#an infernal monstrosity

[viscericorde]

for halloween yesterday i went as Lydia and fulfilled my little freak childhood dream of someday owning her red wedding dress irl

[amrubrum]

i adore herongraystairs and tid with all my heart but if you held me up at gunpoint and asked me to recite the full plot of the entire series i will not be coming back alive. i genuinely cannot remember a single thing that has happened in clockwork angel, clockwork prince, and clockwork princess.

i mean it HAS been two years since i've read it but still. i read city of bones two years ago as well yet i can still remember a lot of parts from it

[dougielombax]

Speaking of cursed robots:

This infernal monstrosity would make for an INCREDIBLE boss fight!

“Let’s see what you make of THIS!!!!!”

*insane boss battle music begins*

“Fondant SURPRISE!!!!!!!!!”

[jeyneofpoole]

louis venez ici i’m incredibly distressed i’ve been trawling here on the wifi and i’ve come across something most loathsome do you see this monstrosity? regarde ça this deceitful little bar has been advertised to me as a form of electronic cigarette! they say it is blue raspberry flavored louis i hate this so utterly i cannot stand it. je vais me fuer this century is shallow and rude there is no such thing as a blue raspberry and there is no such thing as an electronic cigarette i refuse to accept it. what makes this cigarette electronic in the least? does it connect to the wifi? i love the wifi louis i wish that the wifi would not associate with this hateful institution. is this one and the same with that detestable object armand refers to as his ‘banana ice puff bar’ i abhor that one most of all it emits the worst odor c’est vraiment mauvais. louis mon cher you must promise that you will never fall sway under the influence of this infernal device i do not know if my heart could take such a beating. i will not allow those plastic pretenders in my home la main à dieu we must find a way to end this

[gravehags]

satan baby

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: yule with the papas, secondo and terzo fighting over caroling, gift giving, and maybe...kissing

Words: 1,877

Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year.

a/n: it's been a while my children. eat up and merry christmas to those who celebrate. a little present from me to you.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“This is Secret Santa, you’re only supposed to get a gift for one person,” you sigh, currently inundated with a pile of presents on your lap and by your feet. “What’s all this?”

“Correction, bella, this is Secret Satan where you get as many gifts for whomever you like, sì? And you’re our star this year.”

Terzo smiles warmly at you as you fidget with the fabric of your festive dark green velvet skirt. You’ve all gathered in the Papas’ private living room, the mantle of the roaring fireplace positively bedecked with greenery and a massive tree opposite. A couple weeks ago you and Copia were put in charge of creating the orange garland, a not insignificant task given the height and breadth of the noble fir. Speaking of Copia, he is sitting in a deep leather armchair, stroking his mustache thoughtfully and giving you a funny look. When you give him an exaggerated wink his lips curl into a smile and his eyes dart away as his cheeks flush.

“Another cup, signorina?”

Primo is currently standing next to the hot plate on the side table, stirring the large cauldron of mulled wine. You really shouldn’t, you already are feeling a little woozy and warm but what the hell. Christmas, right? Or Yule, rather. You nod eagerly and Primo doles out a hefty amount of the dark liquid into a mug with little rats on it, passing it to Secondo who passes it to you as Terzo hands you yet another gift to open. So far you’ve unwrapped a beautiful homemade perfume from Primo and a garnet jewelry set which you are sure is quite old and quite expensive from Terzo. Copia still clings to the small present on his lap that bears a tag with your name on it, unwilling to see it in your hands just yet. One of these presents alone would be more than enough to dazzle you but the Papas insist on spoiling you. Who are you to object?

“This one is from me,” Secondo says, smiling slightly sinisterly over the rim of his mug.

“Ominous, but okay,” you say as you unwrap the box with caution. When you gingerly open the lid and see what’s inside, you let out an undignified screech. Primo, Terzo, and Copia exchange alarmed expressions as you reach in and lift the stuffed creature from its confines to marvel at it. It’s positively hideous - a large round potato-like head, red vestments, even a glittering pectoral grucifix. You’re beaming.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Copia says, outraged and red-faced.

“He’s perfect,” you coo, holding him against you in a tight hug. “Look at his stupid little face!”

“Ah, sì, he looks just like you,” Terzo says with a grin.

“He–it–looks nothing like me. No mustache. No sideburns. Eyes are all wrong!”

“He’s beautiful,” you say, cradling the monstrosity in your arms with all the grace of Mary. “Thank you Secondo.”

“I made him myself, you know.”

“A man of many talents!”

“A man of many war crimes,” Copia growls from his spot, flinging himself backwards in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Don’t speak about our son that way!” you cry, pressing your palms to the ears of the small stuffed man.

“Our son?” Copia cocks his head with interest and the brothers all look at you in silence.

“Y-yes. He looks - mostly - like you and I am his mother. Therefore we are his parents. So step up.”

When you reach out to hand the stuffed cardinal to the real thing, he sighs and takes it in his hands. 

“He is infernal,” Copia says, placing him sitting up on his lap. “But I accept him as mine.” The sight makes you scramble for your phone to take as many pictures as possible.

“What a beautiful family moment,” Terzo says, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. “Copia, I think you’re the only one left who hasn’t exchanged presents!”

Handing the doll back to you he hesitates to reach for the gift still in his lap. Primo, ever wise, interrupts to ask if anyone wants dessert while you reach down and grab the present you’ve brought for Copia. Terzo and Secondo haul themselves up with much grumbling and follow Primo out of the room to help.

“I thought you said you were only bringing a present for one person? Primo was who you drew, sì?”

“Yeah I know but,” you scoot your chair closer to him, “you’re special. You’ve been on my side since day one. I couldn’t not get you something. You mean too much to me.”

Copia blushes the fiercest shade of red you’ve seen yet as you hand him the heavy package.

“Grazie, cara mia,” he says quietly, mismatched eyes boring earnestly into yours.

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t opened it.”

With a smile he begins unwrapping the festive paper. When he finishes and sees what is inside his heart jumps.

“Dolcezza,” he breathes and you blush just as fiercely as him at the nickname, “this is wonderful.”

It had taken you a lot of time and a lot of money (worth every cent as far as you are concerned) to locate an antique facsimile of William Blake’s art. Admittedly, you had used a lot of the Ministry’s excellent resources to find it but all the effort was worth it for this moment. When Copia looks up at you, you swear there are tears in his eyes.

“I have never before received a gift such as this, cara. Thank you.”

When you reach out and cover his gloved hand with yours and squeeze firmly, it’s as if his whole body sinks into itself. Softly, he picks up your hand and brings it to his lips - a sweet echo of his action from the first day you met. It takes everything within you not to knock all the items out of Copia’s lap and climb in it yourself. In all honesty, you’re moments away from doing just that when the Papas return to the room with much clamor. Your heart sinks as Copia drops your hand and clears his throat, and you return to your chair from your half-risen position. When Copia looks at you and points to the small box next to him, you mouth the words “later” with a smile before accepting a comically large slice of yule log from Secondo. The rest of the evening is relatively quiet apart from the dueling rendition of “Carol of the Bells” that Secondo and Terzo fight over while Primo sleeps contentedly in his comfy armchair. When the Papas begin loudly arguing in Italian you signal to Copia and begin gathering your things in a large brown bag. Without a word the two of you slip out the door and when you hear a crash and Primo’s deep bellow ringing out you skitter away down the hall.

“Looks like we made it out just in time,” you giggle as the two of you finally slow.

“Eh, sì, it always ends like this,” Copia says with a huff and an eye roll, “they can’t help themselves.”

Copia is unaware of where he is standing but oh, you certainly are. This looks like a perfect place to stop.

“Not trying to be pushy but I think you were going to give me something?” you say, cocking your head and setting down your bag. 

“Ah…yes,” he sets down the book you gifted him and thrusts out his hand with the fastidiously wrapped present within it. “For you.”

You take the gift and open it delicately and slowly and see him chew on his bottom lip slightly. 

“If you don’t like it I–”

“Hush,” you say simply as you open the box. Inside, resting on dark red velvet is a simple and small golden grucifix on a delicate matching chain.

“You always wanted to be a part of the Ministry,” he says quietly, fussing with his gloves, “and I hope this lets you know that we accept you. We’ve always accepted you. I–”

You remain silent as you set down the box and put the necklace on while Copia watches. When you finish your hands don’t return to your sides but rather come up to cradle the Cardinal’s cheeks. He’s frozen as you stand just like this, thumbs brushing against his sideburns and a look on your face that he doesn’t think he has the capacity to describe. Your cheeks positively glow, your eyes seem lit from within and your lips are curled into a soft smile. They part momentarily for you to take a deep, steadying breath - inhale, exhale - before you lean forwards and gently place your lips on his. The ground shifts beneath him, the world is spinning as the fingers of your right hand begin to slide along his jaw and you tilt your head. You hesitate only for a moment, pulling back slightly before Copia grabs you insistently by the back of the head and pushes his lips back against yours. He tastes of mulling spices and his mustache tickles your upper lip, as you always knew it would. When you finally need to catch your breath he barely relinquishes his grip on you, making you laugh and kiss his chin.

“Why,” he whispers, thumb running against your cheekbone. “Why me?”

You lean forward and rest your head against his chest, close enough to hear the thud of his heart.

“It was always you,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his back. “Always. From the moment you kissed my hand the day I was hired to the moment you comforted me when I was sad and lonely. From the moment you shared your rats with me. From the moment you put me to bed when I was drunk. All of it, Copia. All of you. That’s why.”

When you pull back to look at him, there’s definitely no mistaking the tears in his eyes this time and when he frantically pulls you in for another kiss, you can feel the wetness on your own cheeks. When you pull away with a giggle he looks concerned.

“Amore mio, what is it?”

You point upwards to the healthy sprig of mistletoe hanging from the rafter.

“You had no idea did you,” you say with a grin, chin resting on his sternum.

“Who would? Who could even see that and in the dark I–” his words cut off as you gasp from the short sharp smack to your ass.

“Copia! Not in front of our child!” you chastise, reaching into the bag and pulling out the accursed doll.

