#obsidian cult

[whispereons]

Masterlist!

I'm Whispereons and I mainly write yandere Genshin Impact fics. The SAGAU is my long time obsession if it wasn't obvious.

For ease of convenience I will have this masterlist pinned with my works, taglist, and tags used on my blog.

Currently I don't have any rules to abide by. I enjoyed all the comments, reblogs, asks and submissions I received thus far!

Just a warning for anyone new, I advise you to make sure your blog has some form of personalization. Like a profile pic, a sentence saying hello in your bio or even just a single post saying you're human will do. It's to prevent you from getting the report and block combo when I do my spam/porn bot purges.

SAGAU works

Oracle!Reader - with my current editor @serpent-benediction (hopefully) fixing up the older chapters.

Followers Special: 1K

Inazuma:

City - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 Sea - Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Liyue:

City - Part 9, Part 10, Wilderness - Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18 City V2 - Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24

(Don't judge my old works too harshly, I really was new at writing!)

Self-aware Genshin Impact Series (incomplete): Warmth, Screen, Team Player, Over This Shit

Oneshots - Another Drink, It's tough to be a God

Normal Yandere Genshin Impact:

Venti/Barbatoes x EOS!Reader: Planned, Protection or Possession?, Control

Tags to use to navigate my posts!

#whisp's amateur work - all of my writing

#sagau oracle au - everything related to my oracle!reader (was implemented late so the first tag is more reliable)

#a whispered response - me answering asks/submissions

#whisp's collection - my personal collection of my fav authors, artists, and anything else. My mindless reblogs aren't tagged with anything to avoid cluttering the tag system.

#peering into the whisp - if I get personal asks, this is the tag I would use

If you regularly sends asks with some way to identify you then I usually give you a tag too.

My taglist for my Oracle!Reader:

If you are in italics, that means I couldn't tag you! That could be due to you being shadow banned or having your settings set to hide you from being searched. I will keep this master list updated with each new user, I truly don't mind tagging you all. It's honestly a nice feeling.

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername

@zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @starsofabundance, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus, @silverstarred, @iamapotatoe, @ghosthii, @beloveddroplet, @uchihaeirin, @ibelieveinsleep, @idk098, @thefirstonetoeverlikemeback, @toramune, @haaaaaades, @horologiumwise, @melovaaaa, @alittletiredcry, @aphxdea, @atsukawolfcat, @desirabletravel, @pinkpainc, @eccedentesiast-sapphic, @yuyuzi-ling, @hyperfixationwhore

@juuuuuj101010, @avalordream, @kurayamioterasu, @tottybear, @koiikuno, @lynx-of-skies, @quacking-simp, @synthe4u, @kascar-chronicle, @hug4helios, @hug4helios, @silverstarred, @koiikuno, @ithoughtthinks, @remiivx, @lemonade7255, @melpomenelurks, @average-yandere-enjoyer, @mnhao, @fuji-sen, @altumsomnum

#whisp's amateur work #a whispered response #sagau cult au #whisp's collection #peering into the whisp #official masterlist #For those wondering #The cat covering my blog is my dear Obsidian <3 #if he dies #I may actually drop Tumblr #but that's not going to happen as he's young and a housecat #he's living all 18 years estimated #and WOW I didn't expect to have so many liyue chapters #There's just so many people in Liyue that it makes it long #How do ya'll read my stuff??? lol

[halfusek]

i drew my minecraft oc and my friend’s @waruihoshi technically an oc more like an npc on the minecraft server she roleplays as fnjkfdfd in the style of cult of the lamb because my oc runs a cult of the pink sheep :]

#man i havent drawn in over a month like at all #this was very fun! i miss drawing more often #everytime i think i can get back to it with more energy something irl happens and stops me from doing that raaghhh #but i try :) #minecraft #minecraft oc #cult of the lamb #cotl #halfart #endermag #warui smp #the pink sheep #(if anyone randomly stumps across this warui smp is just the name of my friends private lil server its nothing mcyt related lmao) #this is obviously heavily based on official cotl artwork but i had a lot of fun tweaking it a bit to fit these two characters more #and designing the crown was so fun too :3 #its supposed be an obsidian tower from the end with an eye of ender #and the uhh i forgot the name but the green thing he's wearing i based the colors on the eye of ender #cuz the character is an enderman #also the white letters actually spell 'void' in minecraft enchanting table language :3 #im normal. im so normal about symbolism and lore

[sluggybunny]

Hello everyone, I am here to preach the gospel of Obsidian... it's a note taking app that's similar to things like scrivener & one note. it's 100% free and very, very easy to use. All the notes you make in it will be saved as a markdown file (MD) so if you don't end up liking it, it's super easy to keep everything you wrote in it and move it somewhere else.

I use it to write my game design documents in, my creative writing, or general note taking when i'm reading books (like tabletop games or when i'm trying to study from something. i also keep track of manga i'm reading in it because i like to save notes about panel composition or artistic decisions i like) with some optional plugins you can even make things like tasks/to-do lists or tables that will show files + their properties. + tons and tons of themes and visual customization to help with reading them visually.

the main thing about it is you can easily create links to other notes or notes that don't exist later but you know you'll want to go back and explore later. it's been really useful for me when i'm doing world building or if i'm reading a source book and want to take notes.

there's a lot you can add to your notes for organization like properties, tags, bookmarks, folders, etc and tons of ways to customize it to your experience.

if you know me, you know that i play the sims with spreadsheets. well not anymore but i still document everything excessively in obsidian B)

Since linking is a huge thing in Obsidian, it will also show you a map of content... i don't find this personally really useful but it is really fun to see how your notes and thought process connects. very cool to look at

as someone who has like. super intense adhd that ruins my life, i found that obsidian has been the best thing for me for helping me organize my thoughts or projects. i dont really make posts like this ever but i just think its neat and more ppl should use it, especially my fellow adhd brained creatives

#>sluggy personal #fhdhddshfads sorry ive been wanting to yell about it foreverrrrrr join the obsidian cult #if you have any questions about using it hmu #by which i mean please talk to me about it i am just so (brain vibrating noises) about it

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: It’s not the usual suspects trying to summon the undead this time, and it’s proving to be a massive headache for John Constantine. They seem...Competent. 

When John sniffed out a new plot to summon a ghost, he kind of laughed it off. Ghosts were not more than shades of the people/creatures they used to be, without all the right resources and enough buy in from the greater spirits of the Infinite Realms, most entities that came thought might scare some kids at a slumber party but that was at most. Plus, kids were scary resilient these days thanks to the internet, so really, John’s not worried. 

Then he hears about the gathering of artifacts and he has to care a little more. He learns that one Jasmine Fenton is involved and he’s... Surprised. She’s got a public record of dismissing her parent’s inventions and causing stirs at supernatural conventions (not to mention a great reputation as a research focused psychologist). Jasmine’s credit cards report a great deal of cash (refunded to her account by an unknown off-shore account) being taken out and her location is right next to the last place anyone could find a shard of the Crown. 

Yeah, that Crown. The Infinite, ancient blessed and deity cursed one. John had meant to get around to investigating if the shard of obsidian (fire forged) was legit, so he begins to set his sights on Jasmine for a ��chat’. 

Then Sam Manson, a scary ass Heiress, pulls up in a limousine and all but kidnaps him and dumps him outside city limits. She tells him that he’s been cursed for the next 48 hours to stay out of their city- If he comes close, any plant will identify him in a heartbeat and come to life to kill him. (Fun fact: there are a goddamn lot of plants surrounding this stupid town, even the dandelions are forging knives to kill him.)

THEN worse, Red Robin gets on his ass about cybersecurity of all things. Turns out another player, identified by the moniker TooFineTooFurious has been tracking John’s phone and has been rummaging around official JLD documents- How was John supposed to know that keeping his passwords on the notes app could be hackable? Red Robin declares him incompetent and John can only sigh, crush his phone and move on. 

That all leads him to the summoning portal in front of him in this weird ghost themed high school gymnasium. It’s far too competent. It gives him goosebumps even before he can read out that they’re summoning the King of the Infinite Realms himself. John clicks the panic alarm on his JL communicator before engaging with the Trio before him. 

They’re not wearing any capes, no candles are lit, but this is the scariest cult he’s ever seen. Jasmine Fenton, ghost denier, Sam Manson, Heiress and Plant Witch (?), Some other dude with a beret and fucking DRONES (he considers this might be the man who hacked him). John pleads with them, they don’t know what they’re trying to do. Pariah Dark will kill them all, eat their entire planet for breakfast!! Everyone rolls their eyerolls at him, and he’s taken aback by their nonchalance. 

Plant guards grab him and a drone has a laser sight on his forehead. He fights but is subdued- They’re almost done chanting when Superman, Green Lantern, Red Robin and Cyborg all appear. Despite their disruption- the chanting ends with the green illumination of the circle. Despair fills the air. 

And then- Poof- a groaning young man appears. 

“Dudes you have no idea how unhelpful the Infi-map is sometimes. I was lost for like weeks and CW was being such a bitch ab- What. Wait, who are all- Holy shit did you guys summon the Justice League?” The Ghost King in full Regalia stared back at them in questioning concern. The three summoners start bitching  at the monarch and John... isn’t sure if this is going to be an interdimensional incident yet. 

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc crossover #dp crossover #danny phantom #red robin #cult summoning but it's just your homies #jazz fenton #john constantine #justice league dark

[m3t4ln3rd]

AVOID announce new record Cult Mentality; unleash new single "My World"

Photo by: Blake Littell Official press release: One of 2021’s hottest breakout bands, Seattle’s five-piece AVOID, has dropped their latest single and music video “My World“. Not only that, but the band has also announced their forthcoming new album Cult Mentality due for release on Friday, October 14 (via Thriller Records). Speaking on today’s release, vocalist Benny Scholl commented: “We’re…

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#Avoid #Cult Mentality #My World #Obsidian Tour #Thriller Records

[catopoliscat]

absence / suguru geto/fem!reader

suguru's been working away for a few days. time apart always made your boyfriend a little insatiable. sometimes he couldn't even wait for you to wake up before he had a taste.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. (consensual) somnophilia. established relationship. canon!verse but slight au!suguru (not a cult leader/normal sorcerer). cunnilingus. fingering. one pet name, ‘my sweet thing’. spitting. suguru knows how to EAT. he’s also very, very into it if you catch my drift. porn without plot, really. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 1.9k.

a/n: is this a drabble? how small is a fucking drabble idk - but a lil smth small while i work on a lil smth fatter ehe

mdni.

It’s the throbbing between your legs that eventually wakes you up. 

Your head is thick, still dusted and clouded with the heavy remnants of your disturbed dreams. There’s a cool breeze against your skin, and you vaguely become aware of the lack of covers on top of you… and yet your skin feels hot, prickly. You palm at the sheets, go to roll from your back onto your side but a firm grip against your thighs keeps you planted. The feeling of restriction rouses you more, your eyelids fluttering, squinting against the darkness of your bedroom—

—and the long, hot slide of something wet against your clit has you snapping awake. 

Your eyes blink open as a breathless sound leaves your lips. Your hips buck up involuntarily against the unknown source of pleasure, a hot flush blooming across your skin. You go to rise up on your elbows, only to fall back again a breath later as you feel a strong suction against your swollen bud. 

A soft moan falls out of you, the sound snapping through the silence of your bedroom, filtering with the lewd wet sound coming from between your thighs.

Looking down, you’re greeted by the mess of ink-black hair spilling over your lower stomach, untied and untamed, tickling your skin with every movement. You can make out a single ear and black gauge amidst the dishevelled locks, the soft moonlight catching on its obsidian surface. 

Even if you couldn’t see, you could tell it was Suguru by the sounds of his deep groans alone. 

“F-fuck, Suguru,” you gasp as those tight lips clench harder around your clit. “Couldn’t… ah, couldn’t wait until the damn morning?” 

Something like a grunt and a moan is all you get in reply. Your hips go to roll again, but an arm is winding around your thigh—and a large hand presses down on your lower stomach to keep you still. Those sinful lips pop off of your clit with a wet smack. 

“Missed you,” you hear Suguru murmur, the words muffled against your hot flesh before he gives one long lick from your entrance upward. He moans as if the taste is all he needs to sustain him. “Missed this.” 

You bite your bottom lip, teeth dragging against the skin as your arm snakes down your body. Your fingers wind into those untamed locks, gripping the strands tightly at the root–and a rumbling moan vibrates against your hot, sensitive flesh in response. Suguru was always weak for having his hair pulled.

You rise up on one elbow. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your grip almost severe, but Suguru only groans again, his wet tongue sliding against your pussy messily. His head tilts up a little, two dark eyes looking up at you from underneath his lashes and the hair spilling across some of his face. Your own arousal glints against his lips and tongue, even his nose. A light flush blooms across his cheeks. He looks almost drunk.

He pushes against your grip easily, face diving back down an inch between your thighs. His tongue circles the slick rim of your entrance once again before sliding inside, a wet slurping sound filling the air—drinking from you like a man parched. A sharp nose bumps against your clit and you clench around his tongue tightly. 

“A-ah,” you roll your hips toward his mouth, feeling his tongue probe deeper, and Suguru makes no move to stop you this time. Instead, his large palm slides up across your stomach, dipping under your shirt to grab greedily at your breast. “You’ve r-really missed me, huh?” 

“You have no fucking idea,” he breathes out between thrusts of his tongue, voice muffled by your slick heat. Suguru wasn’t one for cursing often, but when he did, it never failed to make you clench, that coil in your gut winding a little tighter. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this.” 

Suguru pulls back his tongue, purses his lips, and a trickle of spit falls against your pussy, wetting you further. He smears it with his tongue, his grip on your breast tightening. His ministrations are sloppy, a mixture of his saliva and your own arousal coating his lower face, strands of his untied hair, your thighs and ass. 

“So fucking messy,” he groans, pinching at your nipple harshly almost as if you were to blame for all this. 

Suguru was typically methodical and precise when it came to your pleasure… that was until distance separated you. Then he became like this–wanting, hungry, filthy. Almost insatiable.

Typically, however, he had the patience and restraint to wait until morning. It seems tonight he had been in a rush—not even bothering to remove take off his own clothes or even your underwear fully, instead tugging them hastily to the side. They were damp too, you could feel it, and you wondered how long he had busied himself licking against the fabric until his impatience had pushed him forward. 

Your moans rise in both pitch and volume as he busies his tongue against your clit again, stimulating it in sure, quick circles with the tip. He lets the drool fall freely from his mouth until you feel it drip down between your cheeks to soak the bedsheets below you. You continue to tug and pull at his scalp, your hips twitching and your breathing growing increasingly ragged. 

Suguru can tell you’re growing close—he knows your body well enough by now to recognise the signs. Laboured breathing, moans turning to pitchy gasps, the grip on his hair that’s almost painful. He doesn’t waste any time in sliding two thick fingers inside you, the passage barely felt with how slick you are. The pads of his digits pressing against the soft part inside your walls that has your hips nearly flying off the bed; not thrusting, simply curling. Insistently. 

A guttural sound leaves Suguru’s lips in response, something like a growl. 

“Fuck!” You gasp, the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers massaging your spot sending you dizzy. Your lips are dry, parched, as you pant into the cool air. “I’m gonna’ fucking cum-“ 

Suguru’s fingers rub more firmly against your spot and that coil in your gut is winding so tight you fear you’ll ache in the morning. You know you’re going to crash. Hard. 

“Come on, come on,” Suguru is chanting against your pussy in breathless gasps. “Give it to me, my sweet thing, goddamn, give it—“ 

You glance down between eyelids that seem determined to clamp shut. You see Suguru’s face buried against you, hear the wet squelch of his fingers massaging you from the inside and you’re so close, so fucking close— 

Then you see the movements of Suguru’s hips; small twitches and slow grinds as he ruts his clothed cock against the mattress—the thought that he’s as aroused by this as you are, as he always is when he brings you pleasure like this—sends you careening over the edge. 

Your back bows, a harsh cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenches tight around his fingers. Eyes scrunched tight, you’re throbbing, crying out his name you think, but it’s hard to tell. Suguru’s groaning against you, whispered curses and praises falling from his lips like a symphony. 

The pleasure is blinding, seemingly infinite—Suguru’s tongue and fingers working you even now, pushing you further and further until you can’t take it anymore. When it gets too much, even for you, you tug his lips away from your oversensitive core by his hair. He removes his fingers of his own accord, a slick sound accompanying the movement. 

Your eyes are hazy, clouded, as you look at him, your breaths coming shallow and stilted. His face is soaked with you, his shining lips still parted, his tongue darting out to collect every drop as he stares back. The flush across his cheeks has darkened, and his breathing is shallow, too shallow—you recognise that look, it’s when— 

A breathless laugh falls past Suguru’s lips. He seems sated, yet drained. With a breath, he pulls his hand from your shirt and rises up onto his knees, his movements languid and sluggish. As he sits back on his haunches, his knees slightly spread, you get a clear view of the swell in his pants—and the large dark spot blooming around it. 

He had cum. Without touching himself. 

Suguru’s lips tug to one side as he looks down at you spread out before him. He doesn’t seem sheepish or embarrassed, only vaguely surprised, yet satisfied. His hair is a mess, strands clinging to his damp face and neck. His hand drifts down to his clothed, softening cock, giving it a small squeeze. It twitches in his grasp, and a small ‘hah’ leaves his mouth as his hips twitch. 

“Fuck,” he exhales as his eyelids flutter shut. “You made me cum.” He opens his eyes after a moment, letting his hand fall back to his thigh with a small sigh. “Couldn’t hold back. Not when you sounded like that.”  

You chuckle weakly as your heart calms down in your chest, feeling exhausted in the best possible way. “Not like you to lose control,” you murmur, a lazy smile on your face.

“No?” He slowly crawls over you, two forearms bracing near your head, his hair tickling your collarbones. He dips down to press his lips against yours in a wet, unhurried kiss. You sigh as you taste yourself on his tongue, the taste of both him and you making you melt against the mattress beneath you. He pulls back after a moment too short, settling his weight down against you, but even in his tired state he’s careful not to press fully. “I think you seem to be the best at making me lose my sense.”  

A nose brushes against yours, his eyelids fluttering shut in contentment. The weight against you grows a little heavier, and you imagine he must be beyond exhausted. 

But still, you’re both covered in fluid, sweat and spit. It’s a little gross. 

“We should shower,” you murmur, and Suguru hums in agreement. He makes no effort to move just yet, though. “And probably change the sheets.” 

Suguru exhales through his nose sharply in amusement, his eyes blinking open to look at you through a hooded gaze. “Who said we were done?”

You raise an eyebrow and glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:56am.  

“Sugur-“ 

His hips roll against yours, the fabric of his pants rubbing against your tender heat. You jolt a little, a small gasp leaving your lips in response to the stimulation—and the fact that Suguru is still very much hard underneath his trousers. 

You look up at him with a huff of disbelief. “You’re kidding. You need to rest—”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he cuts in, the words deep in tone as his lazy gaze bores into yours from above. There’s an undercurrent of need in his voice, something damningly close to desperation. “Badly.” His hips roll again, more firmly this time. Despite your reservations, you moan at the hard pressure of his cock against you–and the fact that Suguru, composed Suguru, always seemed to be insatiable. Only for you.

His smiles, something frayed at the edges as his grinding becomes more insistent, fervent. “Did you miss me too? Hah, fuck, go on. Tell me.” 

And you do.

You tell him how much you missed him many, many times that night—until warm sunlight filters into the room and you both fall asleep tangled together–amidst the very soiled sheets. 

masterlist.

#jjk x reader #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk x you #geto x you #suguru geto smut #jjk smut #suguru x y/n #geto x y/n #geto smut

[waspsarebetterthanbeesanyways]

Only the Dead 1

Figured I’d post the first scene of my WIP here.

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

_____

There’s something wrong.

Bruce wakes up slowly, despite the icy frisson of dread that crawls up his spine. His head hurts. His muscles ache, knotted like stone, to the point where simply shifting position feels like a Herculean task.

There’d been an Arkham breakout again. He’d gone after the Joker -- there’d been a hostage -- and then..?

He can hear voices, murmuring quietly around him on all sides, none of them familiar. He can smell disinfectant, wax, something floral, and a hint of rot underneath it all. A hospital? he wonders, mind sluggish.

“He’s waking up.”

Bruce peels his eyelids open with difficulty; his eyelashes stick together.

It’s not a hospital. It’s a warehouse? Wherever he is, it’s lit dimly, by only candlelight.

“No matter. We are ready to commence with the ritual.”

Bruce rolls his head to the side. He can feel the velvet of an expensive tablecloth underneath his cheek -- he’s on some sort of table -- an altar? Below him he can dark, geometric lines -- a circle, and a diamond within -- and strange symbols drawn around the edges. Above him tower shadowy figures -- people, men and women dressed in dark grey robes, their faces obscured. Batman uses similar scare tactics to frighten criminals, but Bruce still feels frightened at the sight.

He jerks, trying to get upright. Sharp pain blooms in his throat, his wrists and his ankles. He’s tied up -- no, he’s chained and collared, tightly, to the altar.

One of the robed figures approaches him. Her robes are distinct from the others, the seams embroidered with pale silver thread, taking the shapes of cartoon ghosts, of all things. She clicks her tongue at him. “Batman, Bruce Wayne,” she murmurs. “It was a lot of trouble getting you. Don’t think we’ll let you escape.”

Bruce’s heart hammers in his chest as his situation sinks in. He’s trapped, unable to move, kidnapped by a cult he hadn’t even been aware existed.

“Everybody get into position.”

There’s four of them, not counting the vestal. Each of them takes a candle from the corner of the altar, cupping them between their palms. The vestal pulls a knife from her robes. The blade is pitch black, like obsidian, and it gleams in the candlelight.

Bruce squirms, feeling the chains, searching for a weakness. The vestal cards her fingers through his hair as if to calm him. “I am sorry,” she says. “I wouldn’t do this if there was another way. Know that we will honor your sacrifice. The Lord of Screams will follow your footsteps and bring salvation to this wretched city.”

“Don’t do this,” Bruce says.

The vestal tilts her head back and begins to chant. “O king, we beseech you; grace us with your presence.” The other cultists echo her words in Latin. “To you we gift you thus -- an offering of blood to bring you power, an offering of bone to anchor you to this plane -- a life for a life.”

“A life for a life,” the cultists chant.

The vestal lifts her blade, and with both hands, plunges it into Bruce’s chest.

The candle flames flicker out, then return a brilliant Lazarus green.

The vestal pulls her blade back out with a wet squelch and hastily backs out of the circle. The cultists back away at a slow, even pace. The lines of the circle begin to glow that same horrid, beautiful green, and they grow, expanding with each step the cultists take.

Bruce, still struggling, chokes on his own blood. It dribbles out his lips.

The lines of the circle thicken until the entire circle is filled in with that eerie green, and then it begins to swirl. A massive hand pulls itself out of the miasma, and then a flaming crown, a horned helmet, a scowling face. A giant, armored body, barely contained by the warehouse.

“Once again, I am freed,” the being says in a booming voice.

“Lord Phantom,” the vestal says. The glow has intensified enough for Bruce to make out her features -- her glistening eyes, her wide smile. “It really worked. You’re really here...”

“Phantom,” the being says. “Is that who you believe I am?”

“My lord?” the vestal asks, voice small.

“I am not Phantom,” the being spits, face twisting into a rictus of hatred. “I am none other than Pariah Dark, king of the Infinite Realms.”

The last Bruce sees of the vestal is the horror on her face before Pariah Dark slams down his fist, reducing her to a bloody smear. The remaining cultists flee, screaming.

“Cowards,” Pariah Dark sneers. “But they shall be my subjects soon enough.” He turns his gaze towards Bruce, and scoops him up into one of his massive hands, phase shifting him through the chains. “Now you, you must be one of those costumed warriors Phantom emulates so fondly.” He inspects the bat symbol on Bruce’s chest. The blood has spread so much it’s barely recognizable. “But a dying vessel has no use to me.”

With that, Pariah Dark carelessly tosses Bruce to the ground. Bruce shouts in pain, and dark splotches grow in his vision. They do not fade.

“Batman!”

“Dad!”

No. Bruce’s vision is fading quickly, but he can still tell. Nightwing, Red Robin, Batgirl -- his sons, and the girl who is like a daughter to him. They can’t be here.

“Run,” Bruce croaks, but Nightwing still approaches. The other two attack Pariah Dark. trying to distract him. Bruce can’t move, can’t run with them, can’t fight with them, can’t protect them. “Run away!”

Steph screams. Dick reaches Bruce and curls an arm around his shoulders. “We’re not leaving you,” Dick says. He sounds close to tears.

