto interjects, his voice measured. “We must be careful. If we move too quickly, without proof, we risk turning the realm against us. Rhaenyra still has many supporters. We must gather our strength, consolidate our power, and then strike when the time is right.”

But Aegon is beyond reason, his grief and rage too great to be tempered by caution. “I will not wait!” he snarls, slamming his fist on the table. “They have taken from me what I hold most dear, and I will make them pay for it, tenfold! If Rhaenyra wants war, then war she shall have!”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, each man aware of the storm that is about to be unleashed. Aegon’s wrath is a dangerous thing, and they know that nothing they say will dissuade him from the course he has set.

Grand Maester Orwyle finally speaks, his voice soft but insistent. “Your Grace, the lives of your remaining children—Princess Daena and Prince Baelon—must be your foremost concern. They are the future of your house, and they must be protected at all costs.”

Aegon’s expression softens slightly at the mention of his children, the thought of them momentarily piercing through the fog of his anger. He knows that Orwyle is right, that the safety of Daena and Baelon is paramount. But even this knowledge cannot quell the burning desire for vengeance that has taken root in his heart.

“I will protect them,” he says, his voice hardening once more. “But I will not allow this attack to go unanswered. Rhaenyra and Daemon will know the price of crossing me.”

Otto inclines his head, understanding that there is no turning back now. “Then we must prepare for war, Your Grace. We must rally our banners, secure our allies, and strike swiftly and decisively.”

Aegon nods, his jaw set with determination. “Do it. Call the banners, prepare the dragons. We will bring fire and blood to those who dare to defy us.”

The council members rise from their seats, each man knowing that the decisions made this night will plunge the realm into chaos. As they leave the chamber, Aegon remains behind, staring at the bloodstained map of Westeros spread out before him. His thoughts drift to you, to the shattered look in your eyes, to the bodies of his sons lying cold in their graves.

He swears to himself, to the gods, and to the memory of his murdered children that he will not rest until Rhaenyra and Daemon are brought to justice. No matter the cost, no matter the blood that must be spilled, he will have his revenge.

And so, the storm begins to gather, the winds of war stirring in the darkness of the Red Keep.

[purpleprincessonfyre]

Marvel AU - Monster (or coward?)

Timeline: During The Battle of New York, but what if Sylvie and Loki invaded New York together?

Characters: Liane Felton, Loki Laufeyson, Sylvie Laufeydottir

Features: Ethan Lensherr, Rochelle Romanoff-Felton and some characters from Liane's past

IB: Monster by Imagine Dragons, Avengers (2012)

'Ever since I could remember

Everything inside of me

Just wanted to fit in,'

"We need to get out of here, this building isn't stable!"

"Funny, I was about to say that about your mental state!" Ethan joked, holding back debris as Liane ran for safety. The battle of New York was raging as heroes ran left and right trying to get STARK staff members away from the tower in a hurry.

"You're cute. Come on, I don't wanna drag you out from underneath rubble."

"Go, I'll hold it off until everyone's safe."

Liane nodded and ran towards the exit but as she ran through what she thought was the door to outside she found herself inside a box that seemed to be made of pure gold. When she turned around the door was gone and she was entirely surrounded by walls of gold, from floor to ceiling. Liane growled, her fists balled as her anger rose.

'If I told you what I was

Would you turn your back on me?

And if I seem dangerous

Would you be scared?'

"Dammit Loki or whatever, let me out!"

A dry chuckle echoed through the hollow space, clearly enjoying this.

"My my, Miss Felton. You forget yourself. That's hardly the way a polite young lady would address her father..."

"What?"

Liane turned to follow the sound and saw her father before her, standing in her family home with her, her surroundings now resembling her family's dining hall. She knew it was magic but she could hear the ticking grandfather clock on the floor, she could feel the heat from the roaring fire, she could smell the sharp scent of the lillies on the dining table and the hairs on her neck stood straight up as she heard the unmistakable voice.

"Come on little lady, say you're sorry and give me a smile."

"I won't fall for your tricks! That's not my father!"

"How dare you, you insolent girl!" Her father snarled, leaning in to hit her, booze on his breath.

"I'm not scared of you, your stupid magic can't hurt me, you're gonna have to try harder than that if you want to hurt me, Dumb and Dumber."

'I get the feeling just because

Everything I touch isn't dark enough

That this problem lies in me.'

