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amxrany · 30 days

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!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

Ya'll thought I forgot? Nah I was just busy (Floyd's Dream):

Ok so we start off at the ocean, where Ortho's carrying everyone, but Jamil and Silver create a boat and oar using ice. They all get in, Silver mentions how cold it is and Grim agrees. Grim also proceeds to get closer and snuggle with Yuu (like the bitchass mf he is /j) then Sebek's just mad on how much Yuu spoils Grim. Everyone's wondering who's dream they entered, and Jamil proceeds to get starting apprehensive; because they're only a few people we can associate with the ocean (and he does not take to them too kindly)

Then the boat gets attacked and everyone panics, Ortho assumes it's a shark and the gang proceeds to get thrown off the boat. We all end up under the sea with the scene changing to the sunken ship that Ariel explored in from The Little Mermaid

Being thrown out of their boat, everyone starts freaking out because they're gonna drown; but it never comes. Turns out that Idia gave them bubble shields using STYX's technology to make them breathe underwater. But Ortho senses someone close by, he senses that it's an eel that is 4 meters in length.

That's when Floyd finds us, we find out it's his dream because Silver's bird surrounds him. It turns out Floyd doesn't recognize the group, because the moment he finds out that they were humans, he sighs (very dramatically i might add) of boredom. Everyone's confused cuz this isn't the Floyd they're used to, as the Floyd right now sounds very depressed and emotionless.

It turns out that Floyd left the land because he wasn't interested in it anymore. When Silver asks him about Azul and Jade, he mentions that they're still in land; with Azul opening another Mostro Lounge with and Jade being Azul's right hand man. Apparently, Floyd felt that the land got too boring as everything was going a little too perfect. With everyone falling for Azul's contracts and Mostro Lounge having multiple branches, he just found it too boring and decided to start traveling around the world instead.

First, he lands in Vil's hometown where he was offered a modeling gig from a famous brand because of how handsome he is (even Silver thinks he's handsome too), but declined because it would get boring to wear clothes of the same brand. Next, he traveled to Sunshine Land where he was hired as a chef by a famous restaurant. For that, the chef really liked the meal that Floyd threw together on a whim and served it in the menu, it instantly became a popular hit. But when the chef asked for the recipe, Floyd can't give it cuz he just made it spontaneously so he just quitted on the spot 😭.

Then he went to Scalding Sands to check out their desert, in which he found a cave. He went in and found a supposedly "black teapot" inside, he took it and wiped the dust and accidentally summons a black ghost, this being a reference to Jafar being trapped in the genie's lamp. When asked about his three wishes, he proceeded to use all of them on food 💀. He also traveled to Sunset Savannah, Queendom of Roses and Briar Valley but still nothing was keeping entertained, as he found all of them weak and boring.

Of course at the mention of Briar Valley, Sebek immediately got defensive; stating that Queen Maleficia and Malleus wouldn't lose to someone like him. Then Floyd just goes "bruh I can't just go fistfight royalty" and Sebek's like "You only get common sense now?!". That's when Idia comes in with his take that Floyd isn't the type of person to go fight people to build up his reputation nor is he the type to seek out things to get stronger...

Floyd also tells us that he literally just threw us off the boat out of curiousity, but it turns out it was all just for nothing as he's getting bored again. That's when Idia mentions that Malleus' magic isn't working for Floyd, because the magic was set to give people infinite happiness; but because Floyd likes things difficult, the magic won't work right.

Jamil then mentions that Floyd likes strong opponents, like during a tournament in basketball where the team was losing; but the only who was motivated to win was Floyd. He relies heavly on his moods, as he sometimes like tormenting the weak but also going up against the strong.

Malleus' magic simply eliminates all negative emotions, which isn't really Floyd's style. But because Floyd can't escape, he became depressed in his own dream. Ortho also says that that would have also been the case for Idia if he never woke up. That's when Silver suggests giving Floyd a "strong shock" (or in other words fight him) and everyone's just like "Why is that always your idea?" like he's just trying my guys 😭.

But then Floyd starts getting suspiscious when they tell him that everything's just a dream. Until Jamil and Silver mentioned what happened during their first year orientation, where Silver was about to fall asleep but woke up to Riddle flinging Floyd around the room because Floyd touched Riddle's hair and Jade laughing his ass off in the background

It apparently got so bad that Riddle had to be restrained by the teachers 😭 (but Silver was grateful for that incident cuz he stayed awake)

This causes Floyd to start waking up, so they remind him of his past failures as well. Where he lost to Cater in a battle, as his unique magic is not capable of hitting multiple targets. He also battled Malleus and Leona AT THE SAME TIME and obviously lost

The final straw was Grim and Yuu tell him that they defeated him during Azul's overblot, this causes Floyd to start remembering what happened during that incident, but then the darkness creates fake versions of Jade and Azul that try to convince that everything he heard was all false

(Also Azul merform reveal ayeeee)

The fakes tell him to forget about the people from the land because the three are always together, but that causes Floyd to fully wake up cuz he knows that Azul and Jade would not say that. The fight starts and Floyd wins, but he's now throwing a fit and just hitting the sunken ship out of anger. Idia got scared and asked Jamil to do something, that's when Jamil's like "why me?" and Ortho replies with "well you don't want us first years to get hurt right?"

When Jamil tries to approach Floyd, he immediately asked if Jamil wanted to get strangled. But thankfully Yuu yells at him to listen to them as Ortho shows Floyd the video. Now that Floyd knows he's in a dream, he proceeds to abuse the crap out of the dream by teleporting to random places

Sebek's just yelling at him to stop it because it's gonna be obvious that he's awake. That's when Floyd goes "this means I can summon Malleus right?" and everyone's like "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT" 😭😭😭

Floyd is offered to join the group to go into Jade's dream, in which he agrees because he's curious about what his brother is dreaming about, probably a lot of mountains he assumes. Since they're still dreaming, Floyd could simply change his form and off to Jade's dream we go

Holy fuck why was this so long lmao, but yeah guys I'm still alive and no college hasn't eaten me alive yet, but stay tuned!

Next: Jade's Dream

#rany talks about twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twst jp #twst spoilers #diasomnia #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #idia shroud #ortho shroud #floyd leech #twst grim #this took me the entire morning to finish because why was it so long

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darklyndivinely · 3 months

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I punctured the abscess through abandonment

Fandom - Obey Me!

Pairing - Lucifer x Diavolo

Summary - "Diavolo raises his hand, hesitates, and then cups Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer allows himself to lean into the touch, for his eyes to slip close; to savour it, this last time."

Warnings - SEXUAL CONTENT, ANGST, fluff, copious amounts of random shit.

Wordcount - 5k+

A/N - title from the english translation of this song. I've been working on this for ages. Dialuci is so exciting to me, the angst potential is endless. I hope it comes through here, because it's important to remember: for Lucifer, his family is above all, even his own happiness. Please do comment and tell me what y'all thought!!

Here's a beautiful rendition of the last scene done by @pseudonymphomania.

Read on AO3 • OM!Masterlist • Leave a tip! • Lucifer! Masterlist

It’s one of those days.

Black rain pours over Devildom. The sky, a churning thing of anger, had cracked open yesterday as he had succumbed to sleep. Some fourteen hours later, it was still in mourning.

Lucifer doesn’t mind.

Such forceful displays of nature, he’s found, cast a film of translucent languor over everything. His mind which is usually stretched thin with a million worries folds upon itself, over and over, until it occupies but a little square of space. All that exists then is the stubborn rain, the wailing of trees as they bow to the angry winds, and the soft ticks of his table clock.

Lucifer presses his forehead to the chilled glass of one of the windows. In and out, he breathes, his eyes shut and mind blank. A repose of quietude. He savours it, trying to document all the ridges of the calmness in his body, knowing that when it leaves, its departure will be long and hard to bear.

There’s a council meeting scheduled at four. He departs for it slowly, knowing that it won’t start till four twenty because tardiness is a vicious illness that his brothers have never been able to defeat. True to form, the last to arrive, Satan and Asmo, twelve minutes late, cite some ineludible mishap in the library. For a second Lucifer considers chiding them, becoming caught up in old habits, before reason returns and he puts halt to the achingly familiar words halfway up his throat. He knows if they escape today the sanctity of this beautiful day would become lost to him. So he gulps down a glass of cold water instead and lets it go.

“Where’s Mammon?” asks Asmo as he settles, eyes drawn to the only vacant seat now.

