#i figured this could be a good continuation of our prev thread :)

[moonglowmuses]

amanda still could not believe her good fortune. she was a home owner now! this place belonged to her and to john, and that was a remarkable thing. presently, amanda was wearing a wide smile, walking around the kitchen and running her hands over the counter tops. "john... this place is ours! can you believe it?" amanda was almost squealing, that was the extent of her joy. "i just... i cannot believe that this place belongs to us. i can't stop looking at everything, it's so perfect! the cabinets, the showers, the couches!" amanda chuckled, moving so that she could take john's hands. "where else should we explore? i can't get enough of this place!"

@forcafcrtncght

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 12: Vulnerable

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 3462

Warning: Slight mentions of manipulation, Azazel is really a dick in this chapter

A/N: Hey! There's a plot point in this chapter that I've really been looking forward to! I hope you all like it as well! Comments are appreciated!

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Solomon slid the gift back into its box. It was perfect, more than perfect really. The blacksmith had done a phenomenal job and Solomon hadn't hesitated in leaving them a rather handsome tip. He could only hope that Asmo would love it as well. The design came out even better than he dreamed it would when he first concocted it onto paper. All he had to do now was give it to him.

"You seem to be in a wonderful mood!"

"Observant aren't you?"

Diavolo had strayed from his previous path of following his butler to see what Solomon was up to. Barbatos had a garment bag slung over one arm, careful not to let any part of it touch the ground. Diavolo's energy was infectious and Solomon could feel his own smile growing wider.

"It's just good to finally see you feeling at home here," Diavolo placed one hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It was comforting, he could always let his guard down a little more around Diavolo. Not to mention, he was the one who served as his tipping point. He brought up some of Asmodeus' better characteristics which made Solomon open himself up a bit more.

Hopefully his gift would serve its purpose.

Diavolo's eyes shifted down to the box in his hands. "Could that have something to do with how you're feeling?"

Solomon traced his fingers along the edges of the box. Would Asmodeus like it? He could feel his stomach start to churn ever so slightly. It would be so easy for his good mood to sour…

"It is."

"And may I ask what it is?"

"A gift, for Asmodeus."

Diavolo's eyes lit up and Solomon took the box away just as Diavolo reached for it. "I'm sure you'll hear all about it from him once he gets it."

Hopefully.

He loved every other gift he gave him before this point.

The pendant.

The bunnies.

He had good ideas. So why did he still feel so sick?

"So I don't get to see it? Not even a little bit?" Diavolo frowned, reaching for the box again. Solomon pulled it away once more and clicked his tongue.

"I haven't even let Simeon see the finished product. Asmo will see it first, and he can show others if he wishes." And hopefully it wouldn't be to mock him.

"Well in that case you must show him right away! I want to see his reaction as well as what you got him!"

Diavolo's hands suddenly pressed into his back as he started to push Solomon towards wherever he believed Asmo to be. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words wanted to escape. His heels wouldn't even dig into the floor. Diavolo was an incredibly strong man both in heart and… well… strength. And Solomon was just now realizing this.

"My lord," Barbatos cleared his throat, stopping Diavolo in his tracks. He motioned towards the garments on his arm, "Perhaps you could torment his highness another time when it comes to Asmodeus. For now we really should be getting back to Lucifer with your coronation attire."

At the very mention of Lucifer, Diavolo was back by Barbatos' side. Now that Solomon could focus on what was over the butler's arm, he could appreciate it more. The thread was a deep crimson with golden buttons and black trim. It was incredibly elegant, yet powerful. Solomon already felt sorry for any fool who might accidentally dirty it.

"Lucifer and I are preparing our last little details for his coronation. I can't wait to see him wearing that crown. He'll look every bit the wonderful ruler I know he can be. Even if he is nervous."

"My lord-"

Solomon didn't miss the way Barbatos jabbed his side or the pointed look he threw his way. Honestly, Barbatos seemed less like a butler and more like a caretaker or a parent. It was a bit comical.

"Yes yes, in any case I will be figuring out what little secrets you're hiding Solomon one way or another." He was a playful man. It wasn't a wonder that the brothers had accepted him quicker than they had Solomon. He had a way of worming into people's hearts and rooting himself there.

He was genuine.

He was a good man.

He couldn't think of anyone more worthy to be with the crown prince, and with his help he was positive Lucifer would accomplish many wonderful things. They would build a strong empire together.

Azazel was right.

It would indeed be a new era.

"So don't you think about trying to hide anything from me."

"What secrets could I possibly hide from you?"

Solomon did have secrets, not from Diavolo, but from someone he should really come clean to. Asmodeus deserved to know details he'd omitted from him. Details about the pendant, why he wanted this marriage so badly in the first place.

Perhaps he should run back to his room to grab his notes.

He could go over them with him.

That would be nice.

"You never know what the great and mysterious King Solomon could be hiding, but if you say you're true, then I'll believe you" Diavolo continued on with a wink, "Best of luck to you your majesty, I'm sure he'll love it. After all, he adores you. Trust me."

Solomon wasn't sure what prompted the next words out of his mouth, "Are you sure?"

The conversation stopped, and immediately regret filled his entire being. He had never showed an ounce of insecurity while he was here. It was dangerous for a king to show his own weaknesses. They could be exploited, they could kill them. But for some unknown reason, he slipped.

Barbatos and Diavolo shared a look for a moment. The quiet seemed to stretch on forever and Solomon had to force himself to resist squirming. Finally, Barbatos nodded and Diavolo went to speak, “I’m positive.”

How could he be so confident in how Asmodeus felt?

He knew his fiance talked to Satan quite a bit. Was Diavolo also in that inner circle? That would mean that Asmo also told him everything that Satan knew. That idea made blood rush towards his face.

What had Asmodeus said that made Diavolo so confident?

“We must be off now,” Barbatos straightened the outfit out over his arm, “We’ve kept his majesty waiting long enough.”

“True, I have kept my husband waiting long enough. Farwell Solomon!”

Solomon watched them walk away until they disappeared. He clutched the box in his hands a little tighter. He could do this. He’d done more challenging things in the past. He could do this. He could do this…

***

When did seeing Asmo make him feel so nervous?

He was speaking with Mammon and Satan and he hadn’t seemed to notice Solomon yet. Mammon must have said something rather amusing, because Asmo’s bell like laugh rang out into the room and Solomon felt his heart skip a beat. He had his doubts that Asmo would even be interested in his gift.

Where had all his confidence gone? When he first came here, he was confident that Asmodeus had been infatuated with him. He could do anything he wanted and he was so sure his fiance would follow him around like a lost puppy. Asmodeus would be more than willing to do anything and everything for him, and Solomon wouldn’t have to worry.

What changed?

The box in his hands suddenly felt twenty times heavier than it had before.

Asmo looked like he was glowing, he was the very picture of perfection. What Solomon wouldn’t give to pull his hand away from his face so he could look at his wonderful smile. Maybe he would even be able to capture the rosy tint of his cheeks or how his eyes sparkled when he got excited. He could allow himself to indulge in the soft texture of his skin or follow how his body curved.

He was beautiful inside and out, and Solomon had not been treating him in a way he deserved.

Yes, he started trying.

Yes, he’d probably gotten better.

But he couldn’t erase what had happened, nor how he acted.

Perhaps that’s what had him so nervous, but it would be hard to know. Unweaving his own web of complicated emotions proved to be one of the harder tasks that Solomon would have to accomplish. The trio started to walk off, and Solomon wasn’t able to move in time to catch up with them, especially not with the hand being placed onto his shoulder.

“Solomon! Hello, I see you have your notes with you and I have some free time,” Solomon found himself being spun around so that he could face Azazel. He hated being caught off guard like this. It became so easy for him to just become lost in Asmo that he was starting to lose his touch. He was losing his alertness. Normally he would have been able to hear Azazel come up from behind him. His head seemed to go on autopilot and went to swivel back in Asmo’s direction, but something stopped him. It felt like a hand holding his face in place, but nothing was there. “Why don’t you step into my study?”

He became much more protective over the box on their walk. Azazel’s words were nothing more than a buzzing in his ear, but he couldn’t ignore the way he was glancing at the box, “And what do you have there? Some artifact you wish to share?”

“Actually, it’s a gift… For Asmodeus.”

The mood shift was evident, and the atmosphere in the room suddenly became even more uncomfortable.

Azazel tutted, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “You’re going to spoil him if you give him too many gifts. You should only really reward him when he does something to earn it.”

“He’s my fiance,” Solomon was impressed with how even his voice was staying, “I think I have the right to spoil him if I wish.”

“Perhaps, if he wasn’t already spoiled.” Azazel was getting on his nerves.

Solomon didn’t say a word to continue. Whether or not Azazel took this as annoyance didn’t seem to matter as he continued to speak. “You have to keep your priorities straight. Distractions will lead to your downfall. My brother often got distracted by pretty little things too.”

Solomon hoped Azazel didn’t catch the way he bristled.

“His mother was so similar to him. She was beautiful, a seductress, and my brother fell right into her trap. It’s no surprise that she couldn’t give him a decent prince.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

The smile that stretched across Azazel’s lips was nothing short of disgusting, and Solomon fought to hide the way that crawled under his skin.

“You know what I mean. At least he managed to get one more decent prince and a princess after her, but the only useful thing Asmodeus has done was serve as a bargaining chip.”

Solomon wanted him to stop talking.

“Of course, we had to make some little changes, do a little training to make sure he played his part right.”

Solomon had played into their hands. He probably proved them right in Asmodeus’ eyes.

“It would have been easier if my niece was still alive and if we didn’t have to jump through the hoops we did, but he did a decent job. You know, I was certainly surprised she died and not my youngest nephew. He’s always been sickly, I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

He’d been an unknowing pawn.

“Luckily it didn’t matter to you in the end. We figured just as much, that you would care more for what Arcadia could offer you than who you would have to marry to get in, and that is completely understandable! You’re a scholar after all. So in the end, it didn’t really matter.”

“You still let him believe that it would matter,” Solomon wished his voice wasn’t as soft as it had come out, “You let him believe that the outcome would be terrible.”

He stopped walking up the stairs. He didn’t know when that had happened. He didn’t know why he couldn’t move. All he knew was that he was frozen, and that the air was being sucked from him, making his lungs feel dry.

He’d been played.

Cold hands grabbed the underneath of his chin and forced him to look into Azazel’s eyes.

Everything stopped.

The world was quiet, save for the crackling of the torches.

“Some things are necessary to save the future of an empire, and I would say a little manipulation was needed in my nephew’s case. He isn’t the only one that we’ve pushed in the right direction,” Azazel mused, moving some of the hair out of Solomon’s eyes, “But surely a noble king like yourself would understand that.”

Azazel went towards his arm and grabbed the papers he had. He flipped through them slowly and frowned a little more with each one he flipped past. Each slip of parchment fell down the steps. All the while, Solomon still remained frozen in place.

Unable to speak.

Unable to move.

Azazel let the last piece slip out of his hands and disappeared behind the door, only to return with a book. He slipped it under Solomon’s arm. “You don’t have anything new. You really shouldn’t fall behind on your studies. It isn’t becoming.”

With that, he slipped back up the steps and the door shut, leaving the torches to die. All Solomon could do was slip down the side of the wall.

He had been nothing but a tool, and not in a way he prepared himself to be used.

***

“What did you want to talk with me about?”

