#antichrist reader

[quaildoodle]

his body and blood 😩

[trashogram]

Fluff: You hear Lucifer purring in the middle of the night and you open your eyes, smiling, only to realize it’s not him. ***

“Lucifer?” You reached over and gently shook his shoulders. “Luci, honey. Wake up.”

The Devil’s eyes snapped open — he’d never been a deep sleeper — but thankfully he met your gaze before the confusion could set him off into a vocal frenzy.

“Huh?” He grunted sleepily, blinking the glaze from his eyes. “Wha-what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, finger to your lips as you nod to the baby between the two of you. Lucifer’s gaze followed, and his expression shifted from forlorn sleepiness to joy in but a millisecond.

Charlie continued to sleep, none the wiser to her parents’ delight as they listened to her kittenish purrs for the very first time.

[saintlucretia]

Devil Wears a Suit

part Ⅱ

Pairings: Outpost!Michael Langdon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Mention of murder, Sexual harassment?, Explicit content, Curse words, Hot devil's son, Not proofread.

A/N: I tried my best, hope you enjoy.

A long night passed and the morning came. Well, if you can trust the clock. There were no windows at the Outpost for sunlight to penetrate the room, although even if there were some, it would not matter since after the bombs the sun disappeared behind a thick wall of fog. Fog of death.

I woke up with chills and sweat. Something haunted my dreams all night, making me shiver like a little lamb. Even though it was an unpleasant feeling, it added color to a pathetic parody of life that I have been having for the last 18 months.

Yesterday’s events bothered me. Moreover, they annoyed me. It was bright as day, that Langdon was messing with all of our minds, yet some part of my silly brain wanted me to believe that I was truly special. That he saw something, that no one else could.

I slowly walked to the bathroom. My bare feet touched the cold marble and I involuntarily shivered. I was tired. A mess. I washed my face and sighed, looking at myself in the mirror. Suddenly I noticed a motion somewhere behind, I turned my head and flinched. Snakes. They were crawling from the bath. Devilish creatures hissed showing me their poisonous fangs. I quickly ran out of the bathroom shutting the door behind me. What the hell? I caught my breath and sat on the edge of the bed. Are there snakes in my bathroom? I felt like I was going insane. Something cold touched my feet. Snakes. I jumped on the bed with a gasp. My closet and floor near it were full of them. They swarmed, intertwining with each other. Dozens of snakes. The other second I was already at the door, running to the hallway. Still barefoot in a white Victorian nightgown that Ms. Venable made us wear. I backed away from the room door and my back hit something soft. I turned around quickly, facing Michael Langdon's piercing blue eyes.

“Something wrong, Ms. Y/S?” he asked, preventing me from falling.

I stared at him for about a minute before words rolled out of my mouth.

“Snakes. There are snakes in my room.” My voice was hoarse, my fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket.

He was clearly amused by my state, studying my expression. Langdon chuckled, "Oh, really? Snakes, you say?" His eyes shone with a sly glint. I watched as he pushed me aside and glanced toward the room I had just run from.  

"May I?" he asked, and entered the room without waiting for my reply. I slowly followed him. To my horror, as we entered I saw nothing. Snakes were gone. Impossible.

“They were here. I swear to God they were here.” I mumbled looking around the room.

I noticed Langdon’s face contorted in hostility. 

“Don’t say such stupid words, Ms. Y/S. It’s unnecessary here.” 

I closed my face with my hands and sighed. Considering my appearance and edgy state, I totally looked like a mad woman. Nobody believes a mad woman.

“I believe you,” Langdon said, approaching me as if he read my thoughts. “Strange things sometimes happen. But it’s just… interesting that it happened in your room.” 

"What do you mean by that?" I furrowed my eyebrows, my gaze searching his face.

“You probably know that snakes have always been representing sin. It’s their main dignity. Servants of darkness… if you believe in symbols, of course.”

I let his words sink in briefly, my gaze drifting to the ground lost in thought. Snakes… sin… Snakes slithering in the garden of Eden… temptress Eve... I understood where he was going.

I huffed at that, scoffing. "Is that your way of calling me sinful? A corrupted soul? Please, spare me the Bible lessons."

Langdon raised an eyebrow at my comment, a playful smirk on his lips. 

"Oh, I'm not calling you sinful," he said, leaning against the nearby wall, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe. “But as you said it… it would be amusing to see you getting corrupted.”

I rolled my eyes. "Then what are you calling me?" I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of irritation. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to regain some composure.

Langdon chuckled at my defensive stance. His eyes gleamed with amusement. He pushed himself off the wall and slowly approached me.

"Are you always so feisty in the mornings?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I gulped as he came closer, a mix of annoyance and something else stirring inside me. His intense gaze made me feel cornered and yet, strangely… excited? My breath hitched as he was now standing directly in front of me, the space between us barely existent.

He raised his hand, a single finger tracing an invisible line down my cheek. "Or is it just my presence that gets you going?" he murmured, his voice dripping like honey.

The touch of his fingertip felt like a small electrical shock to my system. I tried to control my breathing, determined not to let him see me flustered.

"Your presence is hardly something exciting," I retorted, my voice a bit shaky. "It's more... irritating."

He smirked at my response. His finger trailed lower, down my jawline, and stopped at my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

“Well, as I recall it was you, who fell into my arms with fear, m?”

I hated how his words were effective. I hated how true they were. I hated myself for being so affected by his presence.

I tried to compose myself, my jaw clenched tightly. "I was just surprised," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, but my heart was beating too hard for any nonchalance. “There were snakes all over the room.”

Langdon chuckled, his thumb left my face and he slowly started walking toward the door. 

"Indeed there were," he replied, casually leaning against the door frame. He seemed relaxed as if the topic was of no real importance.

I watched him for a moment, trying to decipher his nonchalant behavior. He was enjoying this, the way he was playing with me. The way he was playing with everyone. 

"Are you going to explain what happened here, or just act like it's normal for snakes to appear out of nowhere?" I asked, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

Langdon chuckled at my question, that arrogant smirk never leaving his lips. "Isn't the mystery part of the thrill?" 

He walked out, closing the door behind me, leaving me again excited and annoyed. Silence engulfed the room after he left. I was left standing there, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind replaying the events that just occurred.

I sighed and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge with a thump. The silence was deafening, the only sound being the steady beat of my heart. I couldn't shake off the feeling of… anticipation. Anticipation for the next time I would see him. That son of a bitch.

I quickly dressed up and went to the day room. We didn’t have breakfast there. We barely ate at all. Some kind of nutrition cube at lunch and water. Balanced diet. 

No one yet tried to break the rules of the house that Ms. Venable had set, so when I entered the room almost everyone was already there. Same people, same walls, same music. I was going insane.

I took my usual seat, the conversations around me blending into a dull murmur. I felt suffocated as if I was drowning in the monotony. All I could think about was the next part of the interview with a representative of the Cooperative. 

Sanctuary could be a lie, who can verify that? All this can be a way to manipulate us. Even Ms.Venable was afraid, she didn’t trust him but obeyed. We were a flock of sheep in a pen with a hungry wolf. 

I was lost in thought when I noticed someone settling into the seat beside me. I turned my head to see Mr. Gallant.

"You seem lost in thought," he noted, his voice soft. "Everything alright?"

“Yeah, just… had an unpleasant morning,” I answered shortly, not wanting to tell him anything. I replayed all morning and yesterday's events in my head again and felt anger in my body. It made my blood hotter. 

He had no time to answer, as Ms. Venable walked into the room. Her presence immediately silenced the conversations. Her expression was stern, and she scanned the room with a critical eye.

"Good morning," she began, her voice steady and authoritative. She leaned on her cane and raised her voice a bit. “Today we are having a special treat. Don’t be late for lunch.” She turned from us and slowly started walking away, her heels echoing through the walls.

“Oh, by the way,” she stopped for a second but hadn’t turned her head. “Ms. Y/N, Mr. Langdon is waiting for you in the interview room.” She said harshly as if his name was disgusting to her.

I could feel the eyes of the others on me as they turned their gazes in my direction. I stood up slowly, trying to seem unbothered.

The walk to the interview room seemed longer than usual, the silence only interrupted by my footsteps and my rapidly beating heart. I will beat this motherfucker.

I knocked on the door of his cabinet and entered. There he was, sitting on the table, as he was waiting for me in that position intentionally. His pose was casual but deliberate. His gaze met mine, a smirk on his lips.

"Ah, Ms. Y/N," he greeted, his tone mocking yet playful. "Sit down please." 

I tried to retain my composure, refusing to let him see any hint of my nervousness. I sat down in the chair opposite him, trying to maintain some distance, yet feeling the closeness of the cramped room.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice steady but cold.

“Well, It’s the second part of your interview-” He began but I interrupted him. 

"Cut the act, Langdon.” I snapped, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “This psychotic bitch with her ridiculous rules is already sucking our blood, I don’t want another arrogant dick here, who thinks he can intimidate us. We both know this isn't a real interview. Even if Sanctuary is true, selection is just part of your manipulation." 

Langdon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh really?" He stood from the table and slowly started to circle me, like a shark circling wounded man in the water. I instinctively followed his movements with my eyes. "And why would I come to the Outpost then?" He stopped behind me, leaning closer, his breath warm against my ear.

I felt my breath hitch as he came closer, his breath sending a shiver through my body. I resisted the urge to lean away, instead sitting ramrod straight in my chair.  

"You tell me," I retorted, my voice betraying a hint of the unease I was feeling. He continued to circle me, his presence making the room feel even smaller.

Langdon chuckled at my response, his footsteps echoing around me as he completed his circle. He stopped in front of me. Smile gone.

“You are scared. It’s okay to be scared.” His calmness filled my mind with anger.

“I’m not.”

He smiled and leaned closer, resting his hands on the back of my chair, boxing me in with his arms.

“Of course you are,” he chuckled. His gaze fixed on mine. “And you should be.”