The image of her father melted away and suddenly she was in her childhood bedroom and the scent of nail polish hung in the air as someone approached her, someone looming over her by miles. Then she saw his eyes and his wicked grin and felt her heart race. It was Quentin. She felt so much younger in his gaze, so much smaller and so naive. It stung her eyes seeing him like that before her, as if she'd never even left.

"Little Sister...myself and the boys want to play a little game and we need a damsel in distress."

"You're a liar, you always were!"

"What? We simply want to rescue the pretty princess but you will have to get in the boat and let us tie you up. But don't worry! We'll rescue you. Eventually."

"Rot in hell, Quentin!"

"Have it your way..."

Liane's eyes stung with tears as her eyes changed colour.

"Stop it, stop it Quent!"

"Awwww baby's crying! Look at the baby crying!"

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH QUENTIN OR I WILL BURN YOUR STUPID HEAD!"

'Can I clear my conscience

If I'm different from the rest

Do I have to run and hide?'

The illusions faded as she was transported back into the box.

"Now there's the Felton I was told about..."

"You could do so much if you weren't so pathetic and predictable all the time..."

"Who ever heard of a hero that can burn you alive?"

"You can both shut up! I changed! But you...you never will."

"Shame. We were really getting somewhere for a minute there. Shall we?"

"Go on then."

The room melted away all over again and now Liane saw a place she'd tried to forget. A room she wished she'd never entered. Seeing a face she never wanted to see again. And hearing that voice that haunted her days and nights ever since she put him away.

'I never said that I want this

This burden came to me

And it's made it's home inside,'

"Guten tag, frauline...."

"Edmund..."

"Awww no pet name this time? Aw you are shaking like a leaf. Would you like my coat?"

"You stay away from me!"

"But why? You knew this was happening, und you never said no to it before. You befriended those girls, you bought them the drinks, you made them your friends all happy, and you let me take them away..."

"I was drunk! You always made sure of that, you filthy monster!"

"Nein! Nein, I am not the only monster here. You were, how you say, complicit in the crimes? You could have said no. You could have said you wanted no part in my plans. But you were just so desperate to be loved and adored that you turned a blind eye! All those innocent, naive girls! The blood of those girls is ON YOUR HANDS ALONE! You, are the true monster, Frauline."

'A monster, a monster

I've turned into a monster

A monster, a monster

And it keeps getting stronger.'

Every wall started to reflect just Liane's reflection back at her but each one was different. Her childhood, her teens, her eyes bright purple in all of them, each reflection whispering the same word over and over again as the word started to ring in her head like a death toll.

Monster.

Monster.

Monster!

"ENOUGH!" Liane screamed as the room was consumed by flames, the reflections all melting and the illusions shifting in a jarring fashion from Edmund Zola, to Quentin, to Milton and then back to Loki, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"We finally broke her...told you it was easy."

"You were right, turns out if one's heart is so blackened and bruised, then it won't be tricky to turn it darker."

"I'm not a monster!"

"Oh really? Monsters are born from anger, pain and hatred. Monsters act without thought. Monsters are ruthless. And what does that make you? A monster? Or a coward?"

"I'll take coward over monster any day, and for the record I was tricked!"

The two Lokis laughed, holding their stomachs as tears rolled down their cheeks as if Liane had just told the funniest joke.

"Were you now? So you lashing out at your father, was because of a trick?"

"You hurting your brothers, that was the fault of a trick?"

"You turning on Edmund and testifying against him, all because you were tricked? No my dear sweet monster, you knew exactly what you were doing. That rage, your fire, you deliberately took that rage and damaged them.

"Scarring your father's face, burning your brother's hair, and don't forget that scar running down Eddie's chest, right over his heart. That was all you. That was the monster. And it's getting stronger. But the longer you hide it with this...hero act? It'll get murderous. It will hurt people you care about. That boy you like? Your precious cousin? Your new friends who just started to trust you? They'll all be ashes on the ground. And you'll be painted as a villain. Just like us."

Loki and Sylvie approached, as Liane looked up at them, tears in her eyes as Loki grabbed her chin harshly.

"Shhhh it's alright little Mutant, it's very simple. Either wait until your actions destroy everyone you love, or give in to us and follow the future rulers of Asgard."

"We could make your our little princess. Put a pretty crown on your golden curls. Keep you in a lovely little box where you won't hurt anyone back on Asgard. And all you'll have to do is just prance about and play dress up, ride on your very own pegasus, we'll make you your own boyfriend or girlfriend to play with, all day long. Or....you and your precious little team die. Either by your hands, or ours. Your choice, Princess."