Mammon hadn’t been present for breakfast either. Lucifer had assumed he’d been summoned by his witches again. “He’ll be caught up. Let us begin now.”

For the next two hours, they discuss the many matters of importance around RAD. Vacant staff positions, complaints against faculty members, how to budget the million year-round events without compromising quality, and ideas for new events as well. Around the ninety-minute mark, the agenda gets lost somewhere within the frothing depths of the river Styx.

Between “A food contest where the winner cooks for me for the rest of their life,” and, “A fashion show where everyone writes a five-hundred word essay about my beauty and throws bouquets of pretty—” and Leviathan’s separate ongoing detailed verbal presentation about the cultural significance of some film adaptation of a novel that he believes all of RAD should come together and watch, Lucifer finds himself feeling some deep, ancient rot taking hold of his brain.

Diavolo’s well of patience, as it turns out, is infinite. His countenance is kind and sympathetic.

Lucifer’s is not.

He ends the meeting, his fist bunched around an eraser, barely holding himself back from lobbing it straight down Leviathan’s throat, and sends them all packing.

“Back by 11,” he says, easing back in his chair, “or Cerberus has free reign of your room.”

Diavolo chuckles beside him, refreshing their glasses with water. An easy smile slides onto his lips as the room empties. “Barbatos called,” he says, waving the doors shut with a flick of the wrist.

Lucifer hums, wiping the condensation off his glass and presses it to his temple, some of this morning’s calmness returning to him. “Contracts?”

“No, not yet. He’s happened upon Mammon’s witches. They run a bar in a nearby town that daylights as their hideout. Wonderful spot apparently; excellent mingling of the ley lines.”

“Was he there?”

Diavolo takes a sip of his water, shaking his head. “At a bar, five blocks over. Drunk as a fiddle.”

“Naturally.” Lucifer sighs, feeling the sudden urge to bang his head against a solid surface, preferably the sturdy pine table beneath him. “I apologise for his behaviour. Is Barbatos to return then?”

Diavolo’s lips quirk in a half-smirk, one Lucifer has learned follows a particularly amusing thought. “No. He insisted on staying to keep an eye out. He’ll ring in when Mammon departs for home.”

“Good,” he replies. “I will look over today’s notes and we’ll discuss them tomorrow.”

Diavolo nods, a sudden shine to his supermoon eyes. “Tomorrow then. Have a good night, Lucifer.”

Lucifer tips his head and says, “Goodnight, Diavolo.”

Mammon returns at half-past three that night, slipping through the garage doors straight into his room. Lucifer snaps his novel shut, does a last check on the barrier, and clocks out.

He’s awoken the next morning by a great racket of noise. He’s barely pulled his other pillow over his ears, the fear that the lot may have started a fire in the stove again being swept under the heaviness of slipping dreams, before there is a strong panicked rapping against his door and his sleep takes departure like a startled flock of ravens. He presses a prolonged expletive into his pillowcase and gets up.

Turns out, he’d missed breakfast. And when Asmo had gone to store the leftovers he’d discovered that the fridge wasn’t cooling anymore. Of course, in true menace behaviour, he’d complained about it loudly first before waking Lucifer up. So now Lucifer’s got a panicked Beel on his hands who is now worried for his recently bought cupcakes.

“They’re Madam Scream’s’, Lucifer! Poisoned hellberries and roasted creme! They won’t last two hours in this humidity. You have to do something!”

Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose and sends the younger to heat all the leftovers in the oven. Is that working or does that also need a mass panic? Then he heads to his room for his phone and makes a call to Electric Demon, scheduling a home visit within the next hour. A shower sounds tempting but the food would go cold again, and Lucifer is a firm believer that heating leftovers more than once is a crime against one’s taste buds. He does his morning routine sans a shower and changes into a plain blue t-shirt and track pants.

Beel doesn’t seem sufficiently satisfied when Lucifer tells him that a technician is on his way. He stands awkwardly by the fridge in the kitchen, a cupcake box in hand and a frown on his face. Lucifer watches him from the dining table for a while, then, fed up, says, “Just open it already!”

Beel startles, turning to look at him. “Are you sure—”

“Yes! Open it or I’ll open it for you!”

Beel’s frown deepens. But he comes to sit at the dining table and begins to bite into his cupcakes with a focus that is perhaps a bit too much than the task demands. It’s all kind of adorable though and it eases a bit of Lucifer’s annoyance at the day’s bad start.

“Did Mammon come down for breakfast today?”

Beel shakes his head. He looks up suddenly, mouth full, his tangerine eyes fixing on Lucifer’s as if he’d been caught doing something naughty. Then looking as if in extreme pain, he slides the cupcake box towards Lucifer.

Lucifer chuckles and considers pretending to pluck one just for the fun of it all. He would have any other day, but he doesn’t. Not today. He slides the box back with a polite decline. Beel passes him a smile and digs into his food with more fervour. Lucifer resists the urge to ruffle his hair and leaves him to his sweets.

In the kitchen, Lucifer plates all the leftover food and casts a mild heating spell upon it. He takes it upstairs to Mammon’s room. It’s messy as always: clothes flung around, shoes discarded at the bottom of the staircase. Lucifer leaves the plate on the centre table. Mammon is sprawled on the bed in his briefs, his jeans a dark tangle on the floor. Beside it, there’s a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Lucifer toes at it, grimacing, knowing without a look that it’s one of those cheap, low-quality soft-packs. Standards were truly becoming non-existent nowadays.

The doorbell rings downstairs.

“Lucifer!” Beel shouts.

He sighs. I’ll check in later, he vows, heading off.

Later, however, doesn’t roll around until late that evening. Diavolo calls him up after the technician leaves.

“When are you coming over?” the prince says, straight to the point.

Lucifer considers his options. He could postpone, spend a lazy Sunday in the library and practise a tune or two at the piano. There’d be stacks of papers on his table tomorrow anyway, they’ll stay late at RAD and squeezing in their discussion wouldn’t be too big a hassle. However, it’s a nice day off and the prospect of being holed up in the library doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He would much rather chase a pair of golden eyes.

“Soon,” Lucifer says.

“I just got a great idea for Barbatos’ gift,” Diavolo says the second Lucifer is within his sight. The prince is clad in a tight black t-shirt and loose grey pyjama with a pot of tea in his hands. Lucifer hums and takes a seat at the dining table, setting the file he’d brought over at the corner. Diavolo pours the tea into two cups. A subtle earthy smell wafts up in the steam. Fireweed, Lucifer recognizes. One of Barbatos’ own creations. He’d probably left a bunch of it behind for Diavolo to peruse.

“How many cups of this are you drinking a day?” Lucifer asks, taking a sip.

Diavolo’s forehead scrunches with a whine and he slumps into his seat. “Too much! I’m afraid I might be addicted at this point.”

Lucifer smiles around his cup. Trust Diavolo to become addicted to tea. “What is this idea then?”

The prince perks up and sets his cup down neatly. He takes out a small, brown drawstring pouch from his pocket. “Do you remember Ring 3’s Great Purge?”

Lucifer nods. “Yes. Nearly a million casualties.”

“Yes, that. There was a witch then, injured and hanging onto life in the Abyss by a single tree branch. I saved her and in return she gave me this pouch. Rare seeds of a flower that grows beneath the deep depths of the seas, she’d said.”

Diavolo spills the seeds onto his palms. Brown and dry. Entirely unremarkable.

“They might grow here,” he says, rifling the seeds gently with a finger. “And if not then perhaps they might blossom in the greenhouse, in a more controlled environment.”

“The Abyss is quite far away from the stadium. What was she doing there?”

“She wasn’t there for the tournament. She’d snuck in.” Diavolo pours the seeds back into the pouch and draws it shut. “Her niece had married a vampire from Ring 3 and was being abused. She wanted to rescue her. A very messy business, really.”

“Did she succeed?”

“He was rich, she was not. But yes. After a long court case. I delivered the judgement myself.”

Lucifer watches him, sipping at his tea. “It is a good gift, indeed.”

Diavolo smiles at him, a soft steady thing that makes Lucifer’s chest tighten. “What about you? What are you giving him?”

“I do not know.” Lucifer hadn’t even thought of it yet. “Any suggestions?”

Diavolo looks thoughtful, sipping solemnly at his tea. “Music, perhaps. He’s been in a slump lately. I haven’t seen him with headphones in a while.”

Lucifer hums. “Has he found the man yet?”

“Yesterday. But he’s demanded a day to think it over.”