His arms on either side of my chair made me feel trapped. I could feel the power radiating from his body, and I had to fight the urge to lean back. I inhaled his smell, expensive cologne. Sweet, yet bitter, he smelled like dominance. It was hypnotic.

His chuckle was almost mocking as if he knew the effect he was having on me. I raised my chin defiantly.

"Why would I be scared of you?"  I retorted, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “You are nothing more than the obedient dog of The Cooperative.”

As words rolled out my mouth, I almost immediately regretted saying them. His smirk faded, eyes flashed with irritation and something even worse. I felt fear scratching my heart.

"Careful," he warned, calmly. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you. You don’t want to lose it, do you?”

I swallowed hard, my bravado wavering under his intense gaze. His threat lingered in the air like a shadow, and I knew he meant it. 

"I'm not intimidated by your empty threats," I managed to say, without thinking. Dumb bitch.

Langdon chuckled darkly, and the sound made goosebumps rise on my skin. Before I could say anything, his hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, not really choking me, but just enough to be a warning.

"Empty threats?" he repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You think I'm bluffing?" His grip tightened slightly, causing a gasp to escape my lips. I could feel my eyes widen in panic, but I tried to maintain a brave expression. “Tsk, tsk, I can already imagine how nice it would be to cut out that pretty tongue of yours.”

I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips at his threat. His grip on my throat was strong, constricting just enough to make me gasp for breath. 

"You... you wouldn't dare," I somehow managed to squeak out, my voice sounding weak and fearful. 

“Oh you think your pathetic life costs anything?” he leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “I could stab your stomach and rip out your little heart with my bare hand and no one could stop me.”

His words stung like a physical blow, and I felt my heart race in panic. He was deadly serious, looking at me like I was nothing more than a nuisance.

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Please don't."

Langdon's hand tightened the grip around my throat. He smiled at my pleading, a cold, cruel smile. 

"Begging already?" he asked, his voice mocking. "And after you so bravely challenged me."

My hands scrambled to pull away his wrist, trying to loosen his tight grip on my throat. I couldn't speak, could barely gasp for air.

His smile widened at my futile struggle, he enjoyed playing. He leaned closer, his face inches away from mine. 

"This is what happens when you challenge someone with power," he murmured. "You get humbled."

I was unable to say a word, strangled by his hand, tears starting to well up in my eyes. The room started to spin, and my vision became disoriented.

“Still, have hesitation about my authority?” he asked, his tone almost soothing.

"N-no... no..." I managed to choke out.

His hand released its grip on my throat, allowing me to gasp for air. My body slumped against the chair, trembling uncontrollably. I took a moment to recover from his grip, my heart still pounding and my breath shaky. I felt smaller under his gaze, like a mouse trapped under the eye of a snake.

Langdon chuckled at my reaction, his eyes glinting with cruel enjoyment. "Pathetic," he said, the word dripping with derision. 

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, and I knew he was relishing every moment of my humiliation.

Langdon reached out, his fingers gripping my chin tightly, forcing me to look at him. His touch was rough, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his voice as he spoke. 

"Now can you listen to me?"

I nodded weakly, my throat still sore from his assault. Langdon saw the fear in my eyes, and his smile widened at the sight.

"Good," he murmured, his hand slowly releasing my chin.

His gaze never left me, his eyes scrutinizing every reaction I made.

"You were smart enough to figure out the whole interview thing," he said, his tone casual yet calculating. "But you're not smart enough to know when to keep that pretty mouth shut." Langdon chuckled, a twisted sound that made me flinch. "Still, I appreciate the fire," he said. "Most of the other 'interviewees' are a little too... shallow, I’d prefer most of them dead by evening." 

His eyes never left mine, studying me intently. I tried to hide any emotion.

"They all tremble before the thought of going to The Sanctuary and willing to please me in any way. But you're…," he continued. "You're unfortunately not satisfied with just being an obedient pretty face. No, you have an attitude. And that, my dear, is your undoing."

“M’sorry.” I breathed out quietly.

"Apologies mean nothing," he said smiling. "The main thing is understanding how everything works. So tell me, did you truly understand the lesson here, or does your pretty little head need another reminder?" His tone was cold and condescending, making me feel even smaller. 

The fear that had subsided slightly came rushing back, cold and constricting - raw.

"No, no, I..." I stammered. "I understand." 

Langdon chuckled. "See, now that wasn't that difficult, was it?" he crooned, his hand reaching out to trace a finger along my jawline. His touch was mocking, a cruel gesture that sent a shiver of disgust through me and I diligently tried to hide it. It was hard not to move away. He seemed to enjoy my discomfort, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“Now we can have a productive talk.” He said, turning away from me. “You have brains, I’ll give you that. So why not put them in use, hm?” 

I could feel a slight sense of relief as he turned away from me, but it was quickly replaced by a wary uncertainty. His change in demeanor was unpredictable, and I had no idea what was coming next.

"What... what do you mean?" I asked, my voice betraying my unease.

He began pacing back and forth in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You're clever, resourceful... more useful from. And I hate to see potential go to waste."

He stopped in front of me, his eyes studying me intently. I could practically feel the gears in his mind turning as he weighed his words.

"But the problem is, you're stubborn," he said finally. "And that stubbornness leads to insolence."

He leaned in, his face mere inches away from mine. The smell of his cologne hit my nose again. Crisp and masculine scent.

"And insolence, my dear," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is a trait I don't tolerate."

“I understand that.” I said semi-calmly.

“Oh, you are a quick learner as well.” he murmured. “Good girl.” His tone was still mocking, and I hated how the praise sent a flicker of warmth through me. I tried to remain stoic, but his words were starting to chip away at my defenses. 

He stepped back, his gaze still locked on me. 

"I have an offer for you," he said. "An offer that could benefit us both, if you play your cards right."

“What offer?” 

“I want you,” he began. “To work for me.” 

“Work for you?” I asked dumbly.

He chuckled at my confusion, enjoying my surprise.

"Yes, work for me," he confirmed. "You'll be doing research, digging up information on others, doing necessary tasks, anything I need. Think you can handle that, hm?"

“But… how?” I wasn’t expecting that offer at all. And how the fuck should I dig on others?

Langdon smiled at my question, obviously finding it amusing that I wasn't catching on.

"How?" he echoed. "You seemed smarter a few minutes ago."

He leaned against the table again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You'll be my eyes and ears, gathering intel for me. You'll tell me everything you see, hear or feel. And in return… I’ll put in a good word for you with the members of the Cooperative." 

I sat there, watching him silently.

He waited a moment, letting his words sink in. He was watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.

"I can see the wheels turning in your head," he began. "You're thinking about all the possibilities, aren't you? Life at The Sanctuary is heaven if you are friends with the authorities." He smirked.

He was right. The possibilities were spinning in my head like a whirlpool. 

But I knew there was a catch. People like Langdon never offered anything without expecting something in return. Something much bigger than collecting information. 

“What’s the catch?” 

He smirked at my question. His eyes were glittering with satisfaction, clearly enjoying his little game.

"Ah, are you always so suspicious or am I an exception?" he asked, tilting his head a bit.

“You think I shouldn’t be suspicious of the man who almost choked me to death a few minutes ago?” My tone filled with venom and I bit my tongue, afraid to anger him again.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it was just a friendly reminder” he said leaning closer to me, whispering. “And don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that, you are bad at hiding it.”

My heart skipped a beat, a mix of anger and embarrassment rushing through me. 

"Enjoy that?" I shot back. "Why would I enjoy being strangled by a sick psychopath?"

He smirked at my outburst, seemingly unfazed by my anger. 

"Now now, no need for name-calling," he said with mock hurt. "You can lie to yourself if it gives you comfort, but I saw the way you reacted, the way your body tensed, and the way your pupils dilated."

His gaze roamed over me in an almost predatory manner, making me feel exposed.

“Anyway, we have more important things to discuss than your sexual desires.” He smirked. “Accept my offer?”

His brazen, almost predatory manner was as infuriating as it was intoxicating. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I refused to look away. 

"Accept your offer..." I echoed, trying to sound strong. "You haven't exactly explained the full extent of this 'job' you're offering. I need more details before I can even consider it." I forced the words past my lip.

“It’s easy. You are loyal to me and I promise you protection. It’s always useful to have an intelligent, pretty head on your side.” he said, looking me up and down. “Before me, you were all alone among bastards, but now I offer you my hand and I really don't recommend biting it.”

“So I have to become a backstabber?” 

"No, my dear, you're thinking too low. You won't be backstabbing anyone. You'll merely be... helping me to form a new society. " He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Don’t tell me you are afraid of getting your hands bloody, I saw the way you look at Ms. Venable. You are bloodthirsty."

My eyes widened at his observation. I wasn't surprised he had caught on to my hatred for Ms. Venable, but hearing him say it out loud was another matter. 

"I'm not scared of getting my hands dirty," I said, my voice firm despite the shiver that ran down my spine. "I'm just not fond of being used."

Langdon sat on the edge of the table and smiled, almost genuine, he looked at me like I was a little kid.

“Come here.” he said calmly and beckoned me with the nod of his head.

I hesitated, not sure whether to obey his command or not. I slowly stood up and walked over to him, stopping a few feet away from him. It was crazy how he was radiating comfort and dominance at the same time. 

“Closer. I won’t bite.” 

I stepped closer and his hand reached to stroke my hair.

“You are special.” His voice was surprisingly gentle as he spoke. His fingers tangled in my hair, his touch both soothing and possessive. “You can achieve a lot or… stay here and rot with others.”

His words were like a cold bucket of water, snapping me out of the odd comfort I found myself in. I knew he was right, of course. Staying here meant settling for a life on the sidelines, living in fear and boredom. Or just die.

"You don't play fair, do you?" I said, my voice tinged with irritation. "One second you're choking me, the next you're stroking my hair and promising me the world."

"And why should I play fair, hm? Rules don't work anymore here, chaos has won." He leaned closer. 