After his encounter with Azazel, it took Solomon a few more days to gain back the confidence to give Asmo his gift. Even now, as they walked into the trees, Solomon still felt incredibly nervous, all too aware of the contents in his satchel. “We’ll discuss it when we get there,” he said, clutching his satchel a little tighter.

Asmo snuggled up closer to his side, “You know if you want to get me alone you can just say so. I know lots of places where we could be safe.”

Solomon still wasn’t immune to his fiance’s implications. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested. Quite the contrary, he was more than interested, but it never felt like the right time. Not to mention, Asmodeus had a very protective older brother and some other nosey siblings.

“You’re cute when you get all red, I like the way the tips of your ears light up like that,” Asmodeus continued, wrapping his arms around Solomon’s and nuzzling into his shoulder, “I might just have to keep talking like that just to see your reactions.”

Solomon loosened his grip on his bag and used his other hand to comb through Asmo’s hair and down his face as they continued, “Well, you are more than pleased to do that if you wish, but I can also promise that I’ll be more forward if that is my intention.”

Clearly that was the right answer as giggles filled his ear.

So far so good.

Despite the mood seeming alright, Solomon’s stomach was still doing flips. Hopefully he wouldn’t throw up, the last thing he needed was to empty the contents of his stomach into a bush. He wanted to keep the sweet atmosphere around them, and something like that would certainly ruin their night.

There was so much he wanted to communicate to Asmodeus, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to do that.

Eventually they came to a spot in the woods where they had met before. Solomon took a seat on a fallen log, let his satchel slip to the ground, and patted the seat next to him. Asmodeus took his seat gracefully and made sure he was as close to Solomon as he could possibly be.

Solomon thought over his words carefully before he spoke, “I haven’t been wonderful to you Asmodeus, and I’d like to apologize.”

Asmo opened his mouth, but Solomon raised his hand, and the atmosphere became more solemn. Hopefully he wouldn’t ruin anything. He enjoyed finally knowing a little more about Asmo and getting closer to him.

“You’re wonderful,” he continued, “Very wonderful, and I realize that you deserve someone good. I hope that that is someone I can become.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at Asmodeus, not yet. The guilt was still chewing away at him, and he didn’t want whatever expression that currently resided in Asmo’s eyes to kill his nerves. He needed to do this, and he’s put it off long enough. “I hadn’t been interested in you. You were right. I didn’t love you, and I’m still unsure how I feel, but I was more interested in actually having an in to Arcadia. You were just my ticket.”

He gestured towards Asmo’s chest to the scorpion pendant, “The pendant I gave you is imbued with magic. Magic that allowed me to have a glance into what your feelings might have been. I have the matching one. Of course, it was my way to make sure that I still had your affections and that I hadn’t done anything absolutely terrible or-” Solomon stopped and put his head in his hands laughing a bit to himself, “Fuck I sound like such an ass.”

Surprisingly, Asmodeus had stayed quiet and Solomon wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse. He went rooting through his bag and pulled out the box. Now it was time. He was going to be a better man for Asmodeus. He deserved a better man, especially with how he had played directly into Azazel’s manipulation. Solomon wanted Asmo to feel safe with him. He didn’t want to be his overlord, he wanted to be his equal.

“The point is, I want things to change. I like you Asmodeus, I do, and I realize I’ve been terrible. I want to be better for you, I want you to be happy. You’re truly something else Asmodeus, and you deserve to be adored,” he pushed the box closer to Asmodeus and waited for him to take it. He quickly looked away the moment he started opening it. Inside was a shining dagger with a scorpion tail engraved into the blade, the hilt itself resembled the rest of the scorpion, and in its claws was a shining red ruby. “I expect my husband to be as beautiful as he is dangerous,” he explained, “Never let anyone take you for granite or take advantage of you. You are good enough, and you are incredibly powerful.”

“That’s-”

“Similar to what I said to you on the first day. I mean it Asmodeus.”

He thought for hours about what he was going to say, until he realized that there were no better words to describe what he felt. Asmodeus was strong and special, and he wanted him to remember that. Things were silent for a few more moments and Solomon dared to look up, Asmo was gently caressing the blade, transfixed by how it it glinted in the moonlight,

Then their eyes met.

Solomon wasn’t sure what happened.

All he knew was that Asmo’s lips pressed against his own. The blade pressed lightly against his spine as Asmo’s arms tightened around him, but he barely noticed.

How long had it been since he’d been kissed?

How long had it been since he’d been kissed like this?

His hands wrapped around Asmo and after what seemed like an eternity, his fiance pulled away. He took one hand away to dab at his eye. His eyes looked so gooey and soft, and it made Solomon melt.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “I love it, I’m going to keep it by my side forever.”

His head tilted and his lips came closer again, “I think I love you.”

As they sat there under the moonlight, Solomon couldn’t help but think the same thing. The blade against his back disappeared along with the rest of the world as his eyes slipped shut, and Solomon’s heart became a little lighter.

He could still be a good man to Asmodeus, he could be a good husband to him.

“I think, I may love you too,” Solomon murmured, causing another laugh to escape Asmo before their lips came together once more.

Asmodeus had stayed true to his promise. Somehow he had managed to slip his way into Solomon’s heart, and he was sure that he’d stay there. Solomon felt himself push closer the longer they stayed together, and slowly Asmodeus leaned back onto the ground, Solomon following after.

[solarwriting]

the world cup + return to hogwarts

— Cedric Diggory, (future) George Weasley

Summary:  part one of (hopefully) a future series

Genre: fluff

Word Count: +2.7k

Warnings: fluff, embarrassment, swearing, mentions of death  

Listen To: ♫ Mine — Taylor Swift

< prev.   next. >

“Y/n M/n Granger! Get out of this bed right now!” hermione shouted, hitting her older sister with a pillow between each word she spoke. 

“Okay, okay! ‘Mione! ’M up!” Y/n grabbed the pillow and threw it at the girl.

The pillow landed on the floor, not making it anywhere near her sister who sighed, “Good. Now, get up and get ready. We’re leaving soon.” Y/n sighed, assuring her sister she was getting up before he left with Ginny to wake up Harry and Ron. 

It was a shock for the Granger family when they got a letter, sent by an owl no less, stating their eldest daughter was a witch that would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was an even bigger shock when, just two years later they got an almost identical letter for their youngest. Y/n was sorted into Hufflepuff but wasn’t shocked when Hermione got sorted into Gryffindor. Y/n was happy when she saw her little sister making friends as soon as she got onto the train. 

Y/n huffed as she trekked up the hill, walking between the twins while everyone else was up ahead slightly. “Arthur there you are!” She heard a voice shout from up ahead. 

Arthur introduced Amos Diggory as his son, Cedric jumped from the tree. Hermione and Ginny smiled at each other and the twins, still on either side of Y/n elbowed the girl and raised their eyebrows at her suggestively, knowing she had a thing for the handsome Hufflepuff. Y/n muttered a small shut up to the boys before meeting eyes with a smirking Cedric. Y/n felt her face heat as they began walking towards a boot.

Y/n lagged behind and Cedric did the same. “How’s summer been?” She asked quietly. 

Cedric’s arm brushed against her as they walked, “Boring, you’ve already heard the interesting things in all the letters. What about you? You’ve been staying with the Weasleys, right?”

Y/n looked at him and smiled, “It’s only been a week and there’s so much I could tell you. The twins go crazy with their pranks.”

Y/n was about to continue but before she could she was at the boot being instructed to grab it by Mr. Weasley. Y/n felt herself be pulled through the air and felt as if she was free falling. Her and Hermione both shrieked as they fell to the ground.

Y/n grunted as she fell to the ground, eyes closed tightly. She groaned as George landed on top of her. “Ugh, George.” She mumbled in vain, she opened her eyes and watched as Cedric floated down with ease, “G-get off of me, George.” y/n huffed using more effort as she shoved the ginger off of her.��

Cedric watched in amusement as Fred spoke up, “He’s not George, I am!”

Y/n sat up, “Very funny, Fred, but I think after all this time I can tell you two apart.” She narrowed her eyes at him, as if challenging him to question her again before he backed off. 

Cedric stifled a laugh offering his hand for her to grab. Y/n took it and was pulled up, he pulled her a little too hard and she fell into his chest, his arm going around in an almost hug. “That felt intentional.”  She mumbled,suddenly glad no one was paying attention to them.

Arthur and Cedric’s father lead the group over the hill and the two found themselves in the rear of the group again. “It was.” Cedric siad with a smirk, y/n tried and failed to stop herself from smiling and bumped her shoulder against his. 

She gasped as they got to the peak of the hill, as far as she could see were tents lining a clearing. People everywhere were in full celebration, partying for friends and family. The group wove through the tents until they stopped and bid the diggorys goodbye for now, continuing on a short distance towards their own tent.

“Oh shit, I forgot my bag by the portkey. i’ll be right back!” Y/n said turning to rush off.

“Wait, how will you find the tent?” Hermione asked.

Y/n was already walking away as she shouted her answer, “I'll figure it out!” She wove back through the tents making her way back to Cedric's tent.

“I’ll be right back, I promise!” Cedric said as he exited the tent. He crashed into y/n, he wasn’t looking before he began walking. “Hello, love.” He laughed as he caught her by the shoulders.

She wrapped her arms around him, glad to be able to finally hug him without fear of teasing from the twins, “Hello to you, too.” Cedric pulled away from the hug and led her away from the cluster of tents and to the bottom of the hill the portkey still laid on. 

No longer caring about the prying eyes of strangers, Y/n pressed her lips to Cedric's softly. It was short and sweet and Cedric smiled as he leaned his forehead against her’s. “I’ve missed you.”

Y/n’s fingers threaded through his hair, “And I’ve missed you.” She tugged him closer and kissed him again, this time with more hunger than before. Cedric’s hands ran from her waist to her hips, squeezing slightly when she bit on his lip. 

“I cannot wait to get you properly alone.” Cedric muttered between deep breaths, causing her stomach to do flips. She pulled away from him as he chased her lips for a moment before parting, chests heaving. 

“They’re going to start missing us soon,” Y/n muttered, tugging her now slightly puffy lip in between her teeth. 

Cedric sighed slightly frustrated, “I know.” He connected their lips in a bruising kiss. It felt as if the wind was knocked out of her. 

“Bloody hell!” The two jumped apart at the shout that came from an all too familiar ginger. Y/n squeaked, pressing her finger to her bottom lip as she stared at her shoes. 

“Get a room, you too!” George groaned. 

“I think i’m scarred for life.” Ginny mumbled covering her face before looking back up at Y/n, “We were sent to find you so you wouldn’t get lost.”

“Yeah,” Fred started. 

“But it looks like you were a bit busy,” George continued. 

Cedric, similarly to Y/n avoided eye contact with the trio of gingers choosing to stare off to the left of him. Y/n sighed and looked up at them, her finger still holding onto her lip, “Okay, I’m coming just one second? Please?”

Fred nodded, crossing his arms, “We’ll allow it.” 

“But we’re going to be right over here so don’t start snogging again.” George finished as they walked away, out of earshot but still close enough to see the couple. 

“So much for not getting embarrassed by our family. Are you okay?” Cedric asked, pulling her hand away from her face.

“Yeah, it's just that you bit my lip when they scared us.” Y/n mumbled, squeezing Cedric’s hand in silent reassurance. “I should go before they keep embarrassing us.” 