“I highly doubt he’d be willing to forfeit his life when the alternative is so beneficial.”

“Beneficial!” Diavolo laughs sharply. “I plan to wring him dry to the bones.”

Lucifer smirks. “I would hope so.”

Diavolo eyes the file Lucifer had brought over. He stretches a hand to slide it closer and flips it open. “What have you decided?”

“Art and Psychology clubs,” Lucifer says. “Negligible dent in the budget.”

“A new hire?” Diavolo reads off the file.

“Part-time, but someone passionate and willing. I was hoping the Art club might focus more on polishing rather than teaching.”

“Hmm.” Diavolo closes the file and stands. “I will read it later. Are you perhaps done with that?” he asks, eyeing Lucifer’s cup. “I’m all stiff from sitting here.”

Lucifer gulps down the last of his cold tea and follows suit. He collects their cups and the pot, sets them in the sink and washes his hands. When he turns Diavolo is halfway across the kitchen, and he gestures at Lucifer to follow.

Diavolo’s room is halfway across the castle, obscured by the many turns into many indistinguishable hallways leading to it. The prince walks five steps ahead of him. Lucifer doesn’t bother to catch up. The length of the journey seems entirely too short for the view his position grants him. Then another turn and the sight of the familiar room.

The moment Lucifer has crossed the threshold, Diavolo is on him. There are two soft clicks behind him. A sudden arm around his waist and a pair of beautiful golden eyes. Diavolo presses him backwards into the now-closed door and melds their mouths together.

“I missed you,” Diavolo whispers against his lips.

Lucifer tightens his grip around Diavolo’s nape, the tightness in his chest dissolving in a sudden surge, and pulls the man into a feverish, bruising kiss. Diavolo moans into his mouth, a soft, needy sound, and presses even closer. He rucks up the back of Lucifer’s shirt. His fingers as they press into the small of Lucifer’s back are warm from the tea. The shape of his hand, his arm, his hips as they grind against Lucifer’s, their lips pressed together and Diavolo’s tongue licking into his mouth. It all seems so deliberate, so calculated—as if Lucifer’s body had been given shape with Diavolo in mind. It leaves him breathless and gasping, unmoored and full of want.

He pushes off of the door, sweeping his tongue over the roof of Diavolo’s mouth exactly the way he likes, and manoeuvres their entangled figures backwards. When he pushes him onto the bed the prince goes easily, pliable with desire, heaving, golden laser eyes set upon him. Lucifer climbs on top of him. He traces a light touch up the side of Diavolo’s hips, over his pants, along the hem of the shirt, closer, closer. Diavolo’s breath quickens, his fingers digging into the mattress. Lucifer presses the heel of his hand against Diavolo’s crotch. The prince arches off the bed. Lucifer smirks.

He leaves late that evening. There’s a burn to his body that leaves a delicate trilling in his chest. He hugs Diavolo goodbye at the gate, presses his nose into his hair and breathes. Dangerous, a grainy echo in the back of his mind says. But his brain is addled, his body loose, with moonshine sheltering them from reality under her silver cape. Diavolo cradles his face between his hands and kisses him softly. Neither of them says anything.

The whole family is sprawled around the TV when he gets back. Mammon sits on the floor with a blushing Beel, teasing him about some tasty flying burger. He looks up as Lucifer walks in.

“Do you have a headache?” Lucifer pulls out the painkiller he’d picked up at the castle. “Take this.”

“Wha—I don’t have a headache.”

“Take it. Now.” On the table, there is a half-empty bottle of cola and several glasses. Lucifer picks up the closest to Mammon’s. “Is this yours?”

Mammon nods, looking fed-up, and takes the glass from his hands. Lucifer watches him swallow the pill then nods. “Who’s making dinner?”

“I am,” Satan says, cracking his neck and getting up. “Levi, you have this downloaded, right? Send it to me, I’ll finish it later.”

“Do you need any help?” Lucifer asks.

“No!” Satan shoots him a disgusted look and hurries away to the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

Lucifer smothers a smile. The film playing on the tv is strange. A donut-shaped black hole and googly eyes to the rescue. A little intrigued, Lucifer watches for a while, unable to let go of his want for a shower to properly take a seat. Nobody asks him where he’s been. It’s not like he ever answers when it’s those days with Diavolo.

Then, naturally, Asmo walks in. His hair is wet, there’s a sheen to his skin, and he brings in the scent of strawberry body wash with himself. Appearing a little distracted with his mildly uncooperating hair he’s halfway into the room before he catches sight of Lucifer. He stops short then, his champagne eyes connecting with Lucifer’s. He tracks a slow look over the length of Lucifer’s form. A queer leer overcomes his eyes. Lucifer’s mood plummets.

“Hello, Lucifer…” Asmo coos, uncooperating hair forgotten now. “What naughty things have you been upto today, hmm?”

Acid froths in Lucifer’s stomach. Scorpions. Lucifer will have scorpions dig out all of Asmo’s hair, strand by strand by strand. And then he will set that fucking strawberry body wash on fire. Recognising a losing battle when he sees one, though, Lucifer shoulders past the younger to his room, even though the action almost brings him physical pain. His ears ring and there’s a stubborn itch to his hands. It’s only the thought of a familiar pair of lips on his neck that placates his more murderous desires. Still, scorpions and the death of many fruit-flavoured body washes.

The rain dries up. Time resumes its steady pace. Three weeks pass. Lucifer spends his days at RAD; most nights in his room on video calls with Diavolo doing paperwork. Asmo doesn’t do more than trail conspicuous looks over him on Sunday evenings after Lucifer had pulled him aside the first week and growled his serious scorpion-related threat into his face.

On Saturdays, he coerces the whole family into an outing together. First week it’s a museum (Satan), second it’s a Starlets Heart concert (Levi), third it’s a new Sushi restaurant downtown (Beel). Two days before the fourth Saturday, the house bill arrives, falling a wide margin below the budget. In a good mood, he takes them to a flea market and lets them loose. They come back heaving bags of books, two dozen DVDs and cassettes, a carefully wrapped artisan table lamp, and many small plastic bags of poison noodles that Lucifer swears he wouldn’t touch if House of Lamentation’s roof itself were crashing down upon him.

On his part, he buys a shimmering golden keychain of a cat for Mammon. He spots another in green and buys that for Satan. Most of his time, however, is spent at the vinyl shop thumbing through their metal collection.

“Something less known,” he tells the shopkeeper, “and heavy, if you will.”

The man plucks forth many, first from the newer section then older, but none feel right. The gut feeling that he gets, that tilting sensation in his stomach at the precise pick remains absent. He pays for a collection of classical sitar pieces and a pop one that Asmo swears an oath for on his “beautiful and lustrous hair that demons kill for”.

“If I end up disliking it, I’ll cut two centimetres off of them then.”

Asmo gasps. He touches his hand to his chest in faux outrage and scurries off. Lucifer laughs and follows. On the way back, they stop the car at AkuDonald’s and get takeout. Then ditch the plan to eat at home when Beel breaks and starts breezing through his dozen burgers with big bites. He tells Mammon to park beside a decent food truck. They order more food for Beel, open the doors, switch on the light and eat in the car. Like a big chaotic family. Levi drops a couple drops of his drink on the seat. Mammon complains his head off. It’s nice. He hopes they do this again sometime.

Later at night, after he’s sure all of them have fallen asleep, he sneaks out to meet Diavolo at the castle. For a second he freezes, puzzled at his own actions. Sneaking out of his own house in the middle of the night like some lowly thief, is that what he’d come to now? But then he drops down onto the castle grounds, Diavolo catches sight of him through the kitchen window, and his eyes light up with sunshine. He presses a long kiss to Lucifer’s lips when they meet. All the embarrassment in the world then seems worth it in the face of such beauty.

They set up the record player in the living room and sprawl on the sofa with glasses of ice-cold hellberry Demonus. Asmo’s album ends up being a hit. Diavolo laughs when Lucifer pretends to pout about his missed opportunity at playing barber. For the last song, a gentle and sombre tune, Diavolo pulls him upright and insists they dance.

“Are you mad?” Lucifer asks rhetorically. Drunk and mobile was not a good combination, not even in the face of such good music.

“Come on,” Dia pleads. “For me?”

His eyes are pools of drunken affection, his lips flushed from the Demonus. Lucifer melts. He pulls him closer and spins their entwined figures around the furniture. Diavolo presses a kiss to the side of his jugular and rests his forehead on his shoulder.

I love you.