Bruce doesn’t hear him. He is already lost.

#dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc #tw death #only the dead au

[httpstes]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Random things that remind me of Venus in Water signs <33 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

: ̗̀➛ Cancer venus

Moon goddess, white cupcakes, soft makeup, pastels, twinkling stars, ball gowns, sleeping beauty, Bridgeton, velvet dresses, aurora borealis, moonstone, labradorite, ex lovers, childhood crushes, historical events that for some reason bring you a lot of nostalgia, warm cardigans, rosy cheeks, plump lips, angel wings, tattoos that are aesthetically pleasing but also have some rlly deep meaning behind them..in saying that probably has tattoos that are related to their loved ones, mini skirts, crescent moon, autumn leaves, picnics in the park, constantly getting hit by nostalgia then crying about your childhood, sad/serene resting face, calm river flow in forests, doll eyes, cathedrals, atonement, victorian homes and decor, mid-western gothic towns, struggling to live in the present because you’re in a constant state of reminiscing on the past, red and white candles, love spells, love sick, Ludus (playful love) and Agape (love for everyone), learning that unconditional love has its consequences.

: ̗̀➛ Scorpio venus

The mystics, love magick, killer smile, captivating love, people are addicted to you and the way you love, possession, the goth kids from southpark 😭, the hot detective in crime/horror films, small snowy village, probably went through a creepypasta phase, alex g, rlly cool piercings, coraline, uniquely shaped snowflakes, ending up on the scary side of Ao3, twitter, tumblr on multiple occasions, whimsigothic clothes, bela lugosi's dead, american horror story, finding solace in painful memories, joe goldberg (derogatory), exploring abandoned buildings, dark crystal, Evanescence, religious imagery, cathedrals, questionable taste in people, alluring eyes, creepy cute dolls, interest in the paranormal, sirens and pixies, deftones, obsidian, malachite, lavenders, twilight, overgrown houses.

: ̗̀➛ Pisces venus

shells, frozen lakes, Falls for the wrong people, likes the idea of light and dark energy.. yin and yang.. opposites attract type of beat, gives out too much love, normally the medic or healer in video games, always there for moral support, grandfather clocks, mermaids, poison tree by grouper, randomly remembering early childhood memories, angel numbers, spiritual/astrological tattoos, auras, maladaptive daydreaming, falling for the idea you create of people, kogal gyaru or Himegyaru, snails or turtles both seem very wise :), castles, the backrooms LMAO, angels, water lilies, american horror story (specifically the coven and hotel season), ENA, blindly following a cult or being the cult leader, playing in an empty park, rainbows, cottages, persephone and hades, blue lace agate, aquamarine, mazzy star, the cure, koi fish.

<<Hello everyone sorry for my long hiatus! It has finally come to an end!! School has already started for me so I’ll try post once a week however that’s just me saying shit and it’s not guaranteed 😭 I hope everyone has been doing well :))>>

#astro community #i’m alive guys #astrology placements #astrology community #astrology notes #astro notes #astro tumblr #astroblr #astrology #astrology observations #water signs #Scorpio #Cancer #Pisces #Venus signs #Scorpio venus #Pisces Venus #cancer venus #venus in scorpio #venus in cancer #venus in pisces #venus placements

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his. 

MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts 

Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so. 

Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)

TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD 

GN Terms for MC

AO3 Link Here

Masterlist

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

“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.” 

Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things. 

Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.

It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth. 

It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial. 

“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”

The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway. 

“Hideous.”

“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”

“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”

“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”

You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did. 

He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run. 

“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones. 

“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .” 

“Let me be your god.”

He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape. 

You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind. 

Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?

You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.

“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?” 

“To be useful to god?” 

"Useful to me?"

“They’ve done so much for you.” 

“I’ve done so much for you.” 

“Don’t you want to repay that?”

You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force. 

It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone. 

Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power. 

The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you. 

You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒  and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke. 

"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "

And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again. 

Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action. 

You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your 

You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses. 

"It's like they're reading my thoughts."

"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."

"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"

"Arrogant asshole."

"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."

"Liar."

The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good. 

“How did you know I used browned butter?”

Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind. 

You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust. 

It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace. 

Or, you thought. 

“Huh?”

“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry. 

He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.” 

You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes. 

“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.” 

You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”

He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?” 

“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”

How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood. 

“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.” 

A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered. 

“You have something to write with?” 

His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket. 

“...Thank you.”

You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile. 

There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans. 

“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people." 

You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again. 

Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind. 

“They forgot their prize…” 

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

The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor. 

"Have you seen (Name)?"

The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand. 

"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies. 

"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…" 

“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."

"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better ."

The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind. 

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒ 

You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room. 

Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?" 

"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."

"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place." 

Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter." 

"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects. 

"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up." 

You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms. 

Finally, a moment of peace. 

You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business. 

Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo . 

The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness. 

But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments. 

When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you. 

"But I'd like to get to know them better."

Bitterly, it seeps. 

You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it. 

The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much. 

The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light. 

"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”

You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood. 

"Pretty ."

A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound. 

Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes. 

"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ." 

You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses. 

You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths.  "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."

"Wrong? But it was incredible." 

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

"Pretty."

The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."

"Control?" He parrots. 

"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"

You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case. 

"Can I help you? It seems heavy."

"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit. 

"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."

You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart. 

“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back. 

"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."

Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough. 

“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”

He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."

"Me?"

You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps. 

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

"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"

"I think…just the regular brand stuff."

"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."

He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized. 

The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse? 

You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"

"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."

The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him. 

"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think." 

" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."

You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?” 

"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."

People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.

Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it. 

" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "

It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain. 

Human . 

It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips. 

Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again. 

"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."

The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness. 

But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves. 

The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade. 

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

"You alright?" 

The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him. 

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen." 

His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him. 

"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner. 

He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge. 

When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands. 

"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"

The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.” 

"Warm up for what?"

"Ah for the…church choir." 

Liar . 

He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask. 

"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”

You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words. 

Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat. 

“I get it.” 

But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you. 

“I got you.” 

A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.

"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."

Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says. 

"You're actually a really good person, (Name)." 

The feeling returns, swiftly. 

You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity. 

"God. You're wonderful."

It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.

"You flatter me, my dearest." 

Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting. 

"But you've got me all wrong."

You smile. Perhaps you were the fool. 

A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."

"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way." 

"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."

"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."

You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."

Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink. 

He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."

You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again. 

"I wish more people would know how much good you have."

It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.

You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression. 

“What’s that?” He points to the paper. 

“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”

“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”

A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?” 

Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”

“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue. 

“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.” 

“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile. 

“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”

“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.” 

“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?” 

You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression. 

“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”

“You just have one sister?”

“One and only. My older sister.”

“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.” 

You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.” 

“You’re close with her?”

Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more. 

“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.” 

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on. 

The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it. 

When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night. 

It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes. 

Bitterly, it seeps.

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

Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒  these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures. 

" Pretty boy ."

He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.

Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary. 

The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side. 

We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself. 

He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.

"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.

You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself. 

"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"

" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me." 

"But I want to?" 

The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.

"You don't know what you want." You spit.

" Oh‒ what?" 

"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."

Hellfire. It stains you. 

"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?" 

"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine. 

What are you saying? 

"But‒"

You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him. 

"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."

You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam. 

You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent. 

This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow. 

You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder. 

For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same. 

Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing. 

What sort of monster doesn't have a face? 

You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others. 

Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved . 

Don't you want to be loved?

How could you be? You're just‒ this . 

Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face. 

Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.

I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat. 

You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides. 

A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe. 

“(Name)?” 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands. 

You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor. 

His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.” 

With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?” 

He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.” 

“You’re a fool.”

You were the fool. 

“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…” 

You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron. 

In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?” 

You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."

"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"

Wonderful . 

He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.” 

You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume. 

" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."

That is all I am. 

Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact. 

Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden. 

"You're hurt."

You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.

"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.

"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse. 

He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .

A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .” 

You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.” 

“Me?” 

He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.” 

“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool. 

“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?” 

Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”

“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.” 

Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb. 

“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.” 

“What if this time it ends differently?” 

A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts. 

“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you . 

“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.

“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.” 

There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him. 

“You’ll stay today?” 

Trey feels you relax against him.

“For as long as you'll have me.”

He doesn’t let you go.

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

"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."

Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?" 

You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ” 

Quickly, you shift your words. Control.

“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”

You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver. 

"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful." 

You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck. 

“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey. 

You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern. 

"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”

You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing. 

"Well I guess I have no choice then.” 

A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?” 

A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him. 

Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”

The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .” 

“It’s worrying.” 

“I don’t need it.” 

The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?” 

The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.  

“Don’t joke about such things.” 

“I wasn’t.”

"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it." 

"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"

"That's‒"

"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."

“It’s scary to see you like that.” 

You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?” 

His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.” 

You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself. 

I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒ 

"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it. 

Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.”

“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.” 

His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you. 

“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself." 

“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.” 

There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you. 

But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing. 

He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest. 

He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.

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

He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand. 

“I think it’s a good time to give you this.” 

The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood. 

It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister. 

A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.

"What is it?"

“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly. 

He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table. 

You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion. 

After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more. 

“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms. 

The face he makes worries you. 

For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes. 

"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"

"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"

"I would like it to be you, yes."

He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"

"Only you. It could only be."

You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve. 

"I can't."

"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."

He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?” 

You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.” 

He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.” 

You have no response to that. 

An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?” 

A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell. 

He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.

For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“I suppose I didn’t.” 

So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids. 

Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you. 

"Can you move your hand?" 

The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath. 

"Not yet."

He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath. 

He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia. 

"Ah, this isn't so bad."

He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch. 

"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin. 

He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts. 

"A-are you done already?" 

"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?" 

"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"

"Let me see you. I want to see you."

"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."

Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet. 

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."

You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.

A beat of silence. "Yes?"

"..."

It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before. 

"Why can't you look at me?"

" Why won’t you show me your face? 

Your expression? 

You? 

Are you smiling? Are you mad? 

Why can't you show me? 

Am I‒ "

"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”

Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home. 

"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."

You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours. 

"I want to see you." He repeats. 

The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight. 

"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once. 

He pulls you in, tighter. 

This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely. 

"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this." 

He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”

The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse. 

You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.

"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you." 

"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue. 

You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."

“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.” 

“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.” 

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

You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand. 

“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..” 

“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”

The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”

“You’re all that.” 

His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness. 

The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color. 

Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face. 

"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement. 

"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition. 

"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."

He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement. 

"I can't wait."

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

Notes:

The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires. 

Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy. 

Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period. 

Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)

During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc

Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church 

Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)

Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"

Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own. 

BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore 

I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland malleus #twisted wonderland oc #twst x reader #twisted series #trey clover #trey clover x reader #trey clover x yuu #trey clover twst #trey clover x male reader #trey clover x gn reader #cater diamond #kalim al asim #lilia vanrouge #disney twisted wonderland #Hurt/Comfort #angst #fanfic #Twisted Wonderland fan fiction #Twisted Wonderland imagines #night raven college #vampirism #Twisted Wonderland Hurt/Comfort #Trey Clover Twisted Wonderland #SFW #BPD

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Mirror, Mirror

Kinktober fic fest submission

Summary: Dina Brighton enters a masked sexy party for elites uninvited and has to escape.  Dark!Erik x OC

Warnings: Smut, katoptronophilia, size kink, anonymous sex kink, breath play, knife play kink, degradation kink, BDSM, Dirty talk, cult, angst.

part four

Kinkober fic challenge  moodboard one  moodboard two  part one  part two  part three  

Erik stepped off of the crowded elevator and onto the twelfth floor, Saint Laurent black duffle briefcase in his right hand, wool and alpaca Cavallo blazer in his left hand draped over his shoulder, and a fierce look in his eyes. A series of Good Morning’s and hello’s welcomed him as he strolled past offices and cubicles. He didn’t return any of them, nor did he desire to. He was on a mission. 

Erik finally arrived at his destination; Dina’s office. His obsidian eyes stared ahead into an empty office with no trace of her. The desk was cleared off, her cushioned swivel chair was neatly tucked in, and her name plaque was removed, leaving behind an empty space with a neat scattering of dust surrounding it. 

Erik rested his bottom on the edge of Dina’s desk, retrieving his phone from his pocket again, calling her cell phone for the fifth time that morning. It rang five times before it reached her voicemail again. Erik closed his eyes and listened to her fruity voice. It felt like she was whispering in his ear. 

Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message. 

“Dina…listen…I’m sorry about what happened on Monday….I…I really want to talk to you in person…apologize properly…I didn’t know what I was thinking. Please, whenever you’re available, just call me back…”

Erik ended his attempted call. 

A soft knock caught his attention and there stood Monica; the receptionist. She had a disinterested look on her face, as if even existing was a buzz kill. 

“Mr. Stevens, I have a message from Dina. She asked for me to relay it to you. Are you busy?” Monica asked.

“What is it, Monica?” Erik stood up from his desk abruptly, earning a strange look from Monica.

“She quit.” Monica declared.

The corners of Erik’s lips turned down into a frown. 

“Quit?” Erik echoed. 

“Yes,” Monica sat into her hip, “She said that she finally landed that job she’s been dreaming about and she thanked you for everything. She also wishes you and Vivian a happy relationship…said that you two were made for each other?” Monica said. 

Erik cast his eyes out of a window in Dina’s old office. 

“Thank you, Monica.” Erik finally answered. 

“…would you like for me to reopen the position?” 

Erik turned his back on Monica, trying his best to hide his frustration as best as he could. Monica rolled her eyes, unfazed by his momentary breakdown. She’d been here before. Hire a new assistant. Predict how long they will last. Reopen the online application. Repeat. 

“Yeah…” Erik finally answered. 

He couldn’t accept this. 

Sure, he could have declined Vivian’s kiss until Dina had left, but it was his way of showing her that getting romantically involved with him was indeed a big mistake and should never happen again. After successfully getting rid of Cora permanently, he went home that evening, took a cold shower, and laid awake for hours. He stared up at his darkened reflection, flashes of Dina’s smile, her sweet voice, her innocent eyes, that built body, and her troubled past crossing his mind. 

He still couldn’t get it out of his mind. She was a parentless child. Her mother’s life was taken away at such a young age. Her father carelessly killed her mother and left Dina behind like she was nothing to him. The thought of knowing that her father got away with this had a fire burning so rageful inside of Erik. If it were Erik, he would have hunted his father down and done the same if not worse. But, that’s not who Dina is. She’d probably forgive her father. She’d probably still want a relationship with the only parent she has left. 

Erik left Dina’s office, shutting the door quietly behind him. A familiar door across the hall opened, and Greg appeared in the hallway with an empty coffee mug in his left hand. He spotted Erik and lifted his chin in greeting. Erik returned the gesture, but Greg could tell that he was sulking over something. He followed Erik into his spacious office and shut the doors behind him. Greg watched his childhood friend slowly stroll towards his desk, the silence surrounding them unnerving.

“I’m gonna have to find a new assistant. Miss Brighton quit.” Erik said. 

“Really? Did she say why?” Greg questioned.

“A better career. She got her dream job…”

Erik trailed off as if he wanted to say more but instead he opened his work laptop and began typing in his username and password. 

“Doesn’t matter. Work still needs to be done, and I want to get as much of this shit done before I leave early today. Are you coming to the estate for an early celebration?”

Greg fixed the disappointment on his face and took a seat at the head of Erik’s sleek desk. His eyes scanned left and right, trying to come up with a response while his thoughts lingered on Dina. He finally looked up at his friend who was too busy on his laptop. 

“Yeah, I’ll come up once I get things situated here in the city…gotta pick up my tux and cape for the evening…Dina did look pretty upset on Monday, E.” 

Erik’s fingers slowed down from punching aggressively on the keys, he didn’t look up at his friend but Greg knew he was listening. 

“…She was crying. We went to lunch and I tried to cheer her up but…she was really torn up about something…and I did see her leaving your office—”

“What do you wanna know, Greg?” Erik cut Greg off. 

Greg shrugs, “Does it have anything to do with Vivian?”

Erik smirked. 

“Let me guess,” Greg’s eyes narrowed, “Dina let you in, huh?”

Erik exhaled, reclined back in his chair, and stared into Greg’s eyes with a penetrating glare.

“You know…It’s really none of your business, bro.”

Greg chuckled, “You just gotta have what you want? You weren’t even into Dina until I said something that day. It’s like you gotta prove you can bag women and throw it in my face—”

“You wanted her? You wanted her, Greg? When you want something, you go for it, right? You make a move…and did you make a move? The proper move? I never said I wasn’t interested in Dina, not once did I mention that she never crossed my mind. I just chose not to make a move at the time—”

“And when I expressed my interest, you jumped on her. Call it what you want, man, but I know. You had her crying over you. Feels good hurting her feelings, doesn’t it? That’s all you do, bro. You don’t have it in you to love somebody—”

Erik stood up and walked around his desk. Greg raised up, meeting Erik, both of them ready to get physical if need be. Greg enjoyed toying with Erik. He knew what to say to get under his skin. Erik Stevens. He thinks he can get what he wants. Throwing money at everything. Doesn’t have to lift a finger. Erik smiled in Greg’s face menacingly, and Greg’s left eye twitched angrily. 

Erik’s voice lowered to an ominous tone, “You know, it looks like you’re still not over the fact that I fucked your sweet, little sister…”

Greg shoved Erik and he stumbled back slightly, correcting his stance before fixing his blazer. Greg walked away to clear his head, exhaling deeply. 

“What? You gonna hit me, Greg? Cut the bullshit. Listen, I did get in with Dina, and you know what else? She’s different. I like different. Nothing familiar about her. She looks past all the shit and sees me for me. Yeah, you’re right, I didn’t want to pursue her, but I’ve always had an eye on her…”

Greg looked back at Erik over his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t matter now. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. You can put on your cape now and be her shoulder to cry on. Let’s see if she’ll give you some. You think you’re any better than me? We’re cut from the same cloth, G.”

Erik went back to his seat and watched Greg over the top of his laptop. Greg walked back to Erik’s desk to retrieve his mug, before turning to leave Erik’s office. Before he disappeared into the hallway, Greg glanced back at Erik, a mischievous smirk appearing on his handsome face.

“I just might do that.” He said.

The afternoon New York traffic gave Erik some time to reflect. He allowed the sweet melody of one of his favorite vocalists, Carmella Love, to serenade him while he gazed out of his window at the congested sidewalks and many cars practically bumper-to-bumper. He filtered out the road rage and excessive honking to enjoy her distinctive contralto voice. It’s husky, sultry, elegant and sexy. Definitely hypnotic. 

He could only imagine how it felt to be in her presence. He’d only heard that she was an alluring woman. People capitalized off of her death, creating books and documentaries. He could remember one occasion in his earlier youth asking his mother what Carmella Love was like. He’d seen many group photos with his parents and Carmella from the late 80s to the early 90s. In every photo, Carmella’s captivating smile and seductive eyes stole the shine while his mother posed with a fake smile. She never stood next to Carmella and although they were just photos and you can’t really tell if they’ve had a friendship, it still felt distant.

Erik’s cell phone buzzed in his hand and when he checked to see who it was, he took a second to prepare himself before answering. 

“Ma, good to hear from you,” Erik spoke.

“Son.”  Victoria said.

“How are you?” 

“…not so good.” Victoria said with a curt tone. 

Erik knew where this was headed, but he wasn’t going to give in. He wanted to see if she would address it first. 

“Did you need me to send more money?” Erik replied.

“Hm,” Victoria hummed, “I do need something from you…the truth.” 

Erik’s lips went tight and he remained silent on his end.

“No? It’s the least you could do. I spoke with Cora’s mother. She’s hysterical.”

“I extend my condolences,” Erik said, “It’s really unfortunate what happened to her…really…I can’t imagine what her mother must be going through right now—”

“STOP IT! JUST STOP IT!” Victoria shouted, “I should have seen right through you when you apologized! You don’t have one remorseful bone in your body! I am disgusted! I had to speak to her mother and lie because of what you did!”

Erik glared, “What I did? How about what she did. You know me so well and yet you didn’t wait for me to leave to plot against my downfall. I heard the two of you talkin’. I did what I had to do…what I won’t hesitate to do to anyone that gets in my way…you of all people should know about that,” Erik spoke darkly. 

Victoria remained silent. Erik knew his mother was panicking. Probably pouring herself another glass of wine. 

“My own mother…still so bitter that I got everything and she got NOTHING. I can’t believe you. If you weren’t my mother, I’d kill you. My father did everything for you. Gave you everything. And this is what you do? Turn your back on your own child?!”

“I lost you as a child years ago, Erik!  I put blood, sweat, and tears into that marriage! Your father treated me like dirt! And you are just like him!—”

“I’m your son—”

“MY SON IS NOTHING BUT A MURDERER WHO DOESN’T LOVE ANYONE BUT HIMSELF!”

“And you’re a drunk, conniving, bitter woman who never loved her son. You did not ONCE show me affection. You don’t think I wanted that?! You were too busy drunk and high out of your fucking mind passed out on the couch to even pay attention to me! Don’t blame me for what you failed to do! Feel however you wanna feel about my father, but at least he loved me. I can’t say the same shit for you—”

“DON’T YOU EVER!!!!!—”

“I’m not fucking finished,” Erik spoke through clenched teeth, “You chose to stay married to him. You chose to put up wit’ it. That ain’t got shit to do wit’ me. I’m not having this conversation anymore wit’ you, but know this…you hurt me. I can accept the fact that you resent me, but this? Plotting my downfall? Just all types of evil–”

Erik’s chauffeur beeping the horn made him remember where he was and that it was best to end this conversation. He had nothing else to say to his mother. And despite what she did, he still loves her. Erik blinked back tears and took a calming breath before speaking again. He wasn’t going to allow himself to cry. He’s tired of wasting tears on his mother. 

“I am far from evil. I am disgusted. To see you become your father…it pains me. Cora loved you—”

“Cora ain’t love me. She was out here doing her dirt too, ma. She only wanted to marry me for gain. It was all a game to her. That’s what you fail to see. So concerned with who I should be with, and yet, you don’t know anything about me. You owe me an apology…”

“I will not apologize for planning to stop you! Maybe then, I could have my son back…the way he was before all of this,” Victoria said with a shaky voice. 

Erik thumbed away a tear and frowned. He took the phone from his ear and ended the call without even saying goodbye. He couldn’t even trust his own mother. Would she even mourn him? The only biological parent he has left and she treats him as if she wants him to join his father six feet under. 

Erik cleared all thoughts of his mother out of his brain and stared straight ahead out of the dashboard window to see what the traffic looked like. The city streets were packed like sardines. Carmella’s voice calmed him and his thoughts drifted to Dina again. Phone in his hand again, he googled the number to the Chanel headquarters in New York to inquire about a new hire. He needed some kind of positivity to overcrowd how enraged he felt. 

The phone rang once and after pressing whatever buttons he needed to reach someone, the phone rang twice before a woman with an overly cheerful voice greeted him. She said that her name was Sarah and she confirmed that she’s responsible for hiring candidates. Sarah informed him that there have been over twenty new hires. Of course, she knew who he was and expressed that she would be happy to help him with anything he needed. 

“I was wondering if you could tell me if there is a Miss. Dina Brighton among the new hires? last name is B-R-I-G-H-T-O-N. Dina with an I.”

“Sure! Is it alright if I place you on a brief hold?”

“Of course,” Erik rested his head back against the seat. 

Elevator music played in his ear as he stared up at the roof of the car. Five minutes later, Sarah was back on the line.

“Mr. Stevens? Are you still there?” Sarah asked 

“Yes. So? Any information?”

“Unfortunately, I did not find Dina Brighton hired for the position of Media Specialist. I even did an extensive search, just in case there may have been a different first name, or another position, and I still don’t have any record of us hiring her.”

A crease formed in Erik’s brow, “Not even a refused application?”

“No. We keep a record of everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” 

Erik was lost in a state of confusion that he lagged on a response to Sarah.

“Mr. Stevens—”

“Thank you, Sarah.” 

Erik ended the call. 

“Hey, change of plans. Head to Miss. Brighton’s apartment.” Erik informed his chauffeur. 

Luckily they were closer to her place than his. Maybe, by the time they got back on the street, the traffic would ease up. Twenty more minutes rolled by and the driver parallel parked. Erik hopped out and jogged up the steps to the entrance of the apartment lobby. He located Dina’s apartment number and rang the bell to her apartment. Erik checked the time on his watch, noticing that he was running behind schedule. He rang the bell three more times and even called her again. 