“See you later, love.” Cedric said before kissing her sweetly.

“We said no snogging!” A voice called.

Y/n laughed at the twins muttering another bye as she walked away, Her hand still linked with Cedric’s. She dropped it as soon as the distance grew too big and he turned to make his way back to his own tent. 

“The game doesn’t start for hours. Why did you need me to go back?” Y/n wondered as the four made their way back.

“Why, want to go back to making out with your boyfriend?” Fred teased.

Y/n flushed, “I-No, I was just wondering.”

They spent a few hours in the tent before they met up with the diggorys once again. Cedric was looking very awkward as Fred whispered something to George, causing him to snicker. Y/n elbowed the boys, shooting them a glare before pushing past them to walk with Cedric. 

They all made it to the top of the viewing area and cheered as the game started. At the railin, Y/n stood between Cedric and George, Fred on George's other side. The twins were jeering at the game when the opposing team scored. Y/n chuckled leaning into Cedric slightly. She dropped one of her hands from the railing she was holding onto so she could link her pinky with Cedric's. 

She smiled at him slightly, face flushed from the wind and the small display of affection. They leaned into each other for the rest of the game, both ignoring their flaming faces. After the game, the pair found themselves behind the rest of the group. They held hands as they climbed down the stairs and once they got to the tents Cedric gave Y/n a reassuring squeeze and bid her goodbye.

Everyone was in the tent, the twins were circling the table Ron stood on, teasing him for his infatuation with Krum. The commotion outside, Mr. Weasley left to check out what was going on. He soon returned telling everyone to get back to the portkey and to stick together. Y/n grabbed onto Hermione and began running. “Harry!” Hermione kept shouting, she tugged Y/n back, “We have to go back for him!” 

“Hermione we can’t! There’s to many people running around, if you let me get you somewhere safe, then I’ll go look for him, okay.” Hermione nodded sadly allowing Y/n to lead her to the edge of the campsite, near the hill where the portkey was. As so as Y/n let go of Hermione’s hand she grabbed onto Ron who was already at the hill and ran back towards the cluster of tents.

“Hermione!” Y/n shouted, she tried to rush after them but the twins grabbed onto her, holding her back.

“It’s going to be okay,” Fred reassured.”

“Yeah, Dad’s out there and she’s with Ron. They’ll find Harry and Dad and be right back okay?” George reassured, pulling her into a hug, “Let’s get to the portkey, yeah?”

-

A few days had passed and school had begun. After the usual sorting of the first years, Dumbledore announced quidditch would be cancelled and in place of it Hogwarts would be hosting the famed triwizard tournament. he introduced the ladies from Beauxbaton and the boys from Durmstrang. Dumbledore, to most students’ dismay, warned that only those of age would be able to submit their names into the goblet of fire because of the danger the tournament presents.

Y/n giggled when she saw the twins a few tables down shouting “that’s rubbish!” As other students joined in with their own protests. Dumblefore quieted and announced everyone only had a few days to submit their names, warning that this was not to be taken lightly, it was dangerous and if your name was to be pulled you had to participate alone.

After dinner, Y/n found herself with Cedric, “I’m upset because I worry! People have fucking died, Cedric. I need you to get that through your thick ass skull!” Y/n cried, her voice low. She was sitting sideways on one of the many couches that was in the Hufflepuff common room, facing Cedric. 

He groaned, running his hand over his face. He noticed the few people still in the common room at, he checked the time, quarter to one in the morning. He chuckled slightly, ‘It’s kinda cute how she gets mad when she’s worried,’ he thought. He grabbed her hands softly, “I need you to get it through your thick ass skull that I’m not going to die. If I get picked, I’m going to win.” He was being smug, trying to lighten what had been a tense conversation on its way to becoming an argument.

Y/n felt her lip quiver, she hoped no one was watching her and Cedric (no one was, the common room had been empty for about forty five minutes). Cedric softened, any humor or anger dissolving from him. He pulled her arm, signaling her to move closer, “C’mere.” She moved and the two of them shuffled around for a moment until she was on his lap, her legs around his waist, his chin on her head, and her face buried into his neck. His arms were wrapped around her tightly. 

“I’m okay, you’re okay, everyone’s okay. No one’s going to die.” He said softly. After a few minutes of holding Y/n, Cedric looked up and noticed the completely empty common room, “Hey,” He whispered, nudinging the tired girl who sat up from his shoulder and looked at him confused. “Let’s go to bed. We don’t need to worry about the tournament right now.” She nodded murmuring her tired agreement, slowly getting up and making her way to the staircases leading up to separating dormitories.

She pulled Cedric into a hug, "I'm sorry for getting upset. I worry about you, I love you, so I always will." 

He smiled and pulled out of the hug, "I love you, too." He lifted her chin with his forefinger and thumb, connecting their lips in a sweet yet tired kiss. She hesitantly pulled away and pressed her forehead to his.

She looked up at him through her lashes and sighed, “I guess if you don’t die. I guess putting your name in the cup wouldn’t be so bad, plus there’s only a small chance you get picked.” She explained sheepishly, drawing a laugh from Cedric who kissed her on the cheek before turning to go upstairs to bed.

-

Y/n sighed as she walked towards the great hall, a sixth year Gryffindor ran up to her, “The twins have cooked up something to try and put their names in.” He looked sympathetic when the girl swore and rushed to the great hall where everyone was cheering for Cedric who was looking a little embarrassed with the amount of attention he was getting, one of his mates slapping him on the back. The two exchanged small smiles before Y/n scanned the room to see the twins stand up from being lectured by her sister and link their arms. 

“Ready, Fred?”

“Ready, George.” 

“Bottoms up!” They said in unison, downing whatever potion they concocted everyone around them cheering as they jumped into the circle. Y/n stood next to Hermione as everyone held their breath, waiting to see what sort of punishment the age line had for them. They high fived and everyone cheered once again as they each dropped a slip of paper into the goblet. 

“Yes!” they cheered slowly, dancing around the circle drinking up the attention around him. For just a moment it seemed it had work until the two boys were knocked out of the circle, their fiery red hair greying by the second. Y/n and Hermione exchanged a look that said, ‘what idiots.’

Hermione sighed and opened her book as Y/n stood in front of the boys who now had thick, grey beards. She crossed her arms and looked at them in a way that could rival their mother’s. The crowd let out teasing oohs as the boys froze from their fighting and looked up at her. One, whose she believed to be George (the beards made telling them apart worlds difficult) had a hold of Fred by the front of his robes, hand pulled back ready to punch.

George slowly dropped Fred, looking slightly scared. Y//n sighed deeply, walking between the boys who had separated and sat on the floor. After a moment of her not doing anything the twins relaxed, only for Y/n to grab them both by the ears. They let out whining protests as she drug them out of the great hall, hearing laughter from the other students as they passed Victor Krum and Karkaroff.

“Ow! Y/n, please!” Fred whined. Him and George were bent down, y/n’s firm grip on their ears keeping them from standing straight up. She dropped her hold on them and they straightened up, grumling as they rubbed their ears. 

She punched both of them on their arms, hard enough to leave a bruise, they both hissed at the sharp pain, their ears forgotten about. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Fred opened his mouth to explain himself but was quickly cut off, “You know what? I don’t care. I just want you to go talk to Dumbledore right night now and get this,” She gestured to their greyed hair, “Fixed!” The twins muttered an apology before they turned away and entered the hallway leading to Dumbledore's office.

[comic-brew]

On Smoldering Ashes

Chapter Two: If any more blood is to be spilt

@whumptober2020 days 3. Held At Gunpoint, 6. "Stop, Please", 9. "Take Me Instead", 14. Branding and 21. Stitches (Altprompt)

Series summary: Bruce Wayne has gotten vulnerable. Bruce Wayne has found love. His love and his kids are all he needs to find happiness. Some sick concept of fate doesn't like him being happy.

Notes: Forgive me for I have sinned. Oh god, oh lord, what in the blazing hells is this. Shitty shitty but I'm tired and late *drops mic* (37 mins/4.6k words I've exhausted tumblr's paragraph limit)

Warnings: RATED MATURE. Graphic depictions of child abuse and torture, graphic depictions of violence, blood, swearing, heavy I guess angst

AO3 | Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

***

"Why" Dick hears Bruce's voice implore. "Why are you doing this? I thought-"

Bruce's merely balancing on his toes inches from the end of the cliff, Dick can figure just by the way his voice wavers like it has only ever done no more than a couple times in the past.

Cecile knows this. She knows Bruce, and she knows this. And quite possibly she's enjoying it way too much.

"Because, dear, who can say they're getting paid to practise their hobbies?"

Dick can only gawk at her, an frankly that's the only thing all the others seem able to do as well.

Hobbies?

They're nothing but a plaything to her.

It doesn't seem right. This shouldn't be happening. Dick should be helping B plan the wedding that made him beam just at the thought of taking place.

Not being held in an unknown location by his could-be step mother.

They really dodged a bullet, but in doing so they fell right into a different trap.

His family's unable to speak, stunned by the sudden revelations. He can't blame them, nor can he blame Jason for cursing under his breath.

Barbara's the first to snap out of their trance.

"What could you possibly want that Bruce's money couldn't get you?" she asks. Her true goal though, expertly weaved inside is search of Cecile's motive.

There's none.

Cecile giggles. "Oh dear. It's never about money. It's not personal either, if that's what's bugging all of you. And although my client does pay a fair amount, in reality.. pain and suffering are simply way too enjoyable."

Client, Dick notes. Somebody's paying for this. Somebody that most likely knows who they are when night falls. Somebody dangerous.

Cecile then turns to look directly at Bruce, as she expertly hides her poison inside cheerfully spoken words.

"And you, love, with as many kids as you have here,-" she says, and Bruce's face crumples, "-are going to be a very, very interesting subject"

Duke shakes his head in disbelief at the woman.

"You're sick"

Cecile sits back and ponders on this statement for a bit. Just for a split second, so it's enough to pass across that message, but not quite long to let them be freed from that entrapping mist of concurrent desire for knowledge, and repulse keeping them bound to every word that falls from her lips.

"Perhaps I am" she ventures.

"Perhaps we're all sick, just in different ways. Have you ever thought of that?"

Dick has in fact thought of that, but his answer would never share meaning with Cecile's. How different really are they from the people they fight? They lock all those costumed freaks up in Arkham, but they themselves could very well be described in the exact same way. Sometimes he wonders if they're insane for choosing this life, and the answer that his mind spits out is always yes.

Every life they save is worth it. That's the truth that makes him continue to put on the suit every night, even though the wounds inflicted on him the previous night are still healing.

But are they really making a difference? Aren't they just lunatics running around in kevlar and spandex. Isn't all the grime and mold of the city simply feeding off of them like leeches?

Dick can't focus on that now. Questioning his life choices might have to wait until he's not that tied up.

Heh. Tied up.

Meanwhile Cecile has exploited the moment of nonplussed silence she's created to tighten her sleek ponytail.

Keeping the attention to herself. Every move is calculated to milliseconds.

"Okay, so here's how this is going to go" she begins, clasping her hands together, then motioning towards their hanging limbs. "Do you see those cool little bracelets on your hands?"

On cue, nine heads tilt upwards to test Cecile's statement. And there, right on his forearm Dick can spot a faint blue light shining dully on what seems to be the middle of a silver-like device.

"Those give us, the immense pleasure of electrocuting you whenever you folks might try to escape, or cause any unwanted trouble" she informs, with her mouth taut into a completely mechanical smile.