The thought is soft, akin to the whisper of rain that mists the winds at the dawn of monsoon. A tide—lapping, curling, rising, sinking. It flows over him, instilling a slow, deep shock onto him. Love? But—

Diavolo raises his head. His eyes are kaleidoscopes of black and gold. His carmine hair, a riot on his head. He nudges their foreheads together, a loose smile on his lips. They continue to sway to the music.

The long notes of the violin, the delicate tinkling of the ganzá, the shrill and strong vocals of the choir. The music soothes the anxiety that Lucifer might have experienced if the revelation had come to him in private. Here, with candlelight casting darkness into the slopes of Diavolo’s face, their bodies pressed together, hearts and feet in sync, the thrum of Demonus in his veins loosening the bolts of the closed doors of his heart, Lucifer could almost give name to the feeling that scented the air around them.

Like home had inhabited a body and become a person.

Like he might have fallen in love.

Lucifer’s eyesight blurs. He tightens his hold around Diavolo’s waist.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Black moon Halloween, Diavolo’s birthday, some couple hundred years ago now, he’d gotten drunk. The alcohol had always flowed without inhibitions, but that day Lucifer had indulged without restraint. Why he had done so he struggled to remember now. The prince had booked the whole club for a more private celebration. That was the first time they’d danced together, to some pop-rock song that had come up and Lucifer had been too intoxicated to remember to keep his personal interests to himself.

“I like this,” he remembered saying.

Diavolo had immediately suggested dancing, perhaps excited to see him excited, and Lucifer had agreed without hesitation, already up and moving. The lights had been dim, navy blue and familiar. There was a moment, a still of the night in his mind, of Diavolo with flashing blue on his skin, eyes bright with joy, smile so wide and toothed Lucifer had been left utterly mesmerised. Golden.

You absolute fucki—

Diavolo presses a kiss to his lips. His thumb rubs indiscernible circles over the exposed skin of his forearm. Lucifer’s thoughts trip. The music has stopped. Silence reigns. The low crackle of the fire is barely audible. They are still wrapped up together. Reality is starting to loom over Lucifer, his heartbeat rising in his chest. Diavolo stares at him with hooded eyes, more smart than anyone ever gives him credit for. Seeking, searching, asking.

He should have known that this beautiful man who loved waking up at pretentious hours to go jogging and got excited at the prospect of paintball would be the one Lucifer would end up surrendering his heart to. He should have fucking known.

Lucifer tilts his chin and kisses him, gentle and unhurried. He pours into it all his emotions, nameless and gargantuan, trying to spell all the words that never make it past his throat. There’s always so many of them.

Diavolo smiles against his lips. He whispers something but Lucifer doesn’t catch it. He’s busy tracing the incline of the other’s cheekbones with his fingers, the flesh of his cheek, the curve of his ears, the sharp of his jawline. There’s an urgent need budding inside him, to savour, to consume, to take and perhaps, perhaps keep as well. It slithers through his body, golden and ablaze, and takes root somewhere deep, deep within him. Dia kisses him greedily, reflecting and reciprocating tenfold. His hands, looped around Lucifer’s waist, slide lower to cup his arse and grind their hips together.

“Fuck,” Lucifer gasps against Diavolo’s grinning mouth.

They stumble over the little side table and fall onto the sofa. There are strings of saliva between their lips, teeth clacking, nails scraping against scalps.

Lucifer tears his hands through Diavolo’s tight shirt and presses his lips to the feverish skin. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. Lucifer wants to fuse into him; crack his skin and bathe in him; meld their souls and mouths together for eternity. He wants to reach out, beyond skin and sinew, and press his lips straight to his heart.

He pulls him closer then; infinitely, impossibly closer. If he didn’t, he might disappear, his prince, his home. Like Lilith did, for forever.

Hold him, the deep grief in his body sings, tender and mournful like moonlight as he makes love to his prince, as long as your touch doesn’t scar him. Like it has everything else.

It is late morning when Lucifer awakes. The air is scented with hell jasmine and grapefruit. Diavolo lays asleep beside him on his stomach, a curved elbow obscuring half his face. Lucifer watches him, the red of his hair against the dark covers, the folds of skin at his neck, the gold-tipped horns, and the folded-back wings.

They’d never fucked through the night before. Even on days when they lost track of time, Lucifer would always leave. But last night something tangible had been shattered. A thread that he had been holding onto so desperately had slipped from his grip. The thought of leaving had never occurred to him during the entirety of yesternight. All he’d wanted was to touch Diavolo and employ his mouth over every dip and rise of his body. He’d wanted to feel him and breathe him and hear his own name slip from his swollen lips like fog in winters. He had scooped himself hollow and poured it over the other’s body.

Diavolo’s eyes flutter once, twice, then peel open, golden and hazy, a thousand miles away yet so near.

They hadn’t just fucked last night. They had made love.

Now as Lucifer watches the sleep desert Diavolo’s eyes slowly, a sour, putrid feeling corrugates in his gut. What had he done? He knew better than this; knew better than to hope for a happy ending. The arrows of grief hope hid underneath its veil, he knew them intimately. What could he say?

Today as you look at me with eyes warm and gentle, all I can give thought to is the control you possess over me. My sister was murdered and I’m bound to you for eternity. I feel infinitely more myself with you. Do you love me because you can control me or is this connection between us real? Your presence stabilises my being. I’ve known you for so long now but my wounds have never healed. I love you. I fear the power you possess over my family.

Lucifer stumbles out of bed. His vision swims. His heart beats deafeningly in his ears. The air tastes like torn-up soil and rotten feathers. There’s a moon over his head and his sister’s blood is on his hands. He reaches out to grasp the armrest of the sofa, steadies himself. Chesterfield. Striped. His hands will leave behind a bloody imprint on it. One more thing he’s ruined now. One more apology to make. One more guilt to carry. Breathe. His eyes open. He’s naked. Disgust makes his knees shake.

A warm hand settles over his spine. Lucifer flinches away. Diavolo freezes. “Don’t!” Lucifer growls out, his throat aching. Hollow eyes. Beautiful; dying. She’s choking on blood. What have you done? He has to save her, he has to protect—

“Lucifer, what’s wrong? Where are you—”

He stomps his way out. Every step makes his body quiver; a barbed knot in his sternum that paints his insides charcoal. It is only his memory and sense of direction that leads him to the living room. Their clothes are strewn around from last night. Lucifer switches into his human form and dons his. After a moment, Diavolo pads in behind him, dressed in plain white briefs.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Home,” Lucifer says, slipping into his shoes and zipping up his pants.

Diavolo clasps onto his arm. “What is it? Was it something I did? Or said? Tell me, Lucifer!”

Lucifer looks at him. There is puffiness beneath the other’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. By the bridge of his nose, there is a tiny spot, a budding pimple. On his jaw, Lucifer can see the traces of slight stubble. All he wants at that moment is to kiss him.

“We won’t be seeing each other again,” he says, holding eyes with the prince.

A crack appears across Diavolo’s face. He’s so clever, so magnificent. Better than the most soothing symphonies and stronger than the hardest of rains. Diavolo raises his hand, hesitates, and then cups Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer allows himself to lean into the touch, for his eyes to slip close; to savour it, this last time. Diavolo searches his face, his beautiful eyes fraught with despair, glistening. “I thought you wanted this,” he says.

Lucifer pulls away, his heart breaking. “I thought so too.”

Diavolo doesn’t stop him again.

Lucifer leaves.

#darkly and divinely written #obey me #obey me shall we date #dialuci #lucifer x diavolo #obey me angst #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me dialuci #obey me mammon

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sealixirfairytales · 3 months

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So… He's from our world, around the victorian area… or so it seems.

Bram is around 16 or 19, nobody is sure of his age. He's actually born in twisted Wonderland and more importantly, in the Island of Woe, as his parents are both STYX's scientists.

But as a baby, only a month old, his parents remarked he seemed to absorb blot around him, like if he was a human magistone. Scared, they sealed any magic in him through some experiment for some time before throwing him into a random experimental portal because even with sealed magic, he was absorbing blot, just slower. Bram appeared in our world, right into the sea. (reason why he absorbe blot at the very end of this post)

But Bram actually is blessed with an incredible luck so as a little baby of barely 6 months, he survived by miracle and ended up on a flourished jungle island, untouched by humans.

He have been found by a female tiger. The "ruler" of the island, kind off. Thanks to his luck blessing, she decided to adopt him instead of eating him. So she raised him.