“Ugh, I had forgotten about him,” Copia grouses as you take it and peck him on the cheek with it.

“What should we name him?” you muse, adjusting the doll’s pellegrina.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something suitably horrific,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead which you lean into eagerly. “Until then…shall I, eh, walk you back to your rooms?”

“Please,” and with one last long, lingering kiss with the odd cardinal doll squished between the two of you, you pick up your bag and continue the long walk back to your cozy bed with the Satanic cardinal you hoped would soon be in it.

[red-dead-sakharine]

Hope keeps the house afloat

Okay, here's a wild theory...

Lore background:

Souls are tortured in the hells to extract their potent energy

Infernal machinery is powered by souls

I present to you:

Hope's soul is fueling Raphael's rocket engines.

Hope keeps the House of Hope afloat.

Revel in the irony.

But it still floats after she's free/dead!

Counter: She's not being tortured 24/7 either. There could be a "storage", and Raphael only has to squeeze her soul for energy, when the storage is empty. You know, like a car running on fuel.

Admittedly, a single soul might not be enough to fuel those engine monstrosities, unless perhaps the soul is special? Which Hope might be. Raphael sure wanted her badly to join him. It could explain why he's lenient with her, even after you free her. Because he wants to use her as fuel again, so he'd like to avoid killing her.

This theory has no basis other than souljuice = energy lore, and the fact that Hope is shackled to the two main engines.

But, I'd argue, it's at least a very compelling idea...

[missygoesmeow]

that one scene from pride & prejudice 2005 a little ficlet under the cut

i just wrote this on tumblr so lmao we ball. its more just to get the idea down.

Every door had been unlocked and every room had been rifled through—yet her contract was still in the Archives, perfectly preserved and untouched in its pride of place. With every passing moment, Tav could not shake the horrible sense of unease that told her this had been a stupid idea. Of course, it had been a reckless decision. But everyone bar Lae’zel had disagreed with her choice to sign Raphael’s contract.

And Gale had been right; she should not have agreed to give the Crown of Karsus to the devil But it had felt like the right choice to obtain the Orphic Hammer—for Lae'zel and for them all to survive this awful situation. Standing here, in this room, it no longer felt like a wise idea to break into the House of Hope and steal her contract back. Coming across Haarlep had been more than Tav had bargained for, and she had not spoken of what she had found in the boudoir. Not the password for her contract nor what she had done to obtain it. She had simply fled and found Astarion picking the lock to one last room. It had taken the vampire longer than usual to unlock—which had seemed strange upon entering it. There was nothing in here except for some broken statues and paintings—all of Raphael in his infernal glory. Yet, at the back of the room, there was one bust that sat on a plinth that captured her attention. It was the only piece of artwork in this entire monstrosity of a house that depicted Raphael in his human form.

There was no emotion in the expression except for a slight lingering dismissiveness from the arch of his brow. The blank marble stare paled in comparison to the real thing, surely no artist could capture his eyes, Tav thought. And here her mind wandered to the feel of Haarlep’s hand against her skin and his voice in her ear as her body still softly throbbed from his touch. Yet, whenever she closed her eyes she could only see Raphael’s warm amber eyes. She stared at the bust and the marble seemed to see right through her, dismissing her as nothing.

Tav felt like nothing.

While she knew she was but a means to an end to the devil, and that she should not have broken their agreement, nor his trust, to sneak into his home. She had hoped, however foolishly, that she would get away with it. But now, staring into the hollow eyes of his likeness, she felt the gnawing guilt and fear twist at her. She should have turned around as soon as she had arrived. And she most certainly should have walked away from Haarlep. But unlike the master of the house, she was mortal and she had been weak to resist the incubus. But she would not make any further mistakes and so she dragged her attention away from the marble statue and returned to her companions. "We need to leave. Now."

[scuttlingcrab]

"The doublet is a magical item, so it can fit and mould to Raphael’s body no matter his form or temper." Now I'm just picturing Raphael transforming in anger while wearing the doublet and his rage is momentarily stopped when he realizes that it transformed with him and wasn't even singed.

Like, I could be incredibly angry with someone, but if I suddenly realized that my dress had pockets in it I know darn well that I'd need to at least stop and take a moment to marvel at that discovery before even thinking about continuing on with my anger. 😅

I was literally working on something similar when you sent your message! I've attached the ask below I was initially responding to. Thank you for your message anon and hope you enjoy! x

"Also, the idea of Raphael showing off his new clothes is just- It just tickles me! I can see him preening and flaunting like a peacock because of Tav's gift. I'd honestly read a sequel piece about that, if you want to write it. I've kinda already fallen in love with the whole idea of a luxury magic tailor Tav that the initial prompt fill and response has created as well as that Tav's potential dynamic with Raphael (and other characters *looking at Gale and his sewing needle quip*) and would absolutely be down to read more of that from you! 👀"

Summary: Raphael is caught off guard by his recent gift from Tav, so he decides to pay his little mouse a visit.

Notes: Read A Perfect Fit, which inspired this continuation.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Dressed to Kill 

Raphael stomped through the halls of the House of Hope, shedding his mortal skin. The doublet didn’t set fire when Raphael transformed, instead, it morphed with his growing size. The silk fabric soothed his ridged body, feeling like a warm embrace. Raphael suppressed a scream. Wretched mortal! The debtors scurried out of his path like rats, seeking the shadows for an ounce of solace from the blistering rage. 

He passed an open window and jolted to a halt. The blood-red light of Avernus caught the designs of his doublet, causing it to glimmer like diamonds. During his shift, the colour of his clothing changed. It now had a dark golden shimmer, the infernal embroidery a deep blue. He extended his arm, admiring the sleeve as he twisted it only slightly, and watched as the adornment reflected tiny devilish patterns onto the marble floors. The decorations moved, as if dancing. Another interesting, subtle detail.

Staring at these animations, Raphael’s breath calmed, his mind cleared. He stood taller, his head never held so high. Abruptly he spotted one of the debtors staring at him from his peripheral and lowered his hand, slowly turning to face them. Fire burned in Raphael’s eyes as he hissed, barring his sharp teeth. The debtor screeched before scurrying off to continue their meaningless eternal task. 

“If I catch just one more incompetent lackey idling about, I will impale your sorry souls on trees and leave you to rot. You are all interchangeable. Do not forget that.”

Raphael watched as the last debtor fled from his sight. He will not be caught off guard again. No. In fact… he will pay that creature a visit. 

–

Raphael materialised at the creature's camp in a swirl of flames and sparks, returning to his mortal disguise. 

The camp was quiet at this hour, the creatures asleep, separated into their individual makeshift tents. And what a ghastly camp it was, third-rate, at best. Miscellaneous equipment littered every corner, books lay discarded, shoddy clothes hung drying on trees, and the animals… When did these mortals domesticate owlbears? Savages.  

He slowly approached Tav’s tent, nestled towards the lake's shoreline. He parted the flap with an index finger and peeked inside. The creature was fast asleep, sharing her tent with that monstrosity Karlach. 

He watched them sleeping, so defenceless. He perked up at the thought. If he was so inclined, he could have easily ended their lives, consumed their souls before the tadpoles defiled them; all it would take is a snap of his fingers…

“Rise and shine, little mouse.” Raphael purred. 

Tav sprang up from her bed roll, clumsily readying a dagger from her sleeve. She held it out towards Raphael, one eye still closed, as she fought off the interrupted slumber. 

Karlach simply turned over in her bedding, yawning and stretching like a cat. She slowly opened her eyes, sitting upright when she spotted Raphael standing at the entrance.

He smirked in response, placing a hand on his hip.

“What the hell is this creep doing here?”

“Good evening to you too, Karlach. I am simply checking in on my prospective clients.”

Raphael bowed deeply, making sure to be as flamboyant as possible in his gesture.

“In the middle of the bloody night? Fuck off, devil.” 

Raphael slowly straightened himself, adjusting his sleeves. He aimed his cuffs towards the campfire, taking care to make sure the lighting was just right to highlight the devilish decorations. 

“Tut, tut, Karlach, language. If I wanted to hear such hideous sounds I’d speak with a lemure.”

Karlach leapt to her feet, the rickety infernal engine in her chest glowing brighter as she stared daggers at him.

“Karlach, please…” 

Tav raised a hand at Karlach, putting away her weapon. She rubbed away the rest of the sleep and focused on Raphael. Her face instantly lit up when she caught sight of his doublet. 

“You’re… wearing it?” Tav whispered. She brought her hands to her mouth, attempting to hide her flushed cheeks. 

“But of course! How could I resist such a delicious gift? It’s not often a devil like myself comes across a mortal with such curious tastes. Your attention to detail is…”

Raphael dramatically clasped his hands together, as if in a prayer. Yes, indeed. Thank the Gods up above for damning these poor creatures and sending them straight into his claws. 

“Superb!” 

“Hells, what have you done?” Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

Tav gave Karlach a sidelong glance, narrowing her eyes. Raphael’s smile grew, devouring the creature’s disapproval and embarrassment. Almost as scrumptious as a soul.

“You are quite the seamstress. What else have you been creating on your adventures, hmm? I wonder, what would be the price for another item such as this? Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?” 

Tav’s mouth hung open at his words.

“I-I-uh, didn’t think that far ahead. Let me sleep on it.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, little mouse. You had my curiosity, but now… you have my full attention.”

Raphael raised his arms out wide, like a peacock strutting their finest feathers. He laughed as he surrounded himself in infernal flames. He had truly stumbled upon his greatest prize, his secret weapon to uniting the Nine Hells. Raphael would reach his target soon, that was for certain, but oh, oh yes... he would look hellishly chic in his pursuits. He would turn heads, devils and mortals alike.

[punderdome]

Infernal Jurisprudence: Chapter 7

Summary: Raphael’s prized investments explore an arcane tower.

[AO3]

Chapter 7: The Sussur Tree

Raphael was working on his contracts when he felt the twinge of a Sending spell on the back of his neck.

“Little Mouse.  Bulette.”   

Raphael immediately grabbed his scrying mirror.  Korrilla should have been more detailed.  She had an additional twenty two words.