"Or.. you know. If we're just bored and feel like it"

"And this little screen right in front of you, it's pretty bland now, if you ask me"

She then starts pacing around in the segregated room, seeming to find great amusement in hearing how her heels click against the concrete.

"Well what if I told you the sight will get more entertaining?"

Dick doesn't like this.

"Before you ask, I will not spoil the experience for you. But I will give you this: you will be the stars of a grand performance. You in particular, circus boy should be thrilled by this fact"

He flinches when he mentions him in that way. It's then that his mind fully comprehend just how much she knows them.

It's not just some kidnapping, of those they've had many before. But it's never been like this. Never has a stranger gotten so close only to betray them for laughs.

Some could argue that it was a similar case when Jason had come back, but Jason had always had a motivation. A goal.

Cecile's doing this for nothing else than pleasure.

Before he can compose himself and reply her voice strikes again, this time in the form of a snarl. "So? Any volunteers?"

No, Dick doesn't like this at all.

"Leave them alone" Bruce demands, only it's not precisely Bruce anymore. Not only has his voice assumed the dark edge of the Knight, but his speech is completely neutral, apathetic. Somehow, his emotional state is even more prominent that way.

"It's me you want to get back to"

"Oh, no" Cecile frowns. "No, no Brucie. This is not about you. Hell, it's not even about them. It's about me. And I say it will be nicer to leave you for last."

She rests a finger on her chin contemplatively, but it's fake. It's all fake, and provocatively so. Cecile's head twists around so that her malicious glare lands on Damian.

"How about our little asshole over here?"

No. Not Damian. Never in a million years. Never in a billion years.

"If you value your life you'll stay away you imbecilic Jezebel" Damian hisses, but Cecile makes no motion to enter their space. Instead, the man in black leaves his post to disappear behind the door Cecile had previously entered from, most likely leading even further away.

"I do value my life"

He comes back with three more identically dressed men, one slightly leaner than the other, and one slightly taller.

"Plenty, for that" she says loftily, and while one of the men returns to his post by her side, the other two barge in through a barely visible door next to the right end of the glass.

There's an outrage as the men quickly advance towards the boy. Everything's blurry and spinning and his ears are ringing so that Dick can't quite figure out if he's shouting along with his brothers and sisters or if he's simply been trapped in a lucid dream all this time.

Voices and bangs and thuds and yells, it all gets lost in the end. So much thunderous noice, yet still it can he broken down to its core. Raw and frantic cries of dissent, repeated over and over in a canon, until the words and senses are but a blurred collage of ire and desolation.

Cecile whips a rectangular device from her suit's pocket and before her finger has enough time to hover above one of the polished buttons, the last is pressed and Damian's body is released from the pipeline.

The boy wastes no time, immediately lunging for the men, and despite any rust slowing down his joints because of their inactivity, he manages to hold off the two men looming over him with size thrice his own.

Dick wants to hold hope inside his heart, but he knows it's futile. He also knows Damian is aware that this fight was lost before it even began, but his baby brother isn't a quitter, nor a coward by his own standards.

If Cecile is startled by Damian's fierce resistance, she doesn't let it show. Her finger finds the device held loosely in her grasp, and a different button is pushed. Sparks that are birthed from the device on Damian's forearm begin to climb throughout his every inch of flesh, until he soon collapses to the ground -like lifeless weight.

The men drag him out of their view, and Dick swears he witnessed a smirk manifesting on their faces while they yelled with all their might, yet completely powerless.

***

It starts with low and hollow grunts. It starts with insults, it starts with defiance, it starts with barely discernible hisses.

Most importantly, it starts with no image.

Only screams. Separated by breathless gasps.

"Please, stop"

Dick's heart shrinks into his chest, sinking deep, deep down, until his lungs are under too much pressure to expand.

The screen flickers to life only after the first hollow screams have subsided.

It's.. not a good sight. Nobody expected it to be.

The room is small and dark, the camera feed is black and white and grainy, but that doesn't help in reducing the horror.

The image focuses enough for Dick to make out Cecile finishing stitching deep gashes on Damian's torso back together in the worst way possible.

Cecile retracts her hand hastily, like she's forgotten something. She lolls her head to the side, waving primly towards the camera.

"Stay tuned for a surprise" she whispers almost conspiratorially before turning to Damian, severing the thread with her own fingers, picking at flesh and stretching it out until he's bleeding again all over the gurney he's tied onto.

Damian struggles not to let her hear the sound she would find oh so hedonic. He grits his teeth and grinds his jaw, but groans emanate from him without his consent.

Cecile sets the sutures and her other tools on a filthy table standing miserably beside her.

"Your brother's such an ass" she declares almost smugly, while shifting in her place to face the camera

Without a warning she pokes a finger inside Damian's open wound, evoking a strangled yelp of agony. Soon enough Cecile's retracted her finger. She brings her hand up to her face. She makes a show of admiring the fresh blood coating it, before she tastes it.

She giggles nonchalantly, but there's that certain grace to everything she does.

"Don't worry. We're not done yet"

No. No, this can't happen. He can't let this go on any longer than it already has.

He has to take his place. He'll take his brother's place. Just, god. Just please listen..

"Take me instead!" Dick screams at the top of his lungs, and the dread climbing up his ribcage seeps into his voice. Bent in ways abnormal, tuning in with his despair.

"Do you hear me?!"

He's flailing around wildly and almost hysterically, his voice is getting hoarser by the second. Kicking and bumping the air, but the chains are relentless, so that he's supposed to sit idly by and watch while his little brother is being tortured.

All alone in a dark room.

The man standing tall and unmoving on the other side of the glass only smirks slightly.

"Leave Damian alone!" Dick roars at the screen, and roars at the man, but he knows it's pointless.

Cecile smiles once again to the direction of the camera as she elegantly walks away from Damian, leaving him alone strapped to the gurney -panting, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Damian's head follows the woman even as she disappears out of Dick's sight. The boy's face crumples. Breathless pleas escape his trembling lips, in swift exhales of air that hold no power.

"Please no"

She reemerges cradling an incandescent piece of metal. The sickening calmness on her face is doused in its fiery glow, and all Dick can utter as he goes deathly pale and still is a breathless "No"

Dick finally has enough contact with reality to register his brothers and sisters' own twisting and shouting. The sounds are earpiercing but all hollow to his ears, and Dick only does acknowledge their existence by sight of tears on enraged faces, jaws snapping open with enough force to dislocate, muscles toned and clenched uncomfortably, bodies bent and struggling, in futile attempts to raise enough force and reach the glass to perhaps create a distraction.

Dick can't figure out the faces from his peripheral vision, nor does he care enough to try.

"No."

His eyes are stubbornly fixed on Damian's own, shining wide with terror as the metal illuminates his skin more and more clearly on the screen. On Damian, desperately tugging against the straps keeping him bound to the gurney to no avail, struggling to be freed before the red-hot iron burns the exposed skin of his chest.

"No.. please no" Damian mumbles, and he looks so small. Smaller than a child his age should look. More frightened than a child his age should be.

Dick had promised -to him and to himself- that he'd always be there for his little brother.

He watches helplessly as the metal sizzles the first layer of flesh. He watches as his little brother writhes and squirmes helplessly under the red-hot iron melting into his skin, and he realizes he can't keep his promise.

No, no, no, no, no

Damian is screaming with all his soul and all Cecile does is laugh. Cecile is laughing, and Damian is being tortured because Dick couldn't keep his promise.

He failed him.

"Take me!"

Please no. Not Dami.

Every inch and acre of Dick's skin feels set aflame, but the pain is nothing but the child of wildfire blazing and burning in his chest. Its smoke has filled his eyes with tears burning like acid.

Failed him.

In his ears buzz cracking woods and falling towers. Not his brother's screams and pleas for mercy, not the echoes of laughter, not the thundering cries of their family.

Failed.

And because of his failure his little robin is expected to endure agonizing pain, as also the wounds inflicted on him are what make Dick's failure not only discernible but grievous.

Failure equals repercussions.

Failure equals punishment.

Perhaps it's irrational, and perhaps he's lost his mind long, long ago. Perhaps this is all a nightmare that he can't wake up from, but Dick's senses don't deceive him.

His every cell is howling in despair but yelling and praying are not enough to relieve them of their pain. Flowers buried deep in ice, frantically searching for sunlight- too frantically to know that they're dead.

Dick failed him. Dick should have been the one punished for this failure.

Only moments have passed but the agony grabs them and twists them, draws them out until seconds can't be told apart by eons.

Dick's eyes are fixed on the form spasming on the screen, but those eyes are empty and hollow.

Their azure blue has evaporated, their glossy white has been burnt to the ground. Obsidian vortexes shining with the life they've stolen from his soul in the half light, is all that is left of them.

Damian's voice is rough from the perpetual screaming, but Dick can hear no more.

So he prays to whatever deity listens that Cecile is reached by his own cries tearing through his throat with fading intensity. Perhaps so loudly the air is grazing his vocal cords more harshly than it should.

Perhaps so loudly he is already silent.

But Dick won't mind it even if they fail to produce a sound ever after these, as long as his flesh is torn and burnt instead of Dami's.

The flesh being torn and burnt is his, in a way, but not in any way that matters.

The iron is removed and Damian's face slowly appears behind the sparse smoke of his own smoldering skin.

***

Cecile reappears behind the glass, walking ever so elegantly towards the barrier separating her from them. She peers at each and every one of them in amusement, deaf to te insults so full of hatred being hurled at her from every corner.

She smiles at the teary paths staining Cass and Barbara's cheeks,

"You fucking-"

"-embodiment of evil and-"

"go-"

She laughs at the veins popping on Duke, Jason and Stephanie's necks as they shout their lungs out, feebly attempting to stop the world from sinking,

"I'm gonna fucking kill you"

"Jay calm down-"

"You repulsive.. abomination-"

"-to hell-"

She gracefully snickers at Tim and Bruce's state of dishevelled resignation, a progression of the rage and agony to the point where they're no more prominent than their breathing,

"You hear me? You're going to burn-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm the fuck down, replacement"

"-in hell"

"He's right Jason, this doesn't help Dam-"

"you'll wish you were dead before I get my hands on you"

But she stops in her track when her piercing hazel eyes land on Dick. So visibly worn out, yet determinedly burning holes through her with his glare.

She stops, and can only regard him in newfound interest.

Dick doesn't shift in his place. Doesn't bat an eye as he speaks with the power of a thousand thunderstorms enhancing the calmness in his voice.

He's made up his mind.

It's his failure.

His decision.

"You'll stop" he says, almost nonchalantly.

Cecile cocks an eyebrow, scoffing.

"Excuse me?"

"You'll bring Damian back here with us. And you'll stop."

Cecile smirks ever so slightly. "I'm afraid I'm not quite done with your brother yet. Besides, why would I do that?"

"Because you will" Dick growls, but soon enough he masks his outburst beneath a carefully tailored poker face.

Something unreadable passes across the woman's face. Dick assumes she's caught up to his thinking. Of course she has.

"Well, you wound me!" Cecile exaggerates, clasping a hand to her chest. Overacting the entire thing, on purpose no less. She's proven to be too much of a hypocrite for Dick to know she's only acting terribly on purpose.

His stomach is urging him once more to let its contents out, only this time he's not sure it's just a lingering side effect of the drug.