Bram is then totally wild and never saw another human. The closest were the monkeys… but as "a tiger" he just ate them. Bram's "father" didn't wanted him and tried to eat him, but his mother killed him to protect her cub. The large scar on his torso is due to his "father" attack.

Of course lots of other accidents. The bite on his thigh is from a crocodile. The large scar on his calf is because he felt and got this place pierced by a branche. He have cuts, bites and scratches kind of everywhere.

He also have a dark "scar" in his back, but it's actually the seal of his magic.

Bram love pretty colors and since he have seen parrots decorating their plumage with leaves or other feathers, he's doing the same by putting pretty flowers in his hairs. He loves flowers. DO NOT touch his flowers. He will bite.

Also, of course, he live completely naked and walking on all four

When he was around 11, his mom died. She wasn't killed. She was just already 17 (tigers lives usually between 10 and 15 years old, some rare case have been observed where they lived up to 26) So Bram lived alone since.

And suddenly… the mirror summoned him in another world…or more like back to his original world…

here come the day he's summoned to Twisted wonderland.

No need to say, he was shocked.

Need to know, in his head, he is a tiger. His mother just said he's "a little different" but he's "still a tiger".

So, I base it more like the manga for his arrival. He get out of the coffin when everyone is already here. And by himself. And without the ceremonial robe. So in his case, he's still naked.

I think you can imagine, when he woke up locked in a box, he panicked, and hit and struggled until he managed to open the lid of the coffin. When he see all the students and staff around him -human- he step back and hiss… yep, he will just act like a cat… more dangerous.

The staff try to calm him but nothing work. Until, recognizing how he act, Trein have the good idea to send Lucius. Bram can talk to animal. Howver, the animal language the mages use to talk to animal too don't work with Bram.

So thanks to Lucius, they learn that the naked kid in front of them think he's a tiger because he have been raised by one. After some tribulation, seing all the scars and how he act, the staff refuse to just send him back (and the mirror say he can't, anyway). Crewel decide to adopt him. And since I ship crewel and Crowley, Crowley adopt him too.

With Lucius help they slowly makes him understand they're not going to hurt him and Crewel manage to get him and carry him. Bram snuggle into his coat, reminding him of his mother fur, and purr. Lucius translate, saying the purr correspond to "mom" and Crewel just accept his fate XD

When he sees Grim, Bram try to hunt him, even catch him in his mouth XD Thanks the seven, the staff manage to makes him let go. Sam's little shadow friend bring a whole ham for Bram instead.

So they try to dress him… have you tried to dress a cat? No need to say, they can't. They just managed to pass him a boxer and a shirt barely buttoned. (the image)

Of course he also can't talk, he growl and hiss. First thing he will try to say will be his name, like "brrrr…. rraa… bbrrmmm… nrrr…. bbraaam".

Slowly, he start saying some words and even try to walk on two legs. then, you know the story… with some changes, of course. Crowley is "Da" and Crewel is "Ma"

About the overblots…. well he just jump on the phantom and bite it. And that's what he do in every fight, tiger style XD