I found myself smiling despite myself. It was probably still a shock. My mind couldn't keep up with what was happening. There was a dangerous charisma to him, an irresistible charm that I couldn't quite explain.

"That’s a convenient excuse for you to do whatever you want," I shot back, trying to sound defiant. "No rules means no boundaries."

Langdon chuckled again, his smirk widening. His hand slid down from my hair to rest on my throat again, his thumb brushing against my pulse.

"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I might start thinking you're enjoying this a bit too much." I freeze. “And about the rules… I prefer bending them, instead of breaking."

I didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue. He smiled, clearly enjoying my reaction. His thumb traced lazy circles on my throat, making my pulse quicken involuntarily.

“You don’t want to die here, do you?” He whispered in my ear. “It would be a shame if such potential would remain undisclosed…” His hand moved lower, gently touching my collarbone. “In this body.”

His touch ignited a strange fire inside me. I desperately tried to ignore the way my body reacted to him, the way my heart raced and my skin tingled where he touched me. 

"You make it sound like I'm a ticking time bomb." My voice came out a little breathier than I intended.

"Oh, don’t sell yourself short, darling," Langdon purred. "You’re more like a grenade. A beautiful, deadly grenade.” His hand caressed my skin. “So… Do we have a deal, Ms. Y/N?” 

I stared down at the floor, then back at Langdon, my gaze calculating. After a few seconds I nodded. “Deal.”

“Wise.” He smiled. “Now let’s make that official.”

His left hand went to grab my waist, while the other reached out to take something from the table. Small dagger. I instinctively tried to pull back, but his grip on me was unwavering

“No need to be scared, little lamb.” He handed me the weapon with the hilt forward. 

“Official?” I echoed.

“Yes. Deal in blood.” His answer made my body flinch.

The cool metal of the dagger felt heavy and unfamiliar in my hand. 

“Aren't you afraid that I would stab you?” I asked him, trying to hide my fear.

Langdon chuckled darkly, liking the question. 

"You wouldn't dare," he said with absolute confidence. "You're far too smart and too… intrigued by me to do something so foolish."

His eyes glittered dangerously like he was daring me to prove him wrong. "And besides... I have a feeling you're far more interested in finding out what it would be like to be on my good side."

He directed my hand, in which the dagger was clutched, and leaned the tip against the palm of his left hand. “Cut.”

I watched in fascination and slight horror as the blade made a small incision in his hand, a thin line of blood forming on his palm. He didn’t even flinch, his gaze locked on mine the entire time. It awakened in me something feral.

“Now you,” he said, his voice low and steady.

He grabbed my hand, his grip gentle but firm, and guided the knife to my palm. The sharp pain was muffled by his lips on my cheek. The warm blood slowly pooled in my palm. 

He pressed his wounded hand against mine, the touch inflicted pain. The blood from his hand mingled with mine, the warmth and stickiness of it a strange and yet somehow comforting sensation. 

 "And with that..." he said, his voice hushed. "Our deal is sealed."

I felt the burning urge to press my lips to his. Without clearly thinking I leaned to his face, kissing him hungrily. He didn’t return the kiss, but didn’t pull away either. 

"Now, now, dear," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Don't get ahead of yourself. No need to complicate things…"

His gaze flicked down to my lips, his own curving into a smug smile. I was ashamed of my bold move and confused by his stubbornness. He was a man after all, wasn’t he?

"Complicate?" I repeated, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "Says the one who just made me swear a blood pact."

Langdon chuckled, amused by my attempt at irritation. "Ah, don't pout," he said, his hand moving to gently cup my jaw. 

"Just because I'm not giving in to your every desire doesn't mean I’m inaccessible.” He leaned closer to my ear. "But keep pushing, darling. I do love it when you act up, maybe next time you wil get lucky." He carelessly brushed his lips along my wound, making me whimper quietly, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment. God, he is killing me.

Langdon pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His hand left my jaw, and I found myself missing the feel of his touch already. I leaned forward, wanting him to touch me.

"Ah ah ah," he tutted, his voice mockingly chiding. "I can practically feel your eagerness, my dear. But I'm afraid I can't have you slacking off on our deal."

He gestured lazily to the door. "You should return to your routine. Can’t have Ms. Venable catching you slinking around here for too long."

I bristled at his order, but I knew he was right. I nodded grudgingly.

"Fine."

I started to walk toward the door, my wounded hand throbbing a little from the recent events. But before I reached the threshold, Langdon's voice stopped me.

"Oh, and Y/N?"

I turned back, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

His eyes were glinting mischievously.

"A word of advice," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Try to control that urge of yours. It's going to get you in trouble..." He paused, his gaze roaming up and down my body. "Or is it already too late?"

“Check it yourself next time,” I answered boldly and grabbed the door handle.

I couldn’t see his face, but was sure that he was amused.

"I might just take you up on that offer." I heard his smooth voice, as I left the room. "Off you go, little lamb." 

I shut the door behind me and leaned on it with my back. Probably that’s what it feels like to sell your soul to the Devil.

Have a good day <3

[anonymousewrites]

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 6) Chapter Sixteen

Father Figure! Lucifer Morningstar x Teen! Reader

Demon! OC x Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Adolescent Antichrist to Adolescent Deity

Summary: (Y/N) and Lucifer get to live and love.

Mouse Note: I can't believe it. Three years of this story, and it has come to its end. I can't believe. Red and Lucifer and Em and Leon and Olive and Noa and Marcel have been so near and dear to my heart for so long, it's hard saying go. But they have their happy ending. I couldn't be happier for them. And I couldn't be happier for all of you readers and commenters who supported my madness and my fun these last few years. You are all amazing, and I grew so much from the first chapter of Book 1 to this final chapter of Book 6. Thank you so much.

            “So I don’t have to go out like Muriel?”

            “No, you can have your own way of having fun and connecting with your interests,” said (Y/N). “Muriel is apparently a partier—there are other angels who like doing that. If you like quieter things more, then that’s fine. You can read, try tea or coffee, or just go for walks. Try joining a library book club if you’re lonely. Alright, Raphael?”

            “…I suppose that makes sense,” said Raphael. “Thank you, G—Deity.”

            “You’re welcome.” (Y/N) stood from the couch. “Are you feeling better?”

            “I am.” Raphael shifted nervously. “I-I thought you wouldn’t speak to me, but Andriel said you helped her.”

            “That’s what I’m here for,” said (Y/N), smiling. “Now, go and try something new but something that’s in your interests. You can go out of your comfort zone another time.”

            “Thank you. Goodbye.” Raphael smiled, flapped his wings, and disappeared.

            “Another successful therapy session?” said Lucifer, walking into the living room with a cup of tea.

            He handed it to them, and (Y/N) took a thankful sip and sighed happily. They liked helping the angels out—boy did they need a lot of help—but it could also be tiring. After all, (Y/N) was seventeen still. Not for long, but still. There was a lot resting on their shoulders, and it was a miracle (ironically) that they had been doing so well for so long.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), smiling at Lucifer.

            However, despite it all, (Y/N) was satisfied. There was peace. The angels were only making minor chaos on Earth exploring their individuality (which gave (Y/N) plenty of moments to get rid of their irritation by scolding them), (Y/N) could interfere ever-so-slightly if it felt like the world was about to tip in a dangerous direction (though (Y/N) avoided it since that felt wrong and they refused to actually control anyone since they respected free will—even to make mistakes), and (Y/N)’s life had finally found a rhythm of calm.

            Or, near calm.

            (Y/N) also had graduation and their fashion project to go, and then it was their birthday, and they needed a university to go to, and the angels wanted some sort of coronation or something in the Silver City (which they had already paraded (Y/N) around), and (Y/N) was tempted to escape to another universe at times.

            “I’m glad things are going so well,” said Lucifer. “I admit, I was a bit worried.”

            “You were worried? I was freaking out,” said (Y/N). It was one thing to become the Deity in the moment, but after a long, well-deserved nap, (Y/N) woke up literally glowing and screamed.

            “And yet you have handled the transition with grace,” said Lucifer encouragingly.

            “Grace was telling Jophiel he should try to be more than a frat boy in his life?” said (Y/N) sarcastically.

            “Grace was telling him to find out more about himself,” said Lucifer.

            He was incredibly proud of all that (Y/N) had achieved. He had wanted to be God to protect them, and now…they had grown up. He would always be there for them and help them and support them, but (Y/N) had grown strong and independent. He didn’t need to worry as much. And he was more than happy that they held the power of a God. Lucifer didn’t know of someone more deserving or capable.

            (Y/N) smiled shyly and took a sip of their drink. “How is Michael?”

            “I think the therapy is helping,” said Lucifer. “I suspect it is about family issues—”

            “What else?” grumbled (Y/N).

            “—but he’s seemed…calmer.” Lucifer smiled. “I doubt we will ever be close, but I think he is going to be a better person than he was.”

            “The bar is pretty low,” joked (Y/N), but they were still glad.

            “Indeed.” Lucifer chuckled. “But enough about family—or, Celestial family. We have an event tonight.”

            “What?” said (Y/N), blinking.

            “…Your fashion show?” said Lucifer.

            “Shit!”

            Apparently, being the Deity of Creation didn’t mean they couldn’t curse anymore.

l

            “Okay, everyone’s makeup and hair is done, the clothing is ready, people are sitting down outside, the music is cued, what else, what else…” (Y/N) rambled as they walked around the backstage of their show.

            “Birdie.” Em caught (Y/N)’s hands and squeezed. “Take a deep breath.”

            (Y/N) looked at their partner and breathed in long and slow. They let out the breath, and their shoulders sagged.

            “There you go,” said Em. “It’s going to be fine. Better than fine. The clothes look beautiful. Everyone is going to be in awe. And do you know why?”

            “Because I can just use magic to make it better if something goes wrong?” said (Y/N).

            Em laughed as (Y/N) tried to joke to take the edge off. “Because you worked hard. You don’t need magic or powers or anything else. You worked hard. And that is what counts. Alright? You have overcome every obstacle put in your life, and no matter what the challenge or danger, you’ve risen to it. This is a celebration of that strength. It’s a celebration of you. My Birdie.” She kissed (Y/N).