"Although, while wounded, you can consider me intrigued."

Dick swallows thickly. He hopes Cecile doesn't hear him gulp as loudly as he sounds to his own ears.

"You'll stop. Leave Damian alone" he says and although his heart is beating a hundred times faster than it should, his stare is unyielding.

"And you'll take me instead"

Cecile eyes him half incredulously, half entertained, for moments that feels like an eternity. Dick is convinced his soul has already left his body, and the woman is simply left staring blankly at his hanging corpse.

She's still staring vacantly at his direction, with no indication of the fact changing.

But then she chuckles.

She chuckles, and soon snickers are finding their way up her throat one after the other, until her shoulders are shaking with laughter.

Yet the laughs escaping her are perfectly normal. Perfectly contained, just the average sound that could be prompted by an oddly funny joke. A joke so ridiculous it fulfills its purpose.

Perhaps that's the most terrifying part. How human it is.

And Dick is showered in cold sweat when he repeats himself, voice sounding just a little more tight and frantic than need be, but Cecile pays him no mind, laughing silently on her own.

Cecile -most likely pointedly- ignores his protests, which are growing more and more despondent as he's fumbling for words, caught somewhere in the crevasse dividing dread and ire.

"Do whatever you want to do to me! Just-"

He's just a child. Just an innocent child.

"-just leave Damian alone. And take me." Dick says.

An innocent boy caught in the crossfire of a war he never swore to fight, but was instead compelled to win.

His brother caught in the crossfire. His Dami.

His fault.

Dick's stuck in a loop. It doesn't end, it never does. Once it's starts there's no end to look forward to, there's merely one he can imagine, and they won't let him follow it.

All air leaves his lungs. Everything seems so peaceful when the flames tingling his heart have no more smoke to give.

"Take me."

His fault. His responsibility.

"Dick, no," Bruce pleads from behind him. Only then is it that he realizes the rest of them have grown silent, all eyes on him, reflecting the light nearly pensively.

Only then is it that he realizes he's been toeing the line of hysteria. That he doesn't know how to stop.

"B, I have to. I can't let Damia-"

"And I can't let any of you!" Bruce snaps. Dick is taken aback, only not due to the sonorous anger redirected towards him. Rather by the tears he can see glistening all over his father's irises.

Tears.

Shining all across his father's eyes.

Under the enemy's scrutinus gaze, and still he let the sorrow swim all the way up to the surface.

Cecile has stopped laughing. Openly at least, as her palm is covering her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the giggles, perhaps not wanting to disturb the show. The bright smile lighting her eyes betrays her nonetheless.

"You're my son, Dick. I can't let you do this. I can't let another of my children do this" Bruce concludes, never ending eye contact.

Never trying to deny the tears.

All Dick wants is to give in to the pain of his own, and let Bruce wipe at his eyes and tell him it's all going to be alright, just when he was little.

But he isn't little anymore, is he?

Is he?

Is he strong enough?

No. Not a question. He has to. He has to be-

"I was dead, I should go in next. There's nothing she can do to me that I haven't already gone through" his brother's voice cuts in, disrupting the debate that's been won in his mind, long before it even started.

"Half of us have died, Jason" Stephanie counters. "I don't mind going myself"

"You're not going Steph"

"I'll go then"

"The hell you are, replacement. You didn't make the cut for our club the first time, you'll not make it now.

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?"

Cass clears her throat to get their attention.

"Me" she offers, and immediately after she's met with loud protests.

Dick watches as the others continue to fight between them, arguing on who should trade places with Damian. They can't understand that he has to do it. He doesn't expect them to. So when Cecile laughs and asks who's it going to be?, his decision is adamant.

"Like I said. It will be me" Dick insists.

He's not little anymore.

"No." Bruce says sternly. "No, you won't go. Do you hear me?"

He is strong enough. He has to be, so he's going to be.

Dick hears him, although elects to ignore him, staring proudly ahead, at the two men walking inside to retrieve him.

Bruce then is yelling, and the others protest, some are still fighting over which one of them should take Damian's place but it's already too late. The cuffs clink open and the two men go to stand by either of Dick's side as soon as his feet touch the ground.

Dick doesn't fight them. He doesn't mind being pushed around with his arms pressed behind his back so tightly his already sore muscles hurt as his arms are straining to bend backwards despite his flexibility. He doesn't mind, because he's doing it for his brother.

As long as his brother's safely reunited with the others, it doesn't matter whatever they might do to him.

Dick sends one last look to his family, and another full of a different kind of love directed right at Babs. He hopes his eyes delivers the thousand messages he doesn't have the time to relay with phrases.

The room is left in hush when the door slides closed behind him.

As far as looks go, Dick's were farewells.

As soon as Dick's dragged into the small room whose horrid purpose he's seen on camera, he spots Damian sitting upright against a corner, with a gun pressed to his temple.

Dick's shoulders stiffen and a breath catches on his throat. Still, it's all going to be alright. It's all going to be okay. Damian's going to be okay.

"I'd advise you not to try anything smart, or-"

"I won't" Dick interrupts sharply.

Cecile stands to the side and gestures towards a skeletal armchair with untied restraining straps. Dick shudders at the thought of how many people have suffered on this same chair, and his stomach fills with dread as the knowledge that he's next settles in.

"Grayson wh-"

"It's okay Dames" Dick says softly, scrambling to regain his composure as he's forced onto the blood stained metal by the men.

He winces when they securely latch the straps around his wrists and ankles, so tightly the leather is pressing into his skin, disrupting blood circulation.

Damian looks hurt and afraid, so Dick does his best swallow his own accelerating fear and suppress the shivers running down his spine, triggered by the icy feeling of metal on his skin.

"Everything is going to be okay"

Dick locks eyes with him and plasters something that feels like the poor excuse of a smile on his face, but he knows it must appear somewhat comforting to his little brother.

Masking his unraveling self beneath a charming smile and a lighthearted joke has always been his gift and curse.

Cecile clasps her hands together impatiently and nods towards the man holding the gun. He hastily shoves Damian into the arms of the leanest of the men, while his extended arm is turned around to point at Dick's head instead.

Damian yelps and as his arms are restrained behind his back, the hideous burn on his exposed chest comes into Dick's full view.

Dick's breath hitches despite himself and.. and..

It's...

The ghastly tendrils of burnt skin spreading across his little Robin's chest that spell out the word brat…

Dick could never describe the utter despair and pain and sorrow and ire and helplessness he feels, yet he doesn't have the time to stare right through the monstrosity etched onto his little brother's flesh as suddenly his chin is being pushed uncomfortably upwards by the barrel of the gun being pressed firmly against the soft skin right above his neck.

As Dick gulps, his Adam's apple bobs almost visibly on his inconveniently prolonged neck. The underlying dizziness finds the perfect opportunity to strike him again as his head slightly lolls backwards.

He no longer sees Damian, but amidst the sounds of his heartbeat echoing from inside the veins and taut muscles in his neck, a small and strangled Richard finds its way to his ears.

"I'm fine" Dick assures, even though he's nothing but. "I'll be fine. Love you, lil bro"

The absence of an answer doesn't concern him as much as that of shuffling or any indication that Damian is guided out of the room.

That is, until a delicate stray sniffle rips his heart apart.

If he could glance at his little Dami, he'd be able to see his reflection fall from his watering eyes in teardrops that he can no longer contain.

Dick can imagine the silently crying face, and so he shuts his eyes closed harshly, trapping inside all the pain and anguish lest it makes way to the surface

With a wavering voice he demands:

"Now let Damian go"

When he reopens his eyes with a breathy gasp he's all alone, bound to the metal skeleton of the chair.

Relief floods his heart.

If any more blood is to be spilt, it shall be his.

[smarmaladey]

The Bad Touch - (2/3)

Chapter 2 - “nothin’ but mammals”

Rating: 🇪

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizzare Adventure

Relationships:  🐞♡🚺

Words: 4260

Ao3 Link Prev.

(For content warnings and additional notes, click read more)

Things get worse for our “lovely” heroine. 

cw: rape/non-con elements, AU (probably), ooc (probably), break-ins(?)

Enjoy!!

♡🐞♡

Monday.

7:00 AM.

The second incident.

♡🐞♡

If there was one word you'd never use to describe yourself, it'd be "independent".

In other words, you weren't a leader, you were always a follower. You simply took jobs from people, didn't question anything, and always did them the best you could. And you liked it that way.

This always seemed like the best option, as you were, admittedly, not a thinker, so your mentality was always this: do what the higher-ups say and nothing shall go wrong.

Of course, that little philosophy of yours was tested once you woke up to a certain phone call.

A phone call from a voice you couldn't recognize at all, notifying you that you left a couple of your belongings at Giovanna's estate. The man had told you to wait, wait at your home until they could arrive and, as he put it, “smooth things out”.

Like hell I’m going to do that.

While you didn’t think Giovanna was screwed up enough to, say, stick the assassination squad on you for rejecting his advances, perhaps rejecting his advances, destroying his property, referring to him by his first name, and walking out before you were dismissed, all in the span of around 50 seconds could, at the very least, spell a bit of trouble.  

So, you devised a simple little plan, all on your own.

Sneak into the estate. (Easy)

Grab your jacket and folder, and check for stains. (Also easy. Probably)

Leave without being seen by anyone. (Less easy)

Sleep, and/or change your name and move away, depending on the aftermath. (Preferably to the west of America, or anywhere outside of Europe. Not so easy)

You never imagined going back to that place the day after the whole fiasco, but it really was your only choice.

Sneaking into the building would be a piece of cake, being that your entire profession, as well as your ability, Black Hole Sun, was centered around avoiding all kinds of surveillance.

Black Hole Sun, put in the simplest way, allowed you to turn “light” into “weight”. It manifested as a cluster of pitch-black flowers and mushrooms that could sprout anywhere in a 15-20 meter radius, absorbing any light that reached them. This was ideal for creating shadows, blending into said shadows, or turning any light source into a means of vacuum-based destruction. Hell, if given the chance, you could collapse any building from the roof down, given it was daytime.

Of course, collapsing Giovanna’s home would probably be like destroying 1000 expensive lamps at once, but that’s neither here nor there, you know?

By the time you had reached the wide expanse of his property, there were only a scarce amount of people standing around. A few figures were leaving the building, but none seemed to be entering at all.

While threading between the trees around the building, you racked your brain trying to figure out where your belongings could have been. There was a decent chance they were still in his office, but you didn’t want to risk A, walking in on a possible meeting/debriefing, or B, accidentally getting caught by him, so you passed on visiting that room.

Problem was, that was the only room you knew the exact location of.

In the end, you didn’t come up with an exact idea of where your stuff could be, so instead, you decided that you’d simply check every square foot of the building. You ended up at the very back of the building, and while the expansive garden in the back was gorgeous, it didn’t exactly have good hiding spots.

You ended up prying open the largest window you saw, and carefully stepping in onto the floor as carefully as you could. As you looked around, you allowed B • H • S to dissipate, letting color fade back into your silhouette.

The room you ended up in seemed to be some kind of sunroom, the window you climbed in from giving a perfect view of the garden, as well as casting gorgeous light onto the decorated interior.

The walls to your sides were, not unlike Giovanna’s office, lined with bookshelves, this time not hyper-organized. Houseplants of different colors bloomed in multiple different places, and right next to the door was a cushioned red armchair and ottoman.