His adventurers and his Mouse were fighting a Bulette in the Underdark.  Raphael watched the scene just to see the burning Tiefling get thrown several meters away by one of the monstrosity’s leaps.  She cried out in pain and hobbled as she tried to return to the fight.

The beast charged again, and Raphael watched as Tavara flew several meters away to avoid a clear collision.  He recognized the preemptive motion and the relatively soft landing as Korrilla using telekinesis to protect the Mouse from harm.

The Sharran had conjured guardians to protect her as she closed the distance, and the Bulette responded by spitting acidic phlegm into her face.  She shrieked and tried desperately to conjure water to rinse out her eyes.  The monster then closed its teeth on the Gith’s right arm, causing her to drop her blade as she cried out. 

The Warlock wielded a singing blade and fought back, coughing up dust and grime as the creature tried to prevent him from using his Eldritch blasts.  The vampling snapped the string of his bow and was spouting curses.  Meanwhile, the wizard stood lamely in the center of the chaos lobbing spells at the creature and not being targeted by its wrath.  Such a dumb beast to let the weakest amongst them wreak so much havoc.

Raphael felt like he was watching a mortal circus as his investments tried to kill the creature.  There was no organization of their efforts, only haphazard blows and spells.  As the monstrosity breathed a death rattle, the only one left unscathed was the donkey.

“Such a glorious day of victory!” the wizard proclaimed.  Raphael wanted to feed him to the mushrooms of the Underdark.

“Come on now,” the wizard urged.  “The tower is free and clear for us to retrieve the components.  It looks like a wonderful, safe place for us to rest and recover.”  The wizard blustered on as the Sharran patched them up as best she could, though weariness seemed to have engulfed them all.

Raphael watched with a sigh as the wizard plowed forward inattentively, causing the Warlock next to him to take a blast to the face from one of the arcane turrets surrounding the tower.

“Hells!” the Warlock exclaimed after finding cover.  The Gith used her one arm to dab a cloth doused in healing potion over the Warlock’s eye.  The Sharran looked over it urgently but found no lasting damage.

“A wizard’s tower is his sanctum, a private place for research and respite.  But as this wizard’s not home, I say we take a peek,” the donkey said before leading the charge into the tower.

Raphael buried his face in his hands as his investments’ decision making grew even more inexplicable.  Additional arcane turret blasts within the tower to the Warlock's face nearly cost the him his Sending stone.  The Tiefling was limping with both Bulette bites and turret blasts to her kneecap.

“You promised us an easy afternoon of looting!” the vampling shouted at the wizard.  “Those were tower defenses not mushroom gardens!”

“Now that we’ve breached the tower, it shouldn’t be too much more before we find the alchemical components we’ve been looking for,” the donkey assured them.

It baffled Raphael’s mind that any of them were continuing to blindly follow that asshole any further into the tower in the states they were in.  The wizard had to be completely oblivious not to realize how battered and beaten his companions were between the Bulette and the tower defenses.

Raphael watched as Korrilla followed them, his adventurers using Featherfall to leap below to a peaceful garden containing a Sussur tree.

“Lenore’s notes do suggest that we could power her tower using Sussur blooms!”  Raphael was growing tired of listening to the wizard’s voice.  The wizard gestured towards the large Sussur tree in the garden, and none of the battered adventurers made a move towards it.

Eventually, Tavara stepped forward beneath the tree, and Raphael was awestruck at the sight.  The slightest breeze caused the tree to shed a multitude of glowing blue blooms.  Petals swirled around the Little Mouse’s face.  She was stunning in the pale blue light of the tree, carrying a bouquet of fallen blooms back to the tower.

Tavara’s face fell.  “I-” she started.  The wizard sauntered over to her and the Tiefling hobbled to her.  “My magic-”  The Tiefling took the bouquet of blooms from the Little Mouse, and she tried and failed to summon any amount of magic from her veins.

“This tree doesn’t sit well with you, does it?” the wizard inquired.  “It doesn’t sit well with me either.”

“My magic isn’t working-” Tavara’s voice held a sharp undercurrent of panic.  “I can’t.  It won’t respond to me.”  Any efforts she made to cast cantrips fizzled in her palms.

“Soldier, let’s get that elevator working and we’ll get you out of here.  Your magic will come back, but until then, stay close to Mama K.”  The Tiefling winked and Tavara nodded nervously.

The Tiefling fed the tower boiler with Sussur blooms, and the arcane tower had hummed to life, the lanterns flickering in the dim of the Underdark.  The elevator was humming with a pale blue glow.

The Tiefling herded her companions into the elevator.  Tavara crouched down to the floor, her eyes filled with tears as she tried to summon any cantrips.  The magic in Tavara’s hands continued to flicker and spark before dimming nto nothingness.  She tried again to summon lights from the Weave, but they faltered into the cold darkness once more.

“It’s not working-” she panicked.

“Don’t worry, my magic returned to me as soon as the blooms were discarded, I’m sure it’s just taking a little more time for you,” the wizard tried to comfort her.

“Tav, your magic will come back, don’t you worry,” the Warlock pulled her standing again but Raphael could see the panic brewing in her eyes.

Raphael knew of the mechanical automatons on the rooftop of the tower, serving the missing former occupant with hums and whirrs of their engines.  They would immediately recognize that his prized adventurers were not the long-deceased cleric and move to defend the tower.  His investments were in no state to challenge them: the burning Tiefling was limping and the Gith had carefully bandaged wounds on her right arm, the Warlock had hilariously taken two blasts from the Arcane tower to his face, the vampling’s bow string had snapped and needed to be replaced, the Sharran seemed like she was about to fall asleep at any moment in armor crusted with phlegm, Tavara’s magic was still sparking and uncontrollable, and it was highly unlikely they would send the Waterdhavian donkey to the rooftop alone.

They were exploring a lower floor of the tower, and the looming dangers were not something Raphael was confident Korrilla could handle on her own.  He set down the scrying mirror and snapped.

Raphael stood on the rooftop of the arcane tower.  His entrance was immediately observed by the three automatons.  The constructs gazed upon him with quietly turning gears and sharp clicking noises of joints that needed to be oiled.

“New sounds through damp and dark oppression break.  Is it the foe, that foul contemptuous heel?” the largest automaton addressed him.

Raphael addressed his mechanical audience.  “The wanderer follows the sweetest voice.  Their soul cannot breach their lonely heart-”

“An unbeknownst command by fools that would intrude.  Now steel shall ring: false tongue will speak no more,” the automaton responded as motors and gears whirred to life.  Raphael was irritated his performance was interrupted.

He called forth a shower of Hellfire that rained on the tower rooftop.  Steel chassis started to warp in the heat from Raphael’s power.  The air smelled of sulfur and burning oil.  Plumes of smoke rose from engines burned out and distorted.  There was a slight scent of the sweetness of burning Sussur essence.  The remains of the constructs glowed white with the heat from his power.

“The void presents the only choice, and thus, the wanderer must depart.”   Raphael concluded his verse.  

Raphael observed his handiwork with great pride.  The automatons were a twisted pile of metal and debris and would trouble his prized adventurers no longer.  He lightly tapped the toe of his boot against a mechanical hand laying still on the stones.  He gave another self-congratulatory kick to a Hellfire-singed servomotor with a smile on his face.  The mechanical skills on Prime Material were not nearly as advanced as the engineering of the Hells.

Raphael could hear the hum of the elevator and snapped to make his presence scarce.  He returned to his study and picked up his scrying mirror.  Tavara and her companions finished their search of the tower and returned to their camp to rest.

Raphael went to watch them in their camp as they prepared to rest after the evening meal.  He stood in the shadows to silently observe.

“Gale, I don’t know why, but my magic hasn’t returned,” Tavara’s voice was panicked as she showed him how her hand sparked and glimmered but whatever spell she was trying to cast had failed to manifest.

“Don’t be worried, my magic is as good as it was before we encountered the Sussur blossoms,” the wizard offered to console her.  Simpleton.  “I’m sure your magic will return as soon as you get some rest.”

Tavara nodded, but the wizard’s words failed to calm her.  He departed for his rest.

The Little Mouse slipped away and was kneeling by the edge of the dark river that flowed through her camp.  She held a bar of soap and was furiously scrubbing at her arms with a sponge.

“Damned pollen, damned petals.” she lamented under her breath.  Her voice was sharp and desperate.  Her arms were scrubbed raw.  She grabbed the sponge again and quickly wiped it over her raw and irritated skin.  After another round of washing, Tavara retreated to the cap of a wide orange mushroom and tried futilely to summon any amount of magic.  Tears were welling in her eyes.

“Little Mouse,” Raphael addressed her calmly.  His Mouse was teary, and in no mood for theatrics.

“Go away, Raphael,” Tavara’s voice broke.

“My, my, what troubles are you having, my dear?”  He knew her unresponsive magic was the source of her unrest but there was little chance she would admit it.

To his surprise, the Mouse was completely forthright with him.  “My magic isn’t working.”  Her voice trembled and tears fell down her cheeks in liquid form.  Raphael sat down next to her.

Raphael bade her to move closer to him.  The Little Mouse moved cautiously until they were within arm’s reach of one another.

“May I, my dear?” Raphael gave a long, theatrical bow as he reached towards her.  Tavara swallowed before nodding.  Raphael moved his body closer so that she was almost in his arms.  His hand moved towards her cheek, almost grazing her scales and wiping away her tears.  He leaned his face closer to her neck, and he heard a sharp hitch in her breath.  His hand briefly touched her ear before he ran his hand through her hair.

Tavara quickly gasped and grasped his shoulder.  “Raphael,” she murmured sharply.  The grip of her fingers on his doublet caused passion to coil within his chest, and the sound of his name on her lips was music to his ears.  The strokes of his fingers through her hair caused her to slightly lean into his touch, her breath ragged and uncertain.  Her lips were so close to his, it would have taken very little movement to kiss her.  He stared deeply into her green eyes and didn’t let go of her gaze.  Her eyes were stunning.  Jade.  Scared.  Bright.  Raphael found what he had been looking for.