            (Y/N) smiled and kissed back. “I’m so glad to have you. I know-I know it’s been a lot, me becoming…a deity, but I’m so happy I have you with me. Just like the others, but you—” (Y/N) swallowed. “Emeranne, I love you.”

            Em’s smile widened, and pure adoration was in their gaze. “I love you, too, (Y/N). For all that you are.” They always had.

            Em leaned in and kissed (Y/N) again. For a moment, the world was just the two of them in love. Everything was going to be alright. Because they had each other. Because they had love.

l

            “This is exciting,” said Chloe, smiling. “I’m sure you’re proud of (Y/N).”

            Lucifer nodded and smiled widely. “I am. And I haven’t seen any of the pieces put fully together, so I’m completely in the dark.”

            “Emeranne refused to tell me, her queen, anything,” grumbled Maze.

            “You need to have patience,” said Eve, chastising her girlfriend.

            “They were probably nervous to show you,” said Linda.

            “But I’m always proud of them,” said Lucifer.

            “Yes, but you mean a lot to (Y/N). They want you to be impressed,” said Linda.

            “Then I’ll grin the entire time,” said Lucifer.

            Amenadiel chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll like that.”

            “It’s going to be great. We all know how hard (Y/N) worked on this,” said Chloe.

            “I know.” Lucifer’s smiled softened. “They’ve grown up into such a capable person. I don’t know where they got it.”

            Chloe took his hand and squeezed. “I do.”

            Lucifer smiled at her and kissed the back of her hand.

            The lights of the room went off, and everyone sat up straighter. It was time for the show to begin. Over the speakers, dramatic classical music began. Red lights shot up around the room, casting mysterious shadows over the audience. White lights snapped on to face the stage.

            Marcel walked out first. He had redyed his hair, and the purple was wisteria light, gentle and handsome. On his face, highlighter shone with golden dust, an exaggerated, ethereal feel. But the clothes were what stood out, what everyone was there for. And Marcel wore them proudly.

            It was a suit of pure white. The pants were long and crisply sewn. The top was a button up with a high, lacy collar, and a corset cinched his waist. Overtop it all was a long white cloak, and down the edges were golden stitches. As it swept by, it was clear that the gold was stars, suns, and crosses. It matched the crosses dangling from his ears and the golden heels he walked in.

            Marcel reached the end of the runway and posed with his hands in a prayer position.

            Lucifer found himself grinning as he watched. (Y/N) had made their clothing be themed on their life, the different people and beings they knew. Their family. Marcel was playing the angel.

            Olive was next to walk. Her blonde hair had been curled and pinned up so that the front fell messily around her face while the back was a bun of golden waves. The pins were gold with red jewels, glinting in the light. Ruby teardrop-shaped jewels hung from her ears and matched the dusting of red across Olive’s cheeks. Her eyes were dusted with pink eyeshadow, and their lips had the barest hint of redness. It seemed like she was supposed to be sorrowful, and her elegant, ballerina-style steps felt like melancholy drifted with her.

            The clothes hung around her with beautiful somberness. Red billowing sleeves hung from her shoulders and were attached to a halter neck but were free from the bodice of Olive’s dress. It left her collarbone free for a red and gold necklace to highlight the neckline. The dress itself had a simple red corset top with no boning on the outside. White lace died slightly black—as if rotting—lined the top of the bodice, and a similar fade of white-to-black appeared in the ribbons sinching the corset. The skirts of the dress were of the same scarlet, falling long in the back and shortened with stitching and ribbons in the front, achieving an exaggerated Victorian effect. Her exposed legs were clad in red, rose-patterned tights, and the Mary Janes she walked in were white dipped in ink, dripping in darkness.

            Olive reached the end of the runway and lifted a hand to drape it across her face with a sorrowful yet angry expression. With the golden curls and bare collar, Lucifer blinked as he recognized the picture she made. “Fallen Angel” by Alexandre Cabanel. Olive was the fallen angel. Luicfer.

            Lucifer felt his heart stir, and he held Chloe’s hand tightly with emotion as Olive walked back past him.

            Fortunately, the next model took his attention before he was too moved by (Y/N)’s design. They had their black coils of hair flowing freely, and they wore a black, dark-jeweled necklace across their neck. Gloves covered their arms, and an off-shoulder, lantern-sleeved dress of black lace fell from them. Gentle ruffles defined the shape and swayed with every step the model made. It was deceptively simple but beautifully made. The model blew a kiss at the end of the runway and turned with perfect attitude.

            Eve, thought Lucifer. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he just did. It was the gentle femininity Eve favored in her clothes, but it had the black and darkness that Eve had found herself enjoying as she finally got together with Maze.

            Eve herself grinned and held Maze’s hand tighter.

            Leon was next to walk. He had lines of gold eyeliner around his eyes flaring out and a black lip on. The simple design of their makeup matched the simple elegance of their outfit.

            It was a long and black. Thick borders lined the wrists and long necklace. The sleeves and bodice were translucent with gold and black designs stitched overtop. A wide belt defined Leon’s waist, and he had long, loose black pants. Similar golden designs sparkled on top of them. The back of the bodice flowed out into a black cape. It moved like shadows with every step Leon took. As he posed, they made sure to move just so the cape would fly through the air and billow like darkness.

            (Y/N)’s powers. Lucifer smiled.

            Noa walked next. Their braids were piled high on their head with a few hanging down around their face. Golden beads and a few fake coins hung in the braids. They had red eyeliner around their eyes and dark lipstick with red at the center of their lips.

            They had on black shirt with billowing sleeves and ruffled wrists. Sleek black pants were on the bottom, and though both were tailored incredibly well, the best part of the outfit was the corset. It was just around the waist and looked like porcelain—cleverly painted and put together. Gold bonding trailed up Noa’s waist and became an ornamental halter like armor. The part around the waist had red paneling that shone in the light. From the waist hung gold chains with black and gold beads.

            Noa posed with a smirk and a condescending, commanding look around the room.

            Maze.

            Mazikeen herself nodded with a smirk. She was pleased with how (Y/N) portrayed her and saw her.

            The next model wasn’t someone they knew, but the theme continued. This model had nude makeup, but that was because the outfit stood out enough to make it unnecessary to have any more definition.

            It was entirely red, from the jacket to the shirt to the pants. Red and dark scarlet jewels and beading were sewn into the lapels, around the collar, and onto the pants. As the model walked, the light glinted off the red, a beacon of hellish color.

            The Antichrist. Lucifer smiled. He felt it. It was (Y/N)'s signature color

            And now the finale. Em stepped out into the light and shone. Their red hair had slight waves despite its shortness, and gold dusted their cheeks. Her eyes were lined in white with golden eyeshadow, and simple metallic earrings were piercing their ears.

            But the dress. The dress. It was as golden as the light that shone in (Y/N)’s wings. As golden as the light that shone in them and their powers. As golden as a god.

            Em stepped forward. The dress had nude, transparent fabric across their neck and collar to allow for the dress to hand off their shoulders. It was beading around their neckline and became simple, wide sleeves. The dress fell around her like a waterfall of light, hanging asymmetrically down to their ankle. Golden heels glinted as Em walked down. From the straps hanging off their shoulders fell a long gold cape of tulle. It trailed as they walked, and Em glowed as they walked.

            Deity.

            It was breathtaking to watch (Y/N)’s work shine. Everyone just stared in awe as the golden magic of a dress passed by and returned backstage.

            And then each model came out again, one after another, to end the show—angel, the fallen, Eve, shadows, Maze, demon, Deity. (Y/N) emerged at the back. Everyone was on their feet in an instant, clapping. Lucifer grinned proudly alongside the rest of (Y/N)’s family as they walked to the end of the runway with Em at their side.

            They had on their usual outfit, but instead of black they had white. Their loose white pants had patches of red sewn on, and their red crop-top was over a white, translucent undershirt.

            (Y/N) grinned at everyone and bowed. They looked at Lucifer, and a huge pressure lifted from their shoulders as they saw him smiling. He was proud. (Y/N) had done it. They had made something beautiful.

l

            “So it was good?” said (Y/N) nervously.

            “Of course it was!” said Marcel

            “Everyone was entranced,” said Olive, grinning.

            “No one could take their eyes off your designs,” said Leon.

            “All your hard work paid off. The show was amazing,” said Noa.

            “Let’s get a photo,” said Em. “We need to commemorate Birdie’s first show.” Handing their phone to another student, all the models gathered in around (Y/N). “Say ‘Holy!’ ”

            (Y/N) almost glared, but as everyone cheered, they couldn’t help but laugh and grin.

            Click!

            A wonderful moment was captured.

l

            “That was incredible!” Lucifer hugged (Y/N) tightly as they came out as their friends changed backstage. “You are so so so talented! I’m so proud.”

            “Your work is beautiful, (Y/N),” said Chloe, smiling as (Y/N) was smooshed by Lucifer’s hug.

            “Badass is more like it,” said Maze approvingly.

            “I loved the black dress,” said Eve, smiling.

            “Your inspiration was clear, but the way you made it was just…magnificent,” said Linda.

            “It had a lot of love in it,” said Amenadiel.

            “Thank you, everyone,” said (Y/N), smiling at everyone. “I’m very glad you liked it. I really worked hard.”

            “It certainly paid off. It was pure art,” said Lucifer.

            “…I got an offer because of it,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            “What?” Lucifer looked at them.

            “I—Some of the people here work in the fashion industry, and they gave me a card and told me to come and speak to them.” (Y/N) looked at Lucifer. “They weren’t any of your—”

            “No favors here,” said Lucifer. “I have contacts in the industry, but this offer, this amazing skill you have, it’s all you.” Lucifer hugged them tightly as they smiled and teared up. The rest of their family watched happily. “I’m so proud of you, (Y/N).”