And here I was thinking he had no sense of interior decor.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t help but get distracted by the overall pleasantness of the room. Unlike the office, the temperature was nice and cool, not absolutely Siberian, and the sunlight felt nice on your flesh. Using that “every square foot” line from earlier as an excuse, you started examining the books on the shelves.

You shuffled down the row on your tiptoes, slowly, still trying to be as quiet as you could. A good chunk of the choices of literature displayed were rather surprising, you taking special note of a few books in English, and some in Japanese, both languages you didn’t realize he was familiar with. The titles you could understand were also interesting-- a lot of stuff about the supernatural, especially as you got near the end of the shelves.

Stowing away your folder in these shelves would probably be a smart move…

“Has something caught your eye?”

You bumped into something warm, stopping you right in your tracks.

Holy fuck.

The sight made your heart freeze, taking near all energy from your legs and causing you to plummet onto the floor.

“If you want to borrow any of them, feel free to ask. Do you know much English?” Giovanna, looking as prime as ever, asked. He was clearly feigning innocence, leaning over you with a glint in his eye.

To you, he looked 10 meters tall.

With your brain short-circuiting, you would've spat out incoherent babbling if you chose to speak at that moment. Fortunately, you took a second to come up with a rebuttal, putting on the fakest expression you could muster.

"Oh, here and there, y'know? Not anything very...advanced...but…"

You forced a laugh and he smiled at you, lips even glossier and more vibrant than yesterday.

He offered to help you up with a simple gesture, but with the grace of a crippled swan, you rose to your feet and backed away.

To your dismay, it only prodded him to get closer.

"So, what brought you here this morning? I don’t exactly remember inviting you." He was still staring down at you, enraging the deepest, most insecure part of your brain because he's fucking younger than me why is he so much taller-

"Uhm," you swallowed a thick clot of saliva in your throat. "I...just wanted to admire your...interior decorating…"

Shittiest excuse I've ever come up with in my life.

Giovanna stepped closer with his left, you stepped back with your right. "Is that so…? Are you sure it wasn't for...this?"

From behind his back, as if it came out of thin air, he pulled out your peacoat and held it out to you. You stifled a gasp, and reflexively reached out to take it, but at the last second he pulled it back again.

“Ah, what do we say now?” He teased, as if you were a child, smiling.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, rolling your eyes. “Grazie, Giorn--” midway through saying his first name, you stopped and slapped your hand over your mouth. “Shi- Er, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

His expression dropped for a split-second before he started laughing, putting you off a tad. “That’s so adorable...!”  

That last word made your cheeks flush, replaying memories from the previous afternoon that drove you to step away from him. “...Right. Ahem, could I please have my coat back now?”

“Oh, certainly.” Relief.

 “But…” Oh.

The tension in the room felt like it got darker, as he raised the black garment closer to his face. “...I have a couple suspicions of my own…”

He stepped closer with his right, you stepped back with your left. “This morning, I went out of my way to get in contact with my most trusted men, so I could return your things to you safely...then, they tell me you’ve hung up on them!”

It felt cold.

“And when they get to your home, you’re nowhere to be found!”

What?

You weren’t given any time to unpack that, as he continued to go off. “Now you’re here! Without even letting me know, too...” He frowned a bit, but perked up soon enough. “But that’s alright! Because I knew you’d come back to me.”

“Huh…” All thoughts came out as a single hiccup. “What...I don’t…”

He appeared to grow a little angry, but more distraught than anything. “Bella!” he cried, knuckles white and arms trembling. “Didn’t I tell you not to act like that with me? Don’t pretend that you can’t remember what happened yesterday…”

The worst thing was, he was 100 percent right. You were pretending that you forgot what went down, when it was, unsurprisingly, on your mind since it happened. You were feigning (well, attempting to feign) innocence, hoping that it wouldn’t lead to another nightmare.

“But…” Giovanna sighed, switching moods too quickly for your liking. “That doesn’t matter anyways!” His smile was disgustingly, unbearably cute. “Because you came back to me! I knew you would!”

A chill went down your spine, prompting you to step back twice. “I, uh, think you’ve got the wrong idea--” You were cut off by him approaching again, holding his hand right in front of your face.

“See?”

What the hell is he talking about?

“I cut my nails for you last night…” He looked over his own, now shortened and even rounder, snow-white nails, “it must’ve been a bit painful when I touched you, I’m sorry about that…”

You didn’t appreciate his “apology” one bit, instead deciding to take another step back, frantically searching for the window so you could pull off an escape before it was too late. You felt the lukewarm glass on the tips of your fingers, but Giovanna stepped a bit too close for your liking, causing you to shift to the other side, eventually turning around entirely as he refused to back off.

Now the two of you had rotated, with him backing you back into the room, towards the door. The light shining from the back window bounced off the satin material of his clothing and golden accents, glaring into your eyes.

The reflexive need to close your eyes outweighed rational thought, and as soon as you blinked them shut your calves bumped against something, causing you to trip backwards and fall onto the (remarkably comfortable) red chair.

Once more, you were flattened before him, staring up with no idea of what was going to go down.

Well, you had a vague idea.

The golden boy had already made sure you couldn’t get away by just getting up, as he was standing over you in between the ottoman and the chair, one foot on the floor and the other resting right next to yours. You had caught him glancing at the light switch right by the door, making sure it was off.

Without a light source in the room, you had no good method of getting away, and collapsing the window at the other side would be useless if you couldn't even get to it.

Cornered, you dug your nails into the arms of the chair, glaring at him while pushing your head back into the cushion.

The look in his green eyes was strange, a disturbing mix of innocence and lust that made the lower half of your body feel restless. A few seconds of silent eye contact passed, before he reached down and grabbed your wrist.

You attempted to tug it away as he held it up, only to be met with a cold glare. His grip tightened before he transferred it to G • E, reaching down and doing the same to your other hand.

Straightening himself, he flipped his long braid over his shoulder. You watched as he worked off the lowest hair tie, letting the loop at the end fall loose. He stretched out the transparent band and wrapped it around both of your wrists, before tapping it again with his middle three fingers.

You felt your thin binding shift between tight and loose as it swelled and turned green. The hair tie had changed into a tight coil of stems and vines, covered in thin bristles.

When you tried to struggle, to break the botanical bindings, the bristles irritated your skin. He noticed, and pushed your hands above your head.

"Please, it's useless to try and get away from me now. I don't want you to be in pain, you know?" He punctuated his sentence with a gentle caress of your face with the back of his hand, and a peck to the tip of your nose.

He rose up and moved behind the ottoman, all while sliding his warm hand across the skin of your legs. After subtlety clearing his throat, he tried, (keyword, tried) to dip his hand between your thighs, only for you to squeeze them shut in a futile attempt to preserve your dignity.

You heard him quietly cough again, while he squeezed and then gently patted the plush flesh, as if telling you to open up. Still, you didn't give in.

His skin felt so hot against yours, like there was near boiling water flowing through his veins. Giovanna gave up trying to pry open your legs, instead pushing the ottoman right up to the chair, moving in front of it, and pulling you a smidge closer so that you were laying flat on your back.

He started by grabbing the bottom of your thighs, lifting them up then pushing back the bottom of your knees, so both legs were relatively straight, pointing up to the ceiling. G • E took hold of both ankles, keeping your limbs still.

“Wait…” You croaked out as you felt him hook his fingers into the waistbands of your bottoms. “Wha--what are you doing, Gior--” fuck.

He stopped what he was doing to look at you, and scoffed. "You're kidding, right?" Lowering your legs a bit, his lips curled into a cute little smile. "Oh, cara, you know I have much bigger things to worry about than what you call me." He leant down to hold your face in both of his hands. "Besides, we should be on a first name basis now, no?"

One part of your brain was absolutely enraged at the fact that you were still concerned about something as dumb as that, yet it still felt like a lingering weight had been lifted from your chest.

Giorno clearly didn’t like the fact that you were avoiding his eyes, and his solution was to squeeze your face a little tighter and kiss you with no warning, not hesitating to shove his tongue in your mouth.

He pulled away after you whined, drinking in the intoxicating sight of you with your lips ajar, face obviously heated, and your eyes glossy. It confused him a little, everything about your appearance, your body was telling him that you craved this just as much as (or even more than!) he did, yet everything that came out of your mouth was a contradiction!

But he didn’t let that frustrate him too much, as he knew you’d eventually give in completely. All he had to do was get the mood right. Because that’s just how it worked. Right? Right.

Lifting himself off of you, he let out a small sigh while raising your legs again, continuing whatever he had planned in that unholy little brain of his. His fingers returned to the waistband of your pants, digging between both layers of fabric and painstakingly beginning to hoist them off.

The feeling of your underwear peeling off of your crotch was already humiliating, but you knew it was just the beginning.

He let go of your clothes when they were around your ankles, before lowering himself down to “your” level.

"N-no...don't~ ♡ ! " your throat was so clammed up that your voice sounded like a broken squeaker toy, but even if you tried to shout, you knew he wouldn't listen. It was too late, anyway, since now he’s already seen everything you’d previously tried to hide. (Physically, at least.)

After a few seconds of him (presumably) leering at your privates, you felt his touch on the plump, slippy flesh, before he slid two fingers into the cleft and parted it.

"Oh, look~♡" each limb began to quiver at his honeyed, sickly voice. "It's so cute and pink here…"

Out of pure mortification, you brought your hands down and shoved two of your fingers in your maw, biting down. "No! N...not there...don't look at it…♡" Your voice and words sounded callow, but your brain was too fried to mask your true thoughts.

His hands moved to your thighs, right before he placed a pert kiss to the very center of your vulva.

Oh, lord. You could feel the mark his lipgloss left.

Despite yourself, there was a growing pressure in your gut that had you, deep, deep down, craving more. Something wet and hot swept against your inner labia, instantly making your fingers curl into fists. You pressed your knuckles against your teeth, trying to suppress a inadvertent whine.

“You can let your voice out,” you heard him say after pulling away for a second, “I doubt anybody is going to come around here.” Wow, how reassuring! Thanks for telling me, asshole! Ignoring the pain from the bristles, you moved your hands to your eyes, desperately trying to cover them. To an outsider, it’d probably look like you were attempting to gouge them out.

The wet noises that came from him lapping at you bouncing off the walls, almost amplified, taunted you. Additionally, he’d sometimes let out soft little groans of his own, which vibrated the very surface of your flesh. It was needless to say that his tongue felt a lot more invasive than his fingers, (and unfortunately, it also felt better) feeling it probe inside the most intimate part of your body drew ever-loudening wails and whimpers from your stuffy throat.

You could tell his mouth was somehow even warmer than his external skin, even inside of your already warm internals it felt nearly sweltering. Occasionally, he’d pull back for a very quick second to sigh out your name or other 1-word comments, his voice getting more brittle each time.

Something you also picked up on was very, very, subtle swallowing, as if he was drinking the mix of his saliva and your fluids.

That pressure in your gut kept pulsing, falsely building up in a way that could only be described as the physical-pleasure equivalent of a Shepard tone. In desperation, or maybe protest, you wiggled your hips, which only seemed to tempt him to grow more intense.

Your cynical side kept trying to tell you to give up, to accept this and whatever was coming next, to submit to the inevitable. It seemed that you unwittingly listened to it, relaxing your limbs and giving up on trying to muffle your voice.