Raphael moved his body away from her with a grin.  Her eyes were wide with shock.  He handed her a small branch of Sussur flowers that had gotten caught in the Trobairitz knot she had styled into her hair.  She stared at the few blooms in her palms.

Raphael snapped and the Sussur blooms disappeared in a quick flash of fire.  “There, those blooms shouldn’t trouble you any further, Little Mouse.”

Tavara blinked at him.  “Thank you, Raphael.”  She held her palm out in front of her and relaxed as a steady stream of snowflakes poured forth into the dark.  She breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Of course, my dear,” Raphael smugly leaned back on the mushroom cap.  Tavara blushed as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

Raphael chuckled.  “Well, it has been a pleasure, but I must be on my way.”  He rose and gave her a deep, theatrical bow.  Raphael snapped and left her alone in the dark.

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

hiii, I was wondering if you could write something with Enoch? Maybe angst to fluff? If not that’s okie!! I hope you’re well <3

Twines Of Fire Ignite Us. Lover, Our Love’s Immortal

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!reader.

Summary: Your mates heart belongs to her… right?

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Use of Y/n. Soulmate!au. Reader has the ability to see souls and entwine them in harmful ways, this has nothing to do with soulmates. Ankh: Ancient Egyptian symbol representing internal life (according to google); also a subtle representation of Enoch’s peculiarity. Twine of Fire: A symbol representing a subtle indication of the readers infernal rage and peculiarity.

Format: Drabble.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Note: I hope you’re well too, lovely!

| mother m-list

The ankh branding your wrist burns when he looks at her.

You’ve scratched it red raw under your scrutiny and marred it with the lashes of your jealousy over the months. Your family would have forever become victims to a social massacre if anyone ever caught glimpse of the monstrosity it had become; you count yourself lucky to be in a loop, where the day resets and things don’t matter.

Her red hair flows down her back in a river of ocherous that catches the sunlight just right and your eyes are drawn to his, watching her as though she’d made the world good again.

All of you screams he’s yours. That your souls are tied eternally. That his mark is embedded in your very skin; that yours is embedded in his.

You turn away.

Out of sight, out of mind.

••

They sit together at supper, as it’s always been. His seat is closer to hers than you’d be comfortable with but your opinion in the matter runs naught.

Your seat is opposite to his, directly facing everything they do. So much for out of sight.

Enoch’s as stoned faced as ever to her bright eyes and it’s not something that should strike envy green through you but it paints there anyway.

Olive will forever be the soothe after his burn, a soft to his unsated harshness. You will always be the gasoline to the bitter fire roaring in him. You will always be an angry soul, charged with bonfires of stubbornness.

He reaches for the bread roll too far for her to get herself and places it on the edge of her plate without her asking. The cuff of his shirt shifts and reveals the violet flamed twine bracketing his skin, unique and bold as the glow orbing in your abdomen. It disappears under his sleeve as quick as it peeked.

You don’t lose track of their interaction, storing it in the mental box of all the reasons it’ll always be Enoch and Olive and never Enoch and Y/n. They knew each other senseless.

Your mark twinges.

••

It’s been four weeks when he approaches you.

The days in the loop blend into a flurry indecipherable, slowing them and flying them through somehow at once. You’ve taken to tracking the days on an old calendar kept in the children’s home since you joined Loop Peregrine, a tally mark on each day despite the dates not matching up.

You’ve been here for two months now. You’ve talked to Enoch twice.

Three if you count now.

He can’t feel the spidery tingle beneath his skin that you can in his presence, the one that webs you to him in more ways than it should. Girls have always been more sensitive to soulmate related symptoms, blessed (cursed) with more instinctual insight.

You hate the way his soul flares an iridescent outline of blue hues around you, serving another reminder he’ll never be yours that only you can see. Another taunt from fates cruel truths.

The curve of his accent is something you didn’t realise you missed until he opened his mouth. “You're awful at being discreet, you know that?”

“Sorry?” It’s the most you can force yourself to say.

Enoch approaches at a different angle. “You stare. Why?”

Faking nonchalance, you shrug. “I don't stare.”

It only takes a raise of a brow to crumble a large enough portion of your facade. Stone faced or not, you would always be able to read him like a book split open — perks of peculiarities.

“You do.” He bites. “And not just at anything, at anytime. Always at me, always with Olive. Is there an issue you have with us?”

The question hits too close to home. Your reaction spiels out of you quicker than you can cage it, curling at your lip and snarling out of you. “Is there an issue I have with my mate breathing down the neck of another woman? No, of course not, O’Connor. Who could ever find an issue with that?”

Enoch’s face drops.

Realisation hits you like a freight train. You feel the colour drain from you, leaving you unsteady where you stand.

“You’re not my mate.” He strains. “You can’t be. I would’ve known, I would've known from the second I saw you.” There’s a desperation caving his expression, a plea to his eyes that pierces you.

A part of you aches at that, the part that understands lost time and blind eyes, the part that pieces together that you’ve deceived him but it’s overridden by stubborn fear. A mate so infatuated with another he couldn’t see the signs isn’t a mate that could ever love you whole.

“Well, you didn’t.” You can’t stop the bite of your voice.

He pauses, staring into you. It’s the longest interaction you’ve had with him and it sets you alight in all the wrong ways. Despair replaces desperation, written in the way he stumbles a step back from you.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Am I not good enough for the almighty hollow survivor?” You watch a bridled rage harden him.

You and him are one split in two, anger lies in the cores of all you are and seeps its way into everything. Now is no exception.

You can’t help but scoff. “I’m not the one in love with someone else.”

Enoch sneers. “Who’s in love with someone else?”

“Are you joking?” A sick lick of humour curls at you. “You can’t be that much of an asshole that you’d lead Olive on.”

“Olive?” Your fingers twitch to gnaw at the ankh, raging infernal at the thought of him thinking of her. The disconcertment in his eyes stops you.

You look at him, really look at him. Really listen to him, really think things through.

“Me and Olive are nothing that you think we are.”

The brief touches that seemed so intimate, the knowing what the other wanted before they had the chance to say, all the time spent together, day in and day out.

“When you’re stuck living the copy of the day before you learn to know who you’re stuck with.”

You’d never thought about it past your mark and his, past soulmates. You’d never had to, flitting between lives and loops too often to make connections.

“But me and Olive are friends. We’ve never been more than that and we never would be more than that.”

You almost feel stupid for making assumptions but the image they create is too entwined for you to have seen through.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” It’s your way of offering an apology.

Enoch pursues his lips. “We’re mates.” Cold fingers circle your wrist, pressed light against his symbol. He doesn’t look away as you shiver and gasp. You watch the navy of his soul quiver. “You could never intrude.”

You take his words for what they are, an acceptance of peace.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my works to be translated or reposted on this site or otherwise!

[thirdtofifth]

Protean Scourge Medium monstrosity (shapechanger), neutral evil Armor Class 17 (natural armor) Hit Points 161 (19d8 + 76) Speed 40 ft., climb 10 ft. Str 20, Dex 17, Con 19, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 19 Damage Immunities poison Damage Resistances cold, lightning; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks that aren't silvered Condition Immunities petrified, poisoned Senses darkvision 60 ft. passive Perception 12 Languages Abyssal, Common, Infernal Challenge 12 (8400 XP) Magic Resistance. The protean scourge has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects. Shapechanger. The protean scourge can use its action to polymorph into a Small or Medium humanoid, or back into its true form. Its statistics, other than its size, are the same in each form. Any equipment it is wearing or carrying isn't transformed. It reverts to its true form if it dies. Spellcasting. The protean scourge is a 8th-level spellcaster. Its spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 16, +8 to hit with spell attacks). The protean scourge has the following sorcerer spells prepared: Cantrips (at will): dancing lights, mage hand, prestidigitation 1st level (4 slots): charm person, color spray, mage armor 2nd level (3 slots): mirror image, scorching ray, spider climb 3rd level (3 slots): blink, haste 4th level (2 slots): greater invisibility Actions Multiattack. The protean scourge makes either two attacks with its claws and one attack with its gore; or three attacks with its scythe and one attack with its gore. Claws. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 9 (1d8+5) slashing damage. Gore. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 16 (2d10+5) piercing damage. If the target is a Large or smaller creature, it must succeed on a DC 17 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. Scythe. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 12 (2d6+5) slashing damage. Reactions Split. When the protean scourge is subjected to damage, it splits into two new protean scourges if it has at least 10 hit points. Each new protean scourge has hit points equal to half the original protean scourge's, rounded down. Each new protean scourge can cast spells, but they share a pool of spells per day as if they were one creature. The two protean scourges can recombine in a process that takes one minute and requires both protean scourges to be within 5 feet of each other. The separate protean scourges are incapacitated while recombining, and only two protean scourges who were originally separated from each other can recombine.

These deadly shapechanging assassins are often mistaken for denizens of the Abyss. With abnormally-long legs and pebbly red skin, the confusion is understandable. They love killing above all else, and seek out opportunities to do so, happily submitting to the service of evil warlords and the like to sate their bloodlust. These thoroughly-cruel creatures stand around 7 feet tall and weigh 200 pounds.

Originally from the Monster Manual III

[viscericorde]

outfit photos in the cursed mirror that gives you shoujo character proportions

[obae-me]

Upside Down- CH 13

Warning: Vivid descriptions of nausea and sickness, alcohol, swearing. As Always, Read Safely.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

Eat Me

---

There were many things you had seen throughout your long life. Not much caught you by surprise anymore. However, this… what was a good word for it? Atrocity? Monstrosity? An amalgamation of vile sponge sent from the very depths of the darkest parts of the realms? Summoned forth by the most forbidden rituals in an attempt to taint your soul and flood your blood with the whispers of contemptible desires?

It wasn’t just a cake, that was for certain.

No. It was a curse covered in frosting. And it dug up a primordial and raw panic in you.