            (Y/N) closed their eyes as happy tears fell down their cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Dad.”

l

            “Getting a moment alone?” said Lucifer. He sat down next to (Y/N) on the terrace while the celebration of (Y/N)’s job/scholarship offer and their show continued inside the penthouse.

            (Y/N) smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Just wanted to get some fresh air.” They looked up at the stars above them. They were quiet as they sat with their Dad.

            “Is it going to change?” asked (Y/N).

            “What?” said Lucifer.

            “Everything. I’m…a deity. You can go to Heaven again. Your siblings are free to come and go from Earth. My friends and I are going to be doing Celestial things and university.” (Y/N) looked at Lucifer. “Everything is changing.”

            “(Y/N), you and all your friends are Celestial,” said Lucifer. “You can come and go from places as you’d like. You’re never far from them or your family.” He smiled. “And especially not me. Never me.”

            (Y/N) smiled and leaned on his shoulder. Lucifer hugged them.

            “Thanks, Dad,” they said softly.

            “You don’t need to thank me.” Lucifer smiled at them. “I’m your dad. I’m always going to be here for you. That will never change.”

            “It’s weird to think that just a few years ago I was just some kid you found,” said (Y/N). “And now I went from an Adolescent Antichrist to Adolescent Deity.”

            “And I went from Devil to Dad,” said Lucifer. He chuckled. “What a pair we are.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “When do you think we became a pair? Father and child?”

            Lucifer considered. “I don’t know. I think I knew you were important to me from the start. The labels…it just came naturally. But I knew I cared from the start.”

            (Y/N) looked back up at the stars with a happy gleam in their eyes. “I think I knew it, too.”

            “I love you, (Y/N),” said Lucifer. “Forever and always.”

            (Y/N) closed their eyes as Lucifer held them tightly and kissed their forehead. They were home. They had their greatest desire—love. “I love you, too, Dad.”

            And love would never change.

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

@grippleback-galaxy-galaxy

@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

@sammy-13

@zeros-rot

@ceridwyn3

@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

@slytherinroyalty16

@ilse235

@theurbannoodle

@lookitseddie

@amberforest08

@snowy-violet

[rotdistressxox]

Anti-christ / demon form Copia who hangs upside-down and wraps his wings around you to hold you while kissing him.

THANK U MOOTIE ON TWITTER WHO INSPIRED MEEE

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 20!!!

Okay, here we are! Part 20! I was finally starting to feel more myself again today, so I was able to finish it :D

I planned for Newt and Adam to be one installment, but the story has demanded it need at least two parts. SO! Here we go!

Let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

**********************************

Luckily for all parties concerned, Adam happened to be on half term break. This meant that all Newt needed to do to convince him and his mother to let him take a train to London, was promise that the kind and well-respected Mr. Fell would write Adam a Letter of Recommendation for Uni. And so, Newt met him at King’s Cross on a rainy London morning, and left the train station on a suspiciously sunny London afternoon. Adam enjoyed riding the tube, but seemed much less impressed by the time he was standing outside the bookshop himself. The teenage ex-antichrist stood outside the door of the bookshop looking at it like it was something stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

“Well,” said Newt, “This is it.”

Adam hummed to himself in thought before turning his attention to Maggie’s record shop. “Just hold on a sec,” he said to Newt by way of explanation, and beelined for Maggie’s instead. Newt, surprised by this development, went after him.

“Uh, we have records in the shop already, you know.”

Adam ignored him and opened the door to the record shop, where Maggie was asleep on the counter. At the sound of the bell, her head popped up and Newt could have sworn she jumped nearly three feet in the air.

“Oh!” She cried in surprise, but her expression changed to a smile when she saw Adam. “Hello, young man. If I can help you find anything let me know.” Maggie was practically beaming at the thought of having a customer. And a young one at that!

“Actually,” Adam began, “Mr. Fell from next door asked me to pop by and help him with some things around his shop. But he doesn’t seem to be in at the minute. Do you think he’d mind if I went inside without him there?”

Maggie’s customer service smile softened to a motherly one. “Oh my dear, I bet Mr. Fell would absolutely be alright with you going in. Especially since you’ve got Newt right here to watch over you. You go right on inside, and if he says anything about it, you tell him I said so.” She winked for emphasis. Adam smiled and nodded.

“Thank you very much, Maggie,” he said politely. Then he turned and left with Newt following behind. Maggie watched after them for a moment, but it wasn’t until much later that she realized she hadn’t told him her name.

******************

Newt watched as Adam approached the door of the bookshop and placed his hand on the handle. For reasons Newt didn’t understand, Adam still hesitated and took a deep breath before opening it and stepping over the threshold. Newt followed behind like a lost puppy. To be honest, he was rather lost already. He didn’t understand the things Adam was doing or why he was doing them, and really he didn’t know how to go about asking either without sounding rude.

“Erm, you alright Adam?” Was about the closest Newt was able to get. He closed the door behind them and locked it just in case.

“It smells funny here,” Adam replied with a scrunched-up nose.

“Probably the books,” Newt explained, “A lot of them are very old here.”

“No,” Adam said, “It’s not the books.”

Despite not ever being to the bookshop before, Adam found his way to the flat without needing Newt to show him, and put his bag down in the second bedroom that Newt was certain hadn’t existed before. The moment he’d dropped his things, the teenage ex-antichrist turned to face Newt and pulled a small notebook and pen out of his pocket.

“Right,” he began, clicking the pen and opening the book, “Now while I’m here, there are a few things I absolutely need to do, you understand.”

Newt nodded along seriously. They were getting to business now, he could see. Best to get straight to it, yes.

“I need to try something called soo-shi. Pepper says it’s raw, and Wensleydale says it can’t be because you’d be sick, but then I saw a video on YouTube where a man ate a live octopus and its suction cups clung to his throat and killed him. So I need to try it and see if it’s alive or dead. Also, Brian found this old cartoon called Naruto and he asked me to see if I could find something called Ramen...”

*******************

It turned out that none of Adam’s friends were interested in souvenirs, and had instead requested he bring them back information – answers to their curiosities that they couldn’t absolutely confirm in the small village of Tadfield. Frankly, Newt found this to be rather charming, and allowed Adam to call the shots so to speak until after dinner. In this fashion, they managed to cross a few items off his list which included, but weren’t limited to: Is Piccadilly Circus actually a circus? (disappointingly, no), Does Sherlock Holmes actually live at 221B Baker Street? (Also, unfortunately, no), Is Sushi alive? (Alas, another no), and Is Ramen actually as good as it looks in the cartoons? (YES).

After a very expensive Japanese takeaway, Newt cleared this throat. “Adam, listen, we’ve had a great deal of fun, but I need your help with something very important.”

“I know,” Adam said, setting down his spoon and taking out his phone, “You need me to help you find an angel,” he looked up from his phone screen and into Newt’s eyes, “They’re your friend. I’m going to help you find them. Don’t worry.”

Much to his surprise, Newt found himself blinking back tears. It was the first time he had stopped to consider that he was in fact worried about Muriel. It had been his fault that they disappeared, or were kidnapped...er...angel-napped or whatever it was that had happened to them. And they were such a sweet soul, and he didn’t even know if they were safe. So yes, for the first time since Muriel’s actual disappearance, Newt realized that he was very worried for his friend.

Adam went back to his phone for a moment, tapping and swiping as he spoke. “I’m guessing you’ve already tried the communication circle under the rug, yeah?”

“Uh...yeah,” Newt said, wiping away the few tears that had managed to actually push to the surface, “Didn’t work. I just got…..voicemail.”

“Hm,” Adam looked up from his phone, eyes drifting towards the ceiling in thought, “I wonder...maybe they’re blocking it because they know it’s you.”

“What? Like Caller ID?”

“Something like that.”

“Then we could use a VPN or something?”

Adam raised his eyebrows and set his phone down on the table. “Huh,” he said, “Didn’t think old people knew about VPNs.”

“Hey,” Newt rebutted, “I’m not that old.”

“Pft. Yeah, okay Boomer.”

“I’m not…” Newt groaned in frustration. Teenagers. He took a deep breath and decided to try again. “I’ve loved computers and software since I was a kid,” he settled on, “Technology just...never really loved me back I guess.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully. “Well good,” he said, “I’m going to need you to understand what you’re doing once I go home.”

Despite feeling incredibly confused, Newt nodded. He didn’t understand how they were going to set up a VPN that could trick Heaven, but he did understand that he was placing the problem in very good hands.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[onedaughterofman]

You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go. Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.

A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."

Breathe.

The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.

Breathe again.

Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.

The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.

You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.

That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.

Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it. 

 It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.

Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.

Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this. 

If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.

In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.

“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”

One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.

And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.

The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.

Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.

It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.

Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?

Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?

It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.

Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.

Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.

“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”

“What have you done to them?”

As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.

“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”

“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”

No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror. 

You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.

The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place. 

When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”

Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”

Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.

Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.

“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”

Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”

“You’d say it’d work.”

“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”

A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.

It’s awful.

“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"

No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth. 

Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come. 

But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”

“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”

“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”

Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now. 

 It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.

No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.

In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.

There should be only men, only himself. 

Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time.  “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”

Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.

In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin. 

“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”

There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords. 

Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.

“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”

In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.

Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.

When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.

If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.

It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.

Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.

Copia is tired, so tired all the time.

There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.

What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.

And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.

Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.

There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.

No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.

You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.

Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.

A whole new figure.

A whole new person.

You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.

And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.

Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.

It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.

Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.

Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.

Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?

Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.

It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.

Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?

Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.

Then…

Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.

Who…

Who are you?

Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.

What happened?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”

“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”

The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.

“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”

Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”

“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.

The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”

The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”

“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”

Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.

No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…

That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…

Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”

“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”

The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.

As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.

No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…

Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.

An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”

Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”

From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.

It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.

The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”

Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.

Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.

No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.

Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."

Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.

“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”

“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”

The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.

And yet…

The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.

“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”

Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…

Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.

Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...

“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”

Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be.

There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”

In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”

“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”

“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”

“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”

The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”

It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.