In the midst of the ever-growing haze, you felt him pull away and move his hand up your thigh. He pushed his thumb between your legs, again silently asking you to open up. This time though, you obliged and spread your thighs, all while trying to press the side of your head onto the cushion, in a vain attempt to “hide”.

He gave no warning, no words before moving up and swathing your engorged clit in his idyllic lips, and that was really where things on your end began to topple.

Near instantaneously, you curled upward, letting out a strained squeal, feeling tears prick in your eyes. You covered your face with your hands, regretting every decision leading up to this point.

Too bad your body wasn’t regretting anything.

"Suh..top...♡ I’ll...I’m gonna…”

You peeked down through your hands and caught him glancing up at you, which just made your body retort in embarrassment again. In a thoughtless moment, you tried putting your hands against his silky, loosening hair, the bindings preventing you from grabbing it comfortably.

As he put more pressure on your tender pearl, your steady stream of tears reached the bottom of your head, dripping down and soaking into the seat. You couldn’t help but tighten your legs around him, at this point, all you craved was sweet, glorious release.

One more stroke of your nub, and it all crash-landed. That ever-growing pressure in your belly burst and spread, making you let out a long, high-pitched wail as your body went limp underneath him. Tears veiled your sight, directed at the ceiling.

Giorno pulled away, panting, before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and moving up the chair, so he could hover above you once more. His long, loose plait hung down and rested on your shoulder, giving you a very faint tickle.

“...was that...good?” You didn’t respond to him, as your mind was flooded with a swarm of fatigue and dopamine, “I...I apologize, I’m still very...new to this…” yet that part was enough to snap you out of your post-orgasm muddle.

“New”?

Fuck’s that supposed to mean?

Don’t tell me he’s…

No, that can’t be right…

“It can’t…” Those two words accidentally slipped out, but they were barely intelligible. Your blondie boss (bloss?) didn’t seem to notice, as he was too busy smiling at how cute you looked, all spent, drooling, and tearing up underneath him.

He straightened up a bit, your legs still wrapped around his hips, tittering. “You’re adorable, you know that?” He got no response. “Ah...I love you. You know that, right?” No response.

That didn’t seem to bother him, as his smile stayed. After a few tense seconds, you turned your head and looked up at him, and his grin seemed to widen.

“Cute...hm, I still don’t understand why you insisted on stopping your voice, I, personally, love the way it sounds.” He still wasn’t eliciting a vocal response, instead you dropped your head to the other side. Your continued silence finally looked like it was beginning to phase him, so he reached down and lifted your face a bit.

He tried to kiss you, but missed and got the very side of your mouth. You were once more reminded about how hot (literally...but also figuratively) he was, his face burning with pink and his breath near visible in the cool room.

Losing some of his control, he kept his mouth on you, his actions devolving into repeatedly pecking at your cheek while groaning “compliments”. Eventually, he straightened up again, eyes filled with something that could possibly be described as “love”.

“Well, I don’t see the point of going upstairs, why don’t we move on?” He asked, fruitlessly, before sitting up to work at his pants button. Unbeknownst to him, you watched him do this, part scared, part intrigued, but mostly weary.

He was about to tug down his suit pants the moment before a sudden, firm knock at the door echoed through the room.

“Shit.”   You heard him growl, before you made eye contact with each other, for a very quick moment. In a slight panic, Giorno tried to compose himself, glancing at you again before carefully separating from you.

“Hello?” Came an unfamiliar male voice, from the other side of the door. “Don Giovanna, are you there?” You perked up when you heard him say your name, “...that woman, we’ve looked around her neighborhood and have had no luck finding her, Sir.”

“Oh, is that so…” He was cautious, trying his best to make sure you wouldn’t leave, but to his dismay, you saw an opportunity and took it.

When he had moved out of your direct line of vision, he had let the ever-growing noon sunlight reach you, specifically, your hands. With that in mind, you manifested B • H • S on the vines, causing them to become etiolated, therefore loose, and allowing you to slip them off without fuss.

During a clearly awkward, through-a-door conversation between your boss and a random lackey, you rolled off the chair and sorted out your jumbled clothing. To get it out of the way, you shattered the window across the room. You heard Giorno’s voice go higher when he heard this, but unlike the day before, you said nothing to him, no apologies or anything before rushing to freedom.

Adrenaline was gushing through your veins, so with 0 restraint, after swiping your coat from the floor, you dashed forward, broke what remained of the window and leapt outside.

But, to one’s surprise, you didn’t go home that day. Instead, you remained at that estate, because you had to get to the bottom of something.

You had questions. Specifically: Why? What? Who? How? Me? You? And those questions needed answers. So, instead of retreating, or, say, escaping, you scoured the building for a very specific room.

Because I’m gonna get those answers, no matter what.

Was this a likely horrible decision that you would probably end up regretting and cursing yourself for making? Yes.

Was this likely going to end badly? Yes.

Would this, almost definitely, give you the explanation you longed for? Also yes.

It’s going to be a long, long evening.

♡🐞♡

n: god, whenever i copy stuff over, i have to go through it and re-italicize everything.  maybe there’s an easier way of doing this? btw, i finished a couple of my blog’s pages, so i’d say its no longer wip :D

PS: the last chapter is already 8638 words, and i’m not even done. god have mewcy on my souw. 

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 6: Poison

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 3792

Warnings: None

A/N: Hey guys! I know this one isn't as scheduled as WBT, but thank you for sticking with me so far! I hope you're still enjoying it! I'm also hoping to eventually have some oneshot requests posted for you!

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"More tea?"

"I'm good, thank you."

Azazel's study was impressive. Ancient tomes and floating lights filled the small room. Maps and notes covered what otherwise would be bare walls. There were maps of Arcadia, maps of other countries, maps of the world. Different markers pierced the parchment and some were connected by thin pieces of thread. Solomon wanted time to explore it all.

Azazel shuffled through Solomon's notes, eyes quickly darting across the page, "I see you've done your research! Truly, all of these notes from the book I gave you?"

Solomon couldn't help the pride that swelled in his chest. It would be a lie if Solomon said that he didn't like having his ego stroked, especially when it came to his studies and intelligence. That's what he wanted to be known for after all wasn't it? He wanted to be a wise king, an all knowing king! He would be someone people would look back on and remember for all the amazing achievements he reached and all of the wonderful things he would do for his land.

Because this would be his now wouldn't it?

"You know, I wasn't fond of the first marriage that involved my nephews, but you might actually hold some positive influence," Azazel set down the notes and started to reprep his tea, "It'll be refreshing to have a capable man enter into the family."

"You're not fond of Diavolo?" Solomon asked, "He seems like a nice man."

The teacup in Azazel's hand faltered.

"Nice? Yes. However the question isn't whether I think he's nice or not, it's if I think he was a suitable match for my nephew," he leaned back in his chair and glanced up at Solomon. Solomon recognized the look in his eyes, it was similar to when he had talked about Asmodeus as Lilith. Distaste. Disdain. "He wasn't supposed to marry Lucifer, yet he backed my brother up into a corner and wouldn't agree to anything unless he could marry our crown prince. I told my brother that he should just forget it, but Diavolo was someone my brother wanted to be a part of our empire. I can't imagine why."

He took a long slow sip of his tea, "Did you know that the man couldn't even dress himself the first week he was here? Ridiculous. He should have been able to figure that out."

Solomon could only picture what it must have been like for the king going back and forth with Diavolo. Honestly he could picture himself paying money to see it, especially with how his few encounters with that large puppy of a man had been.

"Isn't resilience a good thing? I mean I would think you'd be happy if he was as steadfast in his decisions as you're saying he is." Wasn't it supposed to be a good thing?

"If you want to watch another overgrown child, I suppose it could be," he huffed, "But to answer your question, not necessarily. It can make or break a kingdom and I honestly doubt how ready Diavolo is in ruling alongside Lucifer."

Azazel stood and walked to the bookshelf, "In fact, I'm actually concerned over the influence he may have over Lucifer. You were once a crown prince yourself, I'm sure you're well aware of the responsibilities and standards one had to grow up with."

Solomon nodded, "Of course I do." He hadn't really been allowed to be a child, he couldn't play with other kids, he had to be an adult from a young age. It wasn't any surprise that Lucifer would have had a similar upbringing as himself. Was it odd to think about? Yes. But was he shocked? No.

"I fear that Diavolo may be undoing some of his training. Not only that, but it would seem that my job as his advisor has been taken by his husband. I worry that Diavolo's influence may cause Lucifer to make some unwise decisions," Azazel continued, "And unwise decisions can have dire consequences, but I don't need to explain that to you."

As kind and good of a man Diavolo seemed to be, Azazel was right. Sometimes you couldn't make kind decisions as a ruler. You had to think of the future and what would be best in the grand scheme of things. Foresight could lead people into a future of prosperity or a destiny of despair and tragedy. Either one would also stick with your name centuries after you were gone. While Solomon didn't agree with everything Azazel spoke about, he knew he was right when it came to this.

In fact, speaking with him over notes and studies of magic had made Solomon see things from his perspective. It was hard not to feel for him. After all, he'd been put in charge to make sure all of the princes were prepared to run the empire under Lucifer. From what Solomon had heard, it hadn't been (and still wasn't) an easy task. The brothers had always had a hard time getting along and tensions had only gotten worse following Lilith's death. Lucifer, of course, had been asking for his siblings to have more chances and more time. But time was something he was running out of especially when Lucifer’s coronation was around the corner.

It was getting harder for the eldest to make excuses, even if he wanted to.

"Lucifer will be the King of Arcadia, meaning that his word is final, Diavolo gave up that power when he agreed to marry the crown prince," Azazel closed his eyes, and after a few moments he opened them again and a smile lit up his face, "Although, as of now, there really is only one king in Arcadia until the coronation, and that is you."

Azazel turned back to him.

Oh.

Solomon had never thought of that before.

"And Asmo himself is not a crown prince. At least here in Arcadia, that means that you hold any power there," Azazel pushed another book towards him, "Of course once Lucifer is crowned, decisions will go back to him, but unlike Diavolo who only really has some control over his own land, you have control over a little more than that."

Solomon stared down at this new book for a few moments before pulling it towards him and skimming through the pages. This seemed to be more about how things worked in Arcadia.

It wasn't like Solomon hadn't tried to find information before. Anything regarding Arcadia had been hard to come by and anything he had found wasn't much help.

"I also see that you've taken interest in the Heart, I'll be sure to talk with you more about that next time," with a twirl of his finger the cups put themselves away, "For now, I must meet with the prince about his coronation. Does this time work for you?"

Distrust for Azazel, still swirled within the back of his mind, but he was also the only other family member that seemed to be putting in an effort with Solomon. Even after Asmo had come forward about who he was, nothing really changed besides Asmo being a bit more demanding. It wasn't much, but if he had seen or heard of Lucifer and Diavolo doing anything he wanted it too.

High energy would be an understatement when describing him.

Azazel also provided some assurance that perhaps he could make progress with the rest of the family along with his research.

"It does. I'll suppose I'll see you back here?"

"Of course. This is my private study, I could think of no where better."

A handshake was all it took to bring the two scholars to an agreement.

***

"Your fiance has been looking for you," Simeon had tracked him down in the halls.

Luke was plodding behind him not looking all too happy, "He cornered and interrogated us! You know if you weren't so hard to find we could have actually done stuff."