“Can I help you?” 

A low and hesitant voice caught his attention and Erik turned to find a middle-aged black woman with short, curly black hair sprinkled with gray. She was dressed in a pair of slim-fit jeans, a worn graphic tee, a windbreaker jacket, and black converse on her feet. She had a leash in her right hand connected to the collar around the neck of a Husky.

“Hi. I’m trying to reach a friend of mine…Dina.” 

The woman pondered for a moment before shaking her head full of type 4 curls, “I don’t know a Dina. I’ve been living here for some time…what floor?”

Erik checked and then responded, “Third floor. 3A.”

“I’m 3D. I know all of my neighbors,” She tugged on the leash to get her dog to stay still, “And Dina doesn’t ring a bell. Now…there is a young lady who shows up every now and then—wait—what’s her name—Adena—yes…yes. I know Adena. She lives in 3A.” 

Erik gave the woman a perplexed look, “has to be the same person…what do you mean you see her every now and then? Is she not around often?”

“Who are you?” The woman questioned.

“My name is Erik.”

The woman studied his face for a while and then recognition crossed over her face. 

“Erik Stevens. I knew you looked familiar.” She said with a smile.

Erik returned the smile, “What did you mean by every now and then? See, she works for me—worked for me, and I was worried about her. Hadn’t been able to reach her all day.”

The woman nodded her head in understanding, “Adena is rather quiet when I see her. Pleasant, but withdrawn. I work from home but I do leave my apartment often and I never see much activity from 3A. There’s always deliveries weekly, big packages, and you’d be lucky to catch her. I ran into her coming back from Starbucks one morning last week and she was taking a package to go…like she lived elsewhere. Some of the tenants here rent out their apartments but live elsewhere. I get the feeling that Adena doesn’t occupy that apartment on a regular basis. More of like…a home away from home.” 

Erik scrutinized the apartment building, screwing up his face in deep thought. Was Dina a nickname? But then that couldn’t be, because he was certain her name was Dina, not Adena. Had she been lying to him the entire time? First, she never even applied for a position to work with Chanel as a Media Specialist — her dream job — and now, he discovers that Adena could be her real name and she doesn’t even live here. 

“If you see her, could you please tell her that I came by to check on her?” Erik said. 

“Yes.”

Erik descended the stairs, stopping to pet her dog before getting into his ride and driving off. As much as he wanted an explanation from her, he had bigger plans awaiting him that couldn’t be ignored. 

The Stevens Estate was so christened by its first owner, landscape designer Robert Malone, Jr., a son of Italian immigrants who in the early 1920s enlisted the help of preeminent New York architecture firm Delano & Aldrich in designing it. Albany’s lushly forested and rolling landscape, evocative of the English countryside, has long been a place of quiet wealth. Since the early 1900s, members of New York society seeking to avoid the social spotlight of places like Newport, Rhode Island; Southampton, New York; or Lenox, Massachusetts, have gathered there.

Robert Malone, Jr., was born in 1887 to an old New York family. In 1921 he married equally socially prominent Hannah Elias Stevens, nicknamed “The Negro Enchantress” in the tabloids of New York City in the early 1900’s. She was one of the richest black women in the world in the early 1900’s. Although he began his career as a banker, he is best known for his later work as a landscape architect. 

Malone designed the landscapes of other distinguished members of New York society, including the Westchester estate of Mr. and Mrs. David Rockefeller. He worked closely with many of the famous architects of the era, and when he decided to build his own country home in 1924, he hired William Adams Delano and Chester Holmes Aldrich.

After the death of Malone in 1950, Hannah continued to evolve the estate with the help of her prestigious family until her death in 1973. It wasn’t until the late 1980s, when the estate was in disrepair, that Joseph Stevens Jr., Hannah’s great nephew, set about restoring and updating the great old period mansion. 

Joseph and Victoria Stevens lived about an hour north of Manhattan in a village that is to the suburbs as the navy cashmere blazer is to men's jackets. To call Albany a suburb is somewhat misleading; it is more like Manhasset or Old Westbury in the day of the Paleys and the Phipps. Zoning is generous, houses are hidden, and horses are welcome. It’s a mixture of opulence, luxury, and Hollywood movies.

The paved road gives way to dirt and gravel several miles short of the Stevens estate, which is surrounded by over 250 acres of rolling lawn and woods. Norman in style, stone and slate, it was built in 1919, and there is no reason to think it will look any different a hundred years from now. At 17,000 square feet it is big but not overwhelming; it feels appropriate and comfortable. The only clue to who is in the house is the car in the forecourt, one of a collection of classic sports cars that look as they did the day they were delivered a half century ago. In its later years, it’s been endowed with technology and also bullet-proofed.

As in an English "stately," the entrance hall is not overly decorated. The first of many oil paintings greet you, as does the scent of lilies. Throughout the house there are dense, formal arrangements of romantic white flowers—hydrangeas, imperial lilies, calla lilies—with old-fashioned scarlet-red roses tucked into them. Animal imagery, and the energy it imparts, is everywhere too, in pencil studies of lions and oil paintings of horses and leopards, and especially in the fascination with leather. 

Stevens collect leather and African artifacts the way an anthropologist collects bones. It is almost always what you find yourself sitting on or looking at. Old briefcases and schoolbags are used as accessories. Hide, suede, alligator and croc turn up in every possible condition: nicely mellowed, worn to a shine, darkened from a century of fingertips, shaped to the human form, crumbling to dust. This is a museum.

Erik wore a pair of ivory chino pants with a matching polo and tinted aviator shades. He had his staff at the estate carry in his bags while he greeted his male cousins and old friends. All ten of them were standing around, checking out the vintage sports cars and bragging. Erik noticed that Greg hadn’t shown up, and he wasn’t surprised. They group spotted him walking up and all of them shouted his name, walking up to him, dapping him up and giving him a one-armed hug. 

All of his cousins and friends do well for themselves. Although Erik was the most sought after, any woman would be lucky to even have a chance with any of them. Erik’s older cousin, the closest cousin to him, Raymond, who is a successful software developer generating millions of dollars, was the last to give him a hug. The last time Erik had seen his cousin, he was a groomsman in his destination wedding in Jamaica. That entire getaway was foggy to him. He spent most of his time drinking, smoking weed, and fucking bitches. He even had to get a taste of the bridesmaid he walked down the aisle with. That was the best time Erik had in a while.

“Look at you little cuz! Looking sharp!” Raymond said, “Ready for a wild night?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. How’s Fiona?” 

“She’s great, you know I got a baby girl on the way. I’m excited about that.” 

Erik smirked, “Congrats, Ray. That’s beautiful, man.” 

Raymond walked alongside Erik as they followed the rest of the crew up the steps to the entrance of the estate. Erik’s butler, Amadi, an African man whose parents are from Yoruba, oversaw the traffic of staff walking in and out of the mansion. Alongside him is his late father’s personal assistant, Malia. She’s swiping away on her tablet while giving orders to the decorating committee. She’s wearing a gray pantsuit with a satin fuchsia pink top and black heeled sandals. Her long black hair is styled in a top not to complete the look. 

“Hopefully it’ll be you someday, E.” Raymond said. 

Erik chuckled, “Marriage? Nah, you know that’s not me.”

“Could be.” 

Erik saw marriage as misery. Unhappiness. He’d grown up finding the idea of tying the knot laughable. It’s all smoke and mirrors. But isn’t everything in his life that way? embellishing the truth? His father always wanted something new; new car, new ways to make money, and a new woman. He wanted a woman at home to take care of his son while he dabbled. His mother was a train wreck with a temper and substance abuse issues. His father’s ego and his mother’s bitchy ways were always the result of screaming matches and physical fights. As Erik got older, most of the men in his life cheated on their wives. It was the norm. To Erik, none of them were happy. Why should he be? 

“Erik, good to see you.” Malia greeted him. 

Malia stared deeply into Erik’s eyes. 

“Malia. Everything good?”

“Yes, just some final touches for the aerial dancers and we’re good to go. The only thing left to do is make sure the kitchen staff have the preparations for the full course. Amadi is handling that now. As soon as they’re finished, I’ll be on my way.” 

“Thanks for the update. Life treating you well?”

“Definitely,” Malia beamed, “I took a trip to Ibiza for a week and that was an experience.”

Erik knows about her trip. She kept sending him pictures of herself. At first, they started out as group photos with her girls, then eventually turned into solo pics and selfies. Erik would sit back and wonder what she would taste like on his tongue, but he couldn’t see himself messing around with Malia because his father did often. If things were different, if Dina never slipped into his life, he would have added Malia to his list of women. 

“Glad you had a good time. Listen, I really appreciate you for everything you do around here.” Erik said.

“Not a problem…you know I’m here if you need anything, Erik,” Malia concluded before walking away. 

Raymond and the rest of the crew had left him standing there to get themselves settled in. They planned to go yachting for a bit before heading back to enjoy some cigars, liquor, and lunch prepared by the kitchen staff. As he walked through those grand doors and into the magnificent foyer with an imperial staircase and a piano, Erik removed his aviator shades and scanned the room. 

He always got the impending nervous jitters before the Halloween Ball. With his father gone, Erik is now the leader of The Court of Aje and it puts a lot of pressure on him. They wouldn’t say it, but he knew that they would be looking at any chance for him to screw things up. Erik’s uncle, Frank Stevens; Raymond’s father, wanted to take over The Court of Aje, but with Erik being Joseph’s son, it automatically went to him. The Court of Aje is an aristocratic secret society that is a century old with immense power and influence embedded into the very architecture and history of New York City.

 They worship a deity of prosperity and money known as Aje. In the Yoruba religion, Aje is a traditional goddess of abundance and wealth, often associated with the businesses of the marketplace. She is selective about where she grants prosperity; those who make offerings to her in the form of prayers and good works are often her beneficiaries. However, she is known to simply show up at the market stall of those she deems worthy of bounty and blessings. Aje often slips into the market unannounced and selects the shopkeeper she is ready to bless; once Aje enters your business, you're bound to make a profit.

Aje; supreme god of wealth; benevolent provider of all human needs. The Court of Aje meets up on the eve of Halloween every year to offer a sacrifice to Aje. After drinking the blood of the sacrifice, the rich and powerful men dawned in cloaks intoned mysterious chants before parading off with naked women and having group sex. Women in masks wander in the nude, accompanied by cloaked men in masks. They end up in a formal dining room or room of choice, where everyone is nude and having or watching sex. The celebration ends after 4am and everyone goes back to their lives as if nothing happened. 

The first time Erik attended the Halloween Ball, he was fascinated. He’d always had a dark side to him, a side he could only keep private. The act of inflicting pain on others for personal enjoyment, typically of a sexual nature or receiving pain for sexual release. Erik Stevens is too many shades of gray with a sadistic character flaw to sexually possess, control, dominate, and debase women. 

The mistreatment and abandonment of his mother made him feel unworthy of love. Being exposed to such a toxic environment, Erik would often experience frequent mood swings and bouts of anger. In his younger years, Erik would take out his aggression by getting into physical fights with students at school or anyone else who seems antagonizing. Victoria suggested therapy for Erik, but Joseph didn’t think his son needed help, that therapy was too judgmental and for those with mental health issues. 

Erik’s first encounter with BDSM was at the age of 21 with an older woman named Kelis Smith, a friend of his mother’s and a Neurosurgeon. Erik used to have a no strings attached relationship in high school with her daughter, Sylvia Smith, until Kelis decided to make a move on Erik. Their affair consisted of Erik being her submissive. She confessed to Erik that she’d noticed his anger and thought he should learn to control it in ways that were enjoyable. 

He was able to relinquish control, feeling safe, comfortable, and free; helping him channel his emotions in constructive ways. After three years, kelis’ husband found out about their relationship and furious, got into a brawl with Erik that resulted in her husband’s ‘unexpected’ death in a boating accident. Although their arrangement ended, Erik continued his BDSM lifestyle. 

He wasn’t going to apologize for his sadistic ways. He decided long ago that it’s who he is. Joseph taught him to never feel sorry for himself. No woman he brought home to his sex dungeon had any complaints. Erik Stevens is presented as a rich, playboy, philanthropist who maintains his body in shape and has a good relationship with others but in secret he is an unstable, cold, calculated, homicidal, vicious and sadistic man. 

Yesterday evening:

“Adena!” 

Carmella rushed inside of Adena’s room to wake her daughter. Adena woke up while rubbing her sleepy eyes, trying to pay attention to what her mother was saying, but her body was too tired to comprehend.

“I want you to hide!” Carmella whispered frantically, “Don’t come out unless I tell you to. Don’t make any noise, understand? I want you to stay safe!”

“Mommy, what’s happening?” Adena questions with a sleepy voice. 

Carmella pointed to a spot behind a mountain of Adena’s stuffed animals. Adena quickly crouched down behind a giant giraffe and laid on her side. Carmella tossed a few teddy bears over her daughter’s body and pressed her finger to her lips.

“Please, stay put right here. There are bad men here and I don’t want them to hurt you. Mommy loves you, baby.” 

Carmella kissed her daughter on the lips and stroked her braided hair before rushing out of her room, shutting the door behind her. Adena’s eyes were staring into the darkened corner, heart pounding against her rib cage. She could hear a man’s voice and her mother arguing. Moments later, a shrill cry and tussling. Adena didn’t know how long she’d been lying there, but the bad men her mother told her to hide away from opened her bedroom door.

Light from the hallway danced across her pink wall, two shadows appearing on the wall when the door was fully opened. Adena covered her mouth to muffle her shaky breath. One of the men entered her bedroom, drawing closer towards her. Just when she was about to be discovered, a cold, dark voice stopped the man in his tracks.

“What are you doing? We’re not here for the child, Jonathan.”

“We can’t have any mistakes, Damion. What if the child knows who we are—”

“Stop talking,” Damion argued, “Let’s get out of here.”

Adena shot up in bed, inhaling deeply through her mouth as if gasping for air. She clutched her chest and then her fingers gripped the collar of her black satin slip. Sweat seeped from her pores and onto the sheets creating a large damp spot. Her eyes remained shut as she sat still on the edge of her bed, taking calming breaths to stop her heart from racing out of control. 

It’s been sixteen long years since that night. Sixteen years since she’d discovered her mother’s lifeless body sitting in a bloody bath with her wrists slit. Her nightmares have gotten better since then thanks to her therapist, but the fury and obsession to make them all pay for what happened to her mother still remained. It blanketed her like a heavy downpour. When she’d finally opened her eyes, the pain in her chest dulled just a little, giving her enough strength to stand on her own two feet. 

Dina was born Adena Brighton. Her mother is singer and actress, Carmella Love Brighton and her father is Damion Jones. Carmella had a secret relationship with Damion while he was married. Carmella also had a close friendship with Damion’s sister, Felicity, which is how she initially met Damion. Their relationship led to Adena’s birth which Carmella kept a secret from Damion. She didn’t want Damion to know about Adena out of fear of what he might do. He killed Carmella because she knew too much about what he was involved in. Although she swore to never say anything about the Stevens or himself, he killed her by staging a suicide. Her wrists were slit and she was left lying in the tub filled with bloody water. 

Adena found her mother’s lifeless body and sat with her, confused and waiting for her mother to somehow wake up from a deep slumber. She was only seven. Felicity, her aunt, raised her up until the age of eighteen when Adena found out about her mother’s faked death. Felicity tried for years to keep it from Adena, but soon, she started asking questions that demanded answers, and it took for a heated altercation between Felicity and Adena for her to finally know the truth. She found out that her father, Joseph Stevens, The Mayor, and other corrupt men of power were responsible for her mother’s death. Adena felt betrayed by her aunt for keeping it from her, but she also understood why her aunt hadn’t gone to the police for help. They were all on The Stevens’ family payroll.

Adena became obsessed with wanting to kill her father. She also desires to take down The Stevens’ and the Mayor; Jonathan Montgomery. Adena remembers that name the night her mother was killed. with all the information she needed, Adena plotted what would go down in history as one the most successful take downs. While doing her research on the once Mayor of New York, Adena looked into his family. She knew that her aunt Felicity was a walking target for her father, so she couldn’t risk her life. She had to come up with another way to get into this secret Halloween Party. And what better idea than to befriend the wannabe Princess of New York.

Ruby Gianna Montgomery was born into Manhattan's most elite social circles to Paulina Porizkova, a Swedish-born model, actress, and well-respected New York socialite who is dubbed as a gold digger. Ruby attended Manchester Prep, a prestigious co-educational private school just outside of the city and lived on the Upper East Side with her mother and father who was the corrupt mayor of New York City; Jonathan Montgomery. She has three brothers; two older and one younger. Her first eldest brother; Caleb and younger brother; Patrick, are in politics, following in her father’s footsteps. 

Ruby’s second eldest brother, Gregory Montgomery, Jonathan desperately wished his son had interest in the family business. Gregory was sent to Oxford and Harvard and almost never got any visits from his father. All Gregory wanted was to be accepted by his father but he refused to let him in because he had different interests than following in his father’s footsteps. Dina discovered that Gregory and Erik were friends since grade school. 

The Montgomery House; the opulent Fifth Avenue town-house mansion, is where Ruby grew up. As Ruby came-of-age, she excelled in many academic fields and became fluent in the French and Vietnamese languages. Ruby also mastered the Piano and became known throughout the school community as a role-model and an inspiration to all parents, even though secretly developing addictions to alcohol and sex with older men. seduction and betrayal among the teenaged idle rich. She is beautiful, yet conniving and manipulative. She shows signs of possessiveness towards men when she doesn’t get her way with them. 

After being home schooled since the death of her mother, Adena applied to NYU and majored in Business of the Arts with a minor in Global Arts. There, she befriended Ruby, which wasn’t hard because Adena’s passive personality attracted people like Ruby. It was a way for her to control them, like her minions. Despite the pure hatred for anyone like Ruby, Adena bit her tongue and held up the guise of a friendly, saccharine girl who’s an orphan and student juggling two jobs to afford her rent and car payments. Ruby ate that shit up like a delicious slice of black velvet cake. 

Adena easily juggled her double life, hiding in plain sight, gathering scandalous information on the corrupt rich to use against them. She hunted down old classmates and ex-friends of Ruby’s and discovered that Ruby would do whatever it takes to win, even if that means putting someone in the hospital or throwing dirt on their name. She had a knack for creating a narrative about someone and causing others to turn their backs on them. After learning everything she needed to know about that fake bitch, Adena added her name to her hit list. 

The view of Manhattan from her penthouse windows is what she loved most. It calmed her. City night. It's alive. The kaleidoscope of shimmering lights flicker in the distance as the starry sky sweeps over the city that never sleeps. It seemed like the clouds had gotten a sudden fascination with the moon and wrapped themselves around it. The moon's faint glow passed through them, coloring them white from gray. 

Adena walked across the black vinyl plank floor to sit on her black, ceiling hang chair covered with a magenta pink fur throw with matching pillows and one cheetah-printed throw pillow. With her cell phone in hand, Dina swung back and forth, the magenta-colored LED smart lights in her room creating a peaceful ambiance. 

Multiple unread messages and voicemails awaited Adena, but she didn’t plan on returning his calls or texts. Fuck him. Shame on her for even falling for him. That wasn’t part of the plan. At least she got him to feel some sort of remorse for what he did. Sure, Erik Stevens doesn't know how to properly express himself without being a complete asshole, but still, the fact that he kissed Vivian in front of her like that just opened Adena’s eyes again and put her back on track. That smile, those eyes, his voice, the touch of his lips, the stroke of his fingers, his scent, and that dick was a distraction. 

No. Adena won’t let him get to her again. He’s persuasive, but she won’t succumb to his seduction. However, he did successfully succumb to hers and she didn’t even try. Yes, Adena isn’t that sweet, innocent, naive girl. That’s just an act. A part of her roleplay fantasy. What she enjoys more than anything is trickery. Dina isn’t her real name. It’s Adena. She doesn’t desire to be a media specialist. She’s a proud Dominatrix. Adena is sent money and lavished with expensive gifts by men who seemingly want next-to-nothing in return - it’s all about submitting to the dominant woman and relinquishing control.

It's this surrendering of power that is arousing. She inherited her mother’s siren abilities to seduce and destroy. Why not use those extraordinary powers to get what she deserves from men? It’s always been believed that it made evolutionary sense that a man be dominant and a woman be passive. Men were to fight off rival suitors and other dangers and to procreate. Women were to contribute to this process by voluntarily subordinating to men. Men tended towards the aggressive and sadistic and women towards the passive and masochistic. 

Times have changed as women are now somewhat freer to assert their dominance over men in all phases of life. The Dominatrix is a female archetype associated with a particular dress that depicts her role as a strong, dominant, sexualized woman. Black leather corsets, thigh-high boots with high stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, and a whip are familiar to most people. 

Adena is aware of Erik’s secret lifestyle. His Sadist nature. Unbeknownst to many, Erik used to frequent an underground sex club for kinksters — The Siren — A club that Adena owns. She’s Headmistress there and she enjoys watching all the taboo activities from her private VIP behind a two way mirror. Erik would always show up alone and wearing a mask to hide his identity, something that mostly everyone there did to avoid being discovered. Adena found it laughable. She knew every single person that walked through those doors and into a sexually liberating world. 

It could be a Pastor who preaches about the ugly in the world, or a Judge who just sentenced a murderer to life behind bars, or your child’s preschool teacher, or a man escaping his wife and kids to fulfill his sexual desires. No one knows who Adena really is, they only know her as Headmistress. There were times where she wanted to reveal herself to Erik, all the times she would watch him in one of the many sexual-themed rooms behind a two-way mirror. Adena grew to desire Erik and the way he dominated women. She wanted to be the one to take control of him. 

The scenarios in her mind were not for the faint hearted. There were times where she pictured herself holding a knife to his throat with her 7-inch lace up platform heel pressed against his erection. She pictured him bound to a table with leather restraints around his wrists and ankles while she tortured him. All of those thoughts made her pine for him; yearn for him; wish for just one night to turn the tables on him. 

It wasn’t just about the sex if she was being honest with herself. Adena had the pleasure of seeing the hidden layers of Erik Stevens; the happiness and the playfulness and the trauma. She felt as if they shared parts of themselves that not many people know about. Adena never told anyone about what happened to her mother, and yet she felt compelled to share it with him. When he revealed to her how unloving his mother is, she wanted to hug him. 

What really struck her was how close her father and Erik are. It angered Adena how much Erik was like his father. Damion and Joseph exposed him to this lifestyle at such a young age that Erik knows nothing else. There were things about Damion and Victoria that Adena discovered. How they have had a secret affair for years. That Damion wanted revenge on the Stevens Family. That would shatter him, and although Adena wants to bring him down right along with her father, she felt that Erik needed to know. He needed to know that Damion was coming for him next. 

It’s a big day. Despite the swirling gray clouds in the sky and the chilly wind, New Yorker’s had places to be and people to see. Before Adena left the city for the day, She planned to make a stop at her Midtown West apartment, and that was her first destination. Adena entered the building wearing all black; black turtleneck, black slim-fit jeans, black platform Doc Martens, and a black oversized longline coat. 

Adena walked up to her mail box, opening it with her key. She peeked inside and noticed several Cartier gift boxes. Each box varied in size from small to large. Adena assessed her surroundings before retrieving all of the boxes, making her way towards her apartment quickly. With the key in the door, loud barking startled her from across the hall and when she looked up, she noticed the woman living in 3D leaving her apartment wearing active gear. Her light brown eyes spotted Adena and she waved at her. 

“Hello, Pamela,” Adena replied. 

“How are you, darling?” 

Adena placed a firmer grip on her anonymous gifts, “I’m doing alright. You?”

“Oh, you know…just taking it day by day.” Pamela said. 

“That’s good to know,” Adena forced a smile, “It was good seeing you—”

“A young man stopped past here earlier today looking for you…a rather famous young man…Erik Stevens. He said that you work for him and that he’s been trying to reach you.”

Adena was halfway into her apartment when Pamela mentioned Erik. She slowly glanced over her shoulder at her neighbor, wary eyes landing on her. 

“…He said that he wanted me to let you know that he stopped by to check on you.” 

Adena blinked her eyes away and stared down at the Cartier boxes in her hands. Who else would send her gifts to this address besides her aunt Felicity? 

“Thanks, Pamela,” Adena replied, “I appreciate it.” 

“No problem, Adena.” 

Inside her apartment now, Adena walked over to her usual spot on the couch to open her expensive gifts. The first red box with the fancy gold script had a pair of gold hoop earrings in it, the second box had a beautiful trinity white gold and yellow gold bracelet, and lastly, the larger box was an elegant case filled with different Cartier perfumes. A small card with typed words rested on top of the perfumes, and when Adena lifted it to read, she noticed right away that he’d sent her this. 

