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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Crystal Ship - Part 1

Summary: Henry is the most dangerous crime lord in England, he has everything he wants and women throw themselves at his feet, but what really gets him off is what’s hard to get.

Pairing: AU! Mafia Boss!Henry Cavill x OFC (Ash)

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: Smutty Smut, MaleDom Vibes, Stripping, Bad language, Sexual innuendo, dry humping, bodily fluids.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this for a while and I only hope you guys will like it. As usual, I am nervous. It was supposed to be a one-shot but ended up being longer than I expected so I am dividing it into two parts for now. Many thanks to @agniavateira my sweet beta and helpful muse. Cover designed by me.

Please leave feedback 💖🥺 and more importantly, enjoy.

Title: The Crystal Ship

The sweet, smoky scent made his nose curl in repulsion. It was thick in the air, like a fruit that was too ripe, mere moments before rot sets in. Henry dreaded coming to the Imperial, even though it was the only safe ground to conduct business without having to deal with the district attorney's snout or any unwelcome eavesdropping. The club felt musty, drenched with bodily fluids and not in a good way. The men who frequented this place were foul animals; being amongst them made him feel as if their filth was rubbing onto him.

Sitting at the bar, he downed his whiskey, hissing while the fiery liquid hit the back of his throat. The bartender stood behind the counter, polishing some glasses and looking at the large man as he brooded on the sleek black marble of the counter.

Plastic neon lights flickered magenta and turquoise on the slick surface. An offensive contrast to the gloom that played inside Henry’s head. Life lacked vividness when everything was handed over on a golden tray. Money, beautiful women, fast cars.

The women of the club were especially keen on throwing themselves at his feet, thirsty for his attention and money which he was never willing to give.

“Please fuck me, Henry.” “Please let me suck your cock.”

As any man, he was flattered, though if he wanted to see a woman naked, he wouldn’t need to pay for it. Still, they circled him, desperately whining at his feet whenever he stepped into the club.

All except for her.

Big, almond-shaped eyes the colour of fertile light brown earth with a touch of green. Sitting on a barstool in the opposite direction. She was one of the girls working the club, no doubt. He didn’t imagine she was a gangster wearing fishnet stockings and a tight corset.

New girl, he gathered. He had never seen her pretty face before tonight. It was apparent she could sense his glance. Her body shifted uncomfortably, her irises focused on the straw of her tall glass of orange juice yet she never bothered looking back. Not even a smile on her nude lips.

Henry scoffed as a spike of interest surged through his mind. He spotted the long-haired beauty earlier as he sat through an infuriating meeting. Her big hazel eyes cut into his attention abruptly, focusing on his glare for a wisp before she swung away.

Treating him as if he was a nobody.

She chose to ignore him, much to his contempt.

Girl likes to play tough? Well, I happen to like bending things in my hands.

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Ash felt her hand prickle as she waited on the bar stool. Sipping on an orange juice, she watched as an ageing rich couple made out on a red vinyl booth while a curvy girl danced on their table. Candy-Apple, the girl who she was paired with for the night, disappeared to one of the VIP rooms with a customer. Instructed her to wait and not to take any customers alone, being still a trainee.

The Imperial had some strict dos and don’ts.

Little did Candy know, Ash had the miraculous gift of getting herself into sticky situations and for reasons she couldn’t explain, tonight felt like one of those nights.

Taking another sip, she exhaled nervously, the corset tight around her ribs, further pushing her already strangled lungs. It was her very first shift and she seemed to have fallen on a busy night. The customers were not too pushy, though. No one has smeared himself onto her while holding a pitcher of beer and smelling of peanuts on their breath. Candy promised that the owners won't touch the girls and don’t let anyone else touch them either. The Imperial might be a “gentlemen’s” club, but it was one of the safest joints for girls to work at in London.

It didn’t do anything to calm the anxiety that waited at the door as she felt the presence of the tall stranger who kept his eyes on her for the last couple of hours.

She “bumped” into him earlier as she walked around the ground floor. Broad shoulders and a face that looked as if it was put together from all the best parts found in heaven. He sat with three other men, looking like the superior one in the group. Fury burned in his eyes, yet his posture was composed which only made him look more frightening. It was a mistake to gander, she knew it deep in her heart, but he was an impressive specimen of a man. She couldn’t look away, not soon enough before their eyes met.

Now he was sitting a few meters away. A spiced drink sits in his glass, a ghost of a smile loomed over his face while his fingers were pressed to his temple in some sort of dark intrigue. He stared with the confidence of a man who knew he could have everything and it seemed like she fell on his aim.

Feeling uncomfortable, Ash broke her gaze and slipped off from her seat, wishing to find a place where she could hide from his hungry curiosity. This man had trouble written all over his arrogant posture and if she learnt anything about herself, it was that she was a magnet for chaos. She turned on her stilettos and crouched down for a second to rearrange the fishnet stockings around her thighs before straightening up moving on.

In the most natural order of things, the stranger was there to stand in her way.

Broad and mysterious, the man towered above her with a small smile edging his mouth. Up close, she noticed his copper-brown curls and eyes like smooth steel. They shone like sharp knives through the club’s neon lighting. His jaw was cut marble, defined lines soared across his high cheekbones and even his lips had the perfect cupid’s bow.

Ash registered him carefully and her heart murmured. No man should be this good looking; he was beautiful in manners that seemed unearthly.

“May I buy your precious time, love?”

His voice hung low and deep, smooth like a chocolate truffle that melted on one’s tongue.

The scent of danger filled Ash’s nostrils; it smelled like peated scotch, aftershave, and heady musk. Judging by his cool-grey tailored suit, it was quite clear that he was a businessman from the underworld kind.

He burnt hot, and a part of her was immediately drawn to the flame. Yet despite the thrill, he seemed much more perilous than any of the other criminals who lurked around the club. This man could easily fuck up some poor girl’s life.

In the dark cold cavern of the club, with his shadow casting over her face, the stranger seemed more like Hades than just the ordinary mobster.

“Maybe some other night”, she forced herself to refuse, doing her best to sound polite yet stern while offering an apologetic smile in the hope that he would accept her refusal and let her go.

She knew right away that wouldn’t please him. It was clear as vodka; he wasn’t a man who took no for an answer. The thought alone made her nerves shiver as if someone was sliding ice on her skin.

Henry ran his knuckle across the dimple of his chin. The signet ring on his pinky finger flickered on her hazel eyes in blinding silver. He took her in with a deep inhale. No, not even a drop of appreciation on her pretty face but he did detect a tinge of fear.

Interesting he mused, a small grin stretching his defined lips. The little dark-haired woman was either completely oblivious to who he was, or she was one of them ladies who had principles.

Whichever it was, it spiked his intrigue and made for a curious turn of events in a very boring night.

“Isn’t that what you do, darling? Dance for money?”

He asked as he waved two £50 bills between his long fingers as an offering. His accent was posh and not a fake one either. She imagined he grew up wealthy. How does a man who presumingly, could achieve everything in life wound up into a place like this, she wondered. Not that the Imperial club was anything sort of sleazy. It was owned by the largest underworld family and had a taste of an old cabaret. Male celebrities often visited the club aside from gangsters and corrupt politicians.

“It’s my first night I’m not really...”

Henry reached into his pocket, drawing six more £50 bills and offered it to her. The steel in his eyes softened for a moment, yet the peril still hovered on his face.

He was a man trying to appear harmless and the risk never seemed so alluring.

Chewing on her cheek, she stared at the money. It was enough to stock the fridge for at least a month but it wasn’t as even half as seductive as her stranger’s haunting charm.

Fuck it.

Taking a deep breath, her slender fingers reached toward the hand that held the cash. She snatched the money from between his digits and tucked it in her garter belt. Henry beamed, pleased that she agreed. Two large dimples creased his cheeks as if this man needed any more attractive features.

Ash wrapped her fingers around his wrist and led him through the depths of the club while her heart thundered in her chest. For some reason, it felt as if she was walking freely into a trap.

And yet, excitement boiled in her blood.

The cracks between their silent contract were filled by the beats of the monotonous music. They passed by the abundance of half-naked women who were coaxing different men around the bar, touching and smiling sweetly, serving them with nothing but the illusion that they are wanted, when in fact they were needed for nothing but a paycheck.

Henry followed the petite woman, anticipation coating his veins and spiralling a small grin on his face. He guessed that without her heels she’d be at the height of his shoulder, this pretty little thing with raven black hair. He was intrigued by the way she bravely withstood him, almost to the point of irritation. It seemed as if his spell was useless on her as she carried herself carelessly, unlike the many women who threw themselves at his feet, begging to be fucked.

There was something provoking in her, to the extent of him willing to break another one of his own rules and get a sense of what she felt from the inside.

Her fingertips pressed on his wrist, sensing the pulse within. His heart ran strong and confident but she imagined it would only be a matter of time until she’d have him a complete mess.

They all have the same weakness, no matter how much power they have.

The large spacious club narrowed into a slim corridor while teal and magenta-coloured lights danced diagonally across a mirrored tunnel. Their own reflections appeared several times, accompanying them as they arrived in an open room, guarded by a huge, square-shaped bodyguard with a shaved head, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb.

Henry eyed him carefully, giving him a small nod before following her into the room. The interior was dark, with a black ceiling and a black shiny floor, embellished with white LEDs that reflected on her red stiletto heels. An onyx leather couch waited in the middle next to a small edge table holding plenty of bottled hard liqueur.

“Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward the seat and shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath as she felt a slight increase in her heartbeat. In the confinement of the small space, the brooding man had the energy of a lion, hazing her senses and making her feel like nothing more but a fluffy little rabbit.

The leather squeaked beneath his weight as he shifted slightly, wide thighs spread open while he glanced at her rear. She turned to tinker with the stereo system, selecting a tune to dance to.

Browsing through the selection of beverages, Henry decided to treat himself to a bottle of smoked whiskey. He unturned a clean lowball on the table, the sharp hiss making her flinch and then slump her shoulders at the sound of thick liquid being poured. The odour of spiced ashes filled the room, mixing with his musk and her sweet perfume.

“Should I pour you one as well, pet?”

“I would rather not drink on the job,” she replied and pressed play. Soft synth tunes played through the speakers and Ash turned to him slowly, giving him a seductive glance.

“Depeche Mode, really?” He crooked an eyebrow and smiled with amusement before pressing the glass to his lips and eyeing her carefully.

“I thought this song is fitting for my first VIP client” she answered, and made sensual steps towards him, already feeling captive by the daggers on his eyes. Henry took another sip of the amber-gold drink and placed his glass aside, pressing his fingers against his temple while examining the woman who was running her hands over her corset.

“You’re my first too.”

“Bullshit,” she mocked, entering into the space between his knees.

Henry tilted his head, a small warning glare crossing his chiselled face. “Mind your tongue, sweetheart. You’re a lady, act like one.”

She bit her tongue, avoiding the small tremor that flapped from her chest all the way up to her throat like a tiny caged bird. The dominance and authority in his voice made her shiver, making her feel as if she was owned by more than just his money. She wondered what made a handsome man like him even bother paying for something he could get for free from any woman he wanted.

“Fuck,” she provoked, keeping the fear on her breath tucked well behind a sweet sultry smile. She took joy in the dissatisfaction that danced on his face as she cursed. “You know how this works, then?”