The first bite had been fine. In hindsight, it was probably your senses frozen in shock. Some form of survival instinct unlocked to protect you. It was rather tasteless. The texture was all off, somehow crumbly and yet…almost slimy at the same time. It went down rough, as if your body was doing everything it could to prevent it from heading down into your stomach. A tingling was left in your throat, and by the time you had taken your third bite, something rotten inside you was burning. You covered your mouth with your hand, setting down your fork and taking several minutes trying to get to the bottom of how this dessert was so…awful. So many conflicting senses sent your mind swirling. While you weren’t exactly a gourmand, you could tell that Infernal, Mortal, and Holy ingredients were used. Each profile conflicted the other, and quite like the people of each realm themselves, they were fighting to stand on their own. Rather than blend together smoothly to create a robust experience, it tasted as if you had taken a bite of several different meals and chowed down on them at the same time. Fighting each other even culinarily… You would almost be tempted to sit back and think of it poetically if it wasn’t seconds away from coming back up and defiling these graves.

The human beside you mindlessly took more of the cake and swallowed several more bites. Fascination and horror roused within you. It seemed that rather than tasting it, Beel was swallowing the chunks whole, more focused on filling up his stomach than savoring the treat. If you could even call it such a thing. But eventually, he came to his senses, reaching the same conclusion you did, setting down his fork and giving you an awkward side glance. He cleared his throat and searched his mind for the proper words to give. “This is…uh…” He hesitated to even lick his lips for fear of picking up more remnant of the taste.

“Horrible,” you finished for him.

Beel’s face turned apologetic. “I appreciate you taking the time to…make this—“

The words nearly broke you out in a cold sweat. It’s not that you felt you needed to upkeep your reputation for a human, but there was no way on the devil’s scorched earth that you were going to be associated with this dining disaster. “No!” The desperation to your own voice caught you off guard. “I mean, I didn’t make it. A…” You would say acquaintance, even coworker, but now you were wondering if Solomon was in fact an enemy. Olive branch, he said. More like declaration of war. An assassination attempt. Did he do this on purpose to make you look bad in front of the humans you were supposed to protect? Was there some secret message behind the venom inside the cream? “Someone I know made it… I…” Why were you suddenly so flustered? So embarrassed? You were a demon for sin’s sake! You could simply kill a human for looking at you with a crooked eye! Yet, it was probably because of the way this Morningstar was looking at you that had you so thrown off. Like he was appreciative of the cake even though it was perhaps the most inedible thing he had ever held in his hands. Like he would keep eating it if you asked him to, his fingers already brushing against the utensil like he was waiting for your approval. Was he really so gluttonous as to be ready to eat even if it made him sick, even if it killed him? Why? To please you? No, it didn’t quite seem like that. He was kind, yes, but he wasn’t a doormat. Something in him was starving. Something past his mouth, past his stomach, settled all the way into the depths of his soul was clawing at him from the inside. You knew this sensation too. This emptiness.

Guilt.

Hopelessness.

Loss.

The food he was eating was another distraction. Just like Mammon’s shimmering trinkets and Levi’s flashing lights, Beel allowed himself to get absorbed in his own form of self comfort. Each brother seemed to be engulfed in their own little world, swallowed up by their sin and just barely keeping their head afloat. These humans were all drowning, one hand outstretched, waiting for someone to pull them to safety…

You reached over and closed the lid to the take-out box, half tempted to set it ablaze to ensure it would be purified to ashes. However, aside from the fact that it might cause the human to panic, you had to wonder what sort of dangers the toxins in the air would cause… You’d have to dispose of it cleverly. Perhaps manage to open a rift into outer darkness and chuck it where even the fates couldn’t reach. You stood up.

“You don’t have to throw it away.” Beel reached out, almost appearing a bit panicked. This surprised you. You had assumed that this behavior was caused by the death of his sister, but suddenly you had the sense that this was a deep-seeded issue, something that had been with him for a while, exacerbated with Lilith’s passing. The human managed to read your confusion, shifting uncomfortably as he could feel your analyzing thoughts. “I don’t like anything to go to waste,” he explained. “I don’t remember too much of my life before Lucifer brought me home, but…” Beel searched for the words, the memories painful, but still managing to smile. “Every crumb is precious to me. You never know how long it’ll be before you can eat again.”

There was a stirring inside you, and not just the concoction in your stomach. You turned your head up, trying to look past the pollution to see the stars. Something about his sad words poked at old memories. Faded messages from someone your soul refused to forget. What was it they used to say?

“Every second is precious to me. You never know when it will be your last.”

Humans were so fragile. And yet, somehow they continued to thrive. Through war and despair and starvation and destruction they struggle and fight to survive. Even if doing so only adds mere seconds to their lives, they will spill blood to claim those last few seconds.

Greedy things.

Had they fought for more precious seconds right before the end?…

You snapped yourself out of your daze. “Trust me, you’re not wasting anything by not eating this.” The box tucked under your arm, your other hand grabbing Beel’s outstretched hand to help him up. “The sun will be rising soon, we should probably get back before people start waking up.”

A surprising warmth flooded your body as Beel’s hand slipped into yours. He got to his feet before his touch dropped from yours, hurrying back into the pockets of his jacket. He looked down at Lilith’s grave and nodded. “Talk to you soon… I’ll bring Belphie with me next time, I promise.” Silence lingered over the graveyard for moment before he gestured for you to follow him. “We can get out this way.”

The human walked a few steps away from you, your own feet prepared to follow before a faint whisper echoed behind you. It was quiet, so much so, you almost convinced yourself it had been the wind. But even so, the familiar tone to the voice immediately brought tears to your eyes. You turned, almost calling out an old name before the sensation you felt faded. Your hand pressed over a panging in your chest, an old wound that tempted to tear back open. Before you could think anything of it, you brushed it aside as you hearing things. Madness. Auditory hallucinations probably brought about by the unknown ingredients in the cake Solomon made. You had been thinking about them a lot more than usual lately, and now your mind was conjuring up things. That was all. You glanced down at Lilith’s grave.

It was strangely peaceful here.

“Something wrong?”

You turned your head back at Beel before shaking it. “Just hearing things.” In a few steps, you were at his side. As you stood directly next to him, you couldn’t help but stare at him. Something felt…off, but you couldn’t quite discern what it was. A certain detail was different enough for you to notice, but not obvious enough to place. Like how you can tell someone had disturbed a room you’d walked into, but not being able to figure out what had been touched.

Where most people might’ve been off-put by your staring, he simply held your gaze, raising an eyebrow. The longer you looked, the more a little blush seemed to form on his cheeks. He rubbed at the corner of his lips and found a stray dab of frosting, wiping it away on his pants. “Did I get it?” He asked, assuming he’d discovered what you were observing. Letting it go for the time being, you nodded, but something was still bothering you.

The human began to lead you towards the direction you both had come in. Unlike his other two brothers you’d made pacts with, either he wasn’t the particularly curious type, or he knew when to keep questions to himself. He didn’t bother prodding further on how you’d found him or how you knew how to sneak inside or even how you knew he left. He was only focused on getting you two out of there. Near the inside of the fence was a little bush, Beel headed towards it and pulled out a green plastic milk crate. He pushed it towards the perimeter and stood on top of it, bending his knees a little and waving you over. “Here, I’ll help you over.” He laced his hands together and again encouraged you to get closer to him.

It wouldn’t do to simply jump over like usual. So, playing along like a proper human, you placed your foot in his palms. He held you carefully, raising you up and letting you kneel on his shoulders. All the while worrying over you to be careful. You pretended to struggle pulling yourself over, entertaining yourself as you hit the ground on the other side. Beel rushed over, leaping over in such a frenzy, his jacket sleeve tore a little on one of the metal pickets. He nearly fully scooped you up off the ground, picking you up by the small of your back and settling you back on your feet.

“Are you okay?” He worried over you, and while you didn’t particularly care for humans, the attention had the end of your hidden tail twitch. You touched at the fabric of his sleeve with a little frown, wondering if you had taken your act a little too far. Even as you were fiddling with it, he didn’t fret over it. “You’re not hurt or anything?”

“I’m alright,” you responded bluntly, walking a bit down the sidewalk. You approached a public bin and promptly threw the box containing the cake away. You heard Beel strut up behind you, moaning a bit at even just the thought of what it tasted like. “I need to go home and eat something to get rid of that flavor… I should still have that pudding left.” He began to go on a little ramble, daydreaming about different treats. The mood seemed to brighten as he went over his list of snacks he would be consuming as soon as he got his hands on them. His feet began moving as his mind trailed away. Then he stopped, looking over his shoulder at you. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Actually…” You looked down the opposite direction, down the street. “There’s something I’m going to check on first.”

“Oh. Alright. Be safe, okay? Weird things have been happening at night lately. Lucifer keeps pestering us to stay inside. And then of course, he stays out himself…” While almost everyone mentioned their older brother with a bit of anger, Beel only harbored concern and admiration when he spoke of Lucifer. Rather than getting hung up on his older brother again, he moved on from the subject. “Thanks for checking on me… You’re pretty nice. I see why Mammon and Levi like you. See you later.” Without another word, he turned away from you, walking along the streets that would take him back to the house. You stood in place and waited till his frame dissipated in the darkness.

A sigh left your lungs. Your stomach rumbled in a little bit of pain.

“Lucifer…”

Even from the sidewalk across the street from the building, you could pinpoint the window to Lucifer’s office. The light was faint, but still active nonetheless. With a slight roll to your eyes, you approached the front doors, grasping the long and golden vertical handle. It rattled. Locked. With a huff, you took a step back. Of course this was just a waste of time. Why did you think coming here was a good idea anyway? Was it the look on Beel’s worried face? Were you so easily persuaded by a human you had hardly come to know? A swift turn of your feet had you pointing in the direction where you had just come from. But something stopped you. Not quite a voice like before, but like a guided thought, one that didn’t quite feel like your own. It sent a shiver down your spine, bringing about the sensation of deja vu, the same phenomenon you felt earlier just as you were leaving the graveyard. A series of emotions that you roughly translated.

Check on him, please.

A heavy growl left your lungs as you rounded the building to try to find access in through the back. A ripple crossed over your body, shielding your body from view, feeling the comfort that came from not being perceived. You couldn’t stay here for long. You already made a promise to your pact-mates and Simeon that you’d conserve your magic where you could. Even now you were almost trudging your feet, worn out. As you rounded the corner of the structure, you suddenly froze. Magic that was not your own flooded the alley. It was strong, every weave working to repel you from this place. If it weren’t for Solomon’s charm, you might’ve even been pushed all the way back down to the Devildom. It zapped your strength, stirring the remains of the poison in your stomach.