Adena,

Knowing how well I want to treat you, and knowing how I wound up treating you, I am completely ashamed of myself. Please forgive me. I know saying that I am sorry just does not sound good enough, but I really am so sorry. Please forgive me and give me a chance to express to you in person how sorry I am. I know this probably is not the best apology ever, but I just can't think straight knowing I hurt you. I am really so sorry.

Despite everything, Adena couldn’t help but feel smitten with him. It wasn’t the gifts, because Adena owned many Cartier, it was his devotion to winning her back. But, she couldn’t. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this between them. She sniffed the perfumes one by one, taking in the notes and thinking about how he chose these fragrances specifically for her. If only things were different. If only he wasn’t a Stevens.

Adena placed her gifts on her coffee table and stood to retrieve her secret box from her dear friend, Ruby. In order to enter this elite party, Adena needed to bring her invitation and the dagger. Despite her lengthy preparation for this very night, Adena couldn’t deny the nervous jitters. Felicity revealed to Adena everything that goes down at the Halloween Ball, but she’d never experienced it. Getting past the door was her main concern. Would they make her take off her mask? Did she have to show some other kind of proof that she was invited? 

Adena strolled through her apartment that’s more kinky than its original purpose. While some people have private rooms in cellars and attics, Adena’s entire apartment is covered in all things BDSM. She needed enough space to use all equipment appropriately and not feel claustrophobic, unless claustrophobia is what does it for you. In her kitchen, there is a hanging contraption from the ceiling, cages and swings decorated her living room and guest bedroom, each bed had built-in bondages and restraints. Sensual lounge chairs and armless chaises in different textures and tufted, upholstered beds was her preference. All kinds of fetish and BDSM gear you could think of, Adena owned. 

In her bedroom closet, Adena grabbed everything she needed — dress, shoes, accessories, and secret box— and left her apartment. Outside, Adena popped the trunk to her matte black, premium G–Class SUV, placing all of her things in there before getting into the car. It was going to take her a few hours to get from the City to Albany. Determination set in her features, Adena blended into traffic at the precise moment it began to rain. 

The three hours gave Adena time to reflect on everything. She listened to her favorite playlist on repeat and rolled her windows down to allow the scent from the rain to waft her nose. All she could think about was how her childhood trauma molded her into the woman she is today. 

We can often undervalue the relevance of our childhood experiences, “Adena’s therapist said, “We can also underestimate the effect childhood experiences have on us when we become adults. Childhood makes up the pillar we build our personality upon. It's our way of understanding the world around us, our relationships, feelings, and thoughts…”

Adena was exposed to a distressing and emotionally painful event. It caused psychological damage that took years for her to cope with. She has difficulty establishing healthy relationships because she constantly has her guard up and she’s unable to trust anyone enough to let them into her personal space. A hyper-vigilance resulting in her constantly mistrusting everyone around her. 

She was able to do that with Erik, because he too is healing from trauma. The neglect from his mother in his childhood, the abuse, the constant fighting between his parents, and his mother’s substance abuse helped develop an unhealthy pattern. Adena is driven by her traumatic experience to seek revenge on her father and everyone else responsible. Erik is driven by unresolved anger and resentment. BDSM for both of them is a healing process. 

In BDSM, individuals often focus on their breathing while they endure pain and other sensory play. Rhythm and repetition may be introduced through creating consistent rhythms in impact play or by having one of the participants count to a certain number while they do a certain task. It can be introduced in a lot of creative ways. It helps with her depression and anxiety. It gives her the upper hand and control. 

After several hours, Adena arrived at The Argus Hotel and Cocktail Lounge, valet taking her keys and the hotel staff graciously loading her things onto a cart to take to her room. She booked a family room for the evening since she didn’t plan on staying the entire weekend. After retrieving her room key, Adena decided to grab a drink at the cocktail lounge. She took a seat at the bar, waving down a bartender. Adena ordered herself a whiskey smash and waited only ten minutes before a radiant, expensive looking woman with voluminous hair swayed into the lounge. She spotted Adena sitting at the bar and joined her. They both embraced each other for a long time. It’s been months since they’d seen each other. 

“Aunt Felicity,” Adena said, smiling fondly, “You don’t know how happy I am to see you.” 

Felicity pulled Adena into another hug.

“I missed you too, sweetheart…so much,” She looked at Adena with glossy eyes, “Look at you! Just as beautiful as your momma…”

Adena smiled, “You look great too, auntie. London is treating you well I see.” 

“It could be treating you well too if you decided to stay with me.” 

Felicity ordered what Adena had and they took their drinks to a private booth to sit down and have a chat. Felicity removed her red peacoat revealing a champagne-colored satin blouse and high waisted, wide leg black pants. The low lamp light above them casts a yellow glow against their skin. Felicity removed the cocktail straw from her drink and took a sip from the rim of her glass, leaving a red lip stain behind. Felicity looked at Adena with sad eyes. Adena knew what she wanted to say so she sat waiting patiently. 

“Adena, you know you don’t have to go through with this. I’ve told you more than once that it isn’t safe. But, I also know that I can’t change your mind.” Felicity whispered. 

“Then you know that this is what I want to do, auntie. They deserve to pay, all of them.” Adena spoke with determination. Her voice went from sweet and silvery to provocative and soothing; her usual voice. 

“Even Erik Stevens?” Felicity questioned. 

Adena sat in silence staring across the table at her aunt’s accusatory expression. 

“You plan to kill him tonight as well? Or do you not have it in your heart anymore?” 

“…I plan to end his life as well,” Adena said with the most captivating voice, “Do you doubt me, auntie?”

“No. I don’t doubt you. I know you’re more than capable…I just wish I could be there to protect you.”

“If you step foot in there, they’ll kill you, aunt Felicity. I can’t have that. They already took my mother away from me, I won’t let them take the only real family I have left.” Adena argued. 

Felicity released a shaky breath. 

“And you think I’ll allow any of them to hurt you? I promised your mother that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Going in there is like walking into a lion's den. They will not show you mercy, Adena.”

Adena leaned into the table to talk closer, “I will not show them mercy. I’ve waited for this moment. Tonight is the night they pay for all of it. I’m not changing my mind.” 

Felicity’s eyes fell to her hands. She blinked back tears quickly before meeting Adena’s eyes again. 

“Didn’t you say that there are weapons lining the walls?” Adena asked.

“Yes. Plenty.” Felicity replied. 

“Good. This dagger won’t be enough. I need something bigger,” Adena said before a wicked smile graced her lips. 

“You better come out alive, Adena. Or so help me God I will run in there after you. I’m serious, Adena—”

“Do you need a reminder of what my father did to you when he thought you tried to give him up for what he did to my mother? He beat you close to death. You were in the hospital for MONTHS after that while I was taken care of by some woman I hardly even knew. Every time I came to visit you, I thought you were going to die. Do you know how hard that was? After what happened to my mom?”

The adrenaline coursing through Adena’s body made her blind from the amount of tears that escaped her brown eyes. Felicity sat very still across from her, her own eyes brimming with tears that she fought to hold back. 

“No. You will not come looking for me. I’ve worked hard to get to this point. No man is strong enough to take me down, auntie. I’m built on rage and strength beyond what they’re prepared for. I’m naturally stronger than the average person, and it’s not because of my combat skills. I’m a siren like my momma. That alone will carry me through the night.” 

“Hello?!”

Vivian sauntered into The Stevens Estate looking like a tall glass of milk wearing an all-white pantsuit with a white fur coat and Prada shades. Erik’s chauffeur carried in her things for the highly anticipated evening, waiting for someone to show up and take her things. Amadi appeared from a room with his hands behind his back and his chin held high. Vivian removed her designer shades and smiled excitedly at Amadi, but he didn’t return the smile. 

“You must be Miss. Wood,” Amadi said, “Welcome to The Stevens Estate. We have been expecting you.”

“Thank you for having me,” Vivian spoke pleasantly. 

Amadi grabbed her bags from Erik’s driver and stood before her. 

“Follow me this way, Miss. Wood. I will show you to your room for the evening.”

Vivian looked around in wonder at the extraordinary home that belonged to the prestigious Stevens Family. She prided herself in finally snagging an invite from the man himself. She’d worked hard to get here, and to finally walk the halls with polished floors and pricey decor, she couldn’t help but inwardly cheer. Amadi led the way up one of the staircases to the second level. From there, he entered one of many guest rooms that was the size of an apartment. Vivian looked around with astonishment. The master bathroom reminded her of a royal bath house and the bed was fit for a queen. 

“This is where you will stay. Mr. Stevens is quite busy at the moment entertaining guests, but there are some things he would like for you to do to prepare for your evening with the Court of Aje.”

Two young and very attractive women who looked like maids sauntered into the room. They both kept their heads bowed, waiting for their command. 

“This is Alicia and Lucy. They will help you prepare for the evening.”

Amadi turned to leave and Vivian helped herself to a glass of complimentary champagne sitting on a gold platter. 

“Hello, ma’am. We’ve been instructed to give you a preparation bath for the Feast of Feasts.” They both spoke in unison.

“The Feast of Feasts?” Vivian questioned.

“It’s the big dinner before the ball. There is a tremendous spread of food and it’s required for you to be full and hearty. You must dine naked and only wearing your masquerade mask.” Lucy said. 

Alicia continued, “And before the dinner, we have to give you a bath infused with essential oils that help with your sexual energy. You also have to release that sexual energy…through multiple orgasms. It helps to get everyone prepared for the night’s festivities.”

Vivian downed the rest of her champagne and placed the empty glass back on the gold platter. Alicia and Lucy — both overwhelmingly gorgeous with their deep melanin skin and braided hair — approached Vivian at a leisurely pace. Vivian looked between the both of them, startled when Lucy began removing her coat while Alicia went to work taking off her clothes. When she was fully naked before them, Alicia and Lucy led Vivian into the bathroom. They instructed her to sit while they prepared the bath.

A jacuzzi tub began filling with bath water and Alicia and Lucy started pouring essential oils into the bath. Lavender, sandalwood, and ylang ylang. They topped it off with white rose petals and burned incense. Vivian stood from her seat and walked over to the bath so that Alicia and Lucy could help her in. The water was hot and the oils against her skin felt therapeutic. Vivian was instructed to lay back while Alicia and Lucy massaged her body. The smell, the touch, and the taste of champagne on her tongue woke up her sexual desires as if they were hibernating. 

Vivian was stunned to feel both of their hands between her legs, rubbing along her folds softly. Vivian thrust her chest out and her nipples began to pebble. A pair of lips wrapped around her left nipple and her eyes shot open to find Lucy sucking on her tit. Alicia was busy circling Vivian’s clit with her thumb as she watched Lucy feast on her hard nipple. This isn’t Vivian’s first rodeo; being with a woman. She’d explored many times before. She just didn’t expect this to be a part of the equation. However, she wasn’t complaining. 

“What are you both doing?” Vivian asked with a quiver in her voice. 

“What we must do, Miss. Wood. You see, it’s our job to help you relax and release. The essential oils are an aphrodisiac when inhaled before and during intimacy. You’ll need to prepare yourself for what’s in store for you this evening.” Alicia said. 

Vivian swallowed spit. If this was just a crumb of what she would be getting herself into, she couldn’t wait to see what else was in store for her. She sat in that bath and allowed Lucy and Alicia to taste and touch her body. Vivian held her tongue, but deep down she wanted them to join her. Take off their clothes and climb into the bath so they could explore each other’s bodies. 

“Miss. Wood, it’s time to go back to the room where we will finish what we started,” Lucy said with a soft voice. 

The water sloshed as Vivian stood up and stepped out of the tub. Still dripping wet, Lucy and Alicia led her over to a leather tantra chair within the room. Vivian was instructed to sit closer towards the edge with her legs spread wide. Vivian did as she was told, curious as to what was going to happen next. Both women dressed as sexy maids got down on their knees between her legs and without hesitation, spread her outer lips. The heat radiating from Vivian’s core caused both women to release audible moans before they inched closer. Their curled tongues dragged slowly over her inner folds. 

“Oh, Fuuck!!” Vivian whispered. 

They were such good pussy eaters.

“You have to stay still, Miss. Wood. It’s required that you cum from our mouths first before we insert the vibrator.” 

“What?—”

Vivian hissed when Lucy began flicking her bud with the tip of her tongue. Alicia pressed her own appendage against Lucy’s and went to work making that clit as stiff as it can get. Vivian’s perfectly implanted breasts propelled forward as she arched her back from the chair. She reached forward and placed her hands on the backs of their heads. 

“Yes! Just like that, shit,” Vivian’s toes flexed, “Fuck, yes!”

When her clit was nice and fat, Alicia lunged forward and wrapped her juicy lips around its stiffness before Lucy could. Lucy simply giggled, sitting up on her knees to finish tasting Vivian’s breasts. 

“Mr. Stevens informed us that this is a fantasy of  yours, Miss. Wood. As beautiful as you are, I couldn't resist the urge to see for myself what Mr. Stevens spoke so highly of.” Lucy revealed. 

Alicia popped her clit out her mouth, “It’s true that you have a big clit…and you taste so good, Miss. Wood.”

Vivian remained speechless but the overflow of lubrication from her opening and the hardness of her nipples was enough to let them know that she was enjoying everything. Alicia switched places with Lucy to let her suck on Vivian’s clit but Alicia inserted two fingers into Vivian’s pussy. Vivian’s hips bucked in unison with Alicia’s fingers pumping in and out of her. She looked from Lucy sucking on her pussy to Alicia thrashing her wet tongue on her nipples. 

“You both are gonna make me cum!” Vivian shouted with ecstasy. 

“Good,” Lucy groaned, “Cum as much as you want, Miss. Wood.” 

“Do you hear her pussy, Lucy? It’s soaked,” Alicia spoke with astonishment. 

“Let me see,” Lucy dipped her fingers inside, “Mmmm…so warm and wet.”

Alicia giggled with her two fingers in her mouth.

Vivian felt heat creep up her body and her inner thighs quaked with her release. Milky white ejaculate flowed from her opening and down the crack of her ass. It didn’t matter how overstimulated she was, Alicia and Lucy were in awe of her pussy and the taste of it. 

Lucy licked her fingers clean and Alicia spread Vivian’s pussy open so she could see everything clearly. The sheen of sweat on Vivian’s tawny skin looked just as tasty as her cum. Alicia stood to retrieve something from a drawer while Lucy tongue-fucked Vivian. 

“You can’t get enough of this pussy can you?” Vivian said. 

“Neither will the others,” Lucy smiled.

Vivian’s clit jumped at that. 

Alicia returned with a bullet vibrator that is remote-controlled. She brought the egg-shaped toy to Vivian’s creamy entrance and began inserting it. Once inside, she tested out which setting would be best and settled for a low rumble that will keep Vivian teetering on the edge of another orgasm. 

“With her cum covered lips, Lucy spoke, “Soon, Amadi will be here to retrieve you for a feast before the ball. Me and Alicia will get you prepared after dinner.” 

Alicia and Lucy made their exit with the control to the vibrator in their possession. Vivian rested for an hour before being summoned to dinner. Within the dining room, there is a grand dining table filled with savory foods and desserts. Vivian was escorted in by Amadi, a long, pure white sheer robe draped over her visibly naked body. 

Erik was seated at the head of the table, plate half eaten. He was wearing a fluffy black robe with matching black slippers and the family name embroidered on it. His locs are side swept and freshly twisted. From the opening in his robe, Vivian can make out a Cuban link gold chain resting against his pecs. Amadi pulled out Vivian’s seat at the other end of the table so she could stare across at Erik. 

“Your kitchen staff made enough food to feed an entire army,” Vivian stated.

“How was your bath?” Erik questioned, ignoring Vivian’s previous statement.

“Lovely. And so are your maids…bed warmers I assume?” Vivian spoke with amusement. 

“Did you not enjoy what they did for you, Vivian?” Erik questioned. 

“I—I did. But—”

The bullet vibrator inside of her began to rumble and Vivian gripped the arms of her chair tightly while her knees buckled. Erik watched her from the other side of the table, chewing on a buttery roll. The fork in Vivian’s hand clattered to the table from the amount of writhing she was doing in her seat. 

The vibrations finally stopped but the throbbing of her clit didn’t cease.

“No buts. Lucy and Alicia are great at what they do and they are well taken care of.” Erik said. 

“I wasn’t trying to talk bad about them, Erik,” Vivian said breathlessly, “I was just shocked.” 

Erik triggered the vibrator again and set it to a pulse setting that had Vivian jumping in her seat. 

“Eat, Vivian. And drink your wine, you need to be well nourished for this evening’s events. Now…have you ever been properly slutted out before, Vivian…by multiple people at once?” 

Vivian continued to squirm in her chair. She began moaning over her plate of food, unable to answer Erik’s question. 

“Nod your head yes or shake your head no. Have you had sex with multiple people at once before. Threesome? Foursome? Orgy?” 

Vivian looked up at Erik through flickering lids and an open mouth and shook her head no. 

“Hmm,” Erik grabbed his glass of Hennessy, “Well, don’t I have a surprise for you, baby. You see, in order to properly be prepared for the Court of Aje, you have to be sexually liberated…free from social conventions or traditional ideas…”

Vivian whimpered into her glass of wine. Erik lowered the setting on the control and a shaky breath escaped her mouth. He knocked back the rest of his drink and stood from his seat. Erik walked over to Vivian with an empty glass in one hand and the control in the other. Her half-lidded eyes traveled down the length of his body until they fell on the bulge she could see in the front of his robe. She looked up at him again and pleaded for his dick to be in her mouth. Erik stepped away before she could grab him and walked around to settle behind her chair.

“No…tonight, you don’t get to suck me…or fuck me…you will be a sex slave to the Court…you will obey every rule of the Court…understand?”

Vivian rapidly nodded her head and Erik increased the vibrator to the highest setting. Vivian’s head fell back against the chair and Erik looked down at her. He could see her nipples straining against the sheer robe and smell her arousal. 

“Words. Do…you…understand?” Erik demanded.

“Yes,” Vivian said. 

“Good. Finish your food. Lucy and Alicia will be down to take care of you.” 

Erik swept away with the controller in his hand while Vivian tried to enjoy her meal without thinking about what Erik had said. 

“Well? What do you think?”

Felicity stood from her seat on Adena’s hotel bed and stared at her niece dressed in her attire for the evening. 

“It’s…beautiful. Fitting for your mission,” Felicity’s eyes lingered on the dress, “Very dark.” 

Adena turned and stared at her reflection in a body-length wall mirror. The dress is all black and sparkling as if doused in black diamonds. The sweetheart neckline and bodice fit her curves like a glove. A black, sheer, floor-length cloak draped over her shoulders and the hood covered her French twist updo. A silver and black full Venetian masquerade mask covered her face. She looked like she was attending a wedding for the underworld but in a glamorous fashion. 

“Ruby will be expecting me to show up tonight wearing red…but black is more my fashion,” Adena said. 

“Your mother wore red,” Felicity recalled, “Someone sent her an anonymous red box with a black and red masquerade mask inside of it…just like Ruby did for you.” 

Adena recalled the red box that determined her mother’s fate. What is it with red boxes? It couldn’t be that easy…could it?

“…Why didn’t I make this correlation before,” Adena rushed over to the box, opening it frantically, “This can’t be a coincidence—but Ruby doesn’t know anything about me. She doesn’t know that Carmella Brighton is my mother.”

Felicity stood from her seat on the bed, “Well…I think someone does…I thought so for a while now…”

Adena cut her eyes at her aunt, “what do you mean?”

Felicity gave Adena a sorry look, “I was going to wait to tell you after tonight but we made a promise never to keep anything from each other again.” 

“Yes, we did,” Adena clarified, “So, what is it?” 

Felicity took a minute to gather herself before grabbing Adena’s hands, caressing them with her thumbs, “Victoria Stevens…and your father…had an affair together for years…before your mother came into the picture.” 

Adena slowly nodded her head in understanding with a perplexed look on her face, “I remember you told me this…but what does this have to do with the red box?”

Felicity heaved a sigh, “Victoria is a jealous woman. She sabotaged any relationship Damion had, and she didn’t hold her tongue about how much she hated your mother. It was envy. She couldn’t stand the way Damion looked at her. She hated that your father would go back to Carmella again and again…she wanted her dead. Just like how she wanted Damion’s fake wife dead...and she got her wish.”

“Aunt Felicity,” Adena said, “Tell me. No more secrets.”

“…I don’t think Ruby sent this box, baby,” Felicity picked up the elegant box with the satin bow. She smoothed her hands over the top of the box, eyes never blinking, “This is the exact same box from all those years ago…I can tell. As much as Ruby may despise you for what happened with Erik…she doesn’t have the power to pull strings to get an exclusive invitation to one of the most strictly confidential parties.”

Adena’s heart beat rapidly as she stared at the box. She couldn’t understand how Victoria Stevens knew about her. She knew that her aunt Felicity wouldn’t have said anything. Damion would have found her by now if he knew. What was Victoria playing at? 

“Wha—how–how does she even know about me?!” Adena said frantically.

“I don’t know, Adena. I don’t think she always knew. She probably hired a private investigator to find out everything about you. Has anything weird happened around you lately? Do you ever feel like someone is watching you?”

Adena pondered with fierce eyes, “No. I didn’t notice anything.”

“She’s trying to get rid of you…because of Carmella,” Felicity clenched her jaw and bared her teeth like she wanted to strangle someone, “She has some fucking nerve! Everyone who truly knows Victoria knows that she couldn’t have children. As soon as she found out your mother was pregnant, she did everything in her power to bring her down! She was so miserable and unloved in her own marriage that she had to go and have somebody else’s—”

“What do you mean she couldn’t have children? She had Erik.” 

Felicity tilted her head at Adena and shook her head. Adena took a few steps back, dropping her mask onto the carpet. 

“Wait…Erik isn’t her child?”

Felicity hung her head and turned her back to Adena, walking away towards one of the windows with her arms folded. Adena stood there, staring at her aunt's back, waiting for her to laugh or say gotcha! Felicity ran her hands through her voluminous hair and exhaled.

“Victoria had suffered from multiple miscarriages with Joseph. It made her depressed and damn near suicidal. Joseph resented her for it, he was out doing his dirt, sleeping around, and beating Victoria whenever she talked back to him. She wanted a child so badly…and finally found the opportunity…to make Joseph happy.”

Felicity veered back to look at Adena as she spoke, “A young mother put her baby up for adoption…Simone was her name…Simone Merryman. She was a rape victim who had gotten pregnant and she was looking for a well-off family to take her newborn baby in. Victoria jumped on the opportunity and to no surprise, so did Joseph. He wanted a son to carry on the legacy of The Stevens Family. Blood or not, he took Erik in and raised him to be his rightful progeny. The only ones who knew the truth were Damion and me.”

Adena was stunned into silence. 

“I shouldn’t be unloading this onto you right now, Adena, but I just…I can’t keep things from you anymore. I’ve been in hiding, and I feel like I haven’t been a very good aunt to you…a guardian. I feel like at times I’ve been so caught up in my guilt that I forgot about my responsibilities. And now look, I’m letting you walk into this party alone.” 

Felicity’s voice cracked and she tried to focus on her breathing but she was distracted with the amount of tears blinding her vision. Adena knelt down in front of her aunt while she was seated on the bed and stroked her tear-stained cheek. Felicity hung her head in shame, unable to look her niece in the eye.

“So many secrets...I just feel like I’ve let you down.” 

“Auntie…hey…look at me,” Adena said with a soothing voice, “I love you. You are an amazing woman and a great parent. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to raise me after the tragedy that struck my life…so I don’t want to hear you beating yourself up about anything, you hear me?” 

Adena rested her cheek against her aunt's lap and Felicity rubbed the tears away from her cheeks. 

“No more secrets, no more lies,” Adena said with a trembling voice, “Is there anything else that you want to tell me? Please? I know you feel like you need to protect me, but I can handle it. You know I can. So please,” Adena pressed. 

“…okay,” Felicity caved as if released from bondage, “I killed Joseph Stevens.” 

Adena shot up from her aunt's lap and gasped so loud the people sleeping next door could probably hear. She pressed her hands against her mouth and took a few steps back from her aunt. Somehow, this news was more shocking than finding out that Erik Stevens is actually adopted. 

“I was in town here in Albany…Joseph somehow found out that I was back, probably somebody that I thought had my back told him…anyway…he found me staying at a boathouse that I rented and things got heated,” Felicity balled her fists in her lap, “He tried to kill me, Adena! I–I–it happened so fast! we were in his car and it was raining and I grabbed the steering wheel and he was flooring it—”

Adena rushed over to her aunt and grabbed her hands. 