“You take off your clothes and dance on my lap like a good girl?”

“I can touch you, you don’t touch me.” she warned, and slowly fell to her knees between his thick thighs, following the hollowed drop in the melody. Henry stared down at her with a pleased look on his face, his eyes hued with wanton as she rolled the laces of her corset between her fingers and unwrapped herself like the sweetest present.

It wasn’t her first time giving a lap dance. She worked in strip clubs outside of London, but those were much smaller clubs that held no more than 40 guests. And none of her customers looked like Big Handsome Boss.

“That seems unfair,” he answered as she spread her corset open. Her perked nipples teased through the loosened fabric while she gave him a pouty look and pulled at the laces delicately until she was free of the confinement of her bodice.

Henry shifted in his seat uncomfortably while she revealed her body to him. Small breasts glowed heavenly in the LED lighting, skin pure and smooth like honey. He was forced to reach a hand to adjust the huge bulge that pooled with arousal while her fingers began stalking up to his knees like two big spiders.

Big boy, she noted, trying to deny the small electric tingle that ran mischievously between her legs.

“Many things in life are unfair, Mister…”

“Henry.”

“Henry,” she answered, her French-manicured nails scratching his thighs, eliciting a low growl from him that made her spine crawl. “Not that I imagine that a man like you would know.”

He let out a small chuckle, she wasn’t far from being right. The hardest thing in his life right now was the fact that a beautiful nymph was dancing between his thighs and he wasn’t allowed to touch her. Yet.

The little vixen clutched his thighs tightly and pushed herself up steadily, spine curving, her breasts displayed an inch from his lips. She climbed to his lap and straddled his waist, pressing her panty-clad crotch against his caged erection. A rogue moan escaped her lips as she felt the mass of his bulge between her legs, much to the large man’s delight.

It appeared she wasn’t all immune to his spell. Her breath was shaking in her throat as she pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the hard pecs under the soft cotton of his grey shirt. Henry was sturdy and large. She couldn’t help but wonder what he hid beneath his well-tailored outfit. His biceps were bigger than her head as he kept his arms folded; those thighs beneath her ass felt thicker than logs.

Her lustful gaze swayed to meet the sky in his eyes up close, detecting a slight imperfection in one of them: an earthly taint of brown. He gave her a slanted grin, descending to feast on the sight of her half-naked form with a flick of his tongue across his lip.

Red flags waved at the back of her mind. This man was the epitome of danger, drenched with dark lust and sinister grins. The fact that he was a sweet, sugary treat for a starving girl made for a sinful mixture, causing both distress and stickiness between her thighs.

Henry placed both his hands on the armrests, fingers digging into the onyx leather to hold himself from grabbing her slim waist and grinding her onto his cock. Her mound felt fiery hot onto the fabric of his trousers, and the slow tidal sway of her hips did nothing but engorge him even more.

“What’s your name, little minx?” He asked, his breath heavy and sweet with whiskey against her neck.

She hummed in response, closing her eyes and throwing her head back while her hands held onto his broad shoulders. The dark waterfalls of her hair streamed down behind her. Her torso stretched, bare breasts a delicious sight while she danced on his groin, increasing the friction that ran like smouldering heat.

“It’s… Lilith…” she answered, licking her lips as she felt the blood vibrating between them.

Henry groaned, enjoying the brush of her body against his. She moved in sensual waves- slow yet hard, like a storm inching an ocean. Her voice hummed softly in his ear, her almond-shaped eyes tricking him into believing he was desired, needed.

And perhaps he was, as her lips swelled red with passion and she danced on his cock with as much urgency to please herself as to please him.

“Your real name, pet.”

Ash closed her eyes and shook her head. “I am not allowed to tell you.”

“Fair enough,” he growled. He felt her increase the pace, pushing harder onto him. His self-control was vastly challenged. His breath became fervent fumes. He felt the moistness beneath his hands as he clutched tightly on the soft leather as if his life were dependent on it. The pulse in his organ became as rageful as a volcano.

“You look like you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he murmured, letting his lips inch dangerously close against her neck. “I wonder if this sort of thing would happen with anyone else, or I’m special.”

Goosebumps spread through her skin, her nape felt a cold shiver. Ash swallowed hard. If this was a thriller film this was the point where she was supposed to turn back and save her skin, yet all she fancied was to push her cunt against menacing Henry and mewl as tinders of joy licked between her legs.

“Is that a problem, if I am?” She dared.

Unable to control his body’s natural instincts, Henry broke and bucked his hips roughly into her mound, giving in to her grind, growling as the collision created sparks of fire that increased the flame between them.

“Not at all,” he grunted, feeling droplets of sweat forming on his brow. “Only that I paid you.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.”

And tendrils of pleasure were indeed within her grasp. Ash felt a tremble in her thighs. He was large and hard, demanding to be let inside her. She’d be lying if she didn’t want the same, imagining just how large a man of his size was.

She wondered how he’d fuck her, would he be as slow and rough as their carnal dance, or would he throw her on the bed and wreck her till she cried.

The dark gaze in his eyes made her lean toward the latter and darn if he didn’t look at her as if she was the most intoxicating woman on earth. Feeling the flush ride from her cheeks down to her chest, she turned around, pushing her ass against his cock instead. She wanted to come so badly, the throb between her legs mingled with the fear that tingled in her chest. She wanted to remind herself she was protected by the owners of the club and the man standing right outside, yet Henry made her doubt herself.

And for some reason, it only made her more excited.

“Touch me!” She demanded in a voice tainted with desperation.

There was no need to ask more than once. Her handsome stranger groaned the most beautiful melodies in her ear and reached his aching hands to squeeze her breasts. They moaned together as the much-needed bond had formed. Henry’s thumbs circled her nipples while his fingers kneaded on the fat of her flesh. She knew this was a mistake, he would leave his violet fingerprints all over her skin yet her judgment was clouded by the pleasure his touch elicited on her desperate flesh.

“Lilith.” Henry gasped, allowing himself to nuzzle the girl’s hair as she seemed completely lost to her own desires. “Do you fuck your boss?”

“I’m not a prostitute.” she answered breathlessly as one of his hands climbed up to her neck and held her jaw, drawing her head back onto his shoulder. His hips bucked harder against her ass, the pounding in his cock was nothing but white-hot fury. He held her tightly while she dug her nails into his thighs.

“Not what... I asked…” he gasped, his voice breaking between grunts.

“No.”

Ash felt his cock twitch beneath her and his moans chanted repeatedly, becoming louder and louder. The pulsating need inside her was unbearable yet it wasn’t enough, not for her. She needed to feel something inside her throbbing cunt yet she feared breaking the rules. Henry pushed against her ass with vigour, emitting inarticulate sounds until he clutched her tightly and gasped with pleasure.

For a few seconds, the room felt like the most radiant thing on earth.

Ash breathed out as his hot mess was sticky against her ass. Slight disappointment danced in her chest as she didn’t share his climax and her heart was still in rageful turmoil, furious for not being let to feel the much-needed pleasure. Yet a part of her was relieved that their contract has expired.

She might have managed to avoid trouble for once.

“Good.” Henry breathed out, panting heavily as he tried to adjust his lungs. His hands still covered her breasts, sensing the dampness of her skin against his sweaty palms

“Because I am your boss, darling.”

Her mind still fuzzy, Ash let out a confused chuckle which quickly died as the man beneath her didn’t join in her laughter. The rigidness on his breath sounded dead serious and the signet ring on his pinky finger suddenly felt cold against the softness of her breast.

“Cavill.” she called out, panic pitching her voice higher. “Henry Cavill…?”

“Mhmm.” he hummed with approval, an arrogant smile spread from the corners of his lips as he noticed the obvious shift in her mood. Still seated on his lap, she let out a trembling wheeze as her heart sank to her gut.

“You are not joking, are you?”

“No,” his voice rumbled, vibrating low and thick against her prickling spine.

Ash felt the sweat turn cold on her skin. Giving a small turn, she was unable to determine whether she should get up or remain seated on his groin. She could see the shit-eating grin on Henry’s sharp jaw from the corner of her eye and decided to gather her shaky feet to stand, nearly losing her balance as her heels suddenly despised her.

“Mr. Cavill, I’m so sorry,” she dropped her gaze to the floor, her hands covering her breasts nervously out of the misled thought she offended him. If he felt threatening before, now she felt pure terror making her blood sting. The Cavills were the most notorious organized crime family in the United Kingdom. Their web spun across each district, and they owned half of the police force in London.

She just made a filthy mess out of the trousers of a man who kills much more important people than her.

It was very much clear to her that it would take little to no effort to make a no one like Ashleigh Carr disappear.

The room began to feel as if it was depleted of air all of a sudden.

“Considering you just made me come all over my pants, you can call me Henry, or sir.” he corrected her in his deep voice while his piercing steel eyes focused on the obvious stain on his crotch.

Ash blinked, terrified as Henry reached for the phone at the back of his trousers. A muscle strained in his jaw while he scrolled through the device and then placed it against his ear. She opened her mouth to apologize once again, yet was silenced by Henry holding up his index finger gesturing “wait”.

“Sean, I will need a clean suit brought to the Imperial, ASAP. Make it a dark one.”

The crime lord ended the call with a friendly yet authoritative “Cheers,” before lifting his gaze to the slender girl who still stood at the same spot with eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Never in his life had he had a naked girl look at him with so much fear on her face.

It was an interesting new aspect.

Reaching down between his knees, Henry fished for her flimsy corset and pulled his heavy body upward. His long legs stretched as he stepped toward the horrified girl. Giving her a smile, he handed her the piece of garment.

She snatched it from his hand with slight hesitation while he stared down at her, his head tilting as if to further study the features of her face. She was too afraid to break eye contact, strapping the corset back around her body without saying another word.

“Lilith…” Henry called, his spiced breath hot on her face.

“Ash...Ashleigh,” she admitted.

“Ashleigh,” Henry pronounced her name softly in his low voice, giving a small dreamlike smirk as if it was the most beautiful name he ever heard. His tongue licked over his bottom lip while he drank the sight of her in.

“I’d like to fuck you.”

Ash stared at the man in front of her with surprise, lust still blooming between her thighs, her skin tingling with the imprint of his touch. Inside, she seared with passion and he was undoubtedly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen with his kissable lips and crystal blue eyes.

But she detested the idea of being a whore. She never slept with a customer, nor was she willing to sleep with her boss.

Even if it cost her life.

“As I said, not a prostitute.”

“I have no intention of paying you,” he answered with a dry chuckle.

“You just did,” she answered and then took a deep breath, choosing not to say more. She still valued her life after all, no matter how pitiful it is.

Henry gave her a slanted smirk and began circling her like a predator stalking his prey. Careful eyes followed him, her breath measured with every step he took.

There was a spirit in her, warm and feisty. Defiant despite the fear that sparkled as clear as water in her beautiful eyes. In the cold, secluded room of his sinful club, he finally felt the thing he chased after for years. Passion. Desire.

And it was booming in his heart.

“I find you interesting, Ashleigh,” he replied and shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out a sharp silver card.

“But I am not one to beg, nor do I take pleasure in pressuring women to sleep with me.”