With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.

It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”

“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”

In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.

There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him. 

“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.

The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.

It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.

Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.

And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.

A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.

The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.

The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.

Yes.

Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.

The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.

Oh, there she is.

One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.

Is this it, then?

The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”

No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.

Right next to them.

The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.

“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.

Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”

Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.

Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.

Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.

“Should we play with it first?”

“Papa said to have fun.”

Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.

Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.

If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.

Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.

“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”

“Amore, careful there, please.”

This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.

You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.

Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.

Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"

“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.

It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.

Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.

If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.

It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else. 

Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.

When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.

The world seemed so small back then. 

Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.

Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.

Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”

There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.

He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.

A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end. 

The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.

Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”

Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.

It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.

The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…

There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.

Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.

“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static. 

Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.

"I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you. 

No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.

"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed." 

The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.

No.

He’s God now.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails. 

“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”

2 Thessalonians 2:3–12

The end.

BONUS CHAPTER

[dreamalittledreamofcopia]

office romance w copia drabble

imagine working in copia's office and on one boring day you are doodling on a notepad and the bubble screensaver comes up on your computer. copia looks over at you and notices you spaced out and chuckles to himself. he twitches his nose bewitched style to conjure up some of his antichrist magic and makes the bubbles start flying across your screen erratically instead of the normal speed. the graphics are glitching and its chaotic and once you look up and notice it, you worry about the health of your desktop.

you look over to ask copia for help, but he's too busy poorly hiding his giggles. you roll your eyes playfully at him and your head falls onto your shoulder as you wheel your chair closer to his desk. one of your arms extend to retrieve your iced coffee and you take a sip, leaning over to give copia your best not impressed, but good try look.

"did you do that?" you ask as your eyes meet. the tips of his ears turn red and you are reminded that he does a shit job hiding his emotions.

copia could never lie to you, so instead of trying to come up with a suave way out, he just gives you a sweet, innocent smile. "maybe you are just earning your stripes, eh?" he offers, leaning his forearm on his desk to try to get closer to you. "the dark lord may be trying to entice you with the powers of the underworld."

"save it," you give in, giggling softly as you roll your eyes again. "you're so full of it, papa."

he grins at the nickname and the way that it is dripping with affection as it leaves your lips. "just want to make your life a little more interesting, mio cara."

"oh, you already do, papa."

[little-lily-w]

Breaking Purity II ch. 19/?

<<Breaking Purity I here

Summary: You finally reunite with your uncle, ready to learn the truth about your past once and for all. The meeting will help you make an important choice that could change your life. 

Warnings: strong language, violence.

Words: 1.6 k

You can read it here: Ch. 19: “A choice”. 

[chiefblossom]

absolutely LOVE going to Waterstones and picking up a book without doing any research other than reading the first chapter

if I fw the writing then automatically it's a good book it's how i find my favourites!!

Currently is 'Confessions of an Antichrist' by Marta Skadi, I'm about halfway through and it's SO GOOD. a lot of swearing, mature themes but it's about a black metal band trying to take over the world 4/5 would recommend!!

[sister-juniper]

Suggestions for future book chapters

Guyssss im writing a Copia book

The book is based off of the theory that he is Sister Imperator's son, and how he has to keep his identity a secret. So basically he has a bunch of childhood trauma.

The book is going to be really long, and will probably end around when he becomes Papa.

I have currently written three chapters and have posted chapter 1 on my blog!! The book is called "Copia's Secret" btw.

Pleaseeeee give me suggestions for any chapter themes you would like to see in the future. I am having writers block ;-;

my ao3

my wattpad

[beastsovrevelation]

I was looking through my notes for Good Omens fanfiction, and realized almost every damn story includes Crowley having a baby.

There's the one where Heaven and Hell decide to use an angel baby carried by a demon as a diplomatic tool, leading into Crowley being protected by Michael, and them falling in love.

There's the one where she leaves her baby with Anathema and disappears, which triggers all the following events - from the search, to Aziraphale's trial, and everything else.

There's the one where she has to supply the new Antichrist, which leads to her and Lucifer falling in love, and her being crowned the Queen of Hell. (Well, this one is really two stories set in different timelines, in the second one the "baby" is like 27)

In the one inspired by a dream, she does have a baby eventually, but that's far from the worst thing that happens to her. Gabriel's treatment of her after is... How the Hell will I write this damn thing if I can't even think about it.

There's no baby in the one where she gets tortured with diluted holy water.

I see I have no storyline with male Crowley just yet... Fine, that's not true. I do have some thoughts for Crowley x Fem!Lucifer... It could include a new Antichrist, too. And, Crowley wouldn't be the pregnant one for once. But, dealing with pregnant Lucifer would probably be even scarier.

[untitled-writer-013]

btw, i'm writing for a certain alt gabriel 👉👈

and toonbriel too

[anonymousewrites]

Adolescent Antichrist (Book 6) Chapter Fifteen

Father Figure! Lucifer Morningstar x Teen! Reader

Demon! OC x Reader

Chapter Fifteen: Do Something Worthwhile

Summary: Lucifer and (Y/N) fight Michael to begin a new era.

Mouse Note: Only one more chapter to go. I can't believe how far we've come.

            Wham!

            Michael stumbled back. He clutched the Flaming Sword and stared at Lucifer. He had expected him to back off upon seeing the blade that could kill him utterly and completely.

            But Lucifer wasn’t afraid. Or, he was, but anger was stronger than fear. No. Love was stronger. And Lucifer loved (Y/N). Michael couldn’t threaten (Y/N) without Lucifer interfering. He had to protect them, no matter the risk or cost.

            “Dad!” cried (Y/N), trying to move forward. Amenadiel grabbed them and pulled them back since the sword was dangerous.

            Lucifer advanced on Michael, and Michael swung at Lucifer. He ducked and rolled to dodge. He jumped to his feet, and Michael stabbed. Lucifer dodged, but the flames cut through his suit.

            (Y/N) lunged forward again, but Amenadiel held them back.

            “(Y/N), he has to do this on his own,” said Amenadiel.

            “To Hell with that, it’s my dad!” said (Y/N) indignantly.

            Michael chuckled and swung at Lucifer. He leaned back to dodge, but the hilt of the blade hit him, sending him flying. He hit the ground. Michael kicked his stomach, and he rolled over. Lucifer groaned in pain.

            (Y/N) pushed out of Amenadiel’s arms and looked at Zadkiel. “Your staff. Give it to me.”

            Zadkiel didn’t hesitate to hand it over. (Y/N) looked at Lucifer.

            “Dad!” they shouted.

            He looked at them, and (Y/N) tossed it to him. Lucifer caught the staff and blocked another stab from Michael.

            “Oh, ho-ho-ho-ho!” Michael grinned. “My brother has a stick, whatever shall I do?”

            Lucifer headbutted Michael. Michael groaned and stepped back. Lucifer swung the staff and hit him in the side. Michael jumped back and leapt into the air, black wings spread out. Lucifer’s white wings burst from his back, and he jumped after Michael. The battle took to the air.

            “That staff is all that’s left of the tree of life,” said Zadkiel, watching Lucifer with it.

            “Then it should be happy to be fighting for life instead of for death,” said (Y/N).

            “I can’t believe this is what God meant by figuring things out,” said Em. “I don’t think He wanted His children to fight.”

            “Or He was giving them free will,” said Marcel. “And He knew the consequences.”

            “That can’t just be it,” said Olive. “He wouldn’t have left His children to be hurt as His final act.”

            “What if He meant something more in His words?” said Leon, furrowing their brow.

            “Like what?” asked Noa.

            “I don’t know,” said Leon.

            (Y/N) watched Lucifer and Michael anxiously. Each time the sword and staff clashed, sparks flew. (Y/N) couldn’t stand the danger their dad was in. They needed to help him. They knew honor was a whole thing, but if Michael tried to really kill Lucifer, (Y/N) couldn’t just stand there!

            Lucifer flew back as Michael advanced on him. He blocked each stab and swing, but the heat of the blade was immense. He kicked Michael and shoved him back with the staff. The sun shone behind them, and the people below shielded their eyes to watch the figures battle in the air.

            They rose higher and higher into the air above the coliseum as the battle grew more and more dangerous. Each one was fierce in their fighting, vying for victory. Michael wanted his power, and Lucifer wanted his family safe. Neither was willing to give up.

            Around and around, they flew the length of the coliseum. They hit one another, neither gaining much of an advantage as they spun and dodged and slashed. Michael shouted in aggravation and struck over and over. Lucifer grunted as he blocked the attack over and over. He lowered with the hits.

            Michael slashed down, and the staff cracked. He grinned and swung down again. Lucifer blocked, and the staff broke. The force sent Lucifer flying. He struck the ground hard, and the group gasped. Michael landed and stood over him.

            “Goodbye, brother!” Michael raised the Flaming Sword.

            “No!”

            (Y/N)’s wings erupted from their back, and they leapt into the air. They slammed into Michael, and they went flying back together. Michael pushed (Y/N) back and swung. Their powerful wings flapped in the air, and (Y/N) soared up and away from him.

            “Birdie!” shouted Em worriedly.

            “(Y/N)!” cried Lucifer. His wings erupted, and he meant to fly once more, but shadows whipped up and restrained him.

            Other shadows grabbed the rest of the angels and (Y/N)’s friends and family. (Y/N) refused to let anyone they loved get hurt. This was their fight now. They eyed Michael warily, but determination was equally as present in their gaze.

            “You can’t be serious,” sneered Michael, circling them. “I’m got the Flaming Sword. I have the support of Heaven behind me.”

            “You have the fear of Heaven, and your track record against me isn’t that great,” said (Y/N). “So, why don’t we make it 5-0?”

            Michael narrowed his eyes and dove at them. (Y/N) dodged, using the shadows of the coliseum to grab for him. They snagged Michael’s wings, but he swung with the sword. The light cut through the shadows, letting him fly free once more. (Y/N) remained in the shadows, reaching for him as he flew.