“We hit a tree and he went flying out of the windshield, Adena,” Felicity’s lower lip trembled and tears streamed from her eyes, “I was stunned. The only thing I could think of doing at that moment was getting out of there. I called the only person I knew would cover this all up…your father.” 

Adena closed her eyes and a single tear cascaded down her left cheek. She’d always wondered why her aunt hadn’t spoken to her for a while after that. 

“Damion helped out with everything. I had a few cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. Damion was…happy. He was thrilled to find out that Joseph was finally gone. Happy that he did what my family had always wanted…bring them down one by one. I actually thought he would leave me there to die…I wanted to tell you…I should have told you.”

Adena grabbed her aunts hands, “Forget about that. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“I’ll always be here with you.” Felicity spoke gently. 

Felicity pulled Adena into a tight hug and watched as her niece walked away to retrieve her masquerade mask from the floor. She followed Adena’s movements to the side table and noticed that she’d checked the time. Adena’s expression hardened and her back stiffened before her eyes fell on her aunt’s. 

“It’s time to go, aunt Felicity. Are you ready?”

“Are you?” Felicity asked. 

Adena thrust out her chest and squared her shoulders before giving her aunt a firm nod. 

Instead of driving up to the frontage like the other guests, Felicity arrived at the Stevens Estate and parked her black sports car down the hill so she wouldn’t be spotted. Adena stepped out of the car with her mask on and a small, black sequin handbag that carried her invitation, dagger, and cellphone. She promised her aunt that she would be back and walked away towards the open gates leading to the mansion on a hill. 

Her anticipation and eagerness pushed her up the hill. She wasn’t tired, she was more than energized. Adena was ready to fuck shit up. Show these bourgeoisie people what being a Brighton is all about. Adena’s four inch heels click-clacked against the cobblestone as she made her way past the iron gates, rounding a large, tiered water fountain and stopping at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front entrance of the three story mansion. Two burly guards wearing pitch black cloaks and decorative wood masks colored black and gold stood before the doors as still as statues. 

Adena gathered the bottom of her gown and took her time ascending the stairs. As soon as she made it to the top landing, one of the guards stepped forward abruptly, stopping Adena before she could even take another step forward. His calloused, beefy hand stretched out and Adena looked from his open palm to her sequin bag. She unzipped the handbag and stuck her hand inside. With the folded invitation in her hand, she placed it gently into the masked guard’s hand and waited with baited breath. 

The guard opened the folded invite and brought it up, examining it through the tiny slits in the mask where his eyes are. Adena tried her best to remain calm but her left brow began to sweat. The guard before her raised his head to peer at her, then turned to look over his shoulder at the other guard. They both nodded their heads before he turned back to face her. 

“Password?” He said with a muffled voice. 

“Fidelio.” 

Both guards stepped aside and Adena stared straight ahead past the double doors and black drapery. Adena hesitated for a moment, a small part of her afraid to walk past the barrier. The thought of entering the place filled with people responsible for what happened to her mother made her ill. But she knew she had to keep going. She knew she had to find Damion…and Erik. As she proceeded forward, a part of her felt sorry for him. That part also didn’t want to kill him, but there is no other way.

Adena’s trembling fingers parted the black velvet drapery, and she crossed over into a room filled with masks, black cloaks, nudity, Aerial dancers, and rumba dancing. Some masks were elaborate and feathered, some were made with intricate craftsmanship as if carved front steel, and others were very freakish and creepy; fitting for Halloween. The room was dimly lit and suspended from the ceiling were aerial dancers twirling on black and gold acrobatic silk that glided through the air creating a beautiful show. 

There had to be at least one hundred people in attendance —more men than women — and the men wore black cloaks while the women were either dressed in formal wear to match their masks, or nude. Cigar smoke clouded her vision and there was an abundance of alcohol being passed around for everyone to get a taste of. Each time her mink brown eyes swept the room, a new scene would play before her. There were young women ushering horny men to a spot to play out their exhibitionist fantasies. Couples swapped spit while fondling each other on the dance floor. 

What really had her attention was a woman wearing an all white masquerade mask and a matching old Hollywood feathered white robe as pure as snow. She was currently sitting upon an all black throne chair with each of her legs draped over the arms of the long back chair. Two men wearing back slacks, a white button up with the sleeves rolled up, and full face, gold Venetian masks held each of her toned legs back by her slender ankles while her wrists are tied with white silk behind the chair. Another man dressed in a cloak and a plague Doctor Venetian mask was holding a wand vibrator to her pussy that had her moaning loudly. 

The spotlight above the woman put her on display for everyone to enjoy. The man between her legs glided the vibrator over her swollen bud one last time before pulling away so a long and heavy stream of squirt could release. Her inner thighs quaked out of control and she didn’t look like she had it in her to cum again. Her head dropped forward but her legs remained open and another man stepped forward carrying a drill with a 12-inch dildo attached to the end of it. Adena was happy her face didn’t show. With the head of the silicone dick inside of her, he started the drill and the dildo spun and whirled around deep in her overworked pussy at an inhuman pace. 

“Look at her pussy! Isn’t it beautiful!”

“The sacrifice is perfect!”

“Make her squirt again!” 

“I’m fucking her next!” 

The woman looked as if she would fall into a coma. There’s no telling how many times she had an orgasm. Adena knew all too well what that felt like. The bow tie arm position with the frog tie leg position was one of many bondage positions she was tied up in when she was apprenticed to a BDSM couple for a summer. Adena could recall many times of almost blacking out from intense rounds of overstimulation during her training with the couple. 

Adena didn’t stick around long enough to see the woman in white cum hard and hopefully a final time all over that 12-inch dildo. Instead, she made her way towards an open bar where she ordered a drink and kept her eyes focused on her surroundings. She noticed many Venetian mirrors lining the walls, which wasn’t surprising considering Erik being a Katoptronophiliac; having a kink for mirrors. Adena scanned the room full of people and spotted Ruby chatting it up with Mark and another man. It wasn’t hard to recognize Ruby with her half masquerade mask. She’s wearing a stunning long gown in rose gold set by its V-neckline in thin straps. The curvy and body-lacing fit traced her body contours, showing off her beauty on the surface level. The fitting silhouette flared down the hip, shaping like the mouth of a trumpet.

Mark wore a simple pair of black slacks and a white button down with a black cape tied around his neck that made him look like a 17th century vampire. He completed the look with a white phantom of the opera mask. The mystery man chatting with them wore an all black tux with a silver full masquerade mask on his face. Adena knew exactly who that was. She walked away with her drink in hand, eyes on her like she was the main attraction. She stared openly at the man in the silver mask until he could feel her looking and when he met her eyes Adena turned away. 

So far, she hadn’t spotted her father or Erik anywhere. She was impressed that she’d made it this far without being questioned about who she is, but that didn’t take away from the anxiety she felt of being discovered. She noticed people climb the stairs to the second level, curiosity getting the best of her as she climbed the stairs.  The attendees occupying the stairs parted for her like the Red Sea, whispering and pointing, wondering who was under that mask. 

Finally, Adena arrived on the second-floor landing, and her eyes scanned from left to right. Two long hallways leading to many doors with walls decorated with art and collectibles. She decided to go left, walking at a slow pace, making sure she wasn’t being followed. The music faded as she made her way down the hall, her eyes scanning the walls. She noticed that most of the art and collectibles are African. Pictographs, Petroglyphs, vases, sculptures, and tools made from stone and bone. There was a variety of African weapons including spears, shields, clubs, swords and knives that are placed in protective glass curios. 

A male voice suddenly could be heard coming from a room with double doors and brass handles so Adena slipped into an empty room that looked like a guest bedroom and waited to see who was coming. After a minute a male figure wearing a hooded black velvet cape with a long train and loose linen black pants that were tight at the ankles and bare feet. As her eyes ascended his body that she could tell was solid and well-proportioned from his bare chest and v-cut, she noticed various gold chains hanging from his neck and then a flashy all gold masquerade mask with wings that reminded her of the wings of Horus shielding half his face. The braided back locs, thick lips, and gold fangs told her the identity of the man straight away. 

Adena froze. This would have been the perfect opportunity to strike, but she couldn’t move. Erik turned around and began talking with another man and the deep baritone of his voice filled her with rage. She peered between the crack in the door, and her eyes fell upon her father. His voice was hushed so Adena couldn’t make out his words. This brought her back to the first time she’d seen her father in person that day at work. Adena is quite the actor with years of preparation to finally face her father. Inside, she was screaming and imagining herself standing over his mangled body. 

She thought up so many ways to kill her father. Slow torture, gun-shot to the head, a knife to the throat, poisoning, fire, any and every way to murder him. Now, she just wanted him dead no matter how she got the job done. When they finally walked away, Adena exhaled a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. Her hands were clenched into a tight fist. 

The aerial dancers had gone away and what’s left is the black and gold silk billowing around the room. The ballroom darkened except for the spotlight illuminating the center of the floor. Everyone in attendance formed a circle, silently awaiting the arrival of their cult leader. Adena had snuck back downstairs at some point during the party and blended in with everyone. The sexual activities came to a halt momentarily for what looked like an important transition in tonight’s festivities. 

Straight across, two burly, cloaked guards with wooden masks opened two grandiose doors that led to the back of the estate and in walked Erik Stevens, Damion trailing behind him. You could hear a pin drop in the ballroom with how quiet and still it is. The acrobatic silk hanging from the ceiling brushed over Erik’s shoulders as he strolled forward with an intimidating gait. Adena could even feel the presence of him deep within her bone marrow. As soon as he appeared in the center of the lit circle, the woman in white joined him wearing a satin white gown with a train. 

Erik stepped aside and allowed the woman to occupy the center of the lit circle while he slowly moved around her, as if sizing her up. The woman nervously locked eyes with him each time he appeared in front of her. Adena felt someone grab her hand, and when she looked over her shoulder, she recognized the mysterious man that was talking to Ruby and Mark earlier. His silver masquerade mask is reflective and she could see her cautious eyes staring up at him. With one gloved hand, he pressed his finger to the mouth of the mask, signaling for her to remain silent. 

“You have been chosen by Aje herself for the evening,” Erik stopped in front of the woman, “And tonight…we make an offering to Aje…our goddess of abundance and wealth. She choses who is deserving of good fortune…”

Erik stepped aside, revealing the woman in white to everyone in the room again. 

“Now…do you feel you are deserving of good fortune and status?” Erik questioned. 

“Yes,” she spoke loudly and proudly, “I have worked hard to get where I am today.” 

“Have you?” Erik asked, tilting his head in question, challenging her words.

Unsure, the woman nodded her head, “I believe I am. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been asked to join the court.” 

Erik clasped his hands in front of him, “I never said you were a new member of the court…Vivian.” 

Gasps and whispers filled the room. Adena looked around her and then back at the woman. When Erik removed her mask, Adena’s eyes squinted with recognition. 

Vivian Wood. 

“You crave power, money, fame…and yet you aren’t worthy of any of those things, Vivian. You haven’t been for years now.”

Vivian stood embarrassed by Erik’s claims, looking around the room trying to appear poised and confident. 

“You’re washed up, Vivian. You look down on others around you as if you’re anything better. You use people for your own financial gain…”

Erik began circling her again, and this time Vivian began to cower beneath his gaze. The black cloak he wore reminded Adena of an imposing shadow and his winged mask made him look even more powerful. 

“And don’t you dare lie. It won’t do good to lie…especially when you're the offering to Aje.”

“…offering? What do you mean by offering?—”

“Filled with libations and freed of sexual tension…you are more than ready to join the others before you.”

Vivian stepped back and when she did, the circle grew tighter. Her frightened eyes turned to Erik for an explanation, but he simply stood before her, looking down on her as if she were the scum of the earth. 

“You’re the sacrifice, love.” Erik said with a menacing voice.

Vivian backed away and almost tripped on the bottom of her gown. 

“A sacrifice! What?! Erik! What is this—what do you mean by sacrifice! How—How could you do something—what kind of people are you?! Is this some sick joke to make me scared?!” Vivian shouted. 

Laughter filled the room and Erik raised one hand to silence it. Vivian looked from left to right then back at Erik, trembling with fear. 

“A—After everything, you—you want to kill me? Am I really not worthy enough?! Do I really mean nothing to you, Erik?!” 

“Vivian…we were never an item. I only got close to you, because it was a part of the plan. I knew that you wanted an invite to the Court of Aje…It was only a matter of time before you finally showed up.” Erik said. 

Erik snapped his fingers and the guards that opened the doors for Erik seized Vivian’s arms. With their strength, they lifted her off her feet and carried her to the yard while she was kicking and screaming. The room erupted with sinister cheers and praises to Aje. Adena watched as everyone bounded forward, following behind their leader. The man behind her with the reflective silver masquerade mask gripped her left wrist tightly, halting her in her footsteps.

“What are you doing here, Dina?” He whispered. 

“None of your business, Greg,” Adena whispered back through clenched teeth. 

“I saw you…at the hotel…”

Adena turned to face Greg.

“Were you following me?” Adena questioned.

Greg didn’t respond as he led the way out of the ballroom and into the yard. Adena could see a raging fire and a large stone edging where the two guards tied Vivian’s ankles and wrists to. She was laid out like a sacrificial lamb, screaming and pleading for help. Beyond that is a hedge maze and a botanical garden. The full moon and swirling clouds made for a spooky evening above them. 

“How do you know Felicity?” Greg asked with a hushed voice.

“…how do you know her?” Adena fired back with a question, “And right now isn’t the time to ask questions.” 

“She’s Damion’s sister. I’ve known her since I was a child…I saw you talking with her in the lounge…then I saw you and her leaving your room dressed as you are now…”

Adena stood silent but she looked around her to make sure no one was listening. 

“I’ve always felt as if I’ve seen you before, Dina…and the truth is…I have.” 

Adena went very still. 

“You’re friends with my sister, Ruby…I’ve seen you once before some years ago…so there’s clearly more to you than just an assistant to Erik Stevens.”

Ignoring Greg, Adena’s eyes fell upon the man of the hour. Erik walked up to Vivian’s writhing body, his cloak gone now. He’s carrying a gold blade in his right hand, and his guards stood behind him in a straight line as if waiting for their next command. A dreadful feeling formed in her gut. She knew what was going to happen…but was she prepared to see someone slaughtered in front of her. She knew the flames were there to burn Vivian’s body to ash. 

Erik stood over Vivian’s body, staring down at her tear-stained face and struggling limbs. He reached out with his hand and lightly stroked her cheek with his knuckles before raising his Kukri blade. The gold blade gleamed like the gold slugs on his teeth as he parted his lips to speak. 

“Aje, supreme goddess of wealth. Benevolent provider of all human needs. Owner of 1400 ado. Aje turns the wise man into a fool. And makes a fool of the wise man…”

The praise echoed as everyone else began reciting those exact same words. 

Erik spoke again, raising his blade with both hands, “Aje, supreme goddess of wealth. Benevolent provider of all human needs. The only master that calls. To whom all respond. The white man pitching a tent in the bush is an adventurer driven by bad luck.”

Adena tried to repeat the words in tune with everyone else to blend in. 

“Aje! Aje! You are the mother in the house. You are the mother at the farm. You are the mother of all the hidden and open places. Aje, supreme goddess of wealth! Benevolent provider of all human needs

You made a servant into a king! Aje! Aje! Aje! Benevolent provider of all human needs. Wife of six hundred husbands!” 

Aje! Aje! Aje! 

Ritualistic drums sounded off and everyone began prancing around as if overcome by the spirit of Aje. Greg pushed Adena along so it wouldn’t go noticed that she was an outsider. She jumped, waved her arms around, and shouted Aje! Aje! Like everyone else. Erik stretched his arms out and looked towards the sky, giving praise to Aje. Vivian’s cries and shouts landed on deaf ears as the sound of the drums grew louder and louder. Some people dropped to their knees and bowed before the sacrifice. Others continued to dance in a circle. The sound of the drums began to slow down and eventually it grew silent again as everyone took their place surrounding Vivian. Adena was still by Greg’s side waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Whatever you do…just go along with it, Dina. You have to trust me if you want to live through this. No one ever does.” Greg whispered. 

Adena knew that all too well. 

“Why should I trust you? Aren’t you just like the rest of them?” Adena said with a hushed tone. . 

“Listen to me, whoever sent you that invitation doesn’t have your best interest at heart, Dina. They want you dead.” 

“I don’t plan on dying tonight, Greg.” Adena spoke with confidence. 

“Dina—”

 Adena turned away from him when Erik began speaking again. 

“It is you Aje who commanded me, the son of Aje…command me to give you this offering…as a token of my gratitude. Aje! Aje! supreme goddess of wealth. Benevolent provider of all human needs! 

Aje! Aje! Aje!

“Accept this offering from your son!”

Aje! Aje! Aje!

Adena’s eyes grew wide behind her mask.

“Aje! Supreme goddess of wealth!”

Her eyes followed the knife in Erik’s hands rising above Vivian’s body to stroke. 

Aje! Aje! Aje! 

The attack was swift and sudden.  The blade sliced into Vivian’s left side and up towards her heart.  Her chest ripped, ribs broke. Erik pulled the blade out with violence.  Vivian gasped, her eyes bulging in disbelief.  From her open mouth came gurgling, sputtering sounds.  She wanted to cry out for help, to scream her agony and fear to the party, but she could get no volume. Without a word, Erik inspected the bloody blade and his equally bloody hand, walking away purposefully, with no appearance of panic. With a spluttering gasp, Vivian lay still, as her life ebbed from her, and her senses faded. It was quiet, not uncommonly quiet, but unsettling so. 

“Now, present your daggers,” Erik spoke to everyone, “And come forward to show your loyalty to Aje and thank her for the sacrifice.” 

Adena watched as everyone presented their daggers. She opened her bag and carefully retrieved her own, removing the protective covering. Adena’s heart hammered in her chest. She knew what she was walking into, but to see it happening before her eyes made her icy with panic. Greg tapped her side and Adena looked up at him. She could see his eyes so she locked onto them. 

“You have to do it, Dina. You can’t show your fear.” 

People began to walk forward and Adena’s throat tightened when she watched everyone take turns stabbing Vivian. The closer she got, the more she could tell that Vivian was dead. She didn’t particularly like her, but she did feel sorry for her. Who are they to determine who is worthy?

Adena approached Vivian and blood froze in her veins as she looked down at Vivian’s dead body covered in blood. The crimson fluid permanently stained the stone beneath her and trickled down the sides. She knew what had to be done, and the longer she stood there, the more suspicious people would be. Adena masked her fear and raised her blade above Vivian’s thigh. Her grip tightened on the handle and she striked Vivian’s meaty thigh, adrenaline pumping through her body. She’d never stabbed someone before. As she withdrew the blade, blood oozed from the wound slowly. Anxiety eclipsed her thoughts as she dropped the blade in the grass and walked away. She could feel the stickiness of Vivian’s blood on her fingers. Flashes of her mothers body appeared in her mind. 

After everyone finished, Damion walked up to Erik dressed in dark blue with a black, gold and royal blue Bauta Mask. The long pointed chin covered his mouth and muffled his voice while the Mask hid his face. Raw anger shot through her at the sight of her father. Erik turned to face him and Damion began applauding Erik in a successful ritual and how they will begin the scarification ritual the next day to finalize everything. One of the cloaked guards with a wooden mask stepped forward with what looked like an ancient Egyptian wine goblet, passing it over to Damion who took Erik’s gold blade covered in blood and began stirring the wine with it. He passed the cup over to Erik and he brought it to his lips, drinking it all down. 

“Praise Aje for the blood of the sacrifice…” Damion said.

Erik opened his eyes slowly and licked his lips. 

“Thank you, Aje.” Erik said. 

The clock struck midnight. 

The party continued as if Vivian’s burning body was an afterthought. It was a celebration of Aje’s acceptance of the offering and everyone continued to fill up on wine, food, and sex. Adena didn’t participate in any of the wild fun, she simply stayed far away from everyone, waiting and watching to determine when was the best moment to strike. Damion was a hard man to keep up with. Each time she drew closer to him, he would disappear. Erik had joined the party soon after dressed in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons undone and black slacks with black dress shoes. He still wore his gold chains and gold winged mask. He was partying with a group of guys and carrying a bottle of 1942 in his hand. 

Adena kept her eye on Ruby as well. While Mark tried to keep her attention, Ruby was too busy focusing on what Erik was doing, watching his every move like a hawk. Adena felt her handbag vibrate against her hip so she opened it to check her phone and noticed a text message from her aunt Felicity. Adena opened the text and sighed before locking her phone. 

Auntie: Adena, time is running out. I’m getting worried sitting out here. If you take too much longer, I’m coming in.

That’s the last thing Adena wanted. She agreed to let her aunt wait for her in the car, but she couldn’t risk losing the only real family she had left. Adena cased the room for any sign of Damion and still, no sign of him. She looked towards the stairs and was ready to go searching for him when a hand wrapped around hers pulling her in the opposite direction. Adena turned around and looked at Greg’s masked face. He wasn’t going to stop so Adena followed him up the stairs and they made a right down the hall and into a room. Greg cracked the door and made sure the room was empty before he removed his mask. Adena placed her bag on the table and Greg sat his mask down before he walked over to Adena. 

“What are you doing here?” Greg grumbled. 

“Like I said, it’s none of your business. Why are you so concerned?” Adena snapped. 

“Because this is not a place for you to be,” Greg looked towards the door before stepping closer to Adena, “Who sent you the invite, Dina?”

“…Your sister,” Adena revealed, “Maybe you should ask her all the questions.”

“Ruby wouldn’t have invited you. She doesn’t have the leverage to secure another invite. No…it was someone else…”

Adena remained silent, turning away. Greg’s face contorted with frustration. 

“How do you know Felicity? I hadn’t seen her in years. When I saw you sitting at the bar alone, I was going to join you but then…Felicity walked in and…I saw you two hugging…talking closely…it just doesn’t make sense…”

Adena’s expression hardened beneath her mask.

“You can tell me, Dina. You can trust me.” 

“…how can I trust you when you’re a member of The Court of Aje, and your father is a dirty politician who enjoys killing people and covering up murders?”

Adena was face to face with Greg now, looking up at him through her mask. 

“For all I know, you just want to get information out of me to try and get me killed. And like I said, your sister invited me. Again, you should ask her all the questions—”

“And you should get out of here, Dina. Whether you want my help or not.” Greg fired back.

“Why are you helping me anyway? Wouldn’t you be risking yourself as well?” Adena scolded. 

Greg’s expression closed up and his mouth set in a hard line. 

“I know all too well what happens to someone when they get involved with the Court of Aje,” Adena reeled around, her back facing Greg, “And that’s why…I need you to get out of my way.”

Greg drew nearer to Adena, “Dina…did Erik do something to you? Did he hurt you? I know you don’t know me—”

“Then you should know that I have nothing else to say.” 

“What happened to that sweet girl?” Greg asked. 

“I’m far from sweet, Greg,” Adena admitted. 

Greg gaped at Adena. She slowly turned to face him, walking up to him with a switch of her hips. 

“I may look naive, but I’m a monster…and I don’t play fair…I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you get in my way.” 

Greg’s eyes bugged out at her words and he stood rooted to the spot as Adena walked away. She opened the door to leave but stopped suddenly when Ruby walked in, her hands on her hips and an evil smirk on her lips. Adena took two steps back, her eyes boring into Ruby before she looked over at Greg. 

“Well…well…well,” Ruby glared at Greg, “what do we have here? My brother helping an outsider?”

Greg charged forward, blocking Adena, “Why don’t you go back to the party, Ruby. This doesn’t concern you.” 

Ruby laughed, “It does. Especially when she’s my dear old friend…Dina…I thought I told you that this party was for the highest members of society? What makes you worthy to step foot into this place and mingle amongst the rich and famous? Hmm?”

Adena didn’t respond to Ruby’s insult. She was seeing red and ready to knock Ruby down a couple feet. 

“My brother isn’t the only one who has had eyes on you since the moment you walked through those doors. The woman in black who caught everyone’s attention. And don’t think it didn’t go unnoticed how out of place you acted during the ritual for Aje.” 

“What’s your point with all of this, Ruby? She’s your friend!” Greg raged. 

“Please, Gregory!” Ruby snapped, “Wait until dad finds out about this. He’ll be even more disappointed in you than he already is. Now,” Ruby turned her attention back to Adena, “What makes you think you belong here, Dina?”

Adena tilted her head at Ruby, still not giving her the satisfaction she desired. 