The card gleamed like a knife as he held it between his digits while waiting for her to accept it.

“This is my driver’s number, just in case you decide you do want to spend your night with me.”

Read Part 2

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#Henry Cavill #AU!Henry Cavill #mob!henry cavill #MobBoss!Henry Cavill #henrycavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x reader

2K notes · View notes

ohmysparkle · 3 years

Text

Spellbound intro II

🌙 Pairing: Hyunjin (Stray Kids) x Reader

🌙 Genre: Dark Fantasy AU, Mystery, smut.

🌙 Teaser Length: 1.8K

🌙 Warnings: None in this chapter. For the series overall, smut, gore, witchcraft, religious themes.

🌙✨Tag List: @xviternity @straykisz

✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ *✧･ﾟ. ✨ . *: ･ﾟ 🌙 * ･ﾟ✧ * : ･ﾟ✧. ✨･ﾟ.*.✧

The canopy of darkening trees retained a cold and unpleasantly humid air in this corner of the forest. It nearly smelled foul, just a hint, and there was a salty, almost sulphuric scent that you had grown to recognize like none other. It was hard to describe to someone who did not know it, because it wasn’t so much a scent as it was a feeling - a sharpness in the air that warned of error, of something that should not exist. It was completely unnatural and not of this world, but just another one of the otherworldly details that had been brought to these Towns of late.

Anyone with a semblance of a sight would be able to notice, it would basically scream wrongness, unnaturalness, abomination. Hell, anyone with a semblance of sensitivity would feel it from a mile away.

Which meant that basically everyone in these towns would never notice it. How unfeeling and disconnected these people of the modern world were, insensitive to everything that didn't have buttons and blips and beams and bolts. What a horrible place you have chosen to come to… what a horrible and strange place.

As you walk however, even in this rotten corner of the woods, it begins to feel more natural, despite its unnaturalness. A familiar putrefaction. Nothing that paints this patch of wood should be here, but it is a comfort to you. It reminds you of home, or well, of the places in the world where the unnatural was often found in the natural. The places where people still felt and saw, instead of just touching and looking.

How strange that you, even in this unsettling and noxious air, felt some sort of peace.

But well, you were always a strange one, the strangest one even.

The Towns are nice but you feel stranger than ever there, despite pretending to be so normal. Part of it is a relief - this is your new home, your escape from all the horror, your new identity. You were free here; free of the stigma, of the obligated servitude, of the duties your strangeness brought upon you. Yet this freedom, with its safety and normalcy, was also stifling.

It discombobulated you at times, all the oppressive normality. It was like everyone was in an idyllic dream and you were the only one awake. Or maybe it was the other way around? Regardless, it was strange, even for a strange person like you.

Perhaps stepping on these wet and rotten leaves was making you somewhat nostalgic. Here you are, seeing what no one else has, despite most of them having looked upon the same scene as you. The blackened grass to them seemed ‘a mushy green due to the rains’, the wilted trees a symptom of a ‘premature autumn chill’, the feeling of death itself and it’s servants a ‘weird smell’. The pins and needles brought to you by the nearly electric aura of this place increased as you stepped further toward your destination - but you were certain, if a town fool would have come along the same path, they may have explained it as a rash caused by some ivy.

How simple the human psyche becomes in these modern, magicless places. Even scientists in some parts of the world commanded the forces of nature and understood them better than these neo-troglodytes. There is no connection to the deeper forces of the world, these people are all numb. Numb and blind.

Well, most of them. All of them, technically, to an extent, but some you would save from your harsher judgements due to their decency.

Your baker friend is quite lovely. His mind isn’t simple, he isn't a person that knows of much other than baking, but he is cunning. There is a sharpness in his mind, an instinct, that is almost rare in these parts. The handsome man that visits you to make invasive yet enticing conversation with you is… tolerable. Perhaps if he were not so intense and insistent he would be more than tolerable, less of a nuisance, and more of a delight.There are the old men you play cards with - they are sensitive, almost like you, and insightful too - but perhaps it is more a consequence of their age than of their competencies and abilities. Some of your students, limited as they are in their talents, are tolerable. A handful of them you would say truly impress you though.

And then there are your patients. They come from far and wide, although most are from the Towns. Others come from… other places. Places even more senseless and insensitive as these towns, places that force them to come here to find someone as strange as you. They were people like you, persecuted for being strange like you. Had you not been pretending to be so normal, perhaps you would be persecuted too.

Persecuting you would be an almost arousing delight to some of the townsfolk though, but it satisfied you even more to frustrate them by eluding their grasp. Always poking and backing away before they could reach for retaliation. How naughty you were, enjoying these tiny malicious acts so.

And then, there is your student.

Student... Is that the right word? Was she instead your ward, or perhaps your assistant? For the sake of your pretend normalcy, you told everyone she was your apprentice. She was strange in this place too, almost exactly as strange as you, of course simpler, less talented, less knowledgeable and just a tad less strange. She was the only one to whom you could show a glimmer of your true self to, because like you, she was also here to play pretend in this normal world of safety and boredom.

The only person you would open this drawer of dreadful thoughts to was she. Maybe it was a burden to her, to protect you and care for you as much as you did for her, but you do give her every ounce of knowledge and talent that she has, and you did save her from that horrible place the two of you hailed from.

A horrible place where a strangeness like yours, and hers, meant salvation. A place where your strangeness was a resource, almost indispensable, and you…

You hated it.

In the end you did choose to come to this horribly normal modern place instead of that horribly strange archaic one. You win some, you lose some. That's what you have to remind yourself of every day. Again and again, your mind going in circles as the excess of thoughts spill over and cloud your reality, distracting you from everything and immersing you in an unreal setting built by the very thoughts.

It is the routine swinging of the basked in your gloved hand keeps you steady and constant in this discourse of yours, reminding you that you were going somewhere in reality despite being everywhere else in your thoughts. Swing, swing, swing goes the basket of apples and breads and treats.

All the way to your destination. You can see it now, the miserable little rotting hovel. Even from this far you could imagine it was cold and dank, smelled like mud and the rot of the thing that dwelled there.

Oh the things you do…

It disgusts you to approach the place, but it is what must be done. She must notice you are there now, doesn’t she? Do you intimidate her? Does she know who you are? She can probably feel you - your strangeness, that is. It must feel familiar to her, as hers does to you. You both scream abnormal and freakish to the other, except that she is a speck of dirt, a miserable and weak thing.

She must fear you, however. Even as you are now, you are still a threat to her kind. It’s good though, this way you can maim her with the threat and not the action - it would be such an inconvenience to you now, after all these years of avoidance, to have to put your strangeness in use.

Some would say someone with your gifts was born to use them for the greater good, for the betterment of the world. But these happy endings and great victories were the product of so many violent and gruesome efforts on your end, the thought of it made your stomach churn.

The things you were told you had to do, convinced you had to do. The pains and nauseating acts you were celebrated for haunted you to this day. All you wanted was peace, quiet, a painless existence.

And so this is why you do this instead - dealing with strange things in normal ways in the most boringly normal place in the world. Peace.

Knock, knock.

The disgusting thing opens the door after pathetically crawling to it. Her hand is rather leathery for her age, the medium of her talents does rot whatever it touches in the most hideous of ways. You look at her with a judgemental tilt of your head.

Slowly, her black and beady eyes begin to gleam from the showy interior of her dwelling, the door creaking heavily as her head peeks out. Is she afraid or curious? Why have you returned to her?

You give a smile becoming of your status as a professional in these matters.

“I have brought you apples.” You say while holding out the basket. She does not yet reach.

“And bread, I have made it myself.” There is a twitch of a boney, leathery finger.

“And blankets, I imagine you must get cold here.” Now that does the trick.

Her mouth opens - it’s disgusting. Her lips are leathery too, dried and pasted to her face in a way that permanently exposes her teeth. How did you ever determine that such a corrupted thing had ever been a woman? Oh, that’s right.

She reaches for the basket and it is by the grace of your gloved hands that you do not feel her more intensely. Your ears almost ring at the proximity to her kind. You are too sensitive, too intuitive regarding their kind and their talents. The consequences are extreme disgust, of course, but today your pretty gloves keep her at bay. Your hands are pitch black from the tint of the leather, whereas hers are from filth.

She takes it so timidly. She must be so hungry and cold.

She whooshes back into her awful abode as soon as it is in her hands, not a word leaving her dry mouth nor her glossy eyes blinking. The door slams, but the old wood is rotted and hollow and the sound does not make you flinch.

Ah well, that should keep her at bay for a while. Fed, warm, weak, afraid - and away from the Towns.

And so you deal with a problem before it becomes an evil.

#stray kids fantasy au #strange devotion skz collab #stray kids au #straykidsland #hwang hyunjin #stray kids smut

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jacks-jester · 4 years

Text

Silent Treatment

[Jerome Valeska x Reader]

Words: 1,675

Warnings: Murder, violence, attempted sexual harassment/assault

Requested: Yes / No

Request: “ Hello Beautiful Person! I'm your new follower. Requests are opened right? Not sure how violent or graphic asks can be so I just give it a shot ok? Can I get Jerome x reader in Arkham but no one knows why she's there cause she seems too innocent and totaly normal, but she's more dangerous then they think. After killing a guard in front of everyone for harrasing her, she confesses to being a serial killer but she only kills other killers? (I was watching Dexter) J has a crush on her from day one. “ - Anonymous

Summary: Jerome tries getting to know Arkhams newest victim, a young girl who seems too innocent to be stuck in a place like that. He is quickly proven wrong when her crimes come to light after attacking and killing a prison guard.

A/N~ Love Dexter, love this prompt. Thanks for the response, I hope you enjoy!

Arkham Asylum held the lowest of the low, that included the staff, inmates, and anyone else who dared venture into the shitty institution. Gotham held a lot of bad apples, most of which were comfortably tucked away inside of the padded walls of this penitentiary. Arkham Asylum was disgusting place, the city clearly not caring about the upkeep of the rotting building. The state of the building was laughable, mold growing in every shadow and crevice, rats and cockroaches littering the halls, half the food was rotting in the cafeteria, the guards had no repercussions or supervision, the walls were literally crumbling, and most locks were broken or malfunctioning. The only thing they made sure of, was that guards were armed at all times, assuring brutality between patients and guards, because lets be honest, who would care if an insane inmate of Arkham Asylum was found dead. It was easy for stories to be twisted where guards were the victims of the whole operations, the mentally ill always being the villains.

Arkham’s inmates mostly consisted of men, all ages, all sizes, all different types of fucked up. Arkham accepted anyone deemed a danger to them selves of society so Arkham became a big mixing pot of problems.Serial killers next to muggers, cannibals next to rapists, even some innocents mixed in with the bunch. The few innocents in Arkham never lasted long though, either being killed or becoming corrupted themselves. See that was the thing about Arkham, nobody got better by going there, if anything it reaffirmed their anger and resentment towards the corrupt city and its inhabitants.

Arkham was it’s own special breed of poison for the mentally ill.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You were fairly new to Arkham Asylum, only having been there a week so far. It was no surprise that several of the more lonely inmates had taken to trying to flirt with you,claim you as their property, you didn’t take the bait though. You opted to follow the same route as some of the other female inmates: stay the fuck away from any other inmate in this god forsaken hell hole. You weren’t crazy, you knew that, nobody else here did though. To guards an inmate was an inmate, all the other prisoners having the same mindset as the guards. To everyone in here, you were just another loony who got caught and locked away.