            “You can’t defeat me with shadows this time!” jeered Michael. He lifted the flaming sword, and the darkness retreated from him. (Y/N) gritted their teeth. “So unless you want to tear the world apart again, Antichrist, you’re just going to be the first darkness this God destroys!”

            “I’ll never let you be God,” said (Y/N). “Not when your father left me to take care of things, and I said I’d keep things from going to Hell, and that includes stopping you!”

            “As if you have the power,” said Michael, twirling the sword. “Lucifer will never be God.”

            “That doesn’t mean you will be,” said (Y/N), flying straight towards him.

            All the shadows around them dove out with them. They smashed into Michael. Even as he swung and burned the darkness away, (Y/N) slammed into him. Michael went flying, and the cloud of darkness condensed around him. With a roar, Michael exploded out of it, flames flying around the sword. Seeing (Y/N) dart out of the shadows, he dove at them.

            (Y/N) evaded, but as he slashed, the flames burnt at their back. (Y/N) cried out, and their wings faltered. (Y/N) hit the ground, brought back their wings, and rolled. They hit a stop, and the shadows holding their friends and family left.

            “(Y/N)!” cried a worried chorus of voices.

            The moment before anyone could get to them, Michael grabbed them, and (Y/N) was pulled up into the sky. The sun was blinding as he shot upwards.

            “I’m going to teach them all a lesson,” hissed Michael. “You most of all, you presumptuous interloper! You’re still an abomination, and soon you’ll be a goddamned one!”

            (Y/N) grabbed his hands as he forced the blade towards them, and the heat seared at their neck. They cried out as their necklaces burned.

            “Let my child go!”

            Lucifer slammed into Michael, and Michael let go of (Y/N). They plummeted downwards. They let out a scream, startled.

            "(Y/N)!”

            Lucifer dove for them, and they reached up towards him as they tried to get their wings out and to work despite the burns. Their back ached, and the rush of air against the burns made them grit their teeth. Their fingers brushed against Lucifer’s.

            “Dad!” they cried helplessly.

            A dark shadow loomed up over them. Michael was a figure of black, a blot against the sun. He raised the Flaming Sword, and the fire seemed to melt with the sun as (Y/N) watched its power glow. And he brought it down towards Lucifer.

            Crack!

            Red jasper shards exploded around (Y/N)’s neck. Golden light enveloped their vision and the sky.

            Everyone on the ground shielded their eyes in shock. Michael and Lucifer were thrown to the sides and landed awkwardly on the ground. The Flaming Sword went flying through the air, the metal and fire disappearing in the explosion of light.

            When the light died, everyone lifted their gaze apprehensively. Lucifer looked up with pure panic, trying to find (Y/N). Michael groaned and tried to spot the Flaming Sword.

            Everyone found what they were looking for at the same moment.

            Floating in the light of the sunset was an angel. It was (Y/N). A faint golden shimmer still emanated from them as their wings supported them. Their red wings were spread wide, and the sunlight glinted off the golden iridescence of their feathers. The red and gold were like flames behind them as they descended. Real fire flew around their hand as they held the Flaming Sword. The fire seemed stronger and brighter than ever in (Y/N)’s hands. The brightness spread to their black markings that had turned a white-gold color, alight with magic. In fact, power itself radiated from them as they flew gracefully down to the ground.

            They landed and looked at everyone. Their friends, their family, and all the angels stared at them, unsure whether to be relieved, apprehensive, or both.

            (Y/N) took a deep, exhausted breath and looked at everyone. “No. More. Fighting.” They looked at all the angels. “God didn’t want this. He didn’t want you hurting each other, killing each other! He wanted you free to live your lives without His constant supervision and rule. So stop squandering that freedom on fighting.” They glared at everyone. “Do something worthwhile! Find who you are! God left you with freedom, which is way better than power. You can actually use freedom. Stop trying to figure out who His successor is because who really gives a damn who it is—”

            “It’s you.” Lucifer interrupted the rant with two simple words.

            (Y/N) faltered. “What?”

            “It’s you, (Y/N).” Lucifer smiled. “You’re His successor.”

            “I—” (Y/N) looked at their hands and saw the faint golden glow just beneath the surface. “Oh, god. No, no—”

            “(Y/N), He chose you,” said Lucifer. He took their hand and squeezed it. “He chose you.”

            “Take good care of things. Who better than you?” God’s strange final words echoed in their mind. All the odd statements, all the odd looks, all the odd compliments, it all coalesced into one fact—one plan. God’s plan.

            “I’m God’s successor?” breathed (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Amenadiel. He smiled. “You are.” Amenadiel took a knee.

            “He knew you would take care of things better than we ever could.” Proudly, Lucifer took a knee.

            “We told you to campaign.” Noa took a knee.

            “We get the responsible God in the end.” Olive smiled and bowed.

            “He made a good choice.” Leon.

            “We knew you were the boss.” Marcel.

            “Who knew you’d fly so high, Birdie?” Em smiled lovingly and knelt.

            “I thought there was something significant about you,” said Zadkiel.

            One-by-one, the other people present bowed and took a knee before (Y/N). (Y/N). (Y/N) the Deity of Creation.

            “No!” Michael glared at them. “You can’t be! It’s—It’s supposed to be me! I was with Father. It…” The anger melted from his face as grief began to appear. “It was supposed to be me.”

            (Y/N) looked at Michael and walked towards him. Hesitantly, everyone else rose and watched the approach. Even Michael paled a bit.

            “Michael,” said (Y/N). “You have been a total, total asshole.”

            “Oh, no,” said Em, wincing.

            “You have hurt a lot of people,” said (Y/N).

            “What do we do if (Y/N) starts smiting people?” whispered Amenadiel.

            “Cheer because it’s Michael?” suggested Lucifer.

            “Lucifer!” said Chloe.

            “You need to learn a lesson,” said (Y/N).

            Michael closed his eyes, and everyone braced for some Heavenly Wrath.

            (Y/N) instead undid the necklace holding the Flaming Sword together. The fire went out. (Y/N) put their hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You need to learn humility and humanity.”

            “Wha—Ah!” Michael grimaced as his wings furled back into his back. He moved his shoulders. Nothing happened. “What did you do?!”

            “I just cut off a part of your angelic nature,” said (Y/N) calmly. They looked at everyone. “I think…there’s been enough suffering. Enough death. We don’t need more.” They looked at Michael. “And as much as I don’t like you, I’m giving you a second chance. My dad made a life here. Amenadiel made a life. If you can learn to appreciate others and respect them as individuals, you’ll be a true angel. You’ll earn your wings back.” They looked intently at Michael. “Once you act like an angel, you can have all the abilities of one.”

            (Y/N) turned and walked away back to their friends. “Are you all alright?”

            “Uh, yeah,” said Em, looking at (Y/N). “You’re asking us that?”

            “Yeah. You guys are my family,” said (Y/N) as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

            “And you’re alright?” said Lucifer worriedly. What did holding God’s power mean for someone? What if it hurt them?

            “I am,” said (Y/N).

            Lucifer relaxed. “Good.”

            “(Y/N),” said Amenadiel.

            “Yeah?” said (Y/N).

            “I think you need to…say something,” said Amenadiel.

            “Huh?”

            “To the angels.” Amenadiel gestured to the crowd watching (Y/N). “You’re…God.”

            “I’d prefer Deity since I’ve met God,” said (Y/N).

            “This is so weird,” said Chloe.

            “You’re telling me?” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N), please?” said Amenadiel.

            “I already yelled at them for fighting,” said (Y/N).

            “Just appease them,” said Lucifer. He nudged them. “You can even yell a little more.”

            “…Fine.” (Y/N) turned around to face the group of angels. “Uh, hi. I’m your new Deity.” They waved awkwardly. They looked at Lucifer. He nodded encouragingly. “I know you must all be confused. I am, too. Frankly, I didn’t ask for this. But it’s happened.” They cleared their throat. “So we all have to live with it. I plan to continue living how I want. I think you should, too. Your father and mother left with the wish that you would all move on and find new lives. You’re angels of the Silver City, yes. But you’re also individuals. You have free will. I think…I think that if Amenadiel, Lucifer, and Michael are any indication, you all need a chance to figure out who you are, to find the good and the bad parts of you and learn to live with them. I’m not here to rule you. I’m here to nudge the world in a better direction.” They smiled. “I’m here to be a Deity who loves people. And that includes you all, every part.” (Y/N) waved. “So go on, shoo, go on an adventure, try something new, meet some people who aren’t your family. God—I—know you need it.”

            (Y/N) turned back to their friends and family. “So?”

            “It was amazing, Birdie,” said Em.

            “I’m going to like this Deity,” said Olive. The rest of their friends nodded excitedly.

            “You were perfect, (Y/N),” said Lucifer, hugging (Y/N). He smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”

            (Y/N) smiled tiredly and leaned on Lucifer. “Can we go home, Dad?”

            “Of course.” Lucifer kissed their forehead. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too, Dad.”

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

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@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

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@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

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@ilse235

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@lookitseddie

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@snowy-violet

[ozzgin]

I just watched The First Omen at the cinema and you may go ahead and cuff me for blasphemy, but…

Devil x Reader

You have been chosen by the Cult as the one to carry their ungodly plan after many failed attempts. This time it was a success, yet not for the reasons they might expect. The Devil has his eyes on you.

Content: female reader, mentions of pregnancy, religious themes, blasphemy, violence, horror, a non-consent scene!, based on The First Omen (2024); image from the promotional poster

Why you, of all people? You're not particularly devoted to religion, nor do you stand out in terms of virtuousness. Or lack of, for that matter. Alas, their reasons remain unknown.

What's certain is that you woke up one day and found yourself strapped to a foreign bed, staring into a ceiling you didn't recognize. You weren't alone. Around your helpless form stood men and women, dressed in black and wearing a solemn smile. Your forehead received a gentle, encouraging stroke from the hand of the priest. The scent of chrism invaded your nostrils.