“Nothing? Let me guess, my pathetic little bro decided to invite you?” Ruby hissed. 

“Don’t play stupid, Ruby,” Greg argued back in his defense, “You sent her an invitation.”

Ruby’s eyes sparked with rage at her brother. 

“I didn’t send her an invite! Why would I risk myself for her—”

“We all know you want Erik and would do anything to get him,” Adena said, “Even if that means getting me killed. I know all about you, Ruby Montgomery. Daughter of Jonathan Montgomery. The mean girl who would do whatever it takes to get what she wants. Even if that means getting blood on her hands.” 

Adena was face to face with Ruby now, daring her to do something. Ruby looked Adena up and down with amusement, clearly not taking Adena seriously. 

“I let you have your five seconds of fame and glory, but now it’s my turn,” Adena raged, “You don’t get to walk in here with your fake ass and tell someone who’s worthy of what. Bitch, you’re the one that’s not worthy! Never have been. Can’t stand when someone else takes the shine, your non-existent man, your delusions of a life so deserving that you’ll never have because you’re nothing!” Adena shouted angrily, “Every person who has ever crossed your path has nothing but bad things to say about you. Standing right here, right now, I can’t even stand to look at you. I want to ram my first so far into your face that no one would be able to recognize you!!”

A slow and sinister smile spread across Ruby’s lips and she laughed boisterously in Adena’s face, “So, not only are you broke and pathetic, you’re a stalker as well? Wow, Dina. Poor Dina…so envious of what I have that you think your little words are gonna hurt me? Try again,” Ruby sassed, “Try harder. You wanna know why I befriended you? Because I saw that you were broken. You needed me to feel good about yourself, and what better person than me? Why would anyone want you? You’re a foster child, no mommy or daddy,” Ruby faked a whiny voice and pouted in Adena’s face.

Adena fired back, “See…that’s where you’re wrong. You thought you knew everything about me, but you don’t. You never have. Pathetic? You’re still chasing after a man who wouldn’t even breathe in the same air as you if it was up to him. You think everyone is checking for you. NEWS FLASH BITCH! If it wasn’t for your daddy, no one would even notice you! I actually feel sorry for you. Its actually embarrassing to watch you act a fool over a man who would NEVER FUCK YOU AGAIN!” 

Ruby gawked at Adena.

“That’s right, I know all about you and Erik. And I know he fucked you and tossed you aside. I know you can’t stand when another woman gets to have a chance with him. And I know exactly what you’re going to do right now…tell everyone that I don’t belong here…guess what? Do it. I dare you. You’re so tough? Walk out.” 

Ruby leaned in closer to Adena, “I will. Let’s see how far you make it before each and every one of your limbs are cut from your body—”

It happened so fast. Adena clipped Ruby in the jaw and watched her stumble back against a table, knocking the chair to the floor. Ruby rolled onto her stomach clutching her lip, staring down with distraught eyes at her blood-stained fingers. Adena pushed the hood of her sheer black cloak from her head and ran up to Ruby, grabbing her by her neck, punching her square in the nose. Greg was paralyzed with shock to even stop them from fighting. 

Ruby kneed Adena in her stomach which gave her enough room to stand. Blood dripped from her nose and onto her dress profusely. She swayed on her feet, noticing her left heel had snapped and now she was limping. Ruby screamed, baring her teeth as she charged at Adena. Adena took a swift side step and Ruby lost her footing again, knocking into the wall.

“You bitch! Look what you did to my face!” Ruby shrieked. 

She picked up a vase and flung it at Adena, missing her by a centimeter as it crashed to the floor, shattering into many pieces. Ruby swung at Adena who dodge it expertly, putting her arms in front of her face to block her weak attempts at punching. She ducked under another punch and used the force of Ruby’s attack, pulling Ruby towards her and down to the ground with a combination of a trip and a push. Ruby’s back thumped loudly against the floor and one of her hands came up to snatch Adena’s mask off, the mask revealed yet another one underneath; a metallic steel gray, glittery half masquerade mask. Adena’s eyes were cold with fury, nothing like the innocent eyes she Ruby was used to. It was a completely different person above her. Adena placed both of her hands around Ruby’s neck and squeezed with a strength that Ruby couldn’t get out of. Ruby gurgled, trying her best to stop Adena. Her face began to turn colors and she felt her consciousness drifting away. 

“Dina! Stop!”

Greg yanked Adena off of Ruby who began gasping for air and coughing. Adena growled, and swiftly struck Greg in the face with a direct frontal snap kick that targeted his chin, knocking him back on his heels. Ruby had already dashed for the door, but with Greg no longer holding Adena back, she lunged for Ruby again, ripping the bottom of her dress when she grabbed her. 

“Dina!” Greg shouted after her, holding his bruised chin.

He ran into the hall and watched as Ruby grabbed a Zulu African knob from one of the weapons curios, swinging it at Adena. What Adena did next stunned Greg and Ruby. Dodging the blow from the stick, Adena did a cartwheel without hands. One of her legs jumped up, while the other kicked hard to the side, causing her body to rotate over itself. She landed on her feet away from Ruby and did a front flip, her leg coming down and snapping the Zulu knob in two. 

Shocked, Ruby looked from the broken stick in her hands, to Adena and then dropped the sticks, running away as fast as she could. Adena looked over her shoulder at Greg, challenging him with her eyes. He didn’t want to mess with her so he didn’t try to stop her when she picked up a black Zulu spear and ran off after Ruby. 

Ruby rushed down one of the staircases with one heel on her foot and a bashed-in face. She yelled to get everyone’s attention, but Adena had caught up with her, kicking her the rest of the way down the stairs. The music stopped playing and the crowd of drunken people half naked and clothed watched as Ruby landed on her shoulder, screaming from the pain. Everyone began drawing closer to Ruby, a couple of men crouching down to help her up. All eyes were on Adena who descended the stairs with vengeance. 

Four cloaked guards barged forward, taking in Ruby’s battered face and dislocated shoulder. Their masks weren’t enough to veil the shock at who was responsible, and Adena didn’t back down either. She proudly walked forward with a sway in her hips, ready to kick anybody’s ass that dared step to her. She kept a firm grip on the Zulu spear in her right hand and was ready to kill Ruby on sight where she stood but the masked guards all pulled out pistols, pointing them directly at her. 

“Drop the spear!” One guard ordered.

“Do it now!”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Erik pushed through the crowd of people and stopped suddenly as his eyes fell upon Adena; the woman in black. Her hair was undone from the neat French twist and cascading down her back. The black cloak she wore was removed, revealing a form-fitting dress that molded into her generous curves. The glittery black masquerade mask shielded the top half of her face, but her lips were glossy with brown liner, making them appear plumper. He knew those lips from anywhere. He recognized those big brown eyes. 

Dina Brighton. 

How did she get here? Why was she wielding a weapon? Why was Ruby Montgomery bloodied and beaten? So many questions raced through Erik’s mind. This wasn’t the Dina he knew. Why would the Dina he knew want to hurt anybody? The blood on her knuckles sang a different tune. 

“She’s an outsider!” Ruby shouted, “She tried to kill me! You have to stop her!” 

“What would you like for us to do, Mr. Stevens?” One of the guards asked. 

“Easy...we kill her.” 

Heads followed the direction of that deep and eerie voice. Damion walked forward from the crowd with his hands behind his back, taking his place next to Erik. 

“We have zero tolerance for unwanted guests. Grab her and dispose of her now.” Damion ordered the guards. 

Erik cut his eyes at Damion, “Nah, I’ll handle it myself—”

“If one of you comes any closer, I’ll kill you,” Adena pointed the spear at Erik, “I don’t think you want to make that mistake. 

Damion laughed, “It’s one of you, and many of us, silly girl. I’m afraid you’re outnumbered. Now…be a good girl and put the spear down. Then maybe…we’ll go easy on you.” 

Adena gave Damion a sly smirk, “I’ll take my chances.” 

Erik stepped forward and Adena pointed the tip of the spear at him. He side stepped her and knocked the spear out of her hand, lunging for Adena but she was faster. She opened the high split of her black gown, revealing a thigh holster and grabbed her Glock with a chrome finish, pointing it at Erik’s head. Startled, his hands went up and he looked her in the eyes confused. 

“Back away…slowly…that’s it…good, boy,” Adena walked around Erik, gun aimed for his face, “Or I’ll shoot a hole in that pretty face of yours, Mr. Stevens,” Adena said with a breathy voice. 

“GRAB HER!” Damion shouted. 

The guards ran forward after Adena. She raised her glock to the ceiling and made a precise shot that detached the chandelier. It came down fast, crashing onto the ballroom floor, blocking the guards from following her out into the yard. People began panicking, rushing out of the mansion to avoid being exposed or worse…killed. Adena made a beeline for the hedge maze. She could hear footsteps stomping after her. Adena didn’t look back as she ran forward, turning every which way. After some time, she stopped and pressed her back into the hedging, trying to calm her breathing. The bottom of her dress was dragging in the dirt and she could feel tiny twigs scraping across her exposed skin. 

Distant voices had her on alert with her finger on the trigger. She couldn’t get the look in Erik’s eyes out of her mind. He couldn’t believe she was there or that she was pointing a gun at his face. It’s unfortunate that this is how they had to reunite. She could only hope that she make it out of this situation alive. 

The sound of leaves crunching to her left, Adena whirled around and pointed her gun at one of the masked guards. She aimed and pulled the trigger, shooting the guard in his throat. He dropped to his knees and fell face-first into the grass. The sound of the gunshot echoed, and Adena’s fingers trembled. This was the first time she’d ever killed someone. She stepped over his dead body, no time to look back or think about what she did. There were going to be more casualties that evening so it was best for her to get used to it. 

Adena turned left, right, then left again, running head on into another guard who slapped the gun out of her hand and backhand slapped her in the face. Adena’s head flew back from the impact but she quickly recovered. He grabbed Adena by her upper arms and lifted her off of the ground, thinking he’d won, but Adena was ready. With her thumbs, Adena jammed them into the guards eyes. He shouted with agony, releasing Adena and she fell at his feet to the ground. Adena scrambled for her gun, and when she found it, she shot the guard in his groin. Running as fast as she could, Adena tried to find a way out of the hedge maze. She slowed down again when she felt no one was nearby. 

“Dina…”

Adena went still, pressing her body into the hedging. 

“Dina…”

Taking a deep breath, Adena jumped out and pointed her gun. The gun fired off and the person in front of her fell to the ground clutching their stomach. Adena crouched down to get a good look at whoever it was, relieved when it wasn’t Erik. 

“Looking for me?” 

Adena shot up from the ground but two powerful arms wrapped around her, lifting her from the ground. Everything turned foggy and dark. She pushed back against him, but his hold on her tightened. 

“You got some explaining to do, girl…I hadn’t heard from you in days and this is how we meet up?!” Erik growled in her ear, “you murdering people now? What the fuck has gotten into you, Dina?!”

Adena stomped on Erik’s left foot hard and brought her elbow to shoulder height, pivoting her opposite foot and made contact with the side of his face with the back of her elbow. Erik’s hands fell from her waist and he backed away from her, Adena getting into a fight stance with her fists raised. Erik’s forehead creased and his eyes looked beyond her, alerting Adena that someone had shown up. 

“Erik! You found her…”

Adena picked up her gun from the ground and aimed it at a black man in his mid-seventies dressed in a navy blue suit with a long trench coat. Behind him stood two bullocky men ready to attack on his command. Adena recognized that man and his voice. She lowered her gun and stared the man directly in the eyes. 

“Jonathan,” Erik cautioned, “I got it from here.”

“She hurt my daughter…could have killed her. I want to watch her burn…”

“Dad…”

Gregory caught up with his father and stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on Adena and Erik. 

Agitated, Jonathan circled around to face his son, “Why are you here and not by your sister's side?! If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened! You should thank me for saving your ass, son. Otherwise, Mr. Stevens here would have killed you. Consider this a final warning!”

Hurt by his father’s words, Greg backed away and ran back towards the mansion. Jonathan chuckled, seemingly embarrassed by Greg’s actions. 

“Thank you for sparing him, Erik. I know he’s your friend, but he was wrong. He protected this girl after what she did to his sister—”

“How about after what you did to my mother?” Adena chimes in. 

Jonathan raised his chin, looking down at Adena.

“I don’t know who your mother is, but trust…whatever it was I’m sure was deserving,” Jonathan shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Adena cocked her head to the side and her eyes became slits. Angry tears welled in her eyes, fury vibrating her being. Her grip tightened on her piece as she pointed it straight at his chest, right at his heart. 

“Did I strike a nerve? Are those tears in your eyes,” Jonathan laughed menacingly, “Put that down, little one. No need to act so tough…you’re as good as dead.”

Adena felt Erik’s hand on her waist as he approached her from behind. She looked back at him over her shoulder, trembling with rage. He held her gaze, wordlessly telling her to drop the gun. There were four of them. She wasn’t going to die here. That wasn’t an option. No, she was going to survive this. 

“Erik? What are you waiting on? Take her gun!” Jonathan shouted angrily. 

Erik snatched Adena’s gun away and placed it in his back pocket. Adena was simmering as she stared daggers at Erik, wanting nothing more but to kill him where he stood. 

“See? Your little adventure has run its course.” Jonathan provoked. 

The two men walked around Jonathan and flexed their muscles as if that would intimidate her. 

“I got it from here, Jonathan. I’ll take full responsibility for her getting in,” Erik spoke up, “I’ll make sure to get rid of her.” 

“I trust your judgment, Erik, but I want to watch. That’s what I did all those years ago when Joseph and Damion tortured and killed that pretty woman.”

Adena jerked her arm away from Erik and faced Jonathan. 

“Drag her by her neck if you have to,” Jonathan said with his eyes still on Adena, “Is there something you want to say, sweetheart?”

“Yes…as a matter of fact it is…” 

Adena hooked Erik’s front leg and with a fast execution, she pushed him with the palm of her hand and he fell to his knees, giving her the opportunity to grab her gun. Working fast, Adena raised her glock at Jonathan and before his henchmen could retrieve their weapons, she put a bullet in his head and then two more bullets in each of the men, watching them fall to the ground. 

“That woman was my mother…asshole.” Adena said. 

Erik stood up and Adena pressed her gun into his chest. Erik raised his hands in surrender, locking eyes with her. 

“Your mother? My father had something to do with it?” 

Adena fought back tears as she pressed the barrel of the gun hard against Erik’s chest. Erik smacked the gun away and grabbed Adena by her throat, his eyes wide and jaw tight. 

“Start talking. Now!”

“I don’t owe you a fucking explanation! How dare you?! I was stupid enough to let you in. That won’t happen again. I’m tired of the way you make me feel! Let go of me!!!” 

Adena shoved Erik hard in his chest. His forehead furrowed and he sized her up with a glint in his eyes. 

“You’ve been lying to me this entire time, haven’t you? About everything?” Erik gave her a once-over, “Is Dina even your real name?” 

Adena could hear someone else coming so she broke off into a run. Erik ran after her, his legs heavy as if sinking into quicksand. He was shocked by her strength, her skills in combat, the way she handled her own, and how she killed those men so easily like she could do it with her eyes closed. He needed to find her before Damion did. Erik spotted her opening a side door to the mansion and Erik noticed that she was entering the mirror maze. A sick addition to the house that was Erik’s idea. He enjoyed primal sex play in the mirror maze, playing hide and go seek. 

Erik slipped inside of the mirror maze, the red light acting as night vision. He proceeded forward, the mirrors giving the illusion of infinite hallways in multiple directions. He could see infinite reflections of himself because of the angles of the mirrors in relation to each other. They reflect the truth. They reflect what is. Like a labyrinth, Erik was guided deeper, his eyes scanning left and right. When his eyes flickered left again, he could see Adena’s dress flowing behind her as she ran. He used his fine motor skills and visual skills to find her. 

“Dina? You know I’ll be able to find you,” Erik said with a gravely, calm voice, “I won’t hurt you. I want to help you…but I need to understand why you’re doing all of this…”

Erik turned and he could see her one minute, and then the next she vanished. He ran towards where he’d seen her last and found her mask lying on the floor. Erik picked it up, stroking it with his thumb. 

“Who are you?” Erik whispered.

He continued in that same direction, using not only his eyes but his keen sense of hearing to find her. 

“This isn’t how I pictured us seeing each other again…I’m sorry you had to see all of that tonight…I guess…I guess we should start being honest with each other, yeah?”

Erik could hear footsteps behind him so he turned back in that direction, widening his strides. He sucked his teeth when he’d lost her again.

“…My family started the Court of Aje in the early 1900s. Some of New York's oldest and wealthiest black families used murder and money to wield power over politics, culture, society, and even the criminal underworld…that way…those truly in power stay in power. It was the only way they could protect themselves…” 

Erik walked the stretch of a long hallway, looking around in a circle. She can’t be too far, the maze isn’t but so big. 

“…we make a sacrifice to Aje, our goddess of wealth and power…on the eve of Halloween. The Orisha is what kept us afloat. Without her, we wouldn’t be where we are today…”

Erik stopped within a circle of mirrors. He gazed around and around, waiting patiently.

“…After my father died, I was given the mantle as leader of the court. Damion is there to guide me through it all. There are times when I feel like it’s too much to take on…being responsible for something so secretive. It’s not something I could just bring up in conversation…that I’ve murdered people—”

The cocking of a gun had Erik frozen. He kept his back turned, but he could see through the many mirrors Adena standing behind him with her gun pointed at the back of his head. 

“Are you really going to kill me, love?” Erik asked.

“…Why did you kill Cora?” Adena questioned.

Erik’s nostrils flared and his upper lip curled. 

“Because she was conspiring to bring me down, to expose me!” Erik barked out, “I couldn’t have that.” 

“You Stevens are nothing but trouble. You’ll do anything to save your asses,” Adena argued, “And you’re just like your father…what you did to Cora—”

Adena’s voice became hoarse as she fought back tears. Erik could see her struggling to keep it together, wanting to know desperately why Cora’s death was so triggering for her and what his father has to do with what happened to her mother. 

“It reminded me of what happened to my mother,” Adena said with a tremble in her voice, “Your father…and my father…murdered my mother and covered it up as a suicide! I saw my mother’s dead body in a bloody bath with her wrists slit! I was just seven years old!”

Erik shut his eyes. He couldn’t bear hearing the grief in Adena’s voice. It struck him like a car at high speed. He never wanted to see her like that. Deeply saddened and broken. He was wrong. She didn’t have it all together. She was a complete wreck. Hearing her say that his father played a hand in her mother’s death angered him but didn’t surprise him. His father was a deeply deranged man. He’d witnessed his mother near death many times because of his father’s rage. Erik locked eyes with Adena in one of the mirrors. He wanted to hold her close, but from the look on her face, she didn’t want anything to do with him. That cut deep. 

“I let myself get close to you when I shouldn’t have. I fell for you hard when I should hate you. I still have feelings for you, Erik! I can’t erase you from my mind! No matter how hard I fucking try!” Adena cried out. 

“I have feelings for you too, Dina. I know that nothing I have to say will change what my father did…but I’m not my father—”

“Yes! you are!” Adena yelled.

Erik turned around to face her, “I’m different because of you,” Erik said, “The moment you entered my life—”

“Please,” Adena said, “It’s too late for all of that. On your fucking knees,” Adena pointed to the floor with her gun, “Right Fuckin’ now.”

Erik lowered to his knees, his eyes locked on Adena. She walked up to him and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. 

“I've been waiting for this moment…” Adena released a shaky breath, “It feels good to see you on your knees for once…at my command…my life in your hands…you want the truth about me, huh?”

Erik looked up through his long lashes at Adena. Despite his compromising situation, he could feel his dick throb. Staring up at her from that angle— her hair wild, eyes staring down at him, all fiery, plump lips parted— he was irrevocably in love with this woman. And she wasn’t as naive and timid as he thought she was. Or unsure of herself and what she’s capable of. She knew who she was. It radiated from her like a heat wave. It consumed him. Put him in a trance. 

“Keep wondering.” 

Adena shot down the mirrors surrounding them, the glass flying everywhere. Erik ducked his head and shielded his face after he felt a shard of glass slice his left cheek. When he finally looked up, Adena was gone.

He wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

Adena dusted tiny pieces of glass from her dress carefully as she walked back into the mansion. It was eerily silent, too quiet to be trustworthy. She needed to find Damion. Adena made the conscious decision to spare Erik’s life. He wasn’t the real enemy here, and truthfully, he was unaware of what his father had done. Killing him would only hurt Adena. She pressed forward, climbing the stairs again. Instinct kicking in, Adena raised her gun and fired a couple of rounds into a masked guard that attempted to overtake her. His body fell over the banister and landed hard on the polished floor below. Adena checked her rounds and when she noticed only three left, she pushed the clip back in and rushed forward. 

“Come here!” 

Adena was grabbed by her hair from behind and she lost her gun in the process. She grabbed her attacker by the hand and twisted his wrist so hard she heard a pop. She turned and jabbed them in the throat before Roundhouse kicking them down the stairs. Adena sprinted down the hallway, spotting three men charging towards her. She kicked the curio glass in and grabbed a blade. With proper upper body strength and endurance, Adena swung the long blade with both hands, slashing one man in the abdomen and one in the throat with a twirl. 

“Gotcha you little bitch!”

Adena was sliced on her upper arm with a knife. She winced before turning around, kicking the pocket knife from their hand and ramming her blade into the side of their neck. When she withdrew the blade, a spray of blood stained the wall. They dropped to their knees before her and Adena stepped away in time before they landed on her feet. She couldn’t feel the cut on her left bicep, but she knew she would feel it after the adrenaline wore off. 

“Adena!!!!”

Adena looked up to see her aunt Felicity running towards her. She pulled Adena into a tight hug, pulling away to examine her. 

“Jesus,” Felicity looked at the cut on her arm, “it took me a while to get in here undetected. I saw everyone running to their cars. I’m so happy you’re alive!”

“Auntie, you can’t be in here!” Adena argued, “it’s not safe—”

Adena was flung away from her aunt from the force of being knocked aside. She landed hard on her back against a door that was ajar, her head hitting the hard floor. Adena picked herself up, whimpering from the pain in her head, and at her full height, she looked into the eyes of her treacherous father. 

“Damion! Don’t touch her!” Felicity shouted like a mad woman.

“Shut up!” Damion raised his hand and slapped Felicity so hard she knocked into the wall, “I’ll deal with you after I deal with her!” Damion roared.

He turned around to face Adena again, cracking his knuckles. Adena lunged forward but Damion grabbed her by the neck, lifting her off of the ground. Adena clawed at his hand, gasping for air. Damion didn’t flinch. 

“Fight all you want, little girl. I’ll make sure you’re dead by my hand. I’m assuming you killed Erik…pity…I wanted to do that myself.” 

“GET OFF OF HER!!!!”

Felicity hit Damion in the back of the head with a chair and he released Adena, dropping her to the floor. She took in a sharp breath while rubbing her neck. Felicity rushed over to Adena to help her up from the floor when Damion was up on his feet again. 

“What is your affiliation with this girl, Felicity?! Why are you protecting her?!” 

Damion inched closer while Felicity shielded Adena from Damion.

“You are a disgrace to our family. I should've gotten rid of you when I had the chance. I should have left you to die in that car…”

Adena stepped around her aunt and ignored her attempts to try and keep her back. As Damion stared at Adena, his face slowly morphed into that of recognition. 

“You’re Erik’s assistant…Dina, right?”

Adena’s eyes flickered with fury. 

“Who are you really?” Damion questioned. 

“…I’m your daughter.” 

The smile on Damion’s face morphed into a frown.

“Adena…” Felicity pleaded.

Damion looked at Felicity and the tears in her eyes made Adena’s words all too real. Damion studied Adena’s face with disbelief. 

“Carmella…” Damion said with a sigh of irritation, “All this time…”

A single tear rolled down Adena’s cheek. 

“And you took care of her?” Damion questioned Felicity with narrow eyes, “you kept this from me all this time—”

“LIKE YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN IN MY LIFE!” Adena shouted, “I PROBABLY WOULDN’T BE HERE IF YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN!” 

Damion smirked, “You’re right. The only mistake I made was sparing your life that night…both of you.” 

Damion reached behind him and Felicity jumped in front of Adena before she could even stop her. 

Pow!

“Aunt Felicity!!!” 

Adena was at her side on the floor, cradling her head while trying to apply pressure to the wound in her aunt's stomach. She stared down at her aunt’s face and screamed with rage. Felicity—weakened and clinging onto life as the blood from her wound stained the carpet—reached up to caress Adena’s cheek. 

“I told you not to come here!” Adena yelled.