The only thing that seemed to catch people off guard, was your quiet and respectful nature. You never got in fights, never had a melt down, and always were compliant with the prison rules. Most people were the most defensive their first week here, you were the exact opposite of the usual response to being locked up. This had peaked the interest of a particular red headed carnie who had just been locked up himself. Jerome was a curious person by nature, a quick learner, and a very big people person - granted he despised most people though.

Your demeanor drew him in from the start, your physical attractiveness also helping though. Jerome had attempted to talk to you several times, each time being completely ignored or dismissed at the wave of a hand. You always had a book on hand, opting to sit in the far corner of the leisure room and read to yourself while the other inmates played amongst themselves. You were never one to snap easily at people, having learned to bite your tongue to avoid conflict.

Jerome still persisted though, every day opting to sit near you and talk to you, though her never got a response. You’d think a person like Jerome would get worn out and tired of the routine, but if anything he saw it as a game. He wanted to be the first person to get you to talk, he wanted to break your quiet, it helped that he had a bet going with Greenwood though. Greenwood said Jerome would never be able to crack the quiet girl, Jerome begged to differ, and Jerome was never wrong.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It was another day at the Asylum: same shit food, same worn out clothes, same awful staff members, same boring routine. You made your way towards the leisure area, relieved to get a break from your cell. The asylum ran in shifts: high security offenders had the third break of the day - the break you were taking now. You were growing tired of the sorry excuse of a bed the penitentiary gave you, a metal sheet, a blanket, and a flat pillow. It was impossible to get a good nights sleep on those cots, leaving you in an annoyed state for the day. You had gotten no sleep last night, between uncomfortable sleeping conditions and the loud screaming of one of the patients down the hall, it was impossible.

You finally made your way to the checking station, guards typically frisking down patients to ensure that they do not have any weapons on hand. More than once had you seen patients try bringing in pens, wires, sometimes even getting their hands on shards of glass. You approached the guard station, holding your arms out in a T position and separating you legs slightly so they could ensure nothing was tucked in your pants. You had refused to wear the Arkham dresses, not wanting to deal with peoples stares, specifically Greenwood and Sionis.

It didn’t take long for the newbie guard to begin frisking you, his hands gently patting you down to ensure there were no potentially dangerous items on your person. You watched him closely as you felt his pats becoming more prolonged, seemingly taking his time - most guards barely graze an inmate before allowing them in, this new guard seemed to be getting to familiar for comfort. You tensed slightly as he began running his hand up your leg. “Watch it.” You said it with a venomous tone, warning lacing your voice.

The guard only looked at you with a narcissistic smirk, “Mind your manners, you gonna do something about it?” You could feel the rage boiling over in your stomach, “Last chance, knock it off.” You snapped the moment you felt his callous hand brush over you ass, his finger groping lightly, “Try something, I dare you.” You closed your eyes and sighed, “I warned you.” Without another word you brought your elbow, crushing into his face, immediately snapping his nose. Almost instantly blood began gushing from his pig like nose, misshapen and red. He clutched over, his hands both going to his nose as blood freely poured from the new injury. “You fucking bitch!”

You watched as his hand went to grab his gun, the pistol hanging loosely off his left hip. His movements were clumsy however, his hands slipping anxiously off the pistol, you figured it was the shock of having his nose caved in, a headache more than likely forming. Your eyes widened as he went to reach for the gun, your instincts quickly taking over your rational thoughts. Your leg quickly slung over his arched back, getting in a piggy back position as your hands found the curvature of his neck, your hands quickly twisting in the most unpleasant way.

His body instantly slumped beneath you, falling ungracefully to the floor with a sickening thump, your legs catching you before he could pull you down with him. His head was jarred at a strange angle, his jaw slack, eyes wide with shock, hand resting against his holstered gun. Your eyes widened as you came to grips with what had just occurred, you’d broken your code, well kind of. You didn’t consider yourself a criminal, you simply took out the garbage, only killing criminal who were walking free. So in a way he did fit into your normal range of crime, he was obviously someone who delved in sexual assault and harassment so you didn’t feel guilty about it.

You only turned around upon hearing a low whistle from behind, a whistle you knew all to well. You swore under your breath before turning to face Jerome who took to slowly clapping his hands together, as if to show his gratitude for the act just displayed in front of him. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He let out a laugh, kneeling next to the fallen guard, quirking his head to make ye contact with the security guards wide eyes. “Did quite a number on him, didn’t cha?” You rolled your eyes, your gaze flicking to the corpse. “Fucker got what was coming to him.” Your voice was quiet but loud enough for Jerome to hear.

He turned to you with feigned shock, his jaw open as he looked at you with wide eyes. He placed his hand over his chest as his mouth formed a wide grin, “I’m honored doll, finally got you to break after a week.” You rolled your eyes at the excited red head, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement, though there was a small hint of genuine surprise within his ebony pools. He circled you for a moment, “Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought you were, not so innocent.” You raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He only nodded with that same impish grin, “Not yet.... not yet.” He reached down, grabbing the keys from the guards body, opening the leisure room door for you. “After you, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” You looked at him for a moment before sighing, going with him for one reason or another. Death wasn’t uncommon at a place like this so after everyone was securely in the leisure room, the guards body was eventually dragged away and to be disposed of. You and Jerome had taken to sitting in a far corner of the room, a game of Candyland splayed between you two. He made his move before resting his cheek on his fist, peering over at you. “This is gunna be fun.Now then, I want to know everything.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Time: 2 hours 38 minutes (Mania made it incredibly hard to focus, I kept getting stuck)

#jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #gotham one shot #gotham #joker x reader #the joker x reader #cameron monaghan

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nightwingshero · 4 years

Note

1 to 25 for Whitney xoxo

Wow, you really went for it, huh? Lol under the cut, my dear x

1. What’s their go to pick up line/flirting tactic?

Whitney is obvious as a flirt (when she can actually flirt), and it shows in her body language: hair flipping, touching your arm and giggling at anything funny you say, crossing her legs, puffing her chest out a bit, and leaning in close to you. She’s going to wait for you to make the first move, and you will because she will have you eating out of the palm of her hand. Jedi mind trick, because sure, you think picking her up is your choice...when that decision was made before she even started talking to you.

2. Can they dance?

Nope, not really. While Whitney does work out (she’s not shy from doing physical activity), she hardly ever dances. She believes its silly and she would rather be saved from the embarrassment.

3. Underwear style?

Silk and lace. Usually in the colors of light pink, white, or shades of gold.

4. Crayons, markers, colored pencils, or paint?

All of them. Whitney went to school for art and she uses a lot of different mediums. Paint is her favorite, though, and she has a sun room she uses as a studio.

5. What was their childhood stuffed animal of choice?

A fuzzy teddy bear her mother bought her not long before she died. It has a red ribbon/bow around it’s neck and sits in her armchair in her bedroom.

6. What’s their sleeping positions?

Whitney doesn’t move around a lot in her sleep. Mostly it’s on her back, but sometimes she sleeps on her side.

7. Do they snore?

Oh, hell no. Whitney wouldn’t tell you if she did, to be honest. Snoring is above her and ladies don’t do that.

8. What do they act like when they’re drunk?

Ha! Look, I’m just gonna tell you now: Wren and Jane are the worst influence over her, I swear. Anyway! White girl wasted, I’m telling you. Mostly with tequila though. She’s the fruity drink kind and she’s a light weight...it doesn’t mix well for her. Now, if it’s wine or she’s only had a little to drink--she’s just a little more emotional.

9. Sweet, sour, salty, or savory?

Sweet. She bakes a lot and loves it. She likes sour drinks, but that’s about it as far as that goes. Whitney has a complicated relationship with salty foods, she tries to eat healthy, so she doesn’t really eat a whole lot of salty things.

10. Can they play an instrument? If so, which one(s)?

No, not really. She knows some basic piano, but not a whole lot, so she doesn’t really count it. She does sing though and helps with the choir.

11. What would their favorite book be?

Little Women

12. What is their guilty pleasure?

Already answered!

13. If they got a new pet, what would they name it?

Something super cute and adorable, like Pumpkin or some shit. She had a small white dog named Snow White once...she’s not original.

14. Beach house, cozy snowy cabin, treehouse in a forest, or desert paradise?

Already answered!

15. What would their favorite board game be?

Life, Connect Four, Candy Land, and Trivial Pursuit (although Wren and Rowan kick her ass).

16. What do they smell like?

She’s gonna have more of a floral scent, mostly roses. She will also smell like whatever she decided to bake--apple or blueberry pie, sugar cookies, etc. Honey, vanilla, Viktor and Rolf Flowerbomb perfume, and Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume.

17. What’s their favorite smell?

Florals, mostly. Anything citrus and some woodsy scents--sandalwood, cedar, and pine (although you won’t catch her dead in the woods). She loves maple and pumpkin spice (she’s one of those), honey, and brown sugar.

18. If they were drunk, what would they get a tattoo of?

God, Wren would fucking try...Whitney would get a butterfly tattoo, she so fucking would. And yes, probably in the form of a fucking tramp stamp, especially if Wren has anything to do with it. (Istg, Wren and Jane live to corrupt Whitney). If not, she would get it on her hip or get one of those badass under-the-boob tats. I could also see her getting something simple between her boobs--Wren would totally get one with her.

19. Describe their laugh.

Bells, honestly. I know that sounds weird. But it’s not too different from Wren’s, but Wren’s is more...wholesome. If that makes sense? Like, Whitney has a higher note to it, but its a bit sharper, while Wren’s is a tad bit high-pitched, but more full. I don’t know if I’m explaining this right.

20. Hoodies, knit sweaters, wool coats or just a blanket to stay warm?

Knit sweaters and blankets quilts. Whitney is warm and loves things like that. She’s very homey underneath the materialistic uptight front she has (mostly thanks to Nancy and some of Joseph). She’s genuinely loving and caring, not the condescending southern rot-your-teeth sweet she uses on her enemies or the Resistance. Whitney is very much “let me cook you a good meal, you’re skin and bones, and have some hot chocolate with 30 blankets--we can watch Hallmark movies together. Or Nicholas Sparks. Do you like Nicholas Sparks?”. She will definitely be a knit sweater kinda girl.

21. Are they good with their hands? How do they deal with household-type maintenance?

She’s useless, maintenance wise. Good with her hands? With gardening (the only acceptable time to be dirty) and painting, yes. Baking? Absolutely. Fixing things? Hell no. Woman has no idea what she’s doing, she would probably die changing a light bulb.

22. If they had a custom car horn, what would it be?

Heaven Is a Place on Earth or Pocketful of Sunshine. If Wren’s rigging it, it’s gonna be I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston or Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey....Killer Queen is also on the table.

23. Favorite carnival attraction?

Cotton candy stand and the carousal.

24. Showers or baths?

Baths, all day long. She’s a self-care queen, and will either do bubbles, bath bombs, or rose petals. There are candles involved most of the time with a glass of wine and something she can watch Netflix on.