Liane looked around her and saw her team through the confines of the box she was trapped in. All of them fighting tooth and nail to take out aliens and get the people to safety. All things she would have scoffed at a year ago. She saw Ethan, doing everything he can to help the citizens get away. Rochelle, fighting aliens left and right even as she's injured. Her team doing whatever it takes to save the world. They were better off without her.

'I'm only a man with a candle to guide me

I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me,'

Liane hung her head and looked up at the Lokis, resigned to her fate.

"Do what you like. But don't hurt my friends. Lock me up, tease me, play with me, whatever. But you don't touch them. Please." There was shame in her eyes but Liane had decided she was better off a coward than a monster. Loki nodded his approval.

"Glad you came to your senses, Little Princess. They didn't need you anyway. Sylvie?"

Sylvie wrapped chains around Liane's neck and wrists, leading her to a portal as a voice rang out, beyond the box, from the outside. Liane was barely paying attention when it hit her ears. And a smile spread on her face as it repeated. And she could see outside the box his big green eyes, his dark hair and the concern and worry in his face as he shouted across the battlefield. Ethan was calling to her.

"LIANE!"

"Silly boy, come on pet, we've built a cage just for you."

"Shame."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, shame. Cause your pet just remembered what freedom tastes like!"

The entire box was set ablaze as Lianes eyes glowed, her chains sizzling to dust as she approached the two Mischief deities.

"Turns out I can be both. I can be the daughter of a sleazy businessman and a hero. The sister of a disgusting politician and an Avenger. The ex fiancée of the leader of HYDRA, and the girl about to kick. Your sorry. Asses!"

The box crumbled away to nothing as Liane approached the two co-conspirators with fury in her eyes, her fists aflame.

"You'd better keep fighting cause I'm gonna make damn sure you go back where you came from AND YOU NEVER COME BACK!" Liane roared as airborne fire seemed to burst from her lungs and out of her mouth, sitting the pair ablaze as they disappeared in a poof of magic.

As she managed to find her bearings a hand reached and squeezed hers tightly. It was Rochelle's, and her bright blue cousin was smiling.

"Let's end this fight."

"Together."

And the two fighting Feltons rushed back into the fray, a new sense of courage now fostered in Liane's bruised and blackened heart, slowly starting to rise to reflect on her face. Maybe the past wouldn't define her forever. And just maybe, she would get through this and move on. But not today. That battle was for another time, in another place. Probably in a doctors office somewhere. Monster, coward, hero was starting to sound pretty good from where Liane was standing.

Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging: @gcthvile @jackiequick @blueboirick @meiramel @cherrysft @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @ethan-lensherr @marvelsfavoriteuncle @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @missstrawbs2001

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Obsidian Salt III

Summary: Demon!Rhys' plan for the Solstice comes to a head

Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, Mental Manipulation, DubCon, Slight NSFW; a dash of slut-shaming/body issues; mentions of blood and burns, nothing super graphic.

Part One / Part Two

-------

There is only one thing I can be absolutely certain of: I have no control of my body. Flames dance from my fingers, the color and shape of them wrong. It’s not the orange and yellow hues it should be, but shades of blue and purple that don’t burn, no matter how much pours from my fingers. My skin doesn’t blister. The heat doesn’t touch me. Stranger still, I can’t feel the pull in my chest that tells me I’m using too much energy, even though I should. The words on my lips are a spell in a language I know I don’t speak, but they flow off my tongue as if it is all I have ever known. 

Worse still, I can’t remember what it is exactly that I do and don’t know. There is only this thick darkness in my skull and the flames that glitter around my fingers like tiny Sprites. There is nothing before this, and nothing ahead of this. Only now, watching the pile of tomes and old books burn on the charred forest floor. A blood moon rises swiftly ahead of us.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Witchling?” My companion’s voice is a lover’s purr, rich and silky next to my ear as he watches from over my shoulder. I can’t remember where or when I met him. All I know is that I want more of his approval. I think I might do anything for it as his hands settle on my hips. My head feels strangely empty of everything except him and the strange fog, but I don’t entirely mind the quiet, as long as I get the reward of his lips and body against my own.

“Mhm,” I hum, leaning back against the firm planes of him. 

His hands slide under my shirt and skim higher, his claw tipped hands drifting with enough pressure to make me shiver without drawing blood. “We’re almost free of them.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth and bite down against the whimper threatening to slip out of me as his hands come up to cup my breasts. My body is not my own because it’s his.  I crave every bit of affection he’ll give me, every touch and kiss and whisper of breath against my flushed skin feels like a gift. 