Felicity parted her lips to speak but no words escaped her mouth. 

“Don’t die on me! Please!” Adena pleaded with a shrill cry. 

Damion watched the scene before him with a sinister smile. Adena looked up at him boiling with anger and hatred towards him. 

“What a daddy-daughter reunion this is. Get up.” Damion ordered. 

Adena carefully placed her aunt's head onto the floor and stood before her father. 

“Don’t worry, you’re joining her,” Damion chuckled darkly, “And your whore of a mother. If you weren’t so screwed up, maybe I would have taken you in.”

“You’re a joke,” Adena snarled, “You’d kill your own sister…your own daughter…the mother of your child…you haven’t won.”

“Oh, I have,” Damion gestured to the gun in his hand, “Always have. Come harder than that, Princess.” 

Adena looked over Damion’s shoulder and spotted Erik standing in the doorway, a long cut on his left cheek. His eyes fell to the floor and noticed Felicity struggling to stay alive. His eyes traveled to the gun in Damion’s hand and then he looked back at Adena. He brought a finger to his mouth to silence her.

“I’ll have to thank whoever invited you here tonight,” Damion said smugly. 

“Victoria Stevens,” Adena revealed, “The same person who invited my mother all those years ago. You still fucking her?”

Erik looked at Damion in a new light, eyes squinting and jaw clenching. He locked eyes with Adena again when Damion began to laugh. 

“Victoria is something else…she never liked your mother. Carmella was my weakness…and Victoria hated that she had such an effect on me. She was even happy when that fake marriage I had was all a hoax to prepare her for a sacrifice to Aje. She must have suspected all these years that you were my daughter…and took matters into her own hands to get rid of you.”

Adena tilted her head, “Like you wanted to do with Erik?”

Erik’s eyes became stormy with rage. 

“The Stevens Family couldn’t live with the idea that my family…the King Family…were making a rise to power with our new money. A member of the Stevens Family accused a family member of mine of sexual assault. It was a fabricated lie to get rid of us. After everything we did for that family…they turned their backs on us for more power. My family was forced to change our name to Jones in order to blend in. I’ve been working hard all these years to bring that family down…to get revenge for what they did. Felicity unwillingly killed Joseph when he tried to end her life, and that left Erik. The other Stevens Family would be easy to take down once I got the money for myself thanks to Victoria.”

Erik’s eyes were glossy with tears listening to Damion’s confession. He looked away to try and wipe his eyes, but Adena had already seen it. She watched him take in deep breaths, his clenched fists shaking with fury. 

“But none of that matters now,” Damion lifted his gun at Adena, “Any last words?”

Adenda exhaled, “Yeah…turn around.” 

Confused, Damion’s head turned and Erik slammed his fist into Damion’s jaw so hard that Adena could have sworn she heard it break. Erik snatched the gun out of Damion’s hand and puffed out his chest, pointing the gun at Damion’s head. Damion was dismayed, convinced that Erik was dead. Adena looked between them, her rage mirroring Erik’s. 

“Erik..put the gun down,” Damion said carefully, “You don’t want to do this—”

“I don’t?! I heard everything you said! You killed her mother! And you’ve been working against me?! Sleeping with my mother?!” Erik barked out. 

“You’re pointing that gun at the wrong person, son.”

“Son?! Don’t call me that! You ain’t no godfather of mine. You’re a traitor…and a dead man—”

“After everything I did for you! I helped you get where you are today! This girl is trying to break your legacy—”

“NAH… nah, that’s you. How could you kill her mother? How could you stand here and shoot your own sister? Turn a gun on your own child? That’s some shit I would never do, bruh!” Erik shouted, “My father was many things—”

“Tell him the truth, Damion,” Adena said.

Damion glared at her over his shoulder, “What did Felicity tell you?” 

Adena could hear her aunt panting on the floor. She finally found the words to speak.

“T–T–Tell him,” Felicity said.

“Tell me what?” Erik said with anger. 

“You were adopted, Erik.” Adena revealed. 

Erik cocked his head back in disbelief, looking from side to side confused out of his mind. He struggled against his anger, eyes searching Damion’s face for the truth. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to accept that his life was a lie. Damion looked at him with an unblinking stare, not once opening his mouth to speak. Erik frowned and a fresh swell of tears clouded his vision. Adena watched him cave right before her eyes, unable to hold back her own tears. Fury tore through Erik and he sniffled back his tears as best as he could, gun raised at Damion again. 

Damion tried to tackle Erik and Erik’s back collided with the wall. He punched Damion in the ribs, dropping the gun in the process. Locs in his eyes, lips drawn back in a snarl, Erik body slammed Damion to the ground, climbing over him and started beating his face in with bone-crushing blows. His shirt had ripped in the process and the blood from Damion’s nose splattered over his naked chest. Adena rushed forward to pick up the gun and when she did, Damion grabbed her ankle, knocking her down to the ground.

Erik reached out to help her and Damion took that moment to hit Erik upside the head with a lamp that had fallen from the side table in the room. Damion pushed himself up on his feet and dashed towards the door but Adena climbed onto his back, putting him in a headlock. Damion growled, Stumbling backwards to try and get Adena off of him. He reached behind him and grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her from his neck. Adena kicked him in the jaw and Damion lost his footing, crashing to the floor. Erik rushed over to Adena to help her up and then followed Damion to the balcony. 

“Nowhere else to go, Damion!” Erik yelled after his retreating body. 

Damion braced himself on the balcony railing, peering over and down at solid concrete. He abruptly turned around to face Erik who was more than ready to kill him. Erik swung and hit Damion so hard in his ribs that he curled. He uppercut him and his arms flailed. Damion’s knees buckled, and he looked up at Erik through swollen eyes while blood dripped from his mouth. 

Adena walked out onto the balcony with Damion’s gun in her hand, standing next to Erik. Erik looked down at her and then back at Damion, stepping aside to allow her to do what needed to be done. Adena walked up to her father with slow strides, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Damion struggled to get onto his feet, and when he did, he looked his daughter in the eye and smiled. 

“You’re ruthless just like me.” 

Adena pulled the trigger and like a bullseye, the silver bullet lodged between his eyes, killing Damion instantly and sending him over the balcony. 

Adena lowered the gun and collapsed to her knees. She broke down crying, bending forward. She wailed and beat her first onto the ground and trembled. Erik couldn’t imagine how she must feel. He reached out to touch her but Adena raised her head. She stood up on her feet and rushed back into the room, dropping down beside her aunt. Felicity was still alive, but she lost so much blood. Adena stroked her cheek and cried hard, tears dropping onto her aunt's cheek.

“I did it,” Adena said with a quiver in her lip, “I killed him.” 

“I know, b–baby,” Felicity smiled weakly, her eyes so low they looked like they were closed, “I’m so proud of you. You fought hard to–to get here.”

Adena hiccuped from all the crying she did, staring at her aunt's belly. 

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Adena stressed with a shaky voice.

“I’ll get there…where’s–where’s Erik?”

“I’m here…”

Adena’s eyes fell upon Erik’s. They stared at each other for a moment before Adena broke her gaze away to examine her aunt. 

“We can get her to a doctor friend of mine who has a private practice,” Erik stood up quickly, “She can get here fast and take care of her.” 

Erik picked up Felicity and tried to calm her when she began to cry out in pain. He rested her on the guest head and dug in his pocket, pulling out his cellphone. Adena sat next to her aunt and watched Erik speak on the phone with his friend. He ended the call five minutes later, joining them on the bed.

“She’s on her way with help.”

“Thank you,” Adena said with a small smile.

Erik’s eyes scanned her face fondly.

“You’re welcome.” 

His eyes dropped to Felicity’s face.

“I’m sorry about what my father tried to do.” He said.

Felicity cleared her throat before speaking, “It wasn’t your fault, Erik…I know how much he meant to you.”

Erik twisted his mouth, eyes blinking away tears.

“Nah…he wasn’t my father…”

Adena wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. Erik exhaled and straightened up, staring across at Adena again. His eyes scanned her beautiful face. He saw her so differently now. She was such a strong, capable woman. Watching her hold her own weight made him respect her even more. He’d never seen a woman so bold and powerful. He could only imagine that her mother was exactly the same. Carmella Love. He was still stunned by that reveal. He wanted to know everything about her, but he knew right now wasn’t the right time. Felicity’s health mattered the most. 

“Adena, huh? Pretty,” Erik smirked. 

“Thank you,” She smiled weakly.

Ten minutes later, footsteps stopped in front of the door and an Indian woman with long, shiny black hair, big dark brown eyes, full lips, and a petite frame ran into the room followed by two men in teal scrubs. 

“I’m Padma,” she said to Adena, “what happened?” 

Erik and Adena filled her in on everything while the two men carried Felicity out of the room. 

“That explains all the bodies in the hallway…you two should come with me, you may need medical attention as well.” 

Erik and Adena both agreed as they rose from the bed. Erik reached out for Adena’s hand, checking her face to see if it was alright. just a few abrasions. Erik secured her fingers tightly around his firm grip as they walked hand in hand, out of the room.

@goddessofthundathighs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @nobodybaby93 @theegoldenchild @afriicanhoe @19jammmy  @abcdestinyyyy @whorderofthepheonix @shaekingshitup @tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh  @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold  @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser  @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @thehomierobbstark  @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions  @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara @honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @soulshinechronicles @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns  @jaysaidhi @shawnstacksss  @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102   @amyhennessyhouse @chaneajoyyy @dameshaemonique @glittermakesmesmile @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored  @ambthegamer @efonteno  @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns @eevolsidog  @asweet-serendipity @ajspencer1892  @quietpoeticheart @itsjustyazz @dasia21 @woah-express @bbgiirrll  @forbeautyandlife @cecereads209 @queenbetter @daddys-baby-girl-t @lovinthemelanin @ladymac82 @t3mporaa  @iv0rysoap  @naysianaee @nyleveeee  @woahthatshitfat  @scarypumkin23  @vikki240401 @enigmadivine @gingerylimonte @counterfeit-recherche @unholyxcumbucket @xdezaraex @missgigglesmoultrie @dashhoney25 @oversorry  @admirehermind @wassuduoo @kaykay0829 @woahitslucyylu @xsweetdellzx @amorestevens @tinystudentfirepurse @suburbanblackhoe @keiosha234 @bewitchedtbaby @crestsmile83 @dollfaceddom @majesticbrownjawn @lovelymari4 @endlessmockery @meunearthed @blackpinup22 @im5ftbutmythroat66 @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl   @richonne4life @alookintohersoul @youcantkillamutant @riveristhenameofhersong @queenfaithmarie @sourbabynaee  @dessianna1 @msincognito67 @themeirajay @toni9 @joanna-doe  @cool-fancyone @kehlaniswifee @bugngiz @soulfuljas @tinystudentfirepurse @childishgambinaax @callmemckenzieee @thesandbeneathmytoes

#Erik Killmonger #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #nahimjustfeelingit-writes #kinktober #bd/sm kink #spooky szn

[krabs-quill]

phantom gn!reader x royal!sbi? platonic of course.

the reader is an old friend of philza's since phantom's have a long life span, maybe they were a potions dealer and phil at the time was a hunter and potion dealers and hunters were known to be a great pair during that era so they kicked it off but split after that era was over and moved to other professions.

the sbi are running away after their kingdom turned against them, and phil led them to a forest to try and find reader? but when they arrive wilbur, or someone else of your choosing, freaks out cause they think phantom hybrids are dangerous and such.

but before he makes a move, reader folds their wings which means 'surrender' in phantom? fluff ensues :D hope this isn't too much. /gen

old phantom phriend - royal!sbi x phantom!reader

characters: royal!philza, royal!tommy, royal!techno, royal!wilbur

main characters pronouns:they/them

trigger warnings: fire, weapons, death threats, mention of cults, cursing, kinda politics but not really???

authors notes: this was like, surprisingly really fun to do? super neat concept, thank you for the request!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Phil had everything planned. His sons couldn't have been able to predict the oncoming rebellion, but Phil sure did. He took extra care in ordering only the most trusted servants and guards to keep Tommy, Wilbur and Techno as isolated in the castle as possible, because if they were to go outside in the public eye in the past 6 months, they'd have an arrow in their neck and crimson on the ground.

Only now do they finally see what's going on- rallies being led to the front drawbridge of the castle and a man standing on a wooden crate. He is slim and lanky. In one hand he held a pitchfork the height of two wine cellar barrels stacked up on each other, in the other he held a large wooden pole with the kingdom's flag slowly engulfing in embers. The crowd smells of sweat, ashes and faux justice.

 “People of this wretched kingdom!” the man on the wooden crate starts, raising the burning flag high over his head. The large ashes fall into the crowd as he continues. The man's words fall on deaf ears, however, as Phil orders his guards to alert the princes of their sudden urgent departure. 

“I can't believe I'm going to see you again- after 40 years and under these circumstances…”

Phil sighs tiredly, discarding his glistening crown on his pristine writing desk, ridding himself of the last piece of physical evidence of his reign. 

Knocks rattle through the large oak door of his bedroom, and a guard speaks with a gruff, urgent tone. 

“My King, the princes have been escorted out of the castle with their belongings. They are safe and waiting for you at the largest oak tree in the far east of the forest. I'll have to escort you now; and fast. Knights at the front lines have turned on us and they are lowering the drawbridge to the townspeople. Do you have all your personal belongings?”

Phil grabs two large leather bags, intricate designs dance across the straps of each one. After slinging them over his shoulder, he then turns to the wall closest to the large windows. 

Hung up on the wall is a longsword. A few scratches on it and a worn handle, but it was loved well and a bow with a sling of obsidian arrows to go with it. Both items have dust covering them as if it's been ages since they've been swung or plucked, Phils fingers quickly grabbing them and cutting through the dusty residue. He nods, following the guard out of his bedroom soon to be ransacked and burned to the ground; his crown placed on the desk surely to be taken by a squalid dictator.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“PHIL! Phil, what the Fuck is goin on, man?! The whole fuckin towns swarming the castle!”

Tommy yells, his voice panicked and shrill. He stands up immediately from his spot on the lush grass. Taking a good look at him, he carries his own bag prepared by one of his servants before ushering them out of the castle's perimeter. On the surface, he doesn't seem to be equipped with self-defense precautions other than a large rock in his right hand- but Phil can't exactly see into his bag, so he only prays that the former servant packed at least a dagger or something. 

“Listen, I'll explain all that later but right now we need to leave, now. It's not safe here anymore, alright?”

Phil glances around to see his other two sons. 

Wilbur is seen standing a few feet away, a thousand yard stare as his left foot taps away with what anyone could only assume to be a mania of thoughts on his head. Heavy footsteps circle all three of them, as Techno has been orbiting the small clearance around the large tree. A close look at his stone cold expression makes it clear that he's watching for anyone who could possibly sneak up on the unprepared group. 

Wilbur snaps his head up at Phil, “Look at me- Phil. What are we going to do? Because by the look of things, I just happened to notice the rallies of townsfolk with pitchforks and I don't think they seem too happy.” Wilbur babbled. 

Techno quickly introjects, voicing his own concerns.

“Listen, how much did you plan for this kinda thing, exactly? Maybe you didn't notice-” he stops pacing, turning to look at the castle in the distance as one of the corner towers erupt into flames from the inside, “-the castles uninhabitable for us anymore, and we're runnin from an entire KINGDOM. So unless you've got some secret life saving plan, now's the time to tell us. Otherwise, I don't see any way we'll be gettin’ out of this.”

All of them are looking at Phil, waiting for an answer to each of their questions. He sighs, pulling out his old longsword from its sheath. 

“Techno, take this. So, we absolutely can't go back. I've got a plan, we're going to visit an old friend of mine. And we have to go NOW.”

Phil disclosed, setting off into the woods immediately after. Techno takes the sword hesitantly but wields it like an old friend as he follows directly beside Phil. Tommy sputters concern and shock, but it falls on dead ears. Wilbur is the last to move, standing there looking at where his father once stood with wide, squirrely eyes. He flinches when Tommy calls him to catch up. The boys follow Phil into the thick, suffocating woods.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Each bird that rustles the trees or deer that steps on the dry grass makes the entire group stop each time it happens. Phil has his bow and arrow up and ready, pointed towards the ground as he walks with a cautious eye. 

Techno holds the blade of his sword across his body, ready in case an unruly visitor decides to make an unforeseen appearance. 

Tommy clutches his rock, though it won't do much compared to a sword and bow but perhaps the sweat from his hands would make its way onto the rock to scare away the opponent. 

Wilbur, unlike Tommy, has actually checked his bag prepared by his old servant and finds a decently sized dagger to wield. Not as good as a sword but DEFINITELY better than a sweaty rock. Despite this though, Wilbur seems to be the one most on edge. To no surprise, Wilbur used to be the brother who went the least outdoors. This meant the spontaneous castle lockdown impacted him the least, but the sudden turn of events spawned an intense feeling of shock and confusion at every little thing he failed to be instantly familiar with. This feeling only heightens at an alarming rate as the group arrives at a strange treehouse.

Knock, knock, knock

Phil knocks on the tree three times. A few dead silent seconds pass before odd sounds seem to emit from…inside the tree?

Like clockwork, a long staircase folds out from inside the tree step by step. Techno, Wilbur and Tommy flinch back, a contrast to phils calm and almost excited face. 

Footsteps gradually make their way down the steps, and the more Wilbur sees the more alert he becomes.

Sure, he had never been one for going outside much if at all, but with the castle's grand library to keep him busy, he had learned a few things. A few things about those white markings on blue tinted skin. About those lime green eyes and slim, scaly tail. About those large intimidating wings that could circle prey for hours, and those razor sharp teeth that can bite chunks out of a human's shoulder and soar away in an instant to circle back and make sure they go for the neck next time. 

“Phil? Oh my gosh, phil?! It's been YEARS, man! What're you doing here again- came to pay me a visit, ay?” Y/n jested as they went in for a friendly hug, however instead of Phil they felt he was replaced with a sharp dagger pointed at their throat.

“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down there, pal-” Y/n put their hands up in defense, Wilbur cautiously holding his weapon to their throat.

“Right, I’m telling you now to stay away from Phil- don’t fucking touch Phil you feral monst-” he brings himself to a full stop as he hears a loud swish of the air. He looks from Y/n's wide eyes, to their wings, folded and pressed into their back, at their face, and at their wings again before hesitantly withdrawing his dagger and shuffling back a bit.

Folded wings mean no harm.

If there was anything he remembered at that very moment from the various books he's read, it was that. Y/n's face was alarmed and a bit shocked, sure, but their face seemed to match up with their wings and their intentions were clear; they meant no harm. He fully settled down, giving them more room to move as they slowly put their hands down and relaxed. 

“I'm an old friend. I don't wanna hurt anyone, I promise. You won't see me trying to get damage on anyone here, swear to it.”

Y/n says, still trying to be tentative of their tone. While Y/n seems to be much more forgiving of the sudden out of pocket threats, Phil on the other hand was furious. A hard smack in the back of Wilburs head seemed to get the message through.

“What the hell was that, Wil?!”

Phil scolds Wilbur, with no remorse even after Wilbur hisses and rubs the back of his head in pain. Techno and Tommy burst out laughing, easing up the tension.

“Bruhh, I'm gonna be honest Wilbur, it doesn't seem like you really thought that one through.” Techno chimes in, a taunting grin on his face.

“Man, if I were you Wilbur, I'd be so, SO embarrassed if I were you, but luckily, y’know, I’m me. Me and NOT you, Wilbur.” Tommy boasted with a shiteating smile. 

“Anyway, enough with the smalltalk. What're you doing here, Phil? Haven't seen you in what, 40 years? Shouldn't you be ruling that kingdom I've been hearing about? Also, who are these guys? Never seen them before.”

Y/n gestured towards the three younger boys as they spoke, nodding their head towards the trio. Phil gruffly sighs, remembering the months of resistance against his reign. Y/n notices his sudden change of emotions and intently listens. 

“The kingdom got tired of us. There was lots of gossip about some man who started this huge cult following- something about him being a god or something pretty much. He got so popular that his cult eventually took over the entire kingdom. That's when he convinced all the citizens that he should be king and that we were ‘imposters sent by Lucifer himself’ or something. He overtook the castle, and that's when we all had to sneak away. These three are my sons, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy.”

Techno nods at Y/n with a brief hello, Wilbur hums to show his presence, and Tommy gives a boisterous “hello there!”

Y/n stands there with a dumbfounded expression before responding. 

“Well first off, hello boys, lovely to meet you. Secondly-” they take a deep breath before continuing, “-WHAT?! They just- ambushed you? Just like that? Man, I mean if the people in that kingdom were THAT easy to persuade into some cult, I don’t think you'd wanna rule there anyway.” 

Smalltalk continues between Y/n and Phil, they offer them all a place to stay for as long as they need. Phil expresses his gratitude to Y/n, but there seems to be another conversation going on. 

“Well go on, Tommy! You ask!”

“WHAT?! No, no, no, if you're so curious about it then why don't YOU ask?!”

“I've gotta agree with Wilbur on this one, Tommy. I mean, if we're gonna be livin’ here then you've gotta start pullin’ your weight, you relied on the serfs too much anyway.”

The huddle breaks as the trio stands up straight. Wilbur speaks up, seeming to act like his normal self again.

“Now, excuse me, Mx. Y/n? Tommy has a bit of a question he'd like to ask you, if you would be so kind.”

Wilbur declares, nudging Tommy forward to urge him to speak. Tommy jerks the side of his back away from Wilbur in annoyance. If you try hard enough, you can hear him angrily mutter “bunch of fuckin wrong ‘uns…” under his breath. Tommy turns to Y/n and Phil, clearing his throat before speaking.

“How do you know Phil?"

….

“Wow, way to make that question really captivatin’, Tommy. Way to go.”

“SERIOUSLY Techno shut the FUCK UP!”

Y/n lets out a snort before answering the question. 

“Ahh, Phil here and I used to be partners waaay back. I was his potion dealer and he was a hunter back when that whole pair was popular- not even sure if you guys were alive for that era. We were real close for a good while before that whole thing died out and we went off to do different things. I've got my own thing and by the looks of it Phil does too. But man, you kept the bow and sword? Those ancient things?”

Y/n nods at the sword that Techno is still holding, though he sheathes it back into its holder now that he feels unthreatened. Y/n reaches up, stretching their back and flaring their wings out to stretch as well before relaxing. 

“Oh, here, come inside! I've got a good amount of extra rooms, so make yourselves at home. Something tells me you'll be here for a while.”

#krabs kreates #mcyt x you #mcyt x platonic reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x gender neutral reader #sbi fanfic #sbi x reader #sbi x y/n #sbi x you #philza x y/n #philza x you #philza x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x you #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade x y/n

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 7 (Din Djarin & Paz Vizsla)

For Manda'yaim

Din Djarin x f!reader, Paz Vizsla x f!reader, other unnamed COTW Mandalorians x f!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Now that they have reclaimed their homeworld, the Children of the Watch resurrect an ancient ritual to secure the future of their people. Reader is one of the volunteers chosen to bear the next generation of Mando'ade.

Warnings: Dub-con, CNC, Reader is consenting but unable to withdraw consent, Bondage, Gangbang, Drugged sex, Unconscious sex, Anonymous sex, Children of the Watch are a cult, cult behavior, ritual sex, breeding, breeding rituals, creampies, unrealistic amounts of cum, vaginal plugging, p in v, gratuitous use of Mando'a, religious imagery, no y/n

Inspired by @absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on ao3

The chamber is cold. It is deep in the belly of the mines, and not even the fire in the hearth can warm the small waiting area. Your beskar’gam, save for your helmet, is tucked away in the wardrobe, and you’ve donned the gauzy black shift left folded neatly on the shelf. Now, all you can do is wait.

You don’t have to wait long. The door to the main room slides open. The Armorer stands in the doorway, intimidating as ever, though you do not fear your alor. She says nothing, but you follow her out into the ceremonial chamber.

It’s domed, completely crafted of smooth, dark stone. She brings you to stand on the bridge before the chamber’s enormous entrance. The bridge rises from the hall outside but is seamless where it turns to obsidian. Even the stone dais in the center looks like the room was carved around it.

Stripped away to reveal the greater purpose beneath.

The bridge leads into the water rather than over. The slow flow of the stream encircles the center platform, but to cross, one must enter the shallow pool at the foot of the path.

The Armorer stands at the edge of the water. Your heart is pounding so loud you think you can hear it echo in the chamber.

“Do you wish to proceed?” she asks, lilting voice as commanding and regal as you remember.

“I do.” You hope your faith rings solid beneath the waver of your voice.

If she doubts you, she does not show it.