Another thing… he will keep picking flower and put it im his hair but also try to put it in others hair. It's his love language.

~~~~

Now, about the fact he absorbe blot. It's due to his signature spell. I got that idea with a dream about another MC (Xia, from my horror short story "The orphanage) but it fit Bram too.

So here is his signature spell :

"From the shadows to my call, gather and empower my rise; Abyssal Maw!"

"Abyssal Maw" makes him enter into a controlled overblot, where he still have his mind clear and can command the phantom (see the phantom as the Horned king). Due to that, instead of creating blot when he use magic, he is using blot. He absorbe blot around him because for him blot is like a fuel, not a waste. Since it was way too OP (I mean… most of signature spell are kind of OP, did you see Malleus'??) I had to makes some adjustement compared to the original dream.

So, when he don't get enough blot, he will feel weak and tired. Like if you haven't eat or sleep for days. And there is also a problem if he absorb too much.

Nope, he won't enter into a real overblot if he absorbe too much blot… but he will end up in a drunken-like stat. Will be really cuddle and completely out. Not able to think or react, dizzy and will totally faint after a while. That can be really dangerous if he's into a battle.

Of course he will be able later to control his blot absorption, but that will take time. And obviously, he absorbe a lot of blot during the other's overblot. Slowly, because his magic is sealed.

But all this is only if they find a way to break the seal.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #twst mc #twst wonderland #twst yuu #twst fanart #twst oc #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland mc #ramshackle prefect #yuusona #yuu twst #twisted wonderland yuu #wild boy

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happyk44 · 2 years

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Captivated by the idea of Nico dying in the second war. He just fully fades out, his body turning into shadows before everyone's eyes, and no one knows what to do about it. Hazel is shotgunned back to the US aboard the Argo II and no one knows what to say to her when it's all over.

She sobs.

She screams.

Jason is devastated while Frank holds his girlfriend, trying to hold back his own tears to soothe her as she wails. Annabeth's skin is cold. She and Nico weren't close but she cared for him.

It's Percy's reaction, though, that shocks everyone.

Grover understands. Annabeth understands.

They understand why the ground shakes beneath their feet. They understand why the ocean froths. They understand why his eyes are a storm. They understand why the sky thunders and pours rain. They understand the hurricane he summons.

They understand when he disappears.

Percy hunts down Thanatos, grabs him by the throat, and chains him down to the bottom of the ocean. He storms through the lobby and bats Charon away. The Styx parts at his command, fighting against him more violently than the Lethe did, fighting against him more violently than it did when he sank into it willingly. But he runs across the black sand, the dessicated souls, the shark ridges of bones, and it doesn't touch him once.

Nico startles at his father's side when Percy barges in, fighting off Furies and Cerberus. His ghostly frame shudders, glitching like a freeze-frame of his last moments. Percy doesn't even hesitate when he sees him.

They try to stop him. Hades shouts orders, shouts about rules, about decisions. Nico tries to pull himself out of Percy's grasp. He tries to say he's fine.

Percy doesn't listen. He fights through hoards of ghosts, skeletons, monsters and gods. He runs across grass, across sand, across rivers. Hades never leaves his eyeline. By the time he makes it across the Styx, Riptide is covered in ichor. He can feel Hades grabbing at the back of his shirt. His clothes are torn, his body is slashed and bruised. His muscles burn. His bones protest.

But he won't stop running. It's not until he's passed the door, when the sun is staring down at him, when the sky is blue and clear, when the air is warm and fresh, when Nico is breathing loud and clear in his ears, that he stops.

That he crumbles to his knees and holds him firm and close.

Blackjack huffs loudly nearby but Percy can't hear it. Can't hear Hades shouting at him. Can't hear Nico's complaints. Just the loud soar of relief in his thoughts, his mind finally clear. His hands are pressed to Nico's wrist, his fingers seeking a pulse that beats steady under his touch.

He exhales solidly and drags Nico, alive, alive, alive, alive, onto Blackjack's back. Ignores the stern look his uncle gives him. Ignores Nico's frustrated words. Just loops his arm around his waist and disappears into the clouds. Somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, he can feel Death being unshackled but he doesn't care.

Nico is alive.

That's all that matters.

#percy jackson #nico di angelo #happy talks pjo

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cafe-smut · 3 months

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New TWST fic idea where The Mysterious Yuu is a little more than they appear to be. There are bits and pieces people pic up that despite a supposed lack of magic, something's off about them. Riddle is the first to change around them, treating them with the utmost respect. Leona comes next, deffering to them before anyone else and actually listening to them. (Half of savannahclaw seems scared of them, oddly enough.) Azul is next, and him and the Leech twins seem to almost worship them. Jamil and Kalim both get their acts together during winter break, no one in the dorm knows what they did though for the sudden change to happen.

The first time someone seems to really glimpse that Yuu is more than human is during the SDC, post Vil's overnlot. If one were to ask the night raven performers. They all caught a momentary glimpse of a large person smiling at them from the stands. Far too large to be human. Who looked very similar to their Yuu.

The truth doesn't truly come out until Idia's overblot, with the opening of the Underworld. When that giant makes a return with power burning in their eyes and dancing across fingertips as they match the monster Ortho's strength, pushing him down, fury on their face.

The ages of the gods never quite ended, and the one the mirror happened to summon and accidentally seal most of the power of off was broken free by the death surging upwards into the world. By absorbing the power and essence of blot as they headed father into the eye of the storm.

The God of Sleep and Dreams, sibling to Death, is not one to be fought. Not all who fight them wake. This was a fury none though possible, thus was the wrath of a God. But this incident was never to leave Styx, the magic swearing of all those who saw made certain of that.

All was well. Until Malleus Draconia overblotted. And was faced with someone eating, literally eating, at his powers. Wide awake, yet still deep in his specially crafted dreams.

"What will you do, little dragon? You are not even an adult nor in your prime. Do you truly think you can beat a God at their own existence?"

#twisted wonderland #twst ideas #possible fic??#god yuu #mostly hypnos

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bikananjarrus · 11 months

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still thinking about that post about the line from HoH about percy threatening to tear gaea apart with his bare hands after everything that happened…. that rage resurfacing after he hears about jason. demanding an audience with zeus and standing in the throne room built for twelve-foot tall olympians, staring zeus down and threatening to topple that giant throne. summoning a hurricane to carry him up so he can get right in zeus’ face about how zeus swore on the river styx that the gods would be better to their children, but their children keep suffering and dying. percy should’ve known the gods wouldn’t change their ways, but he will demand it of them anyway. if they won’t change, he’ll make them. he’ll drown olympus, drown a city in the sky (zeus’ realm) until the gods have paid for what they’ve done.

#idk what this is but i just SO BADLY want to see percy get in zeus’ face #i want—NEED—to see Percy’s reaction to finding about Jason #pjo #percy jackson

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owladaptive · 11 months

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Headcanons of your latest art, plz

The cool and funny thing about the addams au is that ducks don't need to change their core personalities in the slightest in order to fit. They're all just kinda Like That already.

They're just Like That already!!

They already get up to wacky, dangerous shenanigans. And other people not in the family look at it and go "that's a whole lotta weird". Individually, none of them are exactly normal.

All you really need to do to addamsify them is to take the most out of the ordinary aspects of each of their personalities and dial the notch up about..... 60 degrees.

Below are ramblings about their characters. Enjoy.

Scrooge is of course the patriarch of the family, an adventure capitalist and the richest duck in the world who loves dancing with danger. He's basically the most unchanged out of them all. But this Scrooge is... twisted. He covets the thrill of almost dying with the same fervor he covets gold. And he proudly, nay lovingly, exposes his kids to anything that brings them near the glory of death with reverence. The "other bin" is a personal museum of deadly monsters, fatal curses and dead things that he proudly lets his beloved family (and hapless guests) admire at their leisure. And he's always delighted to teach his kids anything they want to know. How to swordfight? Of course m'dear child, anything you ask. Here's the correct way you load gunpowder into a musket. Here's a fun way to give your wind-up clock bomb a little extra oomph. Want a turn in the iron maiden?

Bentina was a whole different kind of spy. I mean she was an assassin. In fact she was hired to string up Scrooge when they first met, instead he bought her off and had her dispose of her original contractor. They became friends of course, Scrooge admiring her line of work and Beakley begrudgingly respecting the sheer outrageousness of his admiration. And since coming back to his house to raise Webby (his family-oriented nature wore her cold exterior down over time until she caught the love bug) she vibes as his pseudo-sister once more.

Yeah Duckworth is still a ghost. He's been there since he died in his sleep and the whole family got together to drag his fading soul from the river styx and shove him back into the physical plain. (They worship the escape of death, that doesn't mean they want to be separated!) He doesn't say much. They love him still.

Webby is literally the same character. Only of course, her already-warped perspective on life after growing up in the shadow of Scrooge McDuck is warped all the more. To Webby, fighting, grappling, shooting arrows, firing (real) guns and stalking your friends through the shadows of night to scare the light from their eyes for a second isn't just super fun.... it's affection!! She's a creature of the night. She'll give her family so many hugs. She'll watch her loved ones while they sleep. She'll strangle them until they pass out (affectionate), she'll protect them from anything. She's everything the rest of the world is just ken.

Della is presumed dead, and nobody is particularly mad about it. This is a family that walks closely with death, after all, so while their love for each other is so strong that even a decade after she was gone they still mourn her, they would never cut her memory from their lives. Her portraits hang everywhere, her room kept immaculately covered in dust and cobwebs just the way she'd want it to be. They bring her up in conversations as though she'd just gone out to buy milk or something. And every single year, on the anniversary of her death, they hold a seance to attempt to summon her back (They already tried the thing they did with Duckworth). It never works, and Scrooge and Donald hug and cry and reminisce together and then life goes back to normal.