“Why start by burning books?” I ask, trying not to sound so needy by moaning like I want to when he gives my nipple a harsh tug. My body betrays me in the end, chest arching into his touch, practically begging for more.

“No spells to counter us,” he replies. I know he can feel my desperation, know he’s egging it on by rocking the hard length of his erection into the supple flesh of my ass, but his hands slide back down my body, robbing me of the pleasure I so furiously crave.

 His hands stop at my hips, claws dipping into my skin as he holds me in place. “Not yet, Little Witch. You’ll have your fun once we’re done here.” 

I tilt my head back against his shoulder, pouting, hoping he might change his mind as I rock my ass back into him. 

One of his hands leaves my hip to grab me firmly by the throat. “Don’t be greedy. You’ll take what I give you, when I decide to give it to you.”

My body freezes, held by some invisible grip even as he releases me. The loss of contact makes panic swell in my chest. “I’m sorry! I’ll focus.”

The hard lines of his face, distorted in the firelight, soften just a bit. “Good girl.”

The panic settles in my chest as the invisible grip on my body falls away. That’s better, even if he doesn’t put his hands on me again as he motions me away from the dying embers of our book pyre. At least I have him close. 

Rhys walks with his hands in his pockets now, wings tucked tight behind him. His gate is unhurried, as we stride through the quiet woods, the blood moon lighting the way. I think its arrival might be important, but I have no memories of why. 

“The witches will be gathering soon,” he says. “They’re expecting you.” 

Violet eyes glance over my attire and he adds, “You’ll need to change.”

I don’t question him as he steps onto a well worn trail and follows it all the way to a house. My house. The memory of it comes back into focus as if it had been lifted out of a fog, though it looks strange to me now. The runes along the foundation look like they were made by children, the wards they cast are flimsy at best. Strange, I’d always thought they were the best in the neighborhood.

“You see them as I see them,” he explains as he lifts a clawed hand and tears right through the glittering ward. “Key is in your pocket.”

Right. I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans and find the key along with a couple crushed pieces of dried rosemary. What the hell was I doing with it? 

I slide the key into the lock and step into the dark house. It’s utterly silent, all the lights off. When I reach for the light switch, Rhys bats my hand away. “The neighbors don’t need to know we’re here.”

I somehow know my way around in the dark, even as the memory slowly returns, slipping out from the fog like a frightened prey animal. My room is the smallest, crammed into the attic, my footsteps echo on the stairs as we walk, but Rhys makes no sound. If anyone was in the house they would have assumed I was alone. Every once in a while I have to glance back over my shoulder to make sure he’s still there.

He only lets me turn the lights on in my cramped bedroom once he’s sure there are no windows to give us away. The sight of him having to duck to not slam his head against the slanted roof is amusing enough to make the risk worth it. He settles himself on my bed after a moment of knocking things around with his wings, long legs folded beneath him on my worn quilt, a frown crossing his handsome features.

“I’ve seen prison cells with more space,” he huffs.

I go to the wardrobe jammed in the corner, the old oak doors hanging on by a single, rusted hinge that squeaks when it opens. I wince as I start pushing old sweaters and jackets around, unsure of what I’m looking for. “What’s the dress code for this?”

The apex talon on his left wing scrapes against the wall, slashing through the worn wallpaper, and he huffs as he wraps the leathery membrane around himself like a cocoon. “Fucking witches. All so godsdamn small!”

Once he’s sure he’s not going to wreck anymore of the decor, he turns his attention back to me and I feel heat rush through me once more as those violet eyes roam over my body. “You’ll look good in black.”

A blush works its way up my cheeks as I start pushing pastel sweaters and multicolored t-shirts out of my way, looking for anything black. There’s a small, lacey thing tucked in the back and I have a distinct memory of someone telling me not to wear that to some function or another but the details or fuzzy. All I know is that someone, somewhere, made me feel small the last time I’d worn it. And I will never let anyone make me feel like that again.

I pull it out of the wardrobe and hold it out for Rhys to see. Something about him heightens all my worst emotions. My anger feels tenfold. My insecurities have tripled. I need him to quiet one and use the other, that much I do know.

His fangs glint in the witchlights the bob from the ceiling as he takes it in. “Certainly not the attire of a virgin sacrifice.”

A shadow from within the fog lets me see my grandmother’s threat from yesterday and I ball the dress in my hands up in my fists. “I’m no one’s sacrifice!” There’s something… different in my voice, and whatever it is makes the witchlights shutter. 