25. What’s their ideal day like?

A bright sunny day painting next to the pond in her backyard with music lightly playing in the background. Maybe with some friends over for company. If it’s raining, she’s gonna be in the sun room painting or enjoying a classic movie--like Titanic or something.

#whitney seed #my ocs

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the-house-of-the-nine · 4 years

Text

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 12

[ And so the journey begins. Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously. Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine? Please Like, Share, and Follow us! We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] - Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

[ R ] - Raven

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[ L. K ] Once the door was demolished and sent flying out into the other part of the crypt they would notice something very interesting indeed; the blood was gone. The previous room that was where the massive head had been was empty and all that remained was a simple stone room with a stairway up.

The group had no time for delay, they had to move quickly, and since the stairs were no longer a sliding board the would have no problem getting out. Once they reached the top the would notice that the sky was black and the massive tentacle worms were flying across the sky.

Take to the trees. The group raced away from the crypt in an attempt to put some distance between them and the horrible place. But once they were finally safely away from their hell on earth; the reality sunk in. What would they do now.

“We need a place to stay, somewhere we can repair and heal. Raven needs energy, and Marseille needs some serious medical attention. And it’s about time that boy got a proper meal. We can’t return to Quelthalas, if we do it will spell disaster. We all look like convicts. And we need to make contact with survivors....Siida...”.

Lazarius eyes narrowed as he clenched them tightly. Losing both sisters. He was certainly a mess.

[ R ] The redheaded woman was unresponsive in Lazarius’ hold. Her slender form wrapped in cloth that left only hear bare feet and shoulders with bra straps exposed, leaving much to the imagination.

At first, if through the panic and chaos any took notice, one might note beneath the mess of black blood all over her, her skin was darkened and the veins that could be seen were blackened. Her skin had split in some areas, evident by the blotches of black soaked through various points of the cloth.

Was she breathing?

It looked as if Laz returned with a dead body. Not a peep came from her as he clutched and ran holding her. Her thick red hair covering up half-elven ears.

By the time they reached the outside world and were breaking through the tree-line to cover, all of those signs of void corruption had faded from her body and any void she was emitting was dormant.

[ P . K ] Here he had been. Minding his own business. Cozied up in his small hut within the depths of the Ghostlands. He liked it here. It was oddly peaceful despite the badies within the woods. His favorite tavern was here, too and it made easy trek into the city if he needed supplies. He’d been in this small hut for… too long.

Anytime he began to think about how long his mood soured and he fell into a depression. But not today. He had hunted a lynx that morning, skinned it bare to sell its pelt, then gutted it, readying it for his dinner. Just as he was about to pour himself a steaming bowl of lynx and veggie stew, the rumbling started.

The red head was immediately on edge, tensing, a sense of gloom and doom overwhelming him a moment as memories began flooding back. No, this wasn’t happening. This place of his, this sanctuary he built, it was peaceful here. Then he heard voices over his crackling flame coming from the direction of the crypts.

The few people who would venture that area were usually experiences archaeologists and explorers. And so, his dinner interrupted, the man grabbed his daggers and headed toward that direction. A few minutes later… The red-haired male would easily be seen along the tree line, not hiding himself at all.

He never felt the need to in this area, finding most things barely able to call themselves threats. But what he saw, the mangled group, left him confused.

“What in the bloody. . . is this? Are… are you all o---“

He stopped dead, blinking once, twice,

“Teacup?”

He said quietly, realizing the blonde… was the spirited elf he’d met many months ago. The tall, lanky, tattoo-covered, red-headed elf gaped at the group, seemingly in shock.

[ V . D ] The fresh air had certainly done wonders to alleviate the tension for both kaldorei and sindorei, Pame shaking from exhaustion with all the consistent excitement... Verzatea was shaking as well, although her shaking more so had to do with the wave of tears rolling down her cheeks as she endured Lazarius's recant of their situation.

Things were looking terribly bleak for them in this moment, and all she could think about was the horrors those in the Bastille must have endured. If it were anything like what their small and disheveled group experienced in the tombs she could only pity those who remained alive. If any did.

But first and foremost the issue of a safe space was a prominent concern before all else. Without a place to rest they could all die here and now in these woods. They were vulnerable bring exhausted, the wounded wouldn't survive long in this chill either... But the stench of ichor and rotting flesh and other unidentifiable offense odors was replaced with a peculiar smell.

Something that tickled an old memory in the far back of her mind... It was then that she'd lift her eyes to inspect the woods, her breath hitching in her throat before Verzatea mentions, her voice a ghost of a whisper as she tried to remember,

"This place... It's familar-- Like walking through a memory."

Only then did the appearance of Kretus stir the two elven women from their state of dismay. Pame stiffened and bore her fangs in a threatening snarl, her grip on Mars tightening-- until Verzatea audibly.gasps in astonishment!

"Kretus!"

She breathes out, relief swelling in her chest to see such a familiar and friendly face,

"By the Shadows, what are you doing this far out?"

Her lip quivers as she stumbles closer, her normally straight blonde hair frazzled and tousled about wildly with blood matting some tresses together. Too her dress skirts were soaked around the bottom of in a similar blood-- fel, everyone was soaked likely.. Resembling the devils rejects no doubt.

[ P . K ] Kretus immediately moves forward upon her stumble, attempting to sling both arms under hers and tugging her to his chest in order to keep her from falling. Gods, they all looked a hot mess.

“I... live... out here,”

He replies absently to her inquiry as his golden eyes moved to each individual in her party of misfits.

“You all look as if N’zoth himself beat you up and dragged you through a pool of blood.”

[ L. K ] Lazarius would have probably just burst into attack mode on this stranger; had he not had his hands full with the blanketed Raven. She was curled up in his arms and he was unable to really do much, but all things considered he would have not given this man a second look if he was free.

"Verzatea, might we focus please. . . I am assuming you know this fire haired country boy. . . introductions can wait."

He huffed, making sure Raven was secure and calling over to the man.

"While I am all for sentimental reunions; you have hit the nail on the head my friend. . . Oddly square on the head. . . that is exactly what just happened. . . in every sense of the word."

Lazarius would take several steps closer, past Marseille and Pame, around Jursol and her raptors and beside Verza and the boy she carried. He would look the man square in the eye with those ancient blackened pools.

"We need a place to lay low, recover and take inventory on what exactly we are doing. . ."

He peered toward Verza.

"Familiar how, if you know someone who has a large enough facility for us to find refuge we need it. We're losing valuable time."

[ J ] Once outside she took to the trees to move, her raptors remained low but were cunning little fucks. They would easily avoid detection. Following the others in silence as they made their way to their destination. While she did not know where they were going, she fully trusted them.

She had at some point spaces out follows them, before hearing a strange elf yelling. There were no words yet from her as she watched and listened to the other talking. Her eyes glanced at Mars as she moved to help Pame with him.

“He be needin help now.”

Her words were few but she knew Pame understood. Jursol was ready to lend a hand with his wounds, and with a nasty tasting concoction that would help.

[ P . K ] The red head scowled, mouthing the words, fire haired country boy with a bemused look on his face. As the male came closer, he squinted a moment, locking gazes. Why does he look familiar?

Kretus didn’t have time to ponder nor did he seem startled at Lazarius’ blunt reply of how right he had been on his observation. His Adam’s apple merely bobbed as he swallowed hard, and then he cleared his throat.

“I have a hut nearby with medical supplies, food, blankets, so on and so forth. I just did a supply run to the city two days hence. Come. It’s just a few minutes from here near the river edge....”

[ L. K ] "I have a man with a missing arm, and teeth marks in his chest cavity. . .have you ever seen a twelve foot tall human head with a centipede body? He was devoured by it. . ."

Lazarius snapped, giving the man a stern look from his blood covered face.

"A comatose boy who has been out cold for several hours and is probably going to need a complete frontal lobe lobotomy. . .and this specimen I have quite literally plucked from an alternate reality who is going to die lest she feed on the raw dark energy of the cosmos. . . .and you've got a 'hut' was it?"

Lazarius peered down at Verza with another glance.

"Don't you have family somewhere around here? You were off for nearly two months visiting them. . . I thought you said the Duskflame Estate was somewhere on the border of the Ghostlands and Eversong. . ."

[ P . K ] Kretus just stared at the man, hardly phased by the implied insult to his... hut.

“I mean that’s fine. Be on your way then if you have some where better to be. But something tells me my hut with things you will need for a journey is better than what you just described.”

[ V . D ] Verzatea's shoulders tensed with the haughty and stressed tones, her hands clutching onto the familiar figure of Kretus. She would have pressed her forehead against the gentlemans torso when he first pulled her forth, but rather than linger in this moment - no matter how she wanted to given it was the safest she'd felt since the tomb - she recalled the severity of the situation. Her eyes glance around then, hissing out:

"Mind your tempers,"

She sighs through her nose, standing up right now and releasing Kretus after a grateful smile was sent his way,

"It id very good to see you again my friend... And once more I must ask your aid-- While your home would be an appreciated opportunity to rest..,"

Tea glances back to offer the group an apologetic stare,

"We cannot linger... Its no guarantee we're out of the woods just yet. Theres another place, one much safer than the middle of the woods-- I just..,"

She glances around, the familiar forest and its natural scents riling those old memories once more... Childhood memories, even, but not enough to navigate the woods blindly,

"I dont know how to get there from here."

Turning to the group Tea remarks hesitantly,

"If we can make it to the North-Eastern most tip between the Ghostlands and Eversong Woods we can gather safely at my childhood home..,"

Glancing over her shoulder she'd peer up toward Kretus to explain,

"You aren't safe in these woods anymore, after having contact with us. Come with us? Lead us, even, since you know these woods well?"

Pame grunts as the weight of Marseille begins to dawn on her tired muscles, huffing out in aggravation,

"Choose quickly."

@siidaraykashebahl

@pyravari-kashebahl

@frompage112

@thebladeitself

@whatadarkbitch

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@miss-irascible

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 13″

#thehouseofthenine #the house of the nine #our stories #OC stories #original characters #guild stories

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elopez7228 · 4 years

Text

Scenic Route 31/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

King con. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve the title.

Just last night he’d been the happiest man alive, watching her return his kisses and share his desires, or better yet, take the initiative. He had been betrayed by his most loyal followers and forced to forfeit his position at FORCE. He was screwed.

Lord, he’d been screwed ever since she came into his life.

Her and no one else.

He would have sold his empire for her. Never in his life had he wanted someone so badly. He had realized in a matter of hours that he had never truly been in love before.

Before Rey.

Idiot. Now what? What was he suppose to do with this grand revelation when he couldn’t resist fucking things up when he had the chance?

It dawned on him that Syed had been right all along: Rey was nothing more than a diversion act set up by Earth Soldiers. He should have known. She was too real, too uncomplicated and disinterested in his past as Leia Skywalker’s un-prodigal son to ever be a part of their hippie cult. Had she been a true believer, she would have reacted differently to him.

Even the bottom-feeders in Leia’s organization knew who Kylo Ren was. They would never be able to play the part convincingly in his presence—either they would try to get back at him for undermining their glorious leader, or they would bend over backwards for him because they wouldn’t dare displease Leia by hurting her son.