Just across the way from you, leaving the alley from the opposite direction, was a tall man. The source of the magic rang out from his aura, the remains of a spell twinkling off his hands. Was it him? Was he the one going around and protecting this place? Was he the one guarding the Morningstar home as well? Why? Even with the coat across his shoulders, you could tell his build was wide and statuesque. Striking red hair swayed in the breeze and caught the rays of the peeking sunrise, making his presence blaze for a single moment before he turned out of view and sauntered off. You raised an eyebrow, tempted to follow, but giving up on that desire rather quickly. You’d stalked enough human men today. Still… who was he?

The spell hummed in your ears, refusing to leave anytime soon, almost convincing you to give up on Lucifer entirely. But with a silent grumble, you stepped further in to check the back door. Unsurprisingly, it was also locked, but you expected as much. It would simply be easier to break in from here. Rather than use a key like normal people, it seemed that these little number-pads were the way to grant access around here. A quiet demonic spell was chanted in the base of your throat, sparks dancing between your fingertips. You pressed your hand against the numbers and listened to the internal mechanism fry. It chirped as it died and glared at you with a little red eye. For a moment, you wondered if you’d have to resort to breaking in the door or a window. But then just before your hopes of destruction got too high, the eye turned green as you heard a click. You put the brick back down. Whoever put that stupid warding magic here didn’t think everything all the way through, did they?

You smugly entered the building, wandering through the back room and out into the main lobby. You paced around for a little while until you found the metal plating that you recently learned was called an elevator. Humans found the strangest ways to make things easier for them. Normally you’d avoid the flimsy metal box, but part of it fascinated you. You tapped at the buttons and had to restrain yourself from eagerly hitting all of them just to watch them light up and make a satisfying bing. The doors opened and you stepped inside, selecting the floor you knew Lucifer’s office was located.

As the elevator lurched upward, so did your stomach. Everything seemed to swirl around you for a few agonizing seconds, some sort of motion sickness overtaking your senses. The base of your throat clenched as you worked to keep yourself sick. Every muscle in your body tensed. You focused entirely on keeping yourself hidden. The doors opened, the movement stopped, but the sensation didn’t. You crawled your way out of the elevator, trying not to gasp in pain. Working on your breathing, fighting against your own body to settle down.

That cake was doing something to you…

The current wave of sickness passed, a faint tingling sparking through your body. You shuffled your way up to your feet, holding onto the end of some random desk.

The office was empty. Almost every light turned off except for a few. Lucifer’s office was illuminated. His door was wide open…

Panic. Anxiety. You hobbled forward, doing your best to stay silent as you sprinted towards his office door. There had been something odd about the whole thing. You should’ve followed your gut. Maybe that other human had done something. Maybe they weren’t being protected at all… Maybe something had happened. Was he—

As you burst silently into the room, you had to cover your mouth to hold in your breath. The eldest Morningstar was face-down on his desk, hand limply holding a pen. The screen of his computer was still lit up, in the middle of some project. No. No, no, no… You approached his body with a tight chest, imagining the look on his brother’s faces if you had to come home with bad news. Imagining the reprimand you’d get from Simeon once he found out the human had been harmed. Your adventure was over just as you felt like it was starting. You didn’t smell any blood, and you didn’t sense any other magic aside from the human’s from earlier. Careful fingers touched the side of his neck.

Lucifer’s head shot up.

Instinct kicked in before you could stop yourself. Luckily, instead of tearing him to shreds, you simply pushed him, sending him out of his chair and onto the floor. He groaned sleepily, sitting up and grasping the sides of his head. Clearly he was dazed and confused…and perhaps a bit hungover. The smell of human alcohol was now clear.

He had simply passed out.

Your teeth gritted, hands held in front of you in a choking motion, imagining yourself fully throttling him by his scrawny little neck for getting you…unnaturally…perturbed. Then you covered your face, exasperated at yourself for getting so caught up in random emotions.

Lucifer reached up to press his palm against his desktop, clearly exerting himself trying to stand.

It would be…so easy to push him over right now.

You were ready to do it, only two seconds away from sweeping his leg before you heard some sort of shuddering gasp as he settled himself on his feet. The eldest of humans, the biggest pain in the tail you’d come to meet, the man you wouldn’t even want to talk to in your dreams… was on the verge of tears. You took a single step back to observe him slumping back into his office chair, rasping out a curse, looking at his phone and the time and his work before leaning forward and placing his face in his hands.

Now you simply felt…maybe a small bit of repentance. Guilty for being so tempted to quite literally kick a man while he was down. Turning your head to avoid looking at him, you took the steps to walk back out of his office. Past the receptionist’s desk and around the corner of the cubicles, you had remembered seeing a small nook that resembled a mini kitchen; cabinets and a fridge and whatnot. You headed off in that direction and began to rifle through a few things. It didn’t take you too long before you found an empty paper cup. One jaunt over to the nearby water dispenser, and you snuck back towards the office.

Lucifer was in the same position as before, and it was difficult for you to tell if he was crying or simply processing his inebriated thoughts. While his eyes were covered, you settled the cup of water down beside the empty shot-glass. You were really pushing your luck with this, but… you were entitled to do something after pushing him over. This was just making up for that. You didn’t want to owe anything to Lucifer. Now you were even.

Spotting the couch again, you sat down, leaning back and keeping yourself from sighing as you looked out the window.

Great. Now you could relate to this asshole. How infuriating.

“Hm?” Half-lidded eyes finally were free from his hands as he noticed the paper cup before him. Befuddled, he picked it up and smelled it, probably wondering if he’d poured himself another shot. The way he arched his eyebrow almost had you chuckling. “When did I…?” He was clearly quite perplexed. Although, after rubbing his eyes and his forehead for several minutes, he somehow came to the conclusion that he’d gotten it himself. He downed the water quickly with a groan, staring at his computer screen. Any normal being at this point would quit for the day, finding some way to hobble home. This…muddle of a man left you stupefied as he defied all reason, ignored all good sense as he stood, rubbing the back of his head, clearly ready to get back to work. “I need more coffee…”

As he left his office, staggering as he tipped left and right, you kept yourself from scoffing. You had to be kidding. What kind of idiotic, self-sabotaging, prideful moron would go so far as to isolate himself and—

Wait.

No. No this was not the same! Not the same thing. He was a human, it was different! This wasn’t about pride, this was about… something totally unrelated! You and Lucifer were so far from each other, you… you…

You couldn’t think of a proper dispute for yourself.

Maybe it was true… Maybe you were alike, in some aspects. Pushing others away to save face, only to hurt yourself in the process. Pushing yourself to the brink of death just to…to what, prove a point?

What was it you were trying to prove anymore?… You couldn't remember...

Lucifer seemed fine. Well, alive and walking at least. Safe for the moment. You stood up once more, satisfied and frustrated with the events that had just taken place. All you’d come out here for was to show the little voice in the back of your head that the human was unharmed. Now you’d just… go back home— to the home. The Morningstar home. Not your home. Your home was in the Devildom.

Oof. Your thoughts were getting all sorts of jumbled, weren’t they? Sweat started to bead down your forehead. The droplets were cold. Too cold. Like you were much too hot… That was weird.

An intense cramp ran through your entire body, your muscles seized up, your frame crumpling to the floor. For a moment you writhed, reaching out to pull yourself forward, but missing the furniture. It squeaked harshly as you ended up pushing it away from you instead. Panting, gasping, you nearly left claw marks in the flooring as you grasped it again, pulling yourself up to your knees.

The noise alerted the human approaching the office, coming back in as adrenaline rushed through his veins. You could only pray he didn’t see you. Covering your mouth, you held back a scream as another throb forced your vision to go blurry.

Don’t…get…found out…

Crawling behind the shelter of the couch, you forced the sick to stay in your body.

“Who’s there?!”

Hide…Hide away from it all…Then you won’t…

…

A messed up swirl of colors crossed your vision. You reached out a hand and rolled over onto your stomach before collapsing again. By the next time you opened your eyes, even if it felt like only a second, you could tell time had passed. It was a bit brighter now, although wherever you were was still blanketed by shade. Every limb in your body felt weak. Fully opening your eyelids might as well have been like asking you to climb from the lower ring of hell all the way to the tallest tier in heaven in under seven minutes. It took several more attempts before you could press your hands to your head. It took even longer to finally sit up.

You felt like death. Which was rather hilarious considering just the other day you had nearly actually died. Whatever this was felt worse. Every breath you took made you queasy. For too many minutes, you assumed you were back in the Devildom, waking up to the worst hangover you’d had in your vast life. But then the memories slowly started to trickle in. Although there was a very clear black spot in your memory. The last thing you remembered, you had snuck into Lucifer’s office. And now you were… Where were you exactly? Everything was a blur. Blinking didn’t exactly clear up your vision.

This didn’t look like an office. Didn’t look like anywhere…

A long roof covered your head, but this room had no walls, letting light from the outside flood in at all sides. A pergola of some kind? There was no furniture in this place either, just clear floor in all directions around you. Odd. Your limbs fumbled around for a while, struggling to stand up, and once you were on the flats of your feet, it was even harder to stand straight. Slowly, you carefully wobbled your way towards one of the open entrances to try and figure out just where in the three realms you ended up in.

Light flashed across your eyes as you stepped out of the shade. A headache throbbed through your temples as you blinked spots away. Looking in front of you, you saw a field of tall grey grass. Wait… grey grass? Were you seeing things? Looking up you noticed a… white not-so-blue sky. In fact, it looked more like a high ceiling. And a ways away on the other side of the field was a dark brown, almost black building settled next to a giant oddly shaped mountain, that sort of resembled a—

Oh… Oh no. Saints and Sinners alike, say it wasn’t so. No!