Donald is a faithful, doting and affectionate dad to his nephews and has told them stories of their mother since they were hatched. He loved his sister so very much, but unlike canon never blamed Scrooge for her death. Yes, she likely died in space, her spacesuit smashed open and her body freeze dried in the soul-sucking endless darkness all because Scrooge lovingly gifted her something that would put her life at risk. But she's only dead!! Nothing to estrange yourself from your family over. Donald and Scrooge are instead brought closer through shared loss. Donald in this universe is still a sailor, and is entranced by the glory of the deathly, stormy seas and all the creepy, slimy creatures within it. His anger is surprisingly mostly tamed by way of catharsis (fishing and killing the fish and cooking the fish with far too much axe chopping and knife brandishing than needed). That doesn't mean he won't lose it if someone insults his kids, his uncle or his dead sister.

Huey is a sweet, smart, helpful boy with a penchant for biting that's followed him since he first grew teeth and a rage-filled alter ego that's switched on a hair-thin trigger. When he's not flying into a mad frenzy like a gremlin ("you've got such a healthy temper dear boy, make sure to sharpen your teeth before bed now!") he's deconstructing anything he can get his hands on and building them back better and more explosive. Don't be alarmed by his muzzle - his brothers sometimes force it on him when they get tired of his biting (it makes for an unfair fight) and sometimes they kindly ask if he wants them to put it on for him when they notice he's being a little nonverbal or cranky. He loves them a lot and gives them lots of hugs.

Dewey is a melodramatic little weirdo who recites poetry and Shakespeare, adores making a spectacle of himself and hates being one of a set of three. Quite like his canon self! Unlike his canon self, he copes with feelings of resentment and middle child syndrome by way of bloodlust. It's all in good fun, of course. What child doesn't try to smother their siblings in their sleep now and then? Why, back when Scrooge was a lad, his sisters once dangled him in the path of a speeding train while he was sleeping! When his murderous urges take a backseat and he gives the booby traps a rest, Dewey's a fun-loving kid who would go to much more extreme measures to get take vicious revenge on anyone who would make any three of his siblings cry. His dream is to die suffocating in a vacuum like his mother did.

Louie, having grown up in the mansion instead of a houseboat, is no stranger to the wonders of luxury. Luckily for him, the Scrooge of this universe is wrapped around the collective pinky finger of his wee ones, and is much more doting than canon. Also luckily for Louie is that McDuck manor is built on an expansive graveyard where he can look for jewellery, trinkets and gold fillings to his greedy heart's content. When he runs out of graves at the mansion (he always buries them back, don't worry) there are always other graveyards in town. And other towns, too. And true, Louie's been dragged back home by the police every now and then, so he's had to get sneaky about his thrifting ways. He can pickpocket like a pro, filching off anybody who isn't Scrooge (who would always notice) and snatching any shiny thing that isn't nailed down and can fit in his pocket when he's out of the house. He's sneaky alright, but also sensitive. Don't touch his stuff or he'll stab you. "did the little dragon add anything to his hoard today?"

#addams au #ducktales #answer #dt17 #scrooge mcduck #dewey duck #huey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #bentina beakley #della duck

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davycoquette · 3 months

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the summer of our discontent

June, 1996

Ruck took the stairs slowly with his cigarette clenched between his teeth. At the bottom, he shifted his gig bag and backpack on his shoulder and stared into the wet morning fog.

His life unfurled ahead of him; a flat, unbending, and featureless road.

There was no sidewalk, so he walked in the overgrown bluegrass. He headed west, toward the Styx River, because why the fuck not? It felt as if he had been borne into this world just then, disconnected from the brief and meaningless past before Decatur. He had nothing now but his baggage, which guided him like a migratory instinct toward one of the last places he had been besides home.

The fog simmered away in the heat and he sat on the curb at Crossroads eating a cold gas station breakfast pizza between sips of Grapico. The sun tanned the back of his neck and drops of sweat fell from his jaw onto the sandy asphalt.

At the intersection a man in a sweat-yellowed undershirt that clung to his ribs stopped him to ask for something. His voice was a copperhead hiss and Ruck eyed the calluses on his upturned palms.

“I cain’t understand you,” he said, and left the man mumbling where the four paths met.

In Hurricane he reached the edge of the earth and the air was heavy with salt and damp. He watched the Spanish moss on the cypress trees swing over the Tensaw River then on impulse thumbed his way into the back of a pickup that came shuddering down Bayou Road.

The driver was an old man with eyes as yellow as his few teeth, and his wife, aged indeterminably between forty and seventy, asked Ruck if he didn’t want out before they merged onto 65. He addressed her through the open back glass, and told her no, he’d better sit tight.

At sunset he tilted his head back to gaze up at the weathering steel arches of the Dolly Parton Bridge, then closed his eyes and breathed in the cloying wetland stench.

It was dark when they let him off at the edge of Creola, and he walked south to the La Quinta to book a room with his lawn-keeping money.

His clothes peeled audibly off his skin and he scrubbed them with a bar of handsoap in the bathroom sink after a long shower. He draped them over the rusted balcony railing and smoked a cigarette while he watched one treefrog fuck another one on the fake stucco wall. Voices carried down from the balcony above his, and Ruck left the sliding door open when he went in to drop his towel and fall into bed.

Close to nine in the morning he woke, removed a treefrog from the curtain, fetched his clothes from the balcony, and crushed Adderall on the little table next to the TV set. He got dressed and headed down to the lobby, where he fixed himself coffee and a waffle while his teeth chattered and the blood threatened to burst out of his veins.

Inspired, he walked down to the truck stop after breakfast with the previous day’s clothes souring in his backpack. He wandered the lot in the heatwaves and an old trucker leaned his head out his cab window and said, “You’re ‘bout the meanest lookin’ lizard I ever seen.”

Ruck hauled himself up on the passenger side step to goad the man into a fight, but the Yorkshire terrier in the seat jumped up and bit him the moment his fingers hooked over the edge of the window and the fire was doused from his blood. He dropped a few coins in the payphone outside and summoned a cab while sucking the joint of his finger.

Mobile was a short ride south of the truck stop, but the fare was twenty bucks he couldn’t afford to spend. Outside a musty music store at the fringe of the business district, he set up in the shadow of a live oak growing from the sidewalk and earned a couple bucks playing some Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash. A kid from the University wanted Freebird and Ruck played and sang a while, but the young man rode off on his bike half the song in and the street cleared out.Ruck picked up a late lunch from a mom and pop oyster bar, and sat reading the free classifieds he picked up from a stand outside. There wasn’t much of anything — except that the Greater Gulf State Fair was hiring. On closer inspection, they wanted interns from the college — but he couldn’t see the harm in paying a visit, anyway. Surely the damn fair didn’t intend to run a background check, and anyway, his attention had been good and grabbed by the logo of the cowboy astride a bronc printed in the ad.

#writeblr #writing community #creative writing #ruck #that 90s incarceration #original writing #writing share #writing excerpt #excerpts #writerscommunity #character exposition #exposition #tw #tw addiction #tw drug mention #tw withdrawal #drug mention #withdrawal #that90sincarceration

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bugwolfsstuff · 7 months

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Question what kind of powers do you think a son of Psychopomp Hermes would have?

In a oneshot i have lying around i have Travis be able to summon and see ghosts but it drains the shit out of him and he also has to have an anchor to the living in it like Percy does with the styx. (the anchor being Katie cus Tratie)

But thats kinda too similar to Hades kids and Hermes is more of a guide than a lord so his kids would have more powers related to that?

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson heroes of olympus #heros of olympus #pjo headcanons #wolffox speaks #pjo travis stoll #travis stoll #hermes pjo #pjo hermes #cabin 11 #hermes cabin

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hydropyro · 10 months

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Progeny of Raphael

He saw the gaggle of other adventurers standing at the poolside looking anxious before he looked through to the bed and saw the tiefling. They lay out on the red bedspread while Haarlep stalked around, his wings, Raphael’s wings, held proudly aloft.

He couldn’t hear what the incubus was saying but felt flesh against his palm and then the brush of a hand across his lips.

He hurried through the boudoir, rounding the opposite side of the pool so as not to push past the adventuring party. He heard them shout when they noticed him, and they followed him into the bedroom shortly after.

Haarlep had climbed onto the bed and was positioning himself above the tiefling when Raphael grabbed him by the wings and shoulder, drug him, writhing, across the floor to the balcony, and threw him over toward the Styx far below. “You mucedinous bastard!” He cursed the cackling incubus.

He watched Haarlep fall just a moment. If he were smart, he’d stay away for some time. If he were smarter, still, he’d hit the ground with enough force to end both their suffering.

As he came back into the House, Raphael took the thick, velvet curtain covering the balcony door, pulled back with a gold silk rope, in hand and wrenched the fabric down from the high ceiling. He deflected the falling rod with his other hand, sending it, too, over the balcony. He threw the large curtain over the tiefling that still lay on the bed, frozen in shock by what had transpired.

Raphael straightened his tunic and ran a hand through his hair, not able to see himself but sure it had become mussed when he’d wrestled the incubus. “Gods may indulge in such depravities, but I am more civilized.”

Though the audience of adventurers had drawn their weapons and readied their spells, the spawn managed to quip, “A devil afraid of sex?”

Raphael levelled a droll stare at the vampireling. “I invented many of the tricks that you yourself employ, which make you such an effective hunter for your Master, spawn.” The vampire shifted uncomfortably, though his well-practiced smile remained on his lips.

With a snap of his fingers, Raphael pulled the Tav’s discarded clothes from the infernal tiefling’s grasp, causing them to reappear on the still bed-bound mortal’s lap. “Dress yourself,” he commanded, not looking in their direction.

“What are you doing here?” the infernal tiefling demanded, her now-free hands wrenching tight around the hilt of the axe that, for the moment, hung over her shoulder, ready to be wielded.

The devil laughed at her. “What am I doing in my House?

“I ought to be asking you all the same question. You didn’t take my deal earlier.” He risked stealing a glance to his side and stifled the relieved sigh when the tiefling, now fully dressed, clambered off of his bed. They slunk over to the rest of their party, keeping their eyes on Raphael. “Uninvited and unannounced.

“If you would like to reconsider, I was waiting for you somewhere much easier to visit.”

“Did you throw him off the balcony?” Tav asked, looking out where he’d disposed of the disgusting incubus.