Rhys only grins triumphantly at the sight. “That’s my girl.” 

I take a shuddering breath to calm the pulsing of something I feel in my veins, something I can’t identify, something I don’t remember possessing before. Something that belongs to Rhys just as much as I do. It starts with a buzzing feeling in my spine, where his sigil sits. 

“I’m going to go change.” A tendril of shadow snakes out from underneath his wings and snags me by the wrist, pulling me towards where he sits on the bed before I can even take a step towards the door. 

“Why so shy?” He teases, wings unfolding enough for him to reach out a clawed hand and brush it against the buttons on my jeans. “What are you afraid I’ll see?”

I shiver at the contact, my legs moving on their own accord until my knees bump against the bed frame. He has such complete control over me, I don’t know if he even knows it. “I’m not afraid of anything!” I try to protest but my voice shakes when I speak.

He grins as his claws retract to let him pop the buttons open, large hands slowly pushing the loose fabric down my hips. It is an effort to stand still, to not climb into his lap and straddle him right here in my ratty bedroom. 

Once the fabric is past my thighs my jeans fall to the floor in a pool around my ankles on their own accord, his callused hands now stroking up my exposed flesh to reach for the hem of my sweater. I am no blushing virgin, but I have never been this aroused by a simple action before either. I find myself biting my lip as I watch the way his hands move over my body. I’m scared if I move too fast or make too much noise he’ll stop, just like he did earlier, leaving me empty and cold in the loss of his touch.

He leans forward on his knees, wings parting just enough to let him lean forward without batting into the walls, to brush his lips over my stomach as he removes the sweater inch by inch. Every second passes by like an hour, his kisses slow and unhurried as if we have all the time in the world. 

I squeeze my eyes shut as his lips ghost over my ribs, nose brushing up against the band of my bra. His lips are so plush and warm, I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my nipple. The thought makes heat pool between my legs and I instinctively clench my thighs together, looking for some form of friction to take the edge off.  

He nips teasingly at the valley between my breasts, but leaves my bra in place as he finally pushes the sweater over my head and onto the floor. “Aren’t you pretty,” he purrs.

I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, one hand braced on his muscular shoulder to keep myself from falling directly into his lap. I need to kiss him. I need to have his lips back on mine.

He chuckles wickedly as he stops me with a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough to halt my movements. “What did we talk about earlier, hm?”

“Please, Rhys,” I whimper.

“After we’re done,” he promises, unbothered by the effect he has on me, knowing I’m so totally at his mercy and desperate for any attention. I think he likes keeping me here. Likes knowing he can dangle pleasure within reach and then rip it away from me before I can truly have a taste. It might be the most effective way to keep me from looking into what we’re doing and I am a fool who keeps falling for it, but anytime I start to question why I allow it, the fog returns in my head and all the questions disappear in a rush. Just as they do now.

My eyes feel heavy and my head empty as I nod, the movements of my body foreign, like a puppet being jerked around on a string. 

He pulls the dress over my head with the same slow, teasing pace as he’d taken off my clothes, and it only makes the heat beneath my skin all the worse. The dress halts on my upper thighs, just long enough to cover all the important bits, and his hands linger on the hem, fingers tracing strange shapes on the inside of my thighs.

I might be desperate enough to try begging one more time, were it not for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rhys dissolves into shadow and smoke and dives underneath the bed as the door opens and my Mother strides in, broom still in hand from the flight over.

“What are you wearing?” She says in greeting.

That pulse of anger that had made the lights flicker returns and she glances at it with one, manicured brow raised in surprise. 

“I thought it looked nice-”

“You look like a whore,” she returns, hands smoothing over the green cloak dusting her shoulders. If she cares about the new display of power, she doesn’t mention it. Probably thinks it's a fluke. Or perhaps an errant flair of her own magic, she certainly has enough to spare. “Change before you head out. I’m sure your performance tonight will be embarrassing enough as it is without you being seen by everyone in that awful outfit.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. 

“You told me you were going on a diet,” she continues to chastise. “That dress certainly proves that a lie.”

I run a hand over my stomach self-consciously, but I can’t think through the fog to find an argument. 

“Honestly, Y/N, is all this a joke to you?”

“No!” I protest but she cuts me off.

“You certainly could have fooled me! Our family name is on the line here, you understand the reputation you have to uphold, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” I try again, but she continues on like I hadn’t.