A hand clasped over your lips as you stumbled back into the dark, losing your balance and falling to the floor. Both panic and shaky legs kept you from standing up quite yet. You remained hidden in the shadows of the cover overhead, peering out into the open space with clenched teeth. This was a dream. A horrid nightmare in fact. It had been several ancient years since you ever remembered having something akin to a nightmare, but this had to be one of them. A cold chill covered every inch of your skin. You felt clammy. Nauseated. Unable to breathe. Calm, you had to tell yourself. If you freak out too much, you will be sick.

Sick. Right! You had been poisoned. Did he— Did that—

Did Solomon’s messed up cake shrink you?!

Dread began to swirl with anger. When you… When you managed to get your hands on that pesky little angel, you would— Not the time. You could fantasize fondly about that later. Right now, you had to fix this. But… how? How would you undo this? This didn’t feel like any regular hex that an enchantment would reverse. If you had ingested this… it stood to reason you needed an antidote. Wait! Beel… Beel had consumed the cake too… Was he in the same position as you? If he was, he was probably freaking out right now. Had he made it home?! Or was he now outside, completely vulnerable. Bite sized for whatever demon wanted a Morningstar snack… Or what if it did something worse to him? He was only a human after all… What if he… You tugged at your hair a bit as your tail thrashed behind you.

This was bad. Really bad. Truly and utterly terrible.

Order of operations… To find Beel, you needed an antidote. To get an antidote, you needed to get ahold of Simeon or Solomon. You felt around your clothes, feeling your pockets for your phone. Nothing. It seemed whatever magic was at play here kept you clothed, but didn’t shrink your phone with you…Solomon’s charm was still there too. You wouldn’t question how that worked. Don’t think too deeply into how magic works. Just don’t. Please. It would be a waste of energy you couldn’t afford to lose. If this was still Lucifer’s office, and you collapsed in here, your device should still be somewhere here…

Walking forward tepidly, you peeked out from the cover that you’d come to the devastating conclusion was the underside of the couch. If you had to guess, right now you were probably no bigger than the average index finger… Lucifer was no longer at his desk. His office door closed. However, the glow from the monitor was still on, and his black leather business bag was still slumped against the floor. He was still in the building somewhere, which meant you had to be careful. For, as much as you were trying, you couldn’t cloak right now… Or hide your demon form. If someone caught you…if someone caught Beel… As your pact mates would say it: Game Over.

You rushed out from under the couch to scan the office for your phone. You checked the rug, against the walls, by the window, under the desk, but nothing. Lucifer must’ve found it… Now you’d have to try to answer how your phone wound up in his office… and hells, the couch! He’d seen it move! What if he connected your phone to… First you’d have to worry about finding Beel and getting back to normal. If you had no way to contact the others, you’d have to figure out how to get home. If you could get back to Mammon and Levi, they could contact Simeon or Solomon for you, and then the hunt for Beel could start. But how would you make it all the way back to the house?…

There was only one clear solution to that. Lucifer.

If you could tuck yourself into his work bag, you could probably escape undetected. But you couldn’t just wait around for him to decide to go home, not when Beel’s life was at stake! You would have to figure out a way to send Lucifer home now. But how?…

Pacing around back and forth only served to make you dizzy. You leaned heavily against one of the couch’s legs. Get him to stop working…get him to stop work… Wait, work! His work! Destroy his addiction! Can’t keep working if there’s no work to work on! You would stop saying work now.

Jogging over to his desk, you spotted a single long black cord poking through a little hole in the wood. The lifeline of the computer. Controlled by more feral thoughts than usual, you ran over to it and sunk your teeth into it, tugging till the cord snapped. A fierce jolt ran through your body as the electricity sparked for a moment, but then you shook it off. Stepping out from under the desk and looking up, you noticed the monitor had gone black. Perfect.

The door latch clicked.

Scrambling, you bolted towards Lucifer’s bag. You wriggled yourself under the leather flap only to discover it was mostly decorative. The bag itself was still closed with a zipper. But for the moment you were hidden, working hard to keep your horns from puncturing through the thing.

You heard the door fully open as the familiar click of Lucifer’s steady cadence struck the ground. “…and all I need to do is plug it into the computer?” His voice held firm, not like he had sounded when you found him blacked out at his desk. Vibrations ran through your body as he stepped closer and sat at his desk. Frantic tapping at his keyboard could be heard before he held back a curse. His fist hit the desk. “It’s not working, it’s… Hold on. You’ve got to be kidding me…” He must’ve discovered your little act of sabotage.

All the while, you had found the tag to the zipper, both hands clutched around it as you slowly pulled it back, making no noise. Once an opening was large enough for you to slip through- which in this scenario, wasn’t very much- you tucked yourself inside. It was rather packed in here…not only did you have to worry about getting discovered, but now you were worried about being squashed between thick binders and files and who knows what else. You tried to hole yourself inside a pocket to keep yourself out of view. And now you could only blasphemously pray to not be found. If angels were listening to your pleas, you hoped that cursed cherub was listening to every personal thought and comment you had to say about this predicament. Maybe if you thought hard enough, his ears would burn off.

“The computer…it’s fine, I can access it at home.”

Yes!

“Just connect it to my computer, open the email you sent me, and you swear this will unlock the phone?”

…Wait…

“Under usual circumstances, I’d tell you to mind your business. But in this case, I feel like it’s fair to say it’s from the same person you’ve failed to run a background on.”

…Shit.

“Don’t you think it’s rather pathetic for me to have to do your job for you? You better hope this little ‘key’ of yours doesn’t disappoint me as well.” Lucifer huffed as it appeared he ended the call early. You could nearly feel the rage and frustration rippling off of him as he addressed his broken computer, pushing his chair back and letting it roll and hit against the back wall. Your whole world was rocked as the bag was picked up off the floor. “Utterly ridiculous… Losing my mind…” You heard the human mutter.

What an absolutely, utterly, terribly, impossibly horrible human! And to think, you’d almost felt some small modicum of… pity for him! You’d checked on him and made sure he was okay, and this was how he was treating you now? Trying to break into your phone?!

Sweat seemed to bead more down your face. The jostling of the bag wasn’t helping your current weakened condition. And now you were running cold with panic. If Lucifer got into your phone… you can’t even recall what you had written down over text… Did you mention you were a demon? He’d see those texts from Simeon… No…you couldn’t let him do that.

Lucifer continued to walk quickly, making his way through his work building with top speed. A car door opened. Then your mind flipped and the personal hell of your own making roughly hit something and tumbled. More agony flooded your body as all the air was pushed out of your lungs, feeling crushed in all directions. He’d really just thrown you in the car, didn’t he? Ouch… You had to struggle to keep your consciousness. There was too much at stake to simply pass out now, no matter how tempting the sweet darkness was.

Find Beel, unshrink yourself, and now keeping Lucifer from figuring you out…

Hells…how could this little nightmare get any worse?

Tag-List

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[jurijyuu]

Scratch an Itch Chapter 27: Fool Me Once

Link to full chapter on AO3

Ynna’s POV

Two days. You hadn’t left your room in two days. Hunger, both regular and infernal, gnawed at your insides as you sat curled in a ball by your window. While Charlie and Angel brought you food, you ignored their concerned urging. This was punishment, after all. Punishment for your foolishness, for trusting so freely, for taking Alastor’s sudden interest in you for granted in the beginning. 

For still wishing you could hear his soft old timey music and humming white noise right now.

God, you’re pathetic.

You should have known when he struck that deal that he didn’t view you as any exception to his tricks. No. You knew. You just chose to ignore it. Alastor had always been a psychopath, willing to undermine and torture others for the sake of entertainment. Beneath the seemingly effortless charm lay a monster and just because he moved with grace and breathtaking elegance, considerate and attentive care with you, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t turn his monstrosity against you still.

You should have known when he gave you that blood potion, created from self-harm just so he could lessen your pain. What it symbolized, a selflessness within that sociopathic mind, allowed you to accept his twisted nature so long as he sincerely cared about you. But he never cared, did he? Not truly. Not enough to put the sanctity of your body over his ever hungry craving for something to stimulate his sick mind. 

You understood all this now, in the calm after all your tears had been cried. While most of the fault lay with the one who conspired against you, it was also fair to share some of the blame for being too naive and trusting. However, understanding all of this didn’t stop the deep-seated anger and sadness that he cut into your heart with each dish he admitted to tampering. In fact, it only made it worse.

A laughing smile and a wink as he delivered the punchline. A light nudge to make sure you didn’t step on shit. The unforgiving curve of his back as sharp eyes smirked at you.

Pathetic.

Leaning against the cool window pane, your faint reflection mimicked your sighs. Maybe if you sat under the windowsill, you could grow roots and survive the rest of eternity on water and photosynthesis. That seemed fitting since it was your stupid mouth that got you into this mess.

Alastor’s POV

It was only the second day of Ynna’s self-imposed isolation but he already ran out of excuses to pass by her doorway just to see if this time, he could chance upon her emerging. Only a little over 48 hours and his promise to wait for her already seemed a bite too big for him to chew. And yes, he had meant to use a food-related saying. Food and dining were all he could think of when it became clear that Ynna was not only rejecting everyone’s company, but she was also rejecting her meals.

As an individual who shared his love of food, starving herself was too drastic of a move. Even when it made her queasy, the goat would still eat because her appetite wasn’t one to be ignored. It was one of the things he adored about her. Was she rejecting her meals because he was the one who cooked them? The thought stung more than it should have though her lack of trust in his entrees and snacks was understandable.

He tried not to fret, not to appear to be fretting. Not in front of the princess and her worried questions or Vaggie and her angry accusations. He had no desire to share details of their quarrel to anyone. It was just that he heavily disapproved of this act of self-harm. 

He stared at the closed door for another moment, seeing the shadows subtly move in the crack under the doorway. She was still in there, moving about, pacing, it seemed. There was that, at least. She hadn’t thought to run away or get drunk out of her mind again. She still seemed healthy enough from what little he could gather without crossing anymore of her boundaries. It would be so easy to send his shadow to watch her but that would be another invasion upon her that he couldn’t afford. 

Perhaps, tomorrow; tomorrow he could see his dearest.