“Very well. Do you willingly offer your vessel to the Ka’ra, to accept the manda within you, for Manda’yaim?”

Will you let the kings of old grant you the very essence of your people for the good of Mandalore? Of course. “Oya manda.”

“Oya manda,” she agrees, something warm seeping from under her cold, unmoving composition. “Step forward.”

You do, bare feet brushing softly against stone, until you are within reach. Her hands find the lip of your helmet and unlatch the seal, lifting its heft from your neck. Frigid air creeps up, but you shiver more from being exposed than the cold.

She holds your helmet in one arm and steps back into the water. You follow, surprised to find it generously warm. As you settle on your knees, the water lapping up to your waist serves as a balm to your nerves.

You take the curved pot from her other hand when offered and drink of the hot tea within before sinking it below the stream at your knees. The water rushes into it, desperate to fill the gap it left behind. When you raise it, the excess flows over your fingers.

The drink has settled in your core, warmth flooding your veins. You will leave the fears behind there, to be swept from the chamber on the ebb and flow.

The Armorer takes it and holds it aloft. “None shall see your face but I, and when you leave these waters, you will be granted cin vhetin.”

She tilts the pot, warm water rushing down your face.

“Vor entye,” you pledge as the last rivulets drip down, looking at the Armorer through sodden lashes.

“You owe no debt,” she corrects. “It is the reward for your sacrifice. Rise.”

You stand and follow her onto the platform. A thick pad is laid atop the tall stone table. You shed the robe and take comfort in that she sees your bareness as devotion and not transgression.

The haze of the tincture that laced the tea nestles around you. Like when your buir used to carry you to bed after long days of training, when you didn’t last through the songs around the fire past twilight. You climb onto the table, and your body is pliant as she secures it into place.

The thick straps are for your safety, not imprisonment. They keep you tethered to the table and to Manda’yaim while your soul drifts between realms. You pray the Ka’ra won’t find you lacking.

You are secured on your knees, spread wide, and your arms forward in supplication. Your head is held bowed, and the veil is secured to the restraint.

The expanse of the galaxy is settling in around you. You don’t fight it when your vision fades.

There are two men in the room. Two of your vod. They wear no helmets and will be cleansed in the pools before returning to the surface. But no barriers can be permitted between you, and the chamber is sacred.

They don’t look at one another out of respect. They will come and go in pairs, taking turns to feed your womb and ensure your safety.

The Mand’alor is the first to give sacrament at your altar. When the doors are shut, he lifts his helm and anoints himself from the sleek pot. Behind him, Paz remains concealed. He will not shed his helmet until it is his turn, and so he will remain on the bridge to stand guard.

As Din crosses the waters, he pauses to take in your prone form. The swell of your ass in the air, the arch of your spine. The sweet, tender core of you, softly parted for him. He reaches up to run his fingers through your folds. There’s a light dew, there, but you are not ready.

“Don’t tell me this is your first, vod’ika,” Paz calls.

Din disregards the taunt, stroking through your lips until he finds the gem at your apex. With one hand gently rubbing your cheek, he spreads you open a little more and tastes.

“I don’t think that’s generally part of the process,” Paz notes.

“Shut up, vod,” Din sighs. “Should we not be grateful and ease the passage? Besides, she’s sweet. You’ll miss out.”

“I’ll have my turn,” Paz says gruffly.

“Ah, but only after she tastes of me.” Din grins smugly when Paz groans.

“Get on with it. I want to spend as little time with your naked shebs as possible.”

Din returns his lips to your cunt. He could admit he was being a little selfish, but he truly did want to shoulder some of your burden. Couldn’t leave his martyr to suffer. You or the others who had volunteered to bear the future of their planet.

When he’s certain you can take him without difficulty, he withdraws his mouth and fingers, though savoring the way you linger on his tongue.

When he sinks into you, the pleasure he had coaxed from your body eases his way. You accept him, welcome his offering, and he can’t help but devote his attentions to your pliant flesh. Soft moans slip through your peaceful exhalations. Your warm cunt clenches around him, your hips gently rocking back to meet him. You serve your Mand’alor even in sleep, and he bathes you in praise.

You’re submerged. You swim in the Living Waters, and breathe it in as easy as the air. The voices on the surface are low and rumbling, and you drift lower, free to explore, knowing your vod are on the shore. They won’t let you drown. The water is so dark, but when light breaks through, the beskar veins beneath you are all alight.

There is pressure all around you, like a cradle. And you are so, so full. You think maybe the Waters will keep you, consume you. The current fills you, and you let it sink you down, down, down.

Back in the pool at the foot of the dais, Din cleanses his cock of you, but not his soul.

He slides the helmet back over his head and gives a nod to Paz. “For Manda’yaim.”

“For Manda’yaim,” Paz dips his head to Din. When the Mand’alor turns to respect his vod’s wishes, he removes the helmet.

They are both grave now. Bare, but more encumbered than while clad in full beskar'gam. All teasing and taunting has been swept away in the meandering stream.

Not to be outdone by Din, Paz also brings you to your peak with his lips and tongue against your clit. He doesn’t dare lick into you, not out of an aversion to his vod’s taste, but to preserve as much of the Mand’alor’s seed in you as possible.

Paz is broader than his vod’ika in all ways. He expects to find some resistance when he enters you, but the tightness and heat almost make him spill early. That wouldn’t do, not when he would have to hear about it for all of eternity.

He’s brash and impulsive but never uncaring, so his fingers seek your clit as Din’s had. But as he finds a steady rhythm, an unbidden sadness blossoms in his chest.

He’s fairly certain he knows who you are, though he shouldn’t dwell on it. And though he holds no anger to the rest of his vod who will make their tributes to you today, he does wish you’d told him. Or Djarin.

They could have had you, just the two of them, if that’s what you wanted. And who better to gift you a life than the Mand’alor and his General?

Despite the undercurrent of regret, he feels proud. Proud that his vod’ika would give herself to the tribe, would sing the oldest song of their people, and receive nothing less than pure manda in reward. And the image of you, belly round beyond your beskar, sends him over the edge, fingers digging into your hips as he fills you.

It’s long after the sun has set when the Armorer and the Mand’alor return to the chamber. It matters not, as no light can reach you in the depths under the sacred city. This time, when Din approaches the dais, he is fully armored, helmet in place. He takes a box from the Armorer and opens it to reveal the sizeable, solid beskar plug and lifts it from the silky cushion.

You’re overflowing, your body simply unable to contain the twenty or so loads you were offered, their consecrations dripping obscenely from your red, swollen cunt. You jerk against the bonds and moan, half pleasure and half agony, when he parts your lips with one hand—the only part of him left bare.

The plug finds no resistance, but it does displace some of the cum, oozing down your leg. No matter, Din thinks. Most of it remains, and he’s certain he will not have been spilled, not with his seed at the deepest of your core. When the plug is in place, he uses the pot to cleanse you, to bring you back to the surface.

When you begin to stir, he leaves.

Mando'a translations (in order of appearance): Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore Beskar'gam - Beskar armor alor - leader Ka'ra - the stars/ancient Kings from Mandalorian mythology Manda - the collective Mandalorian soul Oya manda - a Mandalorian saying showing eternal solidarity cin vhetin - a blank slate (here used to indicate that the removal of the helmet is forgiven for this ritual) Vor entye - formal "thank you" carrying a debt of gratitude buir - parent Vod - brothers/sisters (in arms/loyalty, not literal) Mand'alor - the ruler of the Mandalorians Vod'ika - little brother Shebs - ass (Source: mandoa.org)

#din djarin x reader #paz vizsla x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2023 #corazondebeskar reads and writes #the mandalorian smut #this is a different style than my others #we will return to your regularly scheduled debauchery tomorrow

[asteroidtroglodyte]

“Oh no my Writing is too niche and weird and not relatable maybe I should dial it back a bit and play it safe-“

Grabs you by the shoulders

Look at me. Look! Look at this book.

Holds up copy of Snow Crash (Neil Stephenson, 1992)

This is a landmark work of fiction! If you like 21st century science fiction or anything Cyberpunk then you have read something that was inspired by this, I assure you.

Within these pages you will follow the adventures of Hiro Protagonist, a beautiful and talented computer programmer with a Cool Sword who Delivers Pizzas for The Mafia (the Cosa Nostra Pizza Co, to be precise), and Y.T. (short for “Yours Truly”) a Totally Radical Mail Kourier with an all-terrain skateboard, a magnetic harpoon gun, and a tendency to refer to herself in the third person.

Together, they must thwart the likes of Bob, (a megalomaniacal telecommunications executive and evangelical cult leader) as he attempts to take over the world by hacking people’s brains using a weaponized version of an ancient Sumerian script (the text of which is from before the fall of the Tower of Babel and which will grant him Administrative Privileges to the minds of those who witness it).

Along the way they will be variously helped and hindered by colorful side characters such as:

Uncle Enzo: Mafia Don, Delivery Pizza Mascot, and Family Man, Uncle Enzo is a bit like if Ronald McDonald wore a black suit and killed people.

Mr Lee: a handicapped robotics magnate who took the idea of weaponizing bodily autonomy to its logical extreme and built himself a Mobile Command Center / Tank armed with mechanical hounds, rockets, lasers, and Freon-powered air conditioning (He explicitly refers to the tank as his “body,” and Hiro muses that he might therefore be the only person in the world who is physically addicted to Freon)

and

Raven: a gigantic and practically unstoppable Aleutian Chief with long black hair, a pair of superlatively sharp obsidian glass knives, and a thermonuclear weapon tucked away in the sidecar of his motorcycle (for a special occasion) Desires nothing more in life than to nuke the USA. Succeeds.

So.

Get “relatability” out of your head as a metric. Tell the story you want to tell. Have fun with it.

I look forward to seeing what you come up with!

#troglodyte thoughts #free range sustainable shitpost #writing #snow crash #Neil Stephenson #unhinged fiction #cyberpunk #tell your story

[impulsivefanwriter]

Other Emperors AU — Ninjago

So. The beloved Ice Emperor. The corrupting potential of the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu + Amnesia + Vex.

Now what if the Ice Emperor came in other flavours?

That’s right, introducing the Other Emperors AU, a collection of different “What ifs” for if other people had been zapped with the staff by Aspheera!

Different Versions:

Earth Emperor / King of the Underworld = Cole

Lightning Emperor / Thunder God / Lightning Striker = Jay

Fire Emperor / Western Wildfire / Fire Maker = Kai

Energy Emperor / Lord of Energy / Luh-Lord = Lloyd

Water Empress / Commander of the Sea / Wrath of the Waves = Nya

Empress of Technology / Automated Empress / Overseer / The Technodrome = Pixal

Creation Emperor / Second Spinjitzu Master / The Creator = Wu

Not all of them are fleshed out (honestly most just have… one or two minor ideas, but I’ll gladly bounce ideas back and forth with people in Reblogs, comments, and/or asks!), but here’s what I’ve got—

Earth Emperor / King of the Underworld

- Got zapped into the Neverrealm instead and lost his memories from a concussion in the fight

- Vex finds him and the staff and convinces him to take it

- He raises/sinks the Earth to create a stone dome over the realm and make it a cavern of tunnels; some call him the King of the Underworld (Hades vibes) for it and he hates it even if he can’t remember why (haha forgotten Skulkin memories)

- Master of the Mountain mixed with ancient mythology vibes

- His hair grows out and becomes partially lava because come on that look just is so cool on him ; his armour is also formed of obsidian/onyx and crystals

- Difficult to anger (a very patient emperor that listens to his people whenever Vex doesn’t interfere) but if you do (usually on Vex’s manipulation) OH BOY you’re in for it now

- Built a dangerous labyrinth King-Minos-style complete with a stone minotaur in the centre that he sends prisoners/people Vex tricks him into thinking are enemies

- Is very fascinated by Kai’s fire (and Jay’s lightning) because the only light source in the caverns are glowing crystals formed from his powers or special regulated flint/coal-based fires

- He keeps Kai with him when the Ninja arrive and banish the rest to the labyrinth to “prove themselves” on Vex’s manipulation (possibly specifically dropping Jay in the minotaur room as a sacrifice because Jay made a menace of himself in the throne room)

- The Ninja make it through the traps because they’re all kinda Cole-themed (like one involves the Triple Tiger Sashay) and arrive back at the throne room after defeating the stone minotaur, much to Cole/Vex’s astonishment/ire respectively

- Cole realizes the Ninja are telling the truth and that Vex has been lying to him and ends up dropping the staff after reverting the Neverrealm back to its original state

Lightning Emperor / Thunder God / Lightning Strike

- Realizes Zane’s vision (yeah, Jay is the only person who knew Zane had a vision and he DISMISSED IT, hecking come on) is about to come true and shoves Zane out of the way of Aspheera’s shot

- Cracked his head on a rock falling through the portal and has zero memories <3 Should he be dead? Probably. But he’s Jay, so he survives, especially with his boosted element lashing out

-  Vex finds him and is so confused over the lightning appearance but realizes he can use it

- Skybound / Lightning Ruins parallels with Jay ripping up chunks of ground and making floating magnetized islands

- Has a very ominous cult following Vex leads because its Jay, of course it would happen, its not the first time

- Is kinda revered more as a ‘godly figure’ than an emperor (Vex uses his status to make orders in Jay’s name)

- Kinda unhinged, but you can blame the staff + Vex + the concussion and blood loss

- Fascinated by Cole because he absorbs/grounds lightning fine ; also fascinated by Zane who is a walking metal lightning rod

- Constantly zapping around

Fire Emperor / Western Wildfire / Fire Maker

- Lost his powers to Aspheera, battled her with the second staff, and got his butt yeeted to the Never Realm- that’s rough, buddy

- Gets his well-deserved focus season

- He really means well and just wants to keep his people safe, but unfortunately it comes across as overly possessive and tyrannical 

- Older brothers so hard that he comes across as evil/possessive and aggressive when he’s trying to be caring and protective

- Don’t have much for him because the fandom already has insanely cool Fire Emperor AUs

Energy Emperor / Lord of Energy / Luh-Lord 

- So many Lord Garmadon parallels

- ONI-DRAGON LLOYD ONI-DRAGON LLOYD

- Also a surprising amount of Morro parallels about making his own destiny

- So, so traumatized and got corrupted simply for wanting to take his fate into his own hands for once

- Punts Vex out of the castle because he’s had enough of people telling him what to do

- Kinda goes back to S1 Lloyd because this kid just wants his childhood back

- Goes from “scary emperor who’s going to execute you” to “excited little kid” the second he sees his siblings

- Taking the staff back hurts because Lloyd isn’t mad, he’s just super sad and confused and pleads with them not to do it

Water Empress / Commander of the Sea / Wrath of the Waves

- The Never Realm just became the Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker

- All the ice and snow melts into an ocean with islands

- Nya builds a big ol’ palace that’s both above and below the water’s surface

- Seabound parallels in terms of architecture (lots of accidental Wojira foreshadowing)

- So. Much. Rage. You anger Nya, you’re done for.

- The staff + her element amplified the ocean’s whispers and she’s kinda merged with the sea but not fully, her memories are a bit scattered

- Was going to take on Vex as an advisor because he convinced her she knew him before her memories got lost/scattered, but then her memories associate him with Krux, and she kicks him onto a lone island

- Her brothers have to face the ocean to get to her. They hate it, but they do it anyway 

Empress of Technology / Automated Empress / Overseer / The Technodrome

- Pixal gets to sacrifice herself for Zane

- While the staff doesn’t amplify powers for her, she still gets boosted strength, speed, smarts, etc., her processor running at 300x proficiency

- Is able to get the mech up and running— she DID build it, after all

- Still loses her memories from Vex’s interference, somewhat reverts to S3 Pixal

- Makes the entire realm “efficient” and rapidly revolutionizes technology

- Easily one of the scariest rulers because of how good she is at it

- Took Vex on as an Advisor because of his knowledge of the realm, then fired him once she was done. 

“But you— you cannot FIRE me! I am your loyal, most trusted advisor—” 

“And you are no longer necessary. There is more important matters to attend to.”

- It’s very difficult to dismantle her empire

Creation Emperor / Second Spinjitzu Master / The Creator

- Aspheera blasts her intended target

- Wu is sent to the Never Realm with the other staff

- The Ninja are devastated because they just lost their Sensei AGAIN just after getting him back

- Wu refuses to use the staff at first but then… well, he starts getting desperate to return. He misses his family. And his essence— creation— could be used to help the people of this realm. So he uses it once or twice, sparingly, to help the villages, to help travellers— and slowly gets more and more addicted. Why does this realm hurt the people in it? If his essence is one of creation, couldn’t he use it to… reform this realm into something more peaceful? More habitable? Remake it in his own image? Correct all the mistakes he’s made, start again, start better—

- FSM and Pilots-S2 Garmadon parallels

- His students manage to get into the Never Realm only to find it “prosperous” and “thriving”

- Bonus if there are copies of them, but the way Wu sees them— uncanny valley alert

- EXTRA bonus if there’s a fake Morro that’s based on how he was as a student / if he’d lived , and a fake Garmadon cured of venom and evil

- Breaking their Sensei out of this illusion of a perfect world really hurts

- Wu is traumatized by all his mistakes and they get acknowledged in this AU whether he wants them to be or not <3

#Other Emperors AU #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago au #Lego Ninjago AU #ice emperor #earth emperor #lightning emperor #fire emperor #energy emperor #water empress #creation emperor #Imp's AUs #ninjago s11 #ninjago season 11 #ninjago ice chapter #ninjago fire chapter #ninjago ice emperor #ninjago s11 AU

[confusedlittleguy]

i love thinking abt fashion and beauty standards in WoF bc its so interesting how different the culture between each tribe is

like

i tried to type out my ideas but its not coming outta my brain hold on

icewings with being shiny and having the biggest antlers and being the cleanest and who has the bluest eyes and having the sharpest quills, theyd probably only wear white or blue 😒

sandwings with having the coolest patterns and having well-groomed hair and stuff abt hair length and style standards changing over time and whos ruling them - up until Oasises rule the beauty standard for hair would be whatever the queen (and sometimes her relatives) look like, and then during the sucession war youre hair could indicate whos side you were on, like being on Blisters side their hair would be braided and long and never cut and facial hair meh :/ they can do whatever as long as its taken care of, but on Burns side theyd have shorter hair, often being shaved/cut into a buzz cut and then cut/shaved back before it grows back and always growing out facial hair and on Blazes side they would care more about their hair being shiny and light or colourful, often beached/dyed white or blue to show that they are allied with icewings, and even soem dragons imitating Queen Glaciers mane of quills but not growing any facial hair even tho they are based in the Ice Kingdom bc honestly Blaze isnt that much of a practical thinker (or one at all) and Scorpian Den dragibs giving zero fucks abt the beauty standards of the rest of the tribe, individual gangs/cults/families/whatever have their own thing and after Thorn becomes queen hair styles become less 'everyone should be like this and or strive to be this' and more of an occupational and place in society type of thing, and also things like obsidian and sapphires and black, blue and pink fabric would probably be something that they think looks pretty

rainwings and being bright and colourful but also being flexible (BECAUSE ITS COOL AND THEY WOULD THINK ITS IMPRESSIVE not for sexual reasons and if someone makes a comment like that im going to throw up a foldable IKEA table) but also smelling nice, like certain flowers or fruit

nightwings with being large and healthy would probably be the traits that they find most desireable, i think that they would incorperate lots of moons and stars and space imagery into their fashion as well as silver and gold

mudwings actually probably wouldnt have beauty standards because they dont care that much about attracting other dragons, but for specific rare 'falling in love' type of instances they would learn about what that dragon likes, for fashion they also probably wouldnt have much except for gold veins between their scales and some headpeices that look like plants or are woven from plants, but that would be more common for higher classes and less common for lower classes

with skywing fashion i was thinking sorta based off european culture (mostly gaelic culture), but for skywings their beauty standards and fashion change with their royalty more than any other tribe, i think in Queen Firestorms rule the beauty standards would be far more relaxed than Scarlets beauty standards, but under Queen Rubys rule the standards would be the most relaxed, but all of them do have one thing in common - jewels, although commonly skywings will uphold the standard that traditional european based (closest to canon) skywings and rocky skywings are more beautiful, although within the avian skywing community they do have similair standards to birds, although its more that avian skywings of all genders look for shinier and brighter partners, duller avian skywings who dont end up having eggs probably end up with each other in toxic marriages/partnerships because they dont really love the other but they want to keep up appearances within their community

seawings - i think they, surprisngly dont have that many beauty standards despite the only two queens we've been shown being absolutely obsessed (/j i am joking) although they definitely do like pearls and probably shells, and patterns of sea stars and sea jellies would be used in clothing

#thats all for now #ill do some ones for pantalan dragons later #wof #wings of fire #sandwing #icewing #nightwing #rainwing #seawing #mudwing #skywing #wof hcs #wof au

[coinandcandle]

Anubis Deity Guide

Who is Anubis?

Depicted as a being with the body of a man and the head of a jackal, Anubis is the Egyptian god of the dead. He is also the god of mummification, lost souls, and the helpless. Anubis is one of the oldest gods of ancient Egypt and was possibly derived from the older jackal god Wepwawet, as the two are often conflated.

Due to his role as god of the dead and afterlife, he also held domain over justice and has been depicted holding scales to determine the “weight” of the person’s soul.

Parents and Siblings

Ra (his father originally)

Hesat (mother)

Bastet (sometimes referred to as his mother)

Osiris (his father in later stories)

Isis (his mother in later stories)

Horus (brother)

Babi (brother)

Sopdet (sister)

Wepwawet (brother)

Bata (brother)

Lovers or Partners

Anput (female counterpart of Anubis)

Children

Kebechet

Epithets

Anpu

Tpy-djuf - He Who Is upon His Mountain

Lord of the Sacred Land

Khentyamentiu - Foremost of the Westerners

He Who Is in the Place of Embalming

Guardian of the Scales

Notes

The name “Anubis” is the Greek form of the Egyptian name “Anpu” which means to decay.

The Greeks associated Anubis with Hermes, the Greek god who guided the dead to the afterlife. The two would be joined together to create Hermanubis, making him more accessible to non-Egyptians.

He was also worshiped in Greece on the island of Delos.

Anubis was said to be the creator of embalming.

His epithet “god of the westerners” means “god of the dead” as the Egyptian term for departed souls was “westerners”. This was because it was said that the afterlife was towards the west, the direction of the sunset.

Anubis was often depicted as a black Jackal or other canine or as a human with the head of a black jackal/canine. The black coloring was likely a nod to the discoloration of a dead body as well as the fertile silt of the Nile.

Anubis was regularly invoked for protection as well as vengeance.

The center of Anubis’ cult was set in Cynopolis, or “the city of the dog” but there were shrines sprinkled throughout all of Egypt.

There is a place that was known as Anubeion, where a shrine and a cemetery of mummified dogs and jackals were discovered east of Saqqara.

Originally Anubis’ father was Ra, though as Osiris gained popularity Anubis’ story got mixed up and he became the son of Osiris and Nephthys. In this later story, Nephthys tricked Osiris into having sex with her and became pregnant with Anubis who she soon abandoned for fear that her husband, Set, would find out about the affair. Osiris’ wife, Isis, found Anubis and adopted him.

In other stories, Anubis was said to be the son of Set or Bastet.

Modern Deity Work

Correspondences

Most of these are modern correspondences I've seen across many

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Obsidian

Smoky quartz

Onyx

Jet

Labradorite

Herbs/Plants

Cypress

Cinnamon

Myrtle

Lotus

Animals

Jackals

Canines

Symbol

Ankh

Offerings

Items or items with images of the things listed above

An altar

Beer

Bread

Candles

Cold water

Dark chocolate

Acts of Devotion

Clean up local cemeteries (don’t try to clean graves unless you have the correct supplies and have been given permission to do so)

Leave flowers on old graves of strangers.

Volunteer or donate to local dog shelters.

Research him

Get involved with spirit work

Volunteer at or donate to orphanages, as he is the patron of lost souls and orphans

Get into herbology; his priests were skilled herbal healers and dealt with many herbs during the mummification process

Practice divination; in the Papyri, Anubis is noted to be an intermediary for divination.

As always this is not an end-all-be-all list. If you have different correspondences or devotional acts in mind then that’s totally fine!

References and Further Reading

Offerings to Anubis - Patheos

Anubis - Egyptian Museum

Anubis - World History

Anubis - Britannica

Anubis - Ancient Egypt Online

Death Dogs - Jackal Gods of Egypt

Devotees and Followers to check out:

@crystalgerblin-enchantress

#Anubis #deity deep dive #deity guide #anubis deity #kemetic #witchcraft