“Our family holds the front line against both the human world and the demon one. Do you know how much work that takes, to keep the demons leashed to their dimension and keep those stupid humans in the dark? Do you have any idea the sacrifices we’ve all had to make? The work we’ve all put in?”

“Yes-”

“Do you know how many Sisters I have lost? How many I had to decide to sacrifice to preserve our coven’s strength?”

“I understand-”

“To show weakness is to invite our destruction. This peace you have gotten to grow up in has come at a terrible price. It is not a game.”

“I know-”

“No, you don’t!” She hisses. “Because if you did, then you would have taken your lessons seriously. You would have studied harder. You wouldn’t be an example of weakness today.”

My hands are clenched so hard at my sides my fingernails have left indents in my palms. “I will not disappoint you tonight, Mother.”

“You only have one shot to prove yourself, because if the Salem girl beats you, you’re the sacrifice, you understand that don’t you?”

Rhys’s sigil on my back burns. “I know. She won’t beat me. I’ve been practicing.”

She frowns as she shifts her broom to her other hand. “I wish I believed you.”

She might as well have hit me. 

“I have to hunt tonight, there are too many humans on the border.”

And as powerful and proud as my Mother is, she can’t stand there and watch me make a fool of myself. As always, the Coven provides a perfect excuse for her to not be around while I “disgrace the family name”  and “make her wish I was never born”. The instances in which she said those very words flood my mind at a feverish pace, spinning round and round like a whirlwind movie performance. The burning at my back spreads all the way to my fingertips and I swear I feel the flicker of a flame between my clenched fists again.

“Do you really think so little of me?” I ask, my voice a lot smaller than I mean it to be.

“I stopped expecting big things from you a long time ago,” she retorts, straightening her cloak again. If she feels any remorse for the words or concern for my wellbeing, she doesn’t show it. I am as expendable as any other witch in the Coven, maybe more since she thinks so little of me. “Just try not to die tonight, ok?”

“I won’t be dying tonight,” I say through my teeth.

She nods, turns towards the stairs, then glances back one last time over her shoulder. “Change before you go.” Those are her parting words for my impending doom?

The door shuts behind her and I lash out and slam my fist into the wall in frustration; the first movement of my body all day that has felt distinctly mine and not so terrible intertwined with Rhys.. The wood groans under my burning knuckles, but worse still, the fading wall paper smolders, the edges burning and crinkling, the smell of melting glue filling the air. I glance down at my hands long enough to see a flicker of those blue flame disappear between my knuckles through the tears brimming my eyes. 

Rhys materializes from under the bed, looking annoyed that he can’t stretch out his wings. “That was harsh, even for a Witch.”

I stretch out my hands, palms splayed, no more flames to be seen, even if the wallpaper still smolders. “Is this from you?”

“It’s the amplification of what’s already inside you,” he says.

My Mother’s words still ring in my ears. “There’s nothing inside me.”

He reaches out a hand and tilts my head up to look at him. “We both know that’s not true, Darling.”

I wish I could remember how he came to me; remember which god I needed to thank for bringing him to me. No one understands me like he does. He makes me feel seen, like I’m not entirely a burden. The fleeting moment of control I had over my body disappears, dispelled by this new touch of his hands against my face.

He wipes the tears that slip down my cheeks with his thumbs. “Ready to show them exactly what you are, Little Witch?”

I’m not going to change the dress. And I’m not going to die today either. “Yes.”

He grins wickedly, eyes going all black again. “Then let’s give them a Solstice no one will ever forget.”

Those words are the last thing I remember before the fog takes me completely. There is only darkness and shadow, floating and swirling so intensely around me that I lose sight of everything. I am not a person, I am a thought, tossed around in the dark. Dully, I am aware of sounds. Of a flash of heat on my skin. Of the distant sound of screaming. Terror becomes a companion, but it is never an emotion that comes from me, only something that walks alongside me in the dark. Through it all, there is never a moment that I am not aware of him. His being is as intertwined in the darkness as I am, I think he might very well have been its creator as well as its caretaker. Even here, the brush of him is enough to keep me from thinking too hard about it. The darkness is good and soothing and nothing to fear, no matter what sounds come from outside it.

When he finally sets me free from the darkness, it is in a world once again on fire. What looks like a celebratory parade now lays in cinders, the charred remains of a skeletal figure clutching the melted wheel on the front. The air is heavy with ash, the wind blowing embers across the blood red sky. 

There is more screaming. Underneath what once might have been a floral arch, twisted in the burning ribbons are people… no witches, fighting for an escape that doesn’t come as the winged death god that has followed me all day stalks towards them with his claws out, chuckling at their plight.