But Rey? She threw the playbook out the window. She laughed in the face of them all, be it FORCE, or Earth Soldiers, Leia Skywalker or Kylo Ren. She only ever had eyes for Ben Solo.

The thought made him stop in his tracks. No one had ever wanted Ben Solo before.

Not his own mother, who saw his likely unplanned birth as nothing but a complication in her promising military career (perhaps why she left him with faceless nannies for eight months of the year) and certainly not his rakish father, who could never relate to his soft-spoken, taciturn son. The man only had an appetite for speed and dirty jokes, which Ben found equally unappealing.

His fellow boys on the base were no better. They constantly made fun of his bad posture and lanky frame, if not his unmasculine passion for calligraphy which was too far from their fanboy worship of Rambo and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

And then you had the girls. Lord, the girls. With his too-big ears and elongated nose they happily christened him “rat face”, shoving him deeper into his self-imposed solitude.

Worst of all was his uncle, who Ben lived with after turning thirteen and losing his father. Luke worked at the FORCE headquarters in San Francisco where he became obsessed with carrying on his father Anakin Skywalker’s legacy—a grand ambition for the future of the family enterprise that was also forced upon his new intern-nephew. But Ben never liked the projects they designed for him, not that they ever bothered to stop and ask him for his opinion anyway.

Year after year, silence after silence, the anger accumulated. A deep, unvoiced rage against the whole world, against himself. He hated his own ugliness, his shyness, and his parents’ apathetic disdain. He was always an outcast, never able to make friends or fit in.

Just thinking about the atrocity of his childhood and teenage years was making him chew the inside of his cheek raw. He had spent years trying to please the people around him, in vain.

His life changed the day he enrolled in Harvard and began going by the name Kylo Ren.

His mother hardly had the means to pay for his education there. Even less could be said for his uncle, who in his lunacy had managed to get kicked off of FORCE’s board of directors after staging an internal coup. Luke was facing a defamation lawsuit from the president, Snoke, and had nothing to offer his freshly-graduated nephew.

In fact, the way Luke and Leia put it, Ben wasn’t talented enough to attend an Ivy League school. They didn’t even try to pull strings to get him hired at FORCE. Ben couldn’t help but feel that they saw him as little more than a culmination of both of their failures in life.

FORCE was rife with corruption now, they told him. An apple with worms, etcetera, etcetera.

And then they declared that the family enterprise, founded by very his own grandparents, Anakin and Padmé Skywalker, was barred to him forever? When did he become so despised and useless that he was denied a place at the table when it came to his own heritage, his own fucking bloodline?

It was then that Snoke reached out, unexpectedly. In the name of maintaining the family business and keeping the Skywalker name in the game, he offered Ben a privately funded scholarship to attend university. His mother had pushed him to refuse the offer.

Truly, she had been unbearable. Finally there stood a genuinely lucrative opportunity for him to take and she demanded he refuse it? What for? What did she have to offer in return? Nothing. Not a single alternative to humor him with other than a measly “trust me”.

And with that, he was willing to take a chance on that scholarship.

Ben managed to ace all the entrance exams, despite his hatred for standardized testing and the nagging feeling that he hadn’t done well enough.

Maybe he was finally learning to believe in himself?

In his eagerness to leave the past behind, he began calling himself Kylo Ren. New name, clean slate.

Kylo Ren was everything that Ben Solo wasn’t. He was muscular and popular with the girls. He aced his classes easily and all but owned the campus scene. For the first time in his life he had enough confidence to play his music, drink, smoke, and not care what his mother thought of him.

Not that she thought any better of him, of course. All complaints as usual. His new name was ridiculous, his longer hair was unruly, and he only worked out to impress others. Furthermore, his cigarettes smelled terrible, his music sounded worse, and could he please date girls who were a little more respectable?

So he stopped visiting her entirely. He was never the son she wanted, anyway. It was time to stop pretending.

It was at about the same time that she established her own environmental awareness initiative, named after one of Padmé Skywalker’s utopian projects, and declared war on FORCE.

The newly rebranded First Order Capital and Resource Extraction office, still helmed by Snoke, reached out to him once more. After college he could have a future there: money, a senior position with near-total freedom, and a seat at the proverbial family table. He could restore the legacy of his grandfather.

After ten years of searching, he thought he had finally found his place—standing to Snoke’s right, taking on Luke and Leia who were no doubt envious of his success.

That, was before Rey came into the picture.

With her arrival, Kylo Ren was tossed aside like an empty shell.

She rejected him and his unrestrained passions—she barely wanted him to begin with.

She only respected Ben Solo while having nothing but disdain for Kylo Ren and he...fuck, he was actually okay with that. It only made her more appealing.

The sound of a car horn forced him out of his reveries. He looked up to find Shakti behind the wheel.

He got into the car and immediately lit a cigarette. Shakti said nothing. When he’d texted her to come find him at the intersection of 89 and Carbella in Gadiner at 4 AM, she obeyed.

But Ben could see her staring out of the corner of his eye. He relented.

“What?”

“New look?” Shakti grinned, pointing with her chin in his direction.

It took him a second, as he touched his head to find the braid still intact. Time to get rid of that, before the other Knights assumed he went into the woods last night to play dress up.

And yet he found himself reluctant to do so, when it was his only remaining evidence that the night spent with Rey was real. That she had touched him, and cared for him, with tenderness and good intentions. If he undid it another piece would disappear into the void, nothing but a dream.

It had been hours and he could still taste her on his lips. She was right. He had made bad choices and now he had to face the consequences.

Why had he tried to find the chip in the dog collar when things were going so well?

Easy. Because he was sure it would be there. As soon as he realized she wasn’t an acolyte—at least, a willing one—he suspected she was a mule. Hand-picked for the job by his mother. Yes, she would be able to muddy the waters without ever having to lie.

Leia always had a certain knack for casting; she was unrivaled in the art of picking and choosing who to manipulate next. And who better to trust with the actual cargo than the dog, in case the girl proved incompetent? Knowing Rey, she could have easily lost an envelope, or her bag, or her phone...hell, the Millennium Falcon too. She could have just left it to rot when Syed started chasing her. But who in their right mind would abandon a defenseless puppy?

It was a stroke of genius.

That morning, it had been time to see if he was right, if he had correctly predicted the end of his mother’s master plan. To see if he was as clever as she never gave him credit for.

He’d tried to resist the urge. He really did. He’d kissed Rey and hoped to drift back to sleep with her. But it was no use, he had to know.

And so he got up, silent as a shadow, to dress in the clothes that were scattered on the ground outside. Thinking back, it was the other evidence of their moonlit tryst. He found her keys in her bag and opened the car door.

BB8 was so happy to be out that she forgot Luke’s instructions to attack Ben on sight. The only thing she did was relive herself in the bushes.

In one smooth motion, he had grabbed her collar, easily finding the metal latch of the hidden compartment that popped open right there and—

And that’s when he saw her standing there.

In hindsight, he knew right then and there that there was no fixing this. Nothing he could say or do that would make her believe that he hadn’t meant to do anything other than confirm a hunch. He’d been caught like an idiot with his hand in the cookie jar, hours after promising to be honest with her.

There was no way he was getting her back now. She slipped through his fingers like water, gone forever.

A hard bargain for one microSD chip.

Her love was worth more. He wouldn’t have admitted a few days ago, but after Syed and Skylar’s betrayal, after Snoke and Hux and the endless blackmail? It was over. FORCE had turned against him, so swiftly and violently that it left him breathless. Like it did to Luke. And his grandfather.

But the girl, Rey, had been there for him.

And even as she screamed at him in rage, even as she claimed deception—she had proven him right too. The mule, the secret, the dog. All of it.

She had started out innocently enough, a tourist on holiday. But by moving the chip on purpose she had become a willing accomplice.

That alone was enough to make her the enemy. But did Ben still have a side here?

Syed had managed to turn Skylar against him in impressively short order. What had she promised him in return? Money, or sex, maybe both?

Had she managed to turn the rest of them too? Maybe there was no one left to trust, and he was alone again. A total reject, a pariah, Leia’s failure of a son.

Looking at Shakti behind the wheel, it was impossible to tell. She didn’t seem any different but Syed could have tried to manipulate her regardless. The two women were never close despite working on the same team, Syed’s brutal tendencies often clashing with Shakti’s militaristic discipline.

He could see it clearly now: Syed and Skylar’s mission had been Ben himself.

The other knights would reveal their cards in time.

And as for Snoke and Hux...nothing was certain. They could have very well asked Syed to dispose of him. But knowing her, the attack was likely more of a personal choice. She wanted him to give up Rey’s location, making Rey the final target. The fact that Syed and Skylar got to beat him up in the process was just icing on the cake.

Maybe he still had a shot at redemption here, if he played his cards right. The list of tasks was endless.

The only thing he was absolutely sure of was that Rey had a couple of very competent assassins on her trail. After last night, they would stop at nothing to get back at her.

He had to warn her...he had to stop them.

His deceptively prim metropolitan belle had proven to be far more resourceful than he expected, but she was still no match for two Knights of Ren.

Decision made, he took out his phone.

Shakti was right beside him as he made the call, but that no longer mattered. Either she was with him and she was going to understand the stakes in a matter of time, or she was against him and he would personally ensure that she wouldn’t tell a soul.

Rey didn’t answer, it went straight to voicemail.

“Rey, it’s Ben. I know you don’t want to talk but hear me out. Syed and Skylar are tracking you and they won’t stop after what happed last night. You have to go to the police, you’re in imminent danger. Call me, I—“ he hesitated, his voice breaking.

Should he say it?

“I’m an ungrateful bastard and I’m sorry. I love you.”

Next to him, Shakti turned red. She glanced away as best she could to hide it.

Mentally, he added another item to the list: maintaining control of his team after just having revealed his greatest weakness. After Rey, there would be nothing left of Kylo Ren.