[gravehags]

satan baby - the natalie edit

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!OC (Curator!OC)

Rating: Teen

Tags: yule with the papas, secondo and terzo fighting over caroling, questionable gift giving, and maybe...kissing

Words: 1,878

Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year.

a/n: OOOOH THEY KISSIN (yule edition)

~~~

“This is Secret Santa, you’re only supposed to get a gift for one person,” Natalie sighs, currently inundated with a pile of presents on her lap and by her feet. “What’s all this?”

“Correction, bella, this is Secret Satan where you get as many gifts for whomever you like, sì? And you’re our star this year.”

Terzo smiles warmly at her as she fidgets with the fabric of her festive dark green velvet skirt. They’ve all gathered in the Papas’ private living room, the mantle of the roaring fireplace positively bedecked with greenery and a massive tree opposite. A couple weeks ago Natalie and Copia were put in charge of creating the orange garland, a not insignificant task given the height and breadth of the noble fir. Speaking of Copia, he is sitting in a deep leather armchair, stroking his mustache thoughtfully and giving her a funny look. When she gives him an exaggerated wink his lips curl into a smile and his eyes dart away as his cheeks flush.

“Another cup, Signorina Natalia?”

Primo is currently standing next to the hot plate on the side table, stirring the large cauldron of mulled wine. She really shouldn’t, she’s already feeling a little woozy and warm but what the hell. Christmas, right? Or Yule, rather. Natalie nods eagerly and Primo doles out a hefty amount of the dark liquid into a mug with little rats on it, passing it to Secondo who passes it to her as Terzo hands her yet another gift to open. So far she’s unwrapped a beautiful homemade perfume from Primo and a garnet jewelry set which she is sure is quite old and quite expensive from Terzo. Copia still clings to the small present on his lap that bears a tag with Natalie’s name on it, unwilling to see it in her hands just yet. One of these presents alone would be more than enough to dazzle her but the Papas insist on spoiling her. Who is she to object?

“This one is from me,” Secondo says, smiling slightly sinisterly over the rim of his mug.

“Ominous, but okay,” Natalie says as she unwraps the box with caution. When she gingerly opens the lid and sees what’s inside, she lets out an undignified screech. Primo, Terzo, and Copia exchange alarmed expressions as she reaches in and lifts the stuffed creature from its confines to marvel at it. It’s positively hideous - a large round potato-like head, red vestments, even a glittering pectoral grucifix. Natalie’s beaming.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Copia says, outraged and red-faced.

“He’s perfect,” she coos, holding him against her in a tight hug. “Look at his stupid little face!”

“Ah, sì, he looks just like you,” Terzo says with a grin.

“He–it–looks nothing like me. No mustache. No sideburns. Eyes are all wrong!”

“He’s beautiful,” Natalie says, cradling the monstrosity in her arms with all the grace of Mary. “Thank you Secondo.”

“I made him myself, you know.”

“A man of many talents!”

“A man of many war crimes,” Copia growls from his spot, flinging himself backwards in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Don’t speak about our son that way!” she cries, pressing her palms to the ears of the small stuffed man.

“Our son?” Copia cocks his head with interest and the brothers all look at her in silence.

“Y-yes. He looks - mostly - like you and I am his mother. Therefore we are his parents. So step up.”

When she reaches out to hand the stuffed cardinal to the real thing, he sighs and takes it in his hands. 

“He is infernal,” Copia says, placing him sitting up on his lap. “But I accept him as mine.” The sight makes Natalie scramble for her phone to take as many pictures as possible.

“What a beautiful family moment,” Terzo says, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. “Copia, I think you’re the only one left who hasn’t exchanged presents!”

Handing the doll back to Natalie he hesitates to reach for the gift still in his lap. Primo, ever wise, interrupts to ask if anyone wants dessert while she reaches down and grabs the present she’s brought for Copia. Terzo and Secondo haul themselves up with much grumbling and follow Primo out of the room to help.

“I thought you said you were only bringing a present for one person? Primo was who you drew, sì?”

“Yeah I know but,” she scoots her chair closer to him, “You’re special. You’ve been on my side since day one. I couldn’t not get you something. You mean too much to me.”

Copia blushes the fiercest shade of red Natalie’s seen yet as she hands him the heavy package.

“Grazie, cara mia,” he says quietly, mismatched eyes boring earnestly into hers.

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t opened it.”

With a smile he begins unwrapping the festive paper. When he finishes and sees what is inside his jaw hangs open.

“Dolcezza,” he breathes and she blushes just as fiercely as him at the nickname, “this is wonderful.”

It had taken her a lot of time and a lot of money (worth every cent as far as she was concerned) to locate an antique facsimile of William Blake’s art. Admittedly, she had used a lot of the Ministry’s excellent resources to find it but all the effort was worth it for this moment. When Copia looks up at her, she swears there are tears in his eyes.

“I have never before received a gift such as this, Natalia. Thank you.”

When Natalie reaches out and covers his gloved hand with hers and squeezes firmly, it’s as if his whole body sinks into itself. Softly, he picks up her hand and brings it to his lips - a sweet echo of his action from the first day they met. It takes everything within her not to knock all the items out of Copia’s lap and climb in it herself. In all honesty, she’s moments away from doing just that when the Papas return to the room with much clamor. Natalie’s heart sinks as Copia drops her hand and clears his throat, and she returns to her chair from her half-risen position. When Copia looks at her and points to the small box next to him, she mouths the words “later” with a smile before accepting a comically large slice of yule log from Secondo. The rest of the evening is relatively quiet apart from the dueling rendition of “Carol of the Bells” that Secondo and Terzo fight over while Primo sleeps contentedly in his comfy armchair. When the Papas begin loudly arguing in Italian, Natalie signals to Copia and begins gathering her things in a large brown bag. Without a word the two of them slip out the door and when they hear a crash and Primo’s deep bellow ringing out they skitter away down the hall.

“Looks like we made it out just in time,” Natalie giggles as the two of them finally slow.

“Eh, sì, it always ends like this,” Copia says with a huff and an eye roll, “They can’t help themselves.”

Copia is unaware of where he is standing but oh, Natalie certainly is. This looks like a perfect place to stop.

“Not trying to be pushy but I think you were going to give me something?” she says, cocking her head and setting down her bag. 

“Ah…yes,” he sets down the book she gifted him and thrusts out his hand with the fastidiously wrapped present within it. “For you.”

She takes the gift and opens it delicately and slowly and sees him chew on his bottom lip slightly. 

“If you don’t like it I–”

“Hush,” she says simply as she opens the box. Inside, resting on dark red velvet is a simple and small golden grucifix on a delicate matching chain.

“You always wanted to be a part of the Ministry,” he says quietly, fussing with his gloves, “And I hope this lets you know that we accept you. We’ve always accepted you. I–”

Natalie remains silent as she sets down the box and puts the necklace on while Copia watches. When she finishes her hands don’t return to her sides but rather come up to cradle the Cardinal’s cheeks. He’s frozen as she stands just like this, thumbs brushing against his sideburns and a look on her face that he doesn’t think he has the capacity to describe. Her cheeks positively glow, her eyes seem lit from within and her lips are curled into a soft smile. They part momentarily for her to take a deep, steadying breath - inhale, exhale - before she leans forwards and gently places her lips on his. The ground shifts beneath him, the world is spinning as the fingers of her right hand begin to slide along his jaw and she tilts her head. Natalie hesitates only for a moment, pulling back slightly before Copia grabs her insistently by the back of the head and pushes his lips back against hers. He tastes of mulling spices and his mustache tickles her upper lip, as she always knew it would. When she finally needs to catch her breath he barely relinquishes his grip on her, making her laugh and kiss his chin.

“Why,” he whispers, thumb running against her cheekbone. “Why me?”

Natalie leans forward and rests her head against his chest, close enough to hear the thud of his heart.

“It was always you,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his waist and stroking his back. “Always. From the moment you kissed my hand the day I was hired to the moment you comforted me when I was sad and lonely. From the moment you shared your rats with me. From the moment you put me to bed when I was drunk. All of it, Copia. All of you. That’s why.”

When she pulls back to look at him, there’s definitely no mistaking the tears in his eyes this time and when he frantically pulls her in for another kiss, she can feel the wetness on her own cheeks. When she pulls away with a giggle he looks concerned.

“Adorabile Natalia, what is it?”

She points upwards to the healthy sprig of mistletoe hanging from the rafter.

“You had no idea did you,” she says with a grin, chin resting on his sternum.

“Who would? Who could even see that and in the dark I–” his words cut off as Natalie gasps from the short sharp smack to her ass.

“Copia! Not in front of our child!” she chastises, reaching into the bag and pulling out the accursed doll.

“Ugh, I had forgotten about him,” Copia grouses as she takes it and pecks him on the cheek with it.

“What should we name him?” she muses, adjusting the doll’s pellegrina.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something suitably horrific,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead which she leans into eagerly. “Until then…shall I, eh, walk you back to your rooms?”

“Please,” and with one last long, lingering kiss with the odd cardinal doll squished between the two of them, Natalie picks up her bag and continues the long walk back to her cozy bed with the Satanic cardinal she hoped would soon be in it.

[aidan-hartwood]

November Writing Challenge

Day 4 - Surrender

Drustvar, Year 34

"Come on. Come on!" Aidan strained as he looked from the grimoire he was reading and focused on his hands manipulating fel magic and calling on the Twisting Nether to try to summon an Infernal. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh and took in a deep breath. "Damn it, why can't I do this? I am doing everything it says I need to do be able to summon one of these things."

He let out another sigh as he fell back against the tree he was near and then sliding down to the ground. It had been months since he learned how to wield the power of fel magic in an attempt to get revenge against the Heartsbane Coven, surely after months and with a grimoire specifically detailing how to summon one he could do it? Or so he thought. However, the young warlock had not considered he might lack the mana to do such a feat, as such, just attempting to summon one had been leaving him exhausted.

What better way to fight the monstrosities of the coven than with one of his own? One with infinitely more power? The thought made a faint smirk tug at the corner of his lip.. no witch could stand against him.

"No. I can't give up. I can't surrender. I have to keep trying the people of Drustvar depend on it."