Something in me recoils, fights against the invisible hands that hold me, just enough to let out a scream of horror as the witches meet a bloody end, the gore splattering across Rhys’s wings. He turns to look at me then, grinning wickedly, no violet in his eyes to be seen, only endless black pits.

The shadow in my skull parts just enough to remind me what he really is: Demon. Prince of Hel.

My hands shake at my sides. My back aches and burns like someone had tried to set me on fire, but I am wholly unscathed compared to the carnage and destruction around me.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

But the fog in my head closes in tighter, sharper now, like talons digging into my skull. I scream as I fall to my knees, but the hands that hold me won’t let me reach for my head. Blue flames still dance from my fingertips, flames I don’t remember unleashing. 

“What?” Each word is a battle to get out. “What did I do?”

The blood on his hands is cold as ice as he brushes a hand over my cheek. “What you were meant to do, Little Witch. What they were always scared you could do. Don’t you see? You’re free!”

Free? Whatever the Solstice celebration was supposed to be is irrelevant now, there is only death and fire and it’s all at my hand. The moment guilt starts to creep in, the fog rips it away from me, replaces it with that same need to please him.

“You freed me?”

Invisible hands help me stand again. He braces a hand on my hip to steady me as he brushes his lips over my forehead. The fires seem irrelevant like this. “They’ll never hurt you again. They’ll never hurt us again.”

I can’t remember what he was saving me from. Before I can ask the question, a false sense of gratitude worms its way into my chest. Another gift from him. The more gifts he gives me, the more hollow and cold I feel my insides becoming. My head doesn’t know reality from the world he creates inside my mind, but my heart is another matter. There is something very, very wrong with him. With me. But I am not strong enough to fight it. The sigil at my back burns when I try.

“What now?”

Plush lips brush against mine. My body moves for me, chasing the heat of him. Chasing the blissful pleasure of emptiness that comes when he touches me. His wants are mirrored through me somehow. 

“What would you like now, My Little Witch? The rest of the Coven? A throne perhaps? There is nothing in your way. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

I don’t know that I want anything. Nothing feels real. Nothing but him.

“Want you,” I say, voice a little breathless, as if conjuring up anything of myself from within the fog is a tremendous effort. It certainly feels like it. I don’t know if that’s another gift from him or not. Everything is becoming so very muddled again. 

The demon grins as he asks, “And then?”

Images swirl around my head. Each carefully planted by those invisible hands. I am powerless to resist their influence. “No more witches.”

“I couldn’t think of anything better, Darling.”

-----

Tag List:

@girl-math-aint-mathing / @hjgdhghoe / @gloomy-hag / @barb00235 / @scxrletwitches

Thank you for all your patience! <3

[pupsmailbox]

MINECRAFT ID PACK

NAMES︰ alex. amber. amethyst. ash. azalea. blaze. block. briar. brick. brielle. brier. brook. carver. celeste. clay. cobble. cree. crystal. daisy. dawn. dusty. ember. end. eve. flint. flora. forge. garnet. gemma. granite. grayson. harper. hazel. hero. holly. hopper. iris. ivy. jade. jett. juniper. lapis. laurel. lilac. lily. magnolia. maple. marigold. mason. meadow. miner. mira. moss. nova. oak. onyx. opal. pearl. pebble. poppy. prairie. pyre. quill. red. reed. river. rocky. rose. rowan. ruby. sable. sage. sapphire. selene. shale. sky. skye. skylar. slate. smith. spruce. steele. stella. stephen. stone. sunny. terra. thalia. timber. torch. violet. wade. willow.