#reylo #fanfiction #Modern AU #Scenic Route

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dancing-on-the-waves · 5 years

Text

The Museum

I went to the museum today to see the paintings, sculptures, whimsy, antiquities and assorted curiosities. Modernism, impressionism, surrealism, cubism, realism, and abstract. Michelangelo and Picasso, Monet and Manet, Dying Gaul and Van Gogh, Rodin and Gauguin, and Rembrandt so vibrant. I saw The Thinker and wondered just what he thought about. Did he marvel at what was all about? The joy and tragedy, The reality and fantasy, the reverence and malignity? I stood there for a while just wondering and thinking. I slowly moved through the rooms stopping before pictures and objects, still thinking, wondering, and…feeling. I stood before a painting of a mother and children and an apple seller by Renoir. I felt the simple happiness free of strife, the peace of a colorfully modest life. I gazed others by Daly, Morrissey, Landry, Fincher, Schlesinger, and more I laughed and dreampt at the childish innocence and playfulness which brought a peace to my soul and a smile to my face to see such grace. I moved from there to another room full of armor, weapons, and the means to impose one’s will upon another to dominate and smother. I sat on a bench taking in all the implements of war and death absorbed in what it all represented as I took each living breath. Men who took life from others, men who gave their lives for others. Warriors who returned to families scarred, broken, dismembered, defeated, covered by a hideous pall…and many who never returned at all. I left that room in a gloom looking for solace and diversion in the abstraction and distraction of a modern room. I walked in circles trying to make sense of the chaos, aberrations, disorder, tumult, and disillusionment of the now. I watched as others toured the room marveling at the craftsmanship, the dueling heroism they envisioned, or imagining the ‘game’ of war Finally, I shook my head and wondered how. The next phase of my tour led me to a room of antiquities that left me grieving at the inhumanity of man. Was there any end to the depth of depravity? Others in the room walked around in somber fascination, or gross exhileration. Before me were implements to claw, tear, crush, impale, burn, dismember: the rack, an iron maiden, breast rippers, knee splitters, and so many more grippers and rippers. In my mind I could hear the tortured screams, fiendish laughs, and feel the blood running down, and the scalding baths. and I saw the spikes piecing my flesh as men held gruesome staffs How was it possible that anyone could do such satanic things to another? May the masters of such abominations rot in hell ‘til the last bell. My heart and soul filled with anguish and hate that nothing in there could abate. I past through a few rooms without noticing what was in them as I tried to erase what I had seen and felt that day. waiting for the images to melt away The next room I entered I found a bench and just stared absently for a while. When I regained my senses and took in what hung over me I was filled with the veneration and imagination of the artists and their worlds of God and gods. As I contemplated the meaning of all of this I was overwhelmed by the humility that the artists must have felt at times as they traced their lines so sublime. Was there meaning beyond ourselves thus in the eternity and universe around us? Were the gods aspirations or degenerations of man, or men who were able to rise, or lower to great aspirations, or degradations. Men who through time and legend became venerated and lifted above imaginations? My thoughts were filled with wonder and deflection, soul searching and reflection. After a time my mind returned to the world of men, earth and the museum. I solemnly rose to continue my path of the halls of craft, artistry, imagination, and tedium. I finally came to the last room having past the fascination and allure of the cultures of the world leaving my head in a swirl. I found myself in a small alcove alone with a single painting. I could only stand before it with tears running down my face as I stared at the mercy and grace. Before me was a simple painting of a mother and her son. She held him so gently, and lovingly with tears like mine running down her face. He did not move, he did not play, fight, run amuck, smile, or harm anyone. His tortured body just lay in her arms lifeless and dim. His life mercilessly taken from him. In her eyes I could see the grief and pain of a mother. In her eyes I could see the joy and relief of victory to come for others. He gave His life so that others may live, have life and freedom from eternal strife. He paid the penalty for our/my selfishness, hatred, greed, cruelty, and viciousness. He freed us from death, wrath, hatred, slavery, and hopelessness In Him could be seen the art of creation, the meaning of it all. The beauty of hope and joy for every girl and boy. The beauty and meaning that was corrupted by the creation only to be restored by the love and selflessness of the master of creation. I left wondering if that was what The Thinker was pondering.

K. C. Barry

#writerscreed #purelypsalms #savage-words #poetryportal #re-bumbleblossoms #24hoursopen #13cupsofreblog #teacup13 #lzlabseesu #inkstainsandheartbeats #blotched-poems #twcpoetry #illustrans #bumbleblossoms #teaberrybee

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rizachan · 6 years

Text

Cinderella Phenomenon Contest Entry #2

I can’t help it okay?

Word Count: 1449

Backstory:

Once upon a time, there was a witty young lady named Axiella Cherylle Wystgarde. She was the only daughter of two noble knights of Angielle, but unfortunately lost their lives when they were discovered that they helped two witches escape during the Witch Hunt.

A friend of the witches is an enemy of the humans. That was what they believed; that those knights were witches themselves and they would one day bring doom to the kingdom. Driven by their fear, they felt it was the right choice to set their home in flames. They convinced themselves that they were just protecting themselves, and if they truly were noble, at least they died with a cause… no matter how absurd it was.

“MOMMY! DADDY!”

The young Axiella, who had just came back from playing with the children in the town square, tried to call for her parents one more time. She was forced back by the flames, making her knees weak with helplessness. She cried out her parents’ names, holding on to the chance that they may make it out alive.

But that flickering hope died out pretty soon.

“Kill the girl! She must be a witch too!”

She had to run away for the sake of surviving, even though her limbs were aching badly. Her feet went numb, her body trembled in constant fear of being captured and killed. She had no time to waste.

She went to her friends, but they all turned against her. The adults tried to seize her, but she managed to fight her way and escape. The eyes that looked at her was no longer filled with adoration but hatred and fear.

At such a young age, she had seen the cruel side of the world.

Being a lost cause, she carelessly wandered around the woods deep in the night, finally able to scream her agony out. Her summer dress was dirtied with soot, her skin had cuts and scratches all over. Her voice cracked as her throat dried, but she didn’t mind. She couldn’t. Everything had already sank in: she was left alone.

She sought for vengeance ever since that day. She made sure to stay alive, doing whatever was necessary to survive. She gathered fruits from the trees, even stole from the travelers that passed by. Axiella couldn’t realize how her heart was being corrupted by her desire for revenge, being placed in that situation at a fragile age of ten. She didn’t want to see pity; she knew it in herself that no one would pity the girl whose parents were believed to be witches.

But there was.

After five months of living like that, her frail body dropped to the ground after being managed to be grazed by a blade, a mistake she made after stealing from a patrolling knight. She managed to run away from sight, but soon she was losing blood.

Her half-lidded eyes stared at the tall trees that filtered the light of the afternoon sun. Tears blurred her vision as she lost consciousness. Fortunately, a hunter and his wife found her and went to help, bringing her in their home at a hidden part of the woods.

At first, Axiella was doubtful. Their kindness must be a façade. They’d eventually turn me in to those people, she thought. But the couple admitted that they were hiding from the public themselves, in fear of being killed because of discrimination. Axiella never knew that the couple were the same witches that her real parents helped from before, but somewhere in her heart, she felt like she can trust once again.

Since then, Axiella felt like she found another place to call home.

The couple, Saxton and Lilia, grew fond of her, making her a part of their family. Saxton taught Axiella how to hunt, as she eventually became skilled with the bow. He even taught her the basics of combat, in case she runs into trouble like she did before. Axiella wasn’t unhappy about it. She loved them as if they were her parents themselves, and wanted to protect herself from the cruelty of the world.

A year later, the couple had a daughter and named her Beatrix. Axiella treated her like a sister, happy that there was another person she can talk to since she was never allowed to go beyond the woods, which she didn’t mind since she never wanted to go back there.

When the Great War began, Saxton and Lilia received a letter from their friend, Delora, who was requesting for them to fight with the Lucis Bearer. They wanted to, but they were reluctant to leave the children at such troubling times. However, they remembered the two knights that helped them, and remembered how they were killed because of the conflict between the witches and the humans.

“Axiella, we have to go somewhere very important. Both of you should be inside until we come back.”

“When will you come back?”

“We don’t know, sweetheart. But we promise we’d be back soon, so take care of Beatrix for us, alright?”

“Okay. I promise to protect Beatrix no matter what!” she said with optimism. “I love you both!”

“We love you too, Axiella.”

While they were away, someone was suddenly in front of their door. Noticing that they weren’t Saxton nor Lilia, Axiella was quick to take her baby sister and hide in the attic, where the perpetrators fortunately didn’t notice.

“Let’s go back tomorrow. The children must be back by then.”

While in the attic, the girl found Lilia’s diary and discovered about everything, including their heritage and the letter. Axiella, though flooded with mixed feelings, thought that they weren’t safe there anymore and left home.

They managed throughout the woods by hunting and eating fruits. Soon, Axiella overheard a traveler talking about the end of the war so they finally returned to their home. Instead of Saxton and Lilia waiting for them, Axiella found a note signed by Delora. She wrote about what happened in the war, and unfortunately the couple wasn’t able to escape from Hildyr’s wrath. Axiella felt bitter, losing important people again, but she couldn’t let herself break in front of the young Beatrix, so instead she felt determined to protect Beatrix even more.

Four years later, Axiella was already eighteen while Beatrix was ten, Beatrix suddenly grew very ill that Axiella, having nowhere else to go, went to seek help from Delora. However, instead of Delora, she stumbled upon a corrupted witch. The witch eventually recognized her as the child of a “traitor” and intended to kill her, but…

“I will not die in a place like this.” She stated firmly, staring right into her captor’s eyes with such tenacity. “I will return to my sister alive, and you will not stop me.”

The witch felt amused by her determination and so she decided to strike a deal with Axiella: that she will help her sister under one condition. Axiella agreed to do anything, so the witch cursed her with the Snow White’s Curse, twisted in a way that would get rid of a traitor’s child if she doesn’t manage to break the curse. Axiella’s “heart” gets trapped in a crystal apple and kept away in a box. Her skin turned as white as snow and she suffers when exposed to sunlight, as if an albino. She has to retrieve her “heart” before the crystal apple “rots” (or completely rusts) or else she dies. Once the curse was done, Axiella woke up in their home and found that Beatrix was alright, like the witch promised.

However, because of the curse, she cannot hunt often since she gets tired easily, an effect of not having her heart. She also cannot stay out in broad daylight for long so she needs to wear a cloak, which hinders her movements. These burdens made their life a little harder, and so she was forced to make a decision.

Axiella wanted to try and find Delora again, however she was afraid the witch would target Beatrix next. Reluctantly, she agreed to take Beatrix out to the kingdom of Angielle, where her darkest memories seeded from.

She wanted to break the curse as soon as possible, because she doesn’t want her poor baby sister to suffer the constant loss of family like she did. She cannot die and leave Beatrix alone, without anyone to turn to. Even if it meant all her time and effort, she would do whatever it takes for Beatrix to live a happy life, and she will be there to see it. She promised, and she intends to keep it.

“My dearest family… Mommy, Daddy… Saxton, Lilia… Please look after us.”

Entry 1 | Entry 3

#CPContest #cinderella phenomenon #cp #writing contest #contest entry

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weeklyhumorist · 5 years

Text

Scary Stories to Tell During an Election Cycle

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

Where are My Votes?

At the turn of the century, two vastly different candidates were in competition for the American presidency.

Al, the more experienced of the two, lived his life cleanly and responsibly. A Harvard graduate and war veteran, he married his high school sweetheart before entering into the politics and eventually becoming the Vice President.

Georgie, on the other hand, could only be described as reckless. A draft dodger and a cocaine addict, the candidate seemed to command little respect from those around him. People assumed that the choice was an obvious one, and that it would be a simple victory for Al.

But it wasn’t. In fact, the election was so close, it was up to just one state to determine a winner. Unfortunately, that state was Florida.

Luckily for Georgie, however, he had friends in high places who ensured that the voting machines were not quite working the way that they were supposed to…

…

The next day, the election was over. Georgie had won. He retired to his new office to celebrate his victory with his favorite blend of champagne, pornography, and of course, cocaine.

Suddenly, in the midst of an intoxicated stupor. He heard a low, droning voice from behind him.

“Wheeeerrreeee arrrrreeeee myyyyy vooooootes,” it drawled.

Terrified, Georgie turned around to see Al on the television, his dead eyes burrowing into Georgie’s own.

“Wheeeerrreeee arrrrreeeee myyyyy vooooootes,” it repeated.

Desperate, Georgie reached for the remote and grasped it with a sweaty nervous hand. But, no matter where he turned, it was the same thing on every channel! Badly shaken, he turned off the television and went to bed.