You begged them to release you. The older man spoke softly in your ear. "You are serving a greater purpose. It is all in the name of God." God? Purpose? You rolled your eyes back and gazed upon the large painting hanging behind you. Virgin Mary and her blissful smile and stretched out hands felt like a mockery.

The holy image vanished as a black cloth was nonchalantly draped over your face. You felt the rope tighten around your neck and begun gasping for the scarce air barely making it through the thick canvas. A crescendo of muffled chants, and the room went abruptly quiet. Had everyone left?

Then you heard it. That profane growl, causing the entirety of your body to shiver in repugnance and terror. You trashed, and pulled, and screamed, to no avail. A clawed hand rested on your bare stomach, then a second one traced the rest of your body. You laid limp, vision blurred as the room swayed in tandem with the sacrilegious act.

You'd been defiled by a Beast. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your bed. Your hopes of it being a mere nightmare were shattered the moment you lifted your gown and noticed the deep scratches, the monstrous prints left on your skin, and the hollow sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your body had been tampered with, and something was growing out of your misfortune. A vile blight, throbbing with life within the comfort of your flesh.

You spent the months haunted by voices and visions. The grotesque, horned Creature would frequently reappear in your mind, exhausting all other thoughts. Such a heavy, imposing presence. It wouldn't let you forget, not even for a second: you belonged to Him, and He would soon return to retrieve you. The mother of His child, the object of His adoration. Was such a thing even conceivable?

You prayed to be left alone, yet the Cult naturally longed for its promised gift, bound to come back eventually. And so, once more, you were facing the people who caused your despair. "We've come for the child", the priest explained, glancing at your obvious, bulging belly. The clawed hand framing it was still a fresh wound that never healed, almost as an ominous warning: this body was owned by a jealous God.

Your trembling hands revealed a pocketknife. This time, you were prepared. The group took a moment to observe your daring gesture, then proceeded to approach you with calculated steps, with newfound resolve. Would you be able to keep them away? Their intentions were clear: you were in possession of the Antichrist, and they needed to secure this immense power.

The ground shook, and everyone froze. You glanced at the altar painting, the same one that witnessed your corruption. Virgin Mary remained with an unfaltering smile. From behind the ornate frame, large, horrid hands creeped out. A travesty of everything Holy. The priest gasped and quickly threw his hands in prayer. This was not part of the plan. This was not meant to happen.

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis-" he began, but his voice was cut short. His face turned pale, and he clutched his chest with a terrible grimace. The nun next to him let out a scream before she was pushed away by an invisible force. Her body hit the wall with a loud, wet sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. You stared at the massacre unfolding before you, devoid of any fear. Somehow, in the depths of your soul, you knew you'd be safe.

An enormous shadow emerged from behind the painting, twisting, bending, stalking towards you. Your nose scrunched at the stench of blood. You were the last one standing among corpses. To your surprise, you exhaled deeply, shoulders drooping in comfort. A silent voice murmured in your ear, telling you not to fear. That Father was finally home for you.

Foolish, ridiculous humans. He'd been willing to entertain their petty plans of grandeur, until he met you: your tender, frail body, your innocent soul. How exalting it was to have his way with you. You were meant to be the one. To carry His offspring into the damned world. But not for some trifling reason of a Cult desperate to crawl their way back into control. Their greatest mistake - which led to their demise - was to assume the Devil himself can be controlled, ordered around. He has allowed you the greatest honor of joining him, out of your free will, to sow the seeds of chaos as his beloved mortal.

Thus, he couldn't have possibly allowed anyone to interfere. What you saw that day, in that old, musty underground cavern, was an omen: a bloodbath awaits the one who dares to approach his human.

You look up into the demonic orbs: trenches of madness, obsession, vulgarity, burning holes into you, slurping your very existence with hunger and lust. You are his.

[sarahthecoat]

aww, i love adam and newt together! worried for muriel though.

Fanatic Intervention Part 20!!!

Okay, here we are! Part 20! I was finally starting to feel more myself again today, so I was able to finish it :D

I planned for Newt and Adam to be one installment, but the story has demanded it need at least two parts. SO! Here we go!

Let's do this.

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**********************************

Luckily for all parties concerned, Adam happened to be on half term break. This meant that all Newt needed to do to convince him and his mother to let him take a train to London, was promise that the kind and well-respected Mr. Fell would write Adam a Letter of Recommendation for Uni. And so, Newt met him at King’s Cross on a rainy London morning, and left the train station on a suspiciously sunny London afternoon. Adam enjoyed riding the tube, but seemed much less impressed by the time he was standing outside the bookshop himself. The teenage ex-antichrist stood outside the door of the bookshop looking at it like it was something stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

“Well,” said Newt, “This is it.”

Adam hummed to himself in thought before turning his attention to Maggie’s record shop. “Just hold on a sec,” he said to Newt by way of explanation, and beelined for Maggie’s instead. Newt, surprised by this development, went after him.

“Uh, we have records in the shop already, you know.”

Adam ignored him and opened the door to the record shop, where Maggie was asleep on the counter. At the sound of the bell, her head popped up and Newt could have sworn she jumped nearly three feet in the air.

“Oh!” She cried in surprise, but her expression changed to a smile when she saw Adam. “Hello, young man. If I can help you find anything let me know.” Maggie was practically beaming at the thought of having a customer. And a young one at that!

“Actually,” Adam began, “Mr. Fell from next door asked me to pop by and help him with some things around his shop. But he doesn’t seem to be in at the minute. Do you think he’d mind if I went inside without him there?”

Maggie’s customer service smile softened to a motherly one. “Oh my dear, I bet Mr. Fell would absolutely be alright with you going in. Especially since you’ve got Newt right here to watch over you. You go right on inside, and if he says anything about it, you tell him I said so.” She winked for emphasis. Adam smiled and nodded.

“Thank you very much, Maggie,” he said politely. Then he turned and left with Newt following behind. Maggie watched after them for a moment, but it wasn’t until much later that she realized she hadn’t told him her name.

******************

Newt watched as Adam approached the door of the bookshop and placed his hand on the handle. For reasons Newt didn’t understand, Adam still hesitated and took a deep breath before opening it and stepping over the threshold. Newt followed behind like a lost puppy. To be honest, he was rather lost already. He didn’t understand the things Adam was doing or why he was doing them, and really he didn’t know how to go about asking either without sounding rude.

“Erm, you alright Adam?” Was about the closest Newt was able to get. He closed the door behind them and locked it just in case.

“It smells funny here,” Adam replied with a scrunched-up nose.

“Probably the books,” Newt explained, “A lot of them are very old here.”

“No,” Adam said, “It’s not the books.”

Despite not ever being to the bookshop before, Adam found his way to the flat without needing Newt to show him, and put his bag down in the second bedroom that Newt was certain hadn’t existed before. The moment he’d dropped his things, the teenage ex-antichrist turned to face Newt and pulled a small notebook and pen out of his pocket.

“Right,” he began, clicking the pen and opening the book, “Now while I’m here, there are a few things I absolutely need to do, you understand.”

Newt nodded along seriously. They were getting to business now, he could see. Best to get straight to it, yes.

“I need to try something called soo-shi. Pepper says it’s raw, and Wensleydale says it can’t be because you’d be sick, but then I saw a video on YouTube where a man ate a live octopus and its suction cups clung to his throat and killed him. So I need to try it and see if it’s alive or dead. Also, Brian found this old cartoon called Naruto and he asked me to see if I could find something called Ramen...”

*******************

It turned out that none of Adam’s friends were interested in souvenirs, and had instead requested he bring them back information – answers to their curiosities that they couldn’t absolutely confirm in the small village of Tadfield. Frankly, Newt found this to be rather charming, and allowed Adam to call the shots so to speak until after dinner. In this fashion, they managed to cross a few items off his list which included, but weren’t limited to: Is Piccadilly Circus actually a circus? (disappointingly, no), Does Sherlock Holmes actually live at 221B Baker Street? (Also, unfortunately, no), Is Sushi alive? (Alas, another no), and Is Ramen actually as good as it looks in the cartoons? (YES).

After a very expensive Japanese takeaway, Newt cleared this throat. “Adam, listen, we’ve had a great deal of fun, but I need your help with something very important.”

“I know,” Adam said, setting down his spoon and taking out his phone, “You need me to help you find an angel,” he looked up from his phone screen and into Newt’s eyes, “They’re your friend. I’m going to help you find them. Don’t worry.”

Much to his surprise, Newt found himself blinking back tears. It was the first time he had stopped to consider that he was in fact worried about Muriel. It had been his fault that they disappeared, or were kidnapped...er...angel-napped or whatever it was that had happened to them. And they were such a sweet soul, and he didn’t even know if they were safe. So yes, for the first time since Muriel’s actual disappearance, Newt realized that he was very worried for his friend.

Adam went back to his phone for a moment, tapping and swiping as he spoke. “I’m guessing you’ve already tried the communication circle under the rug, yeah?”

“Uh...yeah,” Newt said, wiping away the few tears that had managed to actually push to the surface, “Didn’t work. I just got…..voicemail.”

“Hm,” Adam looked up from his phone, eyes drifting towards the ceiling in thought, “I wonder...maybe they’re blocking it because they know it’s you.”

“What? Like Caller ID?”

“Something like that.”

“Then we could use a VPN or something?”

Adam raised his eyebrows and set his phone down on the table. “Huh,” he said, “Didn’t think old people knew about VPNs.”

“Hey,” Newt rebutted, “I’m not that old.”

“Pft. Yeah, okay Boomer.”

“I’m not…” Newt groaned in frustration. Teenagers. He took a deep breath and decided to try again. “I’ve loved computers and software since I was a kid,” he settled on, “Technology just...never really loved me back I guess.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully. “Well good,” he said, “I’m going to need you to understand what you’re doing once I go home.”

Despite feeling incredibly confused, Newt nodded. He didn’t understand how they were going to set up a VPN that could trick Heaven, but he did understand that he was placing the problem in very good hands.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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