PRONOUNS︰ a/axe. adventurer/adventurer. allay/allay. ar/armour. ax/axe. bam/bamboo. bat/bat. bee/bee. biome/biome. birch/birch. bla/blaze. blaz/blaze. blaze/blaze. blo/block. block/block. build/build. bun/bun. cake/cake. chest/chest. clay/clay. cob/cobble. copper/cooper. cow/cow. cra/craft. craf/craft. craft/craft. cre/creative. creep/creeper. creeper/creeper. dark/dark. deep/deepslate. deep/slate. dig/dig. disc/disc. drown/drown. ely/elytra. elytra/elytra. en/end. end/end. end/eye. ender/ender. ender/enderman. enderman/endermen. explorer/explorer. fight/fight. flint/flint. for/forge. fox/fox. ghast/ghast. glow/stone. goat/goat. grav/gravel. heal/heal. hive/hive. hun/hunger. husk/husk. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ice/ice. kaboom/kaboom. kelp/kelp. lav/lava. love/love. magma/magma. mi/mine. mine/mine. mob/mob. mod/mod. moosh/mooshroom. mooshroom/mooshroom. musicnote/musicnote. nether/nether. nostalgia/nostalgia. nostalgic/nostalgic. oak/oak. ocean/ocean. ore/ore. over/overworld. over/world. pearl/pearl. phantom/phantom. pi/pick. pig/pig. pig/pigstep. pig/step. play/player. ram/ram. red/stone. sap/sapling. scream/scream. sculk/sculk. sea/sea. shea/shear. sheep/sheep. sho/shovel. shulk/shulker. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. skele/skeleton. skeleton/skeleton. skulk/skulk. slime/slime. sme/smelt. smp/smp. snow/snow. spawner/spawner. spec/spectator. speed/speedrun. spider/spider. spruce/spruce. sta/stack. sto/stone. strider/strider. surv/survival. survivor/survivor. swo/sword. tele/teleport. terra/terracotta. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tnt/tnt. tor/torch. tree/tree. ve/vex. vwoop/vwoop. warden/warden. warp/warped. warrior/warrior. wat/water. wit/wither. wither/wither. wo/wood. wolf/wolf. xp/xp. zomb/zombie. zombie/zombie.

[purpleprincessonfyre]

I mean....I'm not denying it!

The Aristocats (1970) dir. Wolfgang Reitherman

[acronym-chaos]

Minecraft Inspired ID Pack

[PT: Minecraft Inspired ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Alex, Amber, Amethyst, Ash, Azalea, Blaze, Block, Brick, Briar, Brielle, Brook, Carver, Celeste, Clay, Cobble, Cree, Crystal, Daisy, Dawn, Dusty, Ember, End, Eve, Flora, Flint, Forge, Garnet, Gemma, Granite, Grayson, Harper, Hazel, Holly, Hopper, Iris, Ivy, Jade, Jett, Juniper, Lapis, Laurel, Lilac, Lily, Maple, Marigold, Mason, Meadow, Miner, Mira, Moss, Nova, Oak, Onyx, Opal, Pearl, Pebble, Poppy, Pyre, Quill, Reed, Red, River, Rocky, Rose, Rowan, Ruby, Sage, Sable, Sapphire, Selene, Shale, Sky, Skylar, Slate, Smith, Spruce, Steele, Stella, Stone, Sunny, Terra, Thalia, Timber, Torch, Violet, Wade, Willow

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

A / Ax / Axe; Bla / Blaz / Blaze; Blo / Block / Blocks; Build / Build / Builds; Cob / Cobble / Cobbles; Cra / Craf / Craft; Cra / Craf / Craft; Cree / Creep / Creeper; Dig / Dig / Digs; E / En / End; Flint / Flint / Flints; Fo / For / Forge; Mi / Mine / Mines; Pi / Pick / Picks [Pickaxe]; Red / Stone / Redstones; Sap / Sapling / Saplings; Shea / Shear / Shears; Sho / Shovel / Shovels; Sme / Smelt / Smelts; Sta / Stack / Stacks; Sto / Stone / Stones; Tor / Torch / Torches; Wo / Wood / Woods

Titles

[PT: Titles].

Builder of Worlds; Crafter of Blocks; Master of the Mines; The Blocksmith; The Brave Explorer; The Collector of Resources; The Creator of Realms; The Defender of the Village; The Ender of Mobs; The Master of the Redstone; The Master Miner; The Pixel Pioneer; The Resource Gatherer; The Survival Expert; [Pronoun] Who Crafts with Precision; [Pronoun] Who Delves Deep; [Pronoun] Who Faces the Nether; [Pronoun] Who Mines and Builds; [Pronoun] Who Shapes the World

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID].

Requested by @rwuffles on Discord!

Also tagging: @pronoun-arc @id-pack-archive

[sincericida]

need .. more .. jeb pyre.. in my life .. *dies*

Wow, can I fill a little bit of your Jeb Pyre need with some fanfics?

"Saints and Sinners" by @blooming-violets

"A black mile ⤞ series masterlist" and this fic by @foreverrogers

"Fresh Start" by @willowhaired

This fic and this fic by @reidslovely

Oooor... Images:

I hope I have helped 😉

And as always, thanks for the writers and gifs creators on Tumblr, you're amazing!