Things were no better the next morning, however. No matter where he went, or who he talked to, he could always hear the echo of that voice.

“Wheeeerrreeee arrrrreeeee myyyyy vooooootes”

Eventually, these words became etched in his mind. He could hear them in his thoughts, in his dreams. It followed him everywhere, and he began to wonder why he even wanted to become president in the first place.

Then, thankfully for him, came 9/11.

Reagan’s Apple Pie: A Game

This is a popular old political game, which continues to be played by Republicans today.

The first step is to gather a group of friends into a dark room, like a basement, closet or a voting booth, and have them close their eyes while you hand out your and tell them this story…

There was once a movie star named Ronald Reagan. He was a very poor actor, his worst role was playing the President of the United States. Still, he was quite popular with his base.

“Reagan is as American as apple pie,” people said.

But his pie was made of some very different ingredients. Instead, Reagan served up some very different flavors, listing them off throughout his campaign.

“This are our secure boarders” he said. (Popsicle sticks)

“These are our environmental initiatives (A bowl full of toxic sludge).”

(At this point, some players will get scared and tend to want to leave the room. Particularly minorities and disenfranchised groups.)

“Oh,” he added. “Don’t forget about our “trickle down” economic policy.” (A rotting carrot soaked in urine)

“Or our response to the AIDS crisis.” (Nothing).

(Now that your friends have their eyes closed, covertly sell weapons to Iran Contra terrorist groups.)

The Blue Dress

Billie Clinton had a problem with truth. He also had a problem with women.

Therefore, the trouble really began for him when he met the girl in the blue dress. A pretty young girl, she worked for him as an intern, which made it much easier for him to seduce her.

But, being Billie Clinton, he had to lie about it.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” he told journalists.

In order to preserve his lie, Billie got vengeful, and decided to throw the girl in the blue dress to the wolves (journalists, pundits and other beasts), where her credibility was torn apart and laughed about around the world.

After that, Billie was certain that his problems were behind him, and went back to work. While there was still an ongoing investigation, he felt that he had the trust of the American people and that his detractors had no proof any wrongdoing.

So he was feeling quite confident when he walked onto the floor of congress a few weeks later and saw a a sight that terrified him to his very core…

There, in the middle of the room, was the dripping blue dress.

Chappaquiddick (or, The Kennedys Three): A Song

This is the story of the Kennedys Three,

The brothers Ted, John F. and young Bobby

Bobby was shot, John lost most of his head,

Though Ted was the one who’d have been better off dead

Cha-ppa-quidd-ick

Ted was a drunk, and rowdy to boot

Didn’t cut a figure you’d bother to shoot.

As senator, he relied solely on name,

But held White House ambitions all the same

Cha-ppa-quidd-ick

These hopes were dashed one dark night in ’69

When brother Ted committed a horrible crime

Cha-ppa-quidd-ick

Leaving a party with a girl and a buzz

He drove off a bridge with his mind all a-fuzz

He swam to the shore in a narrow escape

Though the car and the girl were in far worse shape

Cha-ppa-quidd-ick

The car sunk to the bottom, would have been hard to find

And reporting to police–must have slipped his mind

The courts found him guilty in the third degree,

But with all his connections, he simply walked free

Cha-ppa-quidd-ick

He continued his life, with time to regret it

But as for the White House—boy, he could forget it.

Two brothers were martyred, but Ted couldn’t make it.

So when Death gives you a chance—be sure and take it.

The Scream

Howard Dean was a senator from Vermont, and he loved his country. In fact, he loved it so much that he was determined to change how its corrupt elections were conducted. So, he spent time in every state in the country—not just those he believed he could win as a Democratic politician.

He went to the internet, a new invention, and began gathering funds from small donors rather than big investors. To everyone’s surprise, it actually worked— and he made it all the way to the Iowa Caucus.

Still, he knew that wasn’t enough. They made it to Iowa, sure, but he wasn’t done there. He was going to go to New Hampshire. He was going to South Carolina, and Oklahoma, and Arizona, North Dakota, New Mexico, California, and Texas and New York, and South Dakota, and Oregon, and Washington, and Michigan and then they were going to Washington DC to take back the White House. That was, until…

(Turn to one your friends and scream:)

“YEEEAAAAWWWWW!”

Trump-A-Dee-Dump: A Poem.

There once was a troll named Trump-A-Dee-Dump. Fa-la!

He ran to give his deflated career a pump. Ha-ha!

The news said he’d never get far. Nuh-uh!

But then won the primaries. Wha-wha?!

He mumbled about walls, and yelled about email. Rah-rah!

Proving that people will elect a troll as opposed to a female. Ma-ma!

You might think politics are for the calm and the lucid. La-la!

But one must remember—never underestimate stupid. Duh-Duh!

The Moral:

Although from under his bridge he might tweet and offend

Don’t think for one second it won’t happen again.

Scary Stories to Tell During an Election Cycle was originally published on Weekly Humorist

#bush #Clinton #elections #kennedys #politics #scary #scary stories to tell in the dark

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motusinanis · 7 years

Text

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS?

BOLD ANY WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE.

ITALICIZE WHAT THEY LIKE OR CAN BE TAKEN TWO WAYS { for me this is about Koσμος! }

REMEMBER TO REPOST & NOT REBLOG.

FEEL FREE TO ADD TO THE LIST

Tagging: @peeblcs @glittch-bitch & @spccdiskey

Short version as tagged by No one.

fire. ice. water. air. earth. claws. fangs. wings. gold. diamonds. grass. leaves. trees. roses. metal. iron. rust. rain. snow. lace. silk. cotton. sun. moon. stars. blood. dirt. mud. silver. steel. sugar. salt. lavender. foxglove. glass. wood. paper. wool. fur. smoke. ash. ocean. bruises. scars. wind. spices. light. dark. paint. charcoal. wine. hard liquor. sweat. dust. bare feet. canine. feline. coffee. tea. candles. sword. dagger. staff. arrow. hammer. shield. gun. spikes. sand. rocks. roots. feathers. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. herbs. waves. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. clay. stone. brick. lions. wolves. foxes. ravens. eagles. mountains. crucifix.

Long Versions Below

“ you rise, I fall, I stand, you crawl, you twist, I turn. ” / the softest palms that never want to touch you until after a bottle of wine. / “ just braid your hair if you won’t brush it, at least, you useless girl. ” / pulling on her skirt with one hand as she shuffles away. / “ you’ll get it done before the day is up. ” / guilt that isn’t yours to have. / it’s a crooked game, but it’s the only one in town. / chains. / “ how could you do this to me? ” / the sharp sting of guilt. / you feel something even though you’re paid to do the opposite. / the family you never had. / falling backwards through time. / quicksand. / drowning, but you don’t save yourself. / “ you’re getting better. ” / “ they smile like a snake. ” / you’re the stars and the sky. / there’s a part of you that couldn’t stay away even if you were forced to. / they are your wings, there’s no doubt there. / “ let’s take off somewhere. let’s fly. ” / you edge a bit too close to the sun. / another ghost to take your place after every stumble. / deep roots in the ground slashed open in the sun. / rock candy melting in water. / waves rise and leave the foam behind. / the precipice you call home has a tip you’ll reach eventually. / happiness is the best front a man can make. / “ i’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you before. ” / you disagree; they’re more beautiful. / discomfort at the tiniest of touches. / the sky opens up when you see them. / rain comes down. / poppy fields. / your sanity hanging by a thread. / “ oh god, what have you done? ” / roommates weren’t supposed to be the smartest ones of all. / your mother had the most beautiful gardens, but you can’t grow anything worth a damn. / the similarities between deep space and deep water. / they’ve got a devil on their shoulder and an angel in their mind. / you tried to help, but it only got worse. / now they’re dead, it’s all your fault. / adam & eve in the garden. / a temptress in crisp button-downs. / “ fuck, you’ve gone off the deep end, haven’t you? ” / they lie so perfectly you almost forget yourself. / the spark that lit the kindling on your funeral pyre. / sugar and spice and a taste for the dark side. / you smell like the mountains in the winter. / crisp red apples piled up on the table. / your shoes are sharp, but your wit is even sharper. / what a pretty one, they say. / directionless laughter. / “ love, I think I’m dying. ” / a soft, hollow spot sits in your chest. / there’s a place you’ll never leave no matter who tries to stop you. / the seat of power fits like a glove. / heavy is the head that wears the crown. / there will always be someone ready to break your neck and relieve you of the weight. / you share a space, but not a mind. / they think you are weak; you are, maybe. / “ what are you going to do with all of these pills? ” / an empty bird’s nest. / broken pencil tips. / there’s an empty paper in front of you that you’ll never fill. / “ we want you to succeed. i hope you can grasp that. ” / “ they weren’t there when it happened. ” / quick to anger. / corruption. / there’s a red string tying you together. / the scent of whiskey on the horizon. / “ you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. ” / pink tipped fingers lock in secrecy. / “ jump. I dare you. ” / 99 red balloons drifting through a hazy sky. / you try to lift your head up, but it’s so much effort. / always walking on sunshine. / marble under the sun. / “ I was hoping that you’d understand. ” / there’s a million reasons to come down from the clouds, but you can’t be bothered. / loon is the word of the day. / hair twisted up with glitter butterfly clips like a haphazard mobile. / you drift, but you know where you’re going. / no one has any dirt on you because you’re infinitely spotless. / the empty side of your bed they crawled into when they were nine. / court hearings. / “ I miss you. ” / siblings are a funny thing. / they point out every family-shaped hole in every picture on the mantelpiece. / a lone wolf separated from its pack. / “ they say your name is death. ” / all-consuming passion. / think about the things you did. / feed off the daylight. / no signs of life. / “ what are you waiting for? ” / a diaphanous sea of rose petals. / pure wilderness. / if you’re hungry enough, anyone can stop caring about something long enough to eat it. / spine like a ladder, and his weary feet can’t find purchase. / the burn was so slow no one ever saw it coming. / learn through teaching. / “ have you ever thought about why trees bleed? ” / sleeping nude as a means to declare you want to stay. / “ go down with me, fall with me. ” / black on black on black on black on bl — / the long game. / restless hands. / ivy infiltrating an empty, corroded church. / you will do anything to keep them. / a cemetery by the moon, unblessed. / even when you walked one would think you waltzed. / “ madmen know nothing, but you should have seen me. ” / “ my blood ran cold. ” / power corrupts. / wood grain and nail tracks. / no scales are strong enough to judge you. / “ your eyes make me want to do terrible things. “ / gaping as the river swallows her whole / rose brambles claiming your home / power is power / i am the night. / lust and loss callused feet that rhythmically hit the pavement. / dark hair & a glance thrown over the shoulder / they call you angel & devil in the same breath / you have ceased to be yourself; only what they want you to be remains / flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart / brother; what’s my name? / whatcha gonna do when the chips are down? / wouldn’t you have done the same? / you can have your principles as long as you’ve a belly full / lover’s desire / what remains? / when you were mine the world seemed to burn / apocryphal vows delivered upon hands and knees / beware the music of the dead, for it shall lead you likewise unto death

#the shell will crack ;; musings #{ i stole this from my other blog lol #my phantom of the opera blog }

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