"Like baking with Diavolo's butler?" Solomon laughed at how Luke's cheeks puffed out and ruffled his hair, "Hello to you too Luke. "

Solomon hadn't gotten a lot of time to see his friends while adjusting. Honestly he had anticipated maybe being busy, but not like this. Of course his research took up time, but then there was Asmodeus chasing him down when he wasn't supposed to. Most of the time, Beel seemed to be the one sent to retrieve him and take him back to whatever he was supposed to be doing. On an average of about twice a day, Solomon would feel his arms wrap around him from behind and that lilting voice whisper something in his ear. Also on an average of twice a day would he witness Asmo being hoisted over Beel's shoulder and carried off to whatever task he was supposed to be focusing on.

He was an interesting study all on his own.

"How are you going to manage with him?" Simeon asked, "Solomon, the incredible king who isn't really a people person and his incredibly clingy and energetic husband Asmodeus."

"At least I don't have to worry about him not liking me," Solomon said, "Him being smitten works in my favor, even if he causes me to knock over my ink onto my notes and I then have to rewrite them."

Solomon was seriously considering getting bells now. Or maybe he would have a conversation with Asmo that he wouldn't be able to marry him if he had a heart attack and died.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted you to go watch him fence, he seems awfully keen on showing off for you."

"He wants to impress me?"

"It would certainly seem so."

"It's gross," Luke interjected.

"I'll remember that for when you're all grown up."

But watching his fiance fence didn't seem like a bad option. Besides, he'd probably end up being hunted down by him if he didn't show up. He also couldn't help but wonder how good Asmo was with weapons.

Outside was a small arena. It wasn't incredibly large and Solomon imagined it was only really used for practice. A few mannequins stood upright with targets on their heads and torsos.

Levi was sitting not too far away on the outskirts. His fingers tapped rapidly against his knee and his lip was curled upwards. Asmodeus himself was standing in the arena, arms crossed and sword in one hand. He was shooting a rather dirty look towards his brother.

"Can't you just get it over with Asmo? You're holding up the guard from practicing!" Levi huffed from his spot on the ground, "Just practice and get it over with already!"

Asmo jabbed his sword into the earth and stamped his foot, "No. I can't. I'm sorry but you'll just have to wait to watch your precious Henry to

A spar. I'm not leaving this spot until my Solomon shows up to watch me!"

Levi's cheeks lit up bright red as he went to stand, "Gah! Shut up Asmo!"

"What? Afraid he might hear me? Afraid that he'll hear how much my big brother wants to smooch his handsome f-mph!"

Levi had marched over and quickly smacked his hand over Asmo's mouth. Solomon was amazed that they'd gone completely unnoticed as the two grappled with each other in the arena.

"Shut up shut up shut up! Ew! Did you just lick me?"

"Yes, and it was disgusting. I may have to cut out my own tongue now."

"You've had more disgusting things in your mouth."

"Yes. And your hand surpasses them."

Oh if only he'd been allowed to be this feisty at the dinner table. Solomon would have loved nothing more than to sit back and enjoy the show. And watching the two siblings grapple with each other was certainly what he called entertainment. They kicked up the dirt around them, sending quick snips back and forth towards each other.

"How long do you think it will take for them to notice us?" Simeon asked, leaning into Solomon's shoulder.

Solomon tapped his chin in mock thought, "Hmmm, it depends. Does his obsession with me outweigh his Cain and Abel instincts?"

The answer to that question was a solid maybe. It seemed to take a little more sibling squabbling before the three spectators had been noticed. At which point, Asmodeus' eyes widened and he shoved his brother out of the way. "Ah Solomon! I was wondering when you'd show up! I've been waiting just to show you how skilled I can be with weaponry."

Levi shoved him back, sending Asmo stumbling a bit before going to take his seat, "Yeah, and holding up the royal guard while you were at it."

Asmo was about to retort when Solomon stepped in, "Well then, we should get a move on shouldn't we? I'd hate to keep the guard any longer than they need to be kept."

Asmo frowned but went to retrieve his sword from where it was stuck in the ground. Solomon and his companions took a seat next to Levi. He had tensed a bit when they sat down and Solomon caught the discomfort in his glance. The third son of the late king hadn't been incredibly social. The most Solomon had seen of him was at dinner or him quickly slinking back down into the underground tunnels under what he assumed to be his window. He also seemed to be the most vocal when fighting with Mammon.

However his mind started to wander towards the subject that had sparked the little squabble between him and Asmo. "So, Henry?"

Levi's face lit up, "Oh! Oh you uh, you heard that."

"I did. Is he someone you know?"

"No! No he's not uh, uh…" Levi's head sunk lower and he refused to make eye contact with him, not that he was really making all that much to begin with, "He's just the captain of the guard. And uh, stuff…" He shifted a bit and his fingers went back to twitching, "Why do you ask?"

Solomon reached into his pocket and pulled out the small handkerchief he'd found earlier. Levi's head snapped to attention as soon as he caught the smallest glint of it. "I thought this might belong to him. I figured he might like it back," he said.

"Where did you-?" Levi snatched it out of his hands and inspected it before clutching it to his chest, "It's … It's mine. I thought Mammon had- …. Thank you." He carefully folded it before tucking it into a pocket on his shirt.

Such sentiment over something so small was odd ro Solomon. He could understand why he supposed, but it was still something that caught him off guard.

He was going to question Levi about it, until an annoyed cough brought his attention back to the ring. Asmo was staring daggers at him. "Excuse me. You're supposed to be paying attention to me," he huffed.

Solomon sat up a little straighter head cocked to one side, "I apologize. It's been a while since I've just sat back and watched. Usually I'm participating in one way or another."

He didn't have time to sit and watch. Either he was solving some issue within his kingdom or he was in his study. If he was out, it was for his own health.

And because Simeon made him.

"I see," Asmo's words were short. He promptly turned back towards a rack and before Solomon knew it a hilt was being shoved in his face, "Well, if you can't pay attention to me on my own, maybe a little participation will help."

Solomon could hear an edge in his sweet silky voice. Perhaps he was getting himself in over his head. But then his mind wandered back to the night Asmo had admitted he wasn't Lilith, specifically to those puppy dog eyes. He couldn't let him get used to getting his way. He couldn't keep letting him get away with using those big doe eyes to make Solomon cave. No. Solomon had to display that he had some power here, and this was an opportunity to do just that.

So he took the blade.

"I may be a little rusty," Solomon warned. Looking the blade over, he noticed the dulled tip. Good. So his fiance wasn't going to slice him to ribbons.

"Oh that's perfectly fine dear! Because I'm not!" Asmo chirped, as they began to circle each other, "I have been itching to get out. I thought I wouldn't be able to come out for months! Tell me, have you ever crossed swords with another man before?"

Strike up.

The sound of clashing metal rang out as they met.

Oh no. Solomon wasn't about to let his little innuendos catch him off guard, and he certainly wasn't about to reward this one with a response.

"A few times. It's good exercise you know. Besides, Simeon says I need to get more sunlight."

Left.

He started to push him back with each strike and Solomon allowed it, stepping back as each clash came. His movements reminded Solomon of a scorpion. Quick and precise.

"Well, that won't do. If you're going to be with me," he slashed down, Solomon wondered if Asmo even noticed that he hadn't made a move to advance, "You're not going to have bad skin."

"I hate to inform you that Simeon has been trying to fix my habits for years. But you can certainly try."

Oh. That thrust almost got him. He nearly missed it. The other thing about scorpions: they were more likely to strike when agitated.

How interesting it was that this little bunny could turn into a scorpion so quickly.

If Solomon hadn't been able to sense Asmo's agitation from his movements alone, he certainly saw it when they were chest to chest, swords pressed between them. Asmodeus was certainly a lot stronger than his lithe form allowed people to think.

"You're being arrogant."

"And you're not? You seem awfully entitled to my attention, it's like you want to take all of it up."

"Because I deserve it," Asmo hissed.

"That sounds awfully arrogant to me."

Asmo nearly shoved him over. Well, so much for that sweet little facade.

"I'll make you bow to me when I win. That'll teach you something."

"Your arrogance is showing again."

Oh that seemed to do it.

Asmodeus was coming at him with a new found fury. His blows came hard and swift and Solomon started to worry about whether or not he could keep up with him.

But the more Solomon tried to study his technique the more it bewildered him.

"So you normally use a sword?"

"I normally use arrows," Asmo huffed, hitting his blade once more, "But it's good to be versatile."

"Ah. So this is just for fun."

"I suppose so."

"No wonder your technique is sloppy."

"Wh-?"

With one quick motion, Solomon twisted the saber out of his fiance's hands and grabbed him from behind. He heard a yelp from Asmo and loosened his grip slightly.

Maybe he'd gotten carried away.

Maybe he'd gone too far.

He let go of his arm and instead grabbed his waist, using his free hand to tilt up his chin.

But he was still cautious.

Even if a scorpion's stinger was gone, it could still use it's claws.

"Do I win?" he asked.

Asmodeus immediately tried to stop on his foot, so Solomon pulled him closer.

No.

Nope.

Don't look in his eyes.

Don't give in.

He didn't want to make bad decisions. He wanted to be a good leader. He didn't want to do terrible things for his land.

Asmo buckled before kneeling beneath him.

"How?" Asmodeus asked softly.

"I watched you, just like you wanted me to."

Solomon dared to glance down, Asmo's cheeks were flushed.

He let go and stepped back.

"Well, this was fun. Perhaps we can practice again some other time. We'll work on your technique. What you have isn't bad. We'll just work on it."

Asmodeus just stared at him.

"I suppose I'll see you at dinner then." With that he rushed off. But Simeon and Luke weren't too far behind.

Luke was the first to pipe up, "Wow Solomon! You really showed him! He was comin at you and you blocked everything! And then you sent his sword flying!"

"Do you think you were a little harsh on him?" Simeon asked, "He seemed worked up."

Solomon didn't respond. What he did do when got to his room was grab the amulet. Oh did it give him a headache. It didn't seem like Asmo even really knew how to feel. He wasn't nervous, that was for sure, but oh was he a whirlwind. Solomon nearly dropped his amulet back onto the table.

He fell onto his bed with a sigh.

Asmodeus was high energy.

Asmodeus made him feel exhausted.

Asmodeus was a mystery all on his own.

Slowly he turned his head towards his books. At least through the confusion, he could try to focus on something he was familiar with. He could try to ground himself. Books were easier to figure out than fiances.

Writing helped him calm himself.

It was easier to sort out what you were concerned about when it was on paper.

He wasn't scared. He was simply confused.

He wasn't scared.

He wasn't.

***

The crowned royal of the family makes the decisions over the land, but that doesn't mean they cannot council with or defer to another family memeber for a decision if needed. The head family member does have final decisions involving the Heart. This cannot be deffered. The only time the decision of a family member may be passed over is if they marry someone of higher rank than themselves. If this is so their decision will become that of their spouse. They may try to sway a decision, but the decision of their spouse will be the one sent to the crown. However, succession follows blood. So if something were to happen to the crown, it would be passed down to the next sibling unless they are seen as unfit. The exception to this is if the crown has a child that is of age. In this case the crown will be passed down to the eldest child. The sibling may serve as a temporary crown/advisor if the child is too young or permanently if they are unfit.

Asmo seems to have talents with many things. His swordsmanship is sloppy, but with practice (and dedication) he might be able to become decent. I have yet to hear him sing or use a bow. He's high energy. But I feel as if he will calm after his infatuation with me dies down. It will eventually.