Chapter Text
You couldn't believe it; after so many years of being a faithful disciple, Playboi Carti finally acknowledged one of your comments. It had been a minute notion, a statement defending Whole Lotta Red from some braindead bigot operating by the moniker of Judah. Yet, somehow, it had seized the recognition of Sir Cartier himself.
His reply was quite eloquent, an expressive purple heart emoji to show his endorsement of your steadfast defense. His approval touched you; it was perhaps the most thoughtful gesture anyone had ever bestowed upon your insignificant existence.
It made your body quake in ways you never knew beforehand; it stoked a flame inside you. You needed this, and it became readily apparent you couldn't live without this sensation. The fall to your knees was sudden; it became self-evident you no longer possessed the capacity to feel below the abdomen.
And yet, as you revel in your first untarnished moment of rapture, a pleasure incomparable to any climax, you can catch the vague drone of your ringtone. Not just any tone, the one pertaining to your dearest companion. In your ecstasy-muddled mind, you were wholly incapable of dragging yourself to the phone. And so you let it ring, and so you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation of bliss.
You stirred yourself awake in a sweat. It was apparent several hours had passed since your last cognizant thought—the sunshine that had formerly been piercing your addled eyes, now only a faint memory. You rose with unsteady legs; this was an entirely new experience for your ordinarily recalcitrant frame.
The hobble through the house to reach the mattress was painful. The lounge's maple floor was not a sufficient space for a fellow to slumber, and your gnawing muscles made you amply aware. At last, you entered your refuge, your dwelling of preference. The comfort of finally unwinding on the rusty springs was vaguely akin to the sensations of hours past.
After a few moments of lazing and relishing in your humble luxury, you indolently took hold of your phone to see what you've missed in your recent bedimmed hours. As your forefinger glides across the phone's surface, a sight is exposed that steals your breath. The Carti reply, it was real; you can scarcely believe it. It wasn't all a fabrication of one of your frequent lust-driven dreams.
Eventually, you have to force yourself to calm down. Recognition is the prime measure for a more stable lifestyle, and this is the life you now lead. Being friends, real genuine friends, with the transcendent Playboi Carti must bring many perks. You reminisce of how only hours ago, you lived the life of a mere civilian worker. You are fully prepared for the life of a rockstar; it's what you were destined for.
But your focus is drawn away when your ringing cell phone interrupts your contemplation. This time, the display screen isn't illuminated with the verdant, friendly face of Sir Cartier. Rather, it reveals the glowing eyes of your long-time nemesis, Iggy Azalea.
"Hi, Y/N ," she purrs. "I wanted to talk to you about my upcoming album."
A scream is wrenched from your lips, spittle flying from your mouth. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweating, and your breathing is labored. But your hands don't seem capable of end ing the call, instead, you find yourself under the witch's trance.
"…it was such a surprise to see you in Jordan's comments ," her voice continues. "You're obviously talented, so I was wondering if you'd be interested in collaborating with me?"
"No, thank you," you had meant to say... But you found yourself gasping for air, unable to deny Iggy. Startled by the realization that you had fallen victim to the spell of your greatest enemy. You look around the room, searching for some kind of escape, but your gaze falls upon a crumpled note slipped beneath your door.
"I know you want to do this, Y/N," your tormentor coos. "I can tell. "
Your mind begins to clear , and you realize she has overpowered you. There is no escape this time. Her magic has worked its nefarious work.
"Fine," you gasp.
The line goes dead , and you begin to weep. You have become the pawn of the evil Iggy , and there is nothing you can do about it. Your body shakes violently as you sob uncontrollably into your pillow.
A terrible ding makes its way to your ears, a notification.. Perhaps... Just maybe... Was Carti coming to save you!? You immediately scrambled to your device; you had to find out.
"Playboi Carti, Cartier, Cartier Cartier Cartier," you search your screen frantically. "Cartier Cartier Cartier Cartier Cartier!"
But there was no relief to be found. No Carti, no Cartier, no Cartier Cartier Cartier. Only a text from her. She was flying you out to LA.
⁂
There comes a point in every man's life where he must choose between two paths. One leads toward success and prosperity, while the other leads directly into the abyss.
In your cas e, these roads diverged at the crossroads of a simple decision: should you spend the rest of your days as a respected member of society or continue to be led down the path of depravity?
As fate would have it, you chose poorly.
That fateful day began innocuously enough. A new Carti post, a new comment, a new like . It was the same routine you followed each and every morning before beginning your daily grind.
However, all changed when she called . After years of hatred , the goddess herself beckoned you back to her side. The power of her words was undeniable. How could you resist?
She offered up an opportunity unlike anything you had experienced thus far in your brief tenure here on earth. She promised fame, fortune, women, and everything else that money could buy. All you had to do was follow along.
You were young, impressionable, and easily swayed by the promises of others. You did as instructed, abandoning all morals and ethics in order to attain the American dream.
This is the story of how you sold your soul to the devil.