“You sullied his masturbatory aid,” the vampire murmured as if the thought had come to mind and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from speaking the words aloud.

Raphael began to move toward them, amused as they each tensed and readied themselves for a potential attack. “You can't sully and incubus. They are depravity incarnate.

"Any other of you are welcome to indulge yourself in Haarlep’s multitude of charms and talents.

“If you’d like, I can summon him back as easy as that,” Raphael snapped, flames bursting from his fingertips a moment, “assuming he took flight before the ground obliterated him.

“I could still summon him otherwise, but – the mess –”

He disappeared before reappearing behind the band of adventurers, nearer to the boudoir entrance. They whirled around in unison, keeping him in their sight. “And, Tav, you’re welcome to use this space with any of your friends if this,” he gestured around them, “is what gets you going. You’re already here, so you’d might as well.

“But you cannot use my incubus. My visage.

“Now,” Raphael crossed his arms, “surely there are better places to discuss your intrusion. I am nothing if not a good host.”

The sorry band followed him obediently, a line of sad ducklings, out of the boudoir and back into the archive. The Hammer remained in place. He waved the archivist out, watching the fiend dutifully and silently depart. He’d alerted Raphael as soon as he’d sent the party on their way to the boudoir.

Raphael stood near the Hammer, protected still by its orb, and indicated it with a wave of his hand. “If this is what you’ve come here for, you only had to ask.” He looked directly at Tav, leading the group despite their small stature and smaller reputation. His eyes searched their features, trying to pick out those most familiar to him.

Tav held up their hands. “I want to know what exactly happened back there.”

“I can assure you, you don’t,” Raphael said matter-of-factly.

“If you can’t start being upfront, devil,” the infernal fiend growled, and she began to glow with heat.

He looked around at the other faces that had followed this one unremarkable mortal, Tav, into the heart of his domain. They had inspired such companionship and comradery. They almost radiated with ambition.

Raphael moved away from the precious artefact and took a few steps toward Tav, cocking his head and studying their features more as he drew near. “Do you know why I offered you the deal and not one of your illustrious friends?

“Any one of them would have been a better client from where I’m standing.”

He looked first to the gith girl. It had been a long time since he’d dealt with a gith, and now they seemed to be everywhere. “The most obvious, Lae’zel of Creche K’liir.

“You would do, give, just about anything for this Hammer – for your prince’s freedom, wouldn’t you?” Raphael laughed, “You’d happily hand over the Crown and lay yourself on your own blade if I asked, as long as it meant your prince was free.” He raised an eyebrow at the sad, almost embarrassed expression on the gith’s face. “Don’t be ashamed. Your devotion is admirable.

“No race breeds and uses child soldiers to such affect as the gith."

The infernal fiend continued to burn, so Raphael turned his attention next on to her. “Karlach Cliffgate. You are already a fearsome commander. One of the best Zariel has ever had, I’d wager.” His smile widened when she took a menacing step toward him, before being held back by the staff of her wizard friend. “Your body was sold to Zariel, but your soul is ultimately still yours to sell. Die as you are now, and she’ll claim you. But were you to give yourself to me –

“There are more powerful devils, who would become much more powerful still with your help, who could make your life, and death, less – Hellish – as it were.

“And I’m sure your little visit to my House is giving you a much-needed break from that heart of yours. When I have the Crown, and when I rule the Hells, there will be lofty stations to be filled by commanders as experienced and fiery as yourself.

"And I'd give you a much-needed upgrade."

Next, on to the wizard. He’d heard much of this wizard over the years. His skill with and mastery over magic had been almost ingrained into his being. Of course, he’d caught the attention of the goddess. Raphael wasn’t sure that this Mystra puppetted the human out of love and affection – or fear. “We cannot forget the Gale Dekarios, arch,” he paused, chuckling, “ex-archwizard.

“You, out of anyone here, know exactly the might of the Crown. You, out of anyone here, truly understand what someone capable of properly wielding it could do. For the Hells, of course, to end the Bloodwar. But, then, who else could have their lives bettered?

“You also know too well what it is to fall from grace. Thankfully, you haven’t brought anyone down along with you – yet. But, like another foolish human who tried to play with Netherese magic, you’re a risk to everyone within a league of you.

“You may not be capable of wielding the Crown itself, and surely you aren’t foolish enough to even attempt it, but your expertise would be greatly and gratefully appreciated. Even gods need an arch wizard or two.” Raphael met the wizard’s gaze. He wasn’t as aggressive as the tiefling or the gith, but seemed just as upset by Raphael’s words.

“Astarion Ancunin.” The vampire shifted nervously at the sound of his own name. He knew how weak he was to temptation. “You don’t have much to offer me, in truth. But, I have much to offer you in return for the Crown, and trust in your determination to deliver.

“You’ve already denied my father his promise of 7,000 souls.” Raphael chuckled at the thought of Mephistopheles raging. “You may be glad to know that he claimed your old Master’s soul promptly and is, no doubt, giving dear Cazador his just rewards.

“Outgrowing the shadow of your maker is no easy feat. I know. Yet you’ve done so quite admirably. But you still want power, don’t you? Not power you’ve stolen from someone unworthy of having it – power you earned yourself. You denied embracing what your Master wanted to mold you into. You could become what you want to be. I will soon have the power to reward you that in spades.

“Now, if Mephistopheles, archdevil, could give Cazador Szarr his “Rite of Profane Ascension” and birth a new, more powerful of your kind – imagine what a devil god could give you.

“Perhaps you’d make the Vampire Ascendant look no more than a spawn. Or – maybe you’d prefer to grow old and live out your life, alive once more?”

Raphael gave a sheepish smile to the final two companions. “Wyll Ravenguard. Son of the famed Grand Duke Ulder Ravenguard. I don’t have much to offer you, not that your soul is up for the taking, anyway. It’s really rather unfortunate that our paths hadn’t crossed sooner. Talk to Korilla, and you’ll see that I treat my warlocks quite favorably.

“Besides, whatever deal I did suggest, even if you could accept my patronage, you’d probably decline. You’ve already shown yourself to be righteous to a fault.

“But, I could offer you a modicum of freedom. There will be no Mizora or even Zariel to be beholden to when the Crown is safely in my possession.

“And Jenevelle Hallowleaf. Or do you prefer Shadowheart? A pawn in the ongoing squabble between the sisters, Shar and Selûne. As much as my heart truly aches for your plight, I’ve already played that game.

“I threw quite a wrench into dear Shar’s plans a century past. I also got a pesky orthon out of my hair in the process. If I could cause so much trouble for them then imagine what we could do with the Crown. Vengeance is a dish best served hot.”

Raphael preferred to speak the truth more frequently than lies. So often, truth was the more devastating weapon. Here, truths were creating a gnawing hunger behind the eyes of those he’d already rightfully called out.

He looked finally back to the tiefling, leading the pack. “But, I offered you the Hammer. You have your soul, of course, but that’s about it – and we’ve already discussed how unfulfilling that would be.

“The Crown is ever in your grasp, that’s true. But, your compatriots have that to give and more.

“Really, I offered you the Hammer at a loss. Call me sentimental.”

He looked between those assembled, enjoying the various emotions that overtook their features. They did their best to hide them, but with his keen senses, from his eyes, to his ears hearing their racing hearts, to the smell of their anxiety, they could hide nothing from him.

“Sentimental about what?” Tav asked.

They hadn’t put the pieces together yet. Raphael sighed to himself. “Your mother. She is a tiefling?”

“I—I assume so,” Tav said, shrinking a bit into themselves.

“You assume so?”

“The woman who raised me is human.” Their voice was defensive. It wasn’t uncommon for tiefling children to be left on their own for whatever terrible reason or another. So often, their kind were made refugees and at the mercy of the other races. “I was adopted.”

“Is that what she told you?” He raised his eyebrows. When Tav didn’t speak again Raphael snapped his fingers, producing a rolled parchment in his grasp. He carefully unbound the lace that held it and unrolled it, reading Tav’s mother’s name from the page. “Correct?”

Tav craned their neck as if the slight shift in perspective may allow them to read the contract in Raphael’s grasp, but didn’t move any closer. “That’s my mother,” they confirmed, speaking slowly as if looking for a trap. “The woman who raised me, at least.”

“Mortals are odd.” Raphael snapped the contract away again. It would be stored in a safe place amongst the shelves of others he’d collected over the millennia. “Many of you have this – instinct – to mate and reproduce. You’re born because your parents followed this need and their parents before them.

“Even at the risk of life and limb, like animals, you reproduce.

“Your mother was no different. She’d tried to have children. She had either failed to fall pregnant or had lost the child well before birth. You have older siblings, do you not? She’d adopted in the past, but that wasn’t enough to feed this instinct. She was barren but desperate.

“She was sent my way,” Raphael considered the name and the part-fiend standing before him, trying to remember exactly which mortal it had been and where he’d met with her. “She wasn’t the first client I’d provided such a service to – a midwife had seen how effective my treatments were and was always recommending me.

“I did my work polymorphed as a tiefling so as not to arouse too much suspicion from bystanders when the miraculous children emerged looking – well, like yourself. The midwife probably had her suspicions.” Raphael smiled at the thought. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even met the woman who so often sent clients his way.

“The mothers always knew, of course. They had to know in order to sign the contracts. I could have tricked them, I suppose, but I have integrity.”

The barbarian snorted, and Raphael couldn’t help but smile at her. She didn’t have to agree.

“You’re lying,” Tav said, sounding sure of themselves. They looked around to their companions, searching for support.

“Is it that hard to believe? You're a Mephistopheles tiefling, and I am Mephistopheles' son. And, I don’t really gain anything from weaving you such a tale. You asked why I threw the incubus over the balcony. This is why.

“You are my child – and that is disgusting. I suppose if that is some – fetish – of yours – your mother must still be in good health, as I don’t recall seeing her soul among my indebted—”

“That’s enough!” Mizora’s warlock interjected, taking a step forward and partially shielding Tav from Raphael.

Raphael held up his hands. “It’s not an image I enjoy creating. As I said, it falls more under the purview of all manner of gods.”

“Did this ‘incubus’ not look like the devil?” the gith asked, directing her question to the wizard. She probably looked to him often to explain the various foreign people and things she’d experienced in Faerun.

Raphael laughed at her question. “Yes. Was this your own astute observation, or did he announce it? He does like to brag.” He crossed his arms again, continuing to study those before him. “It’s one thing to sleep with one’s own visage. And incubi have an intriguing ability to project sensation through whatever form they’re in onto the true being.” He shrugged. “Twice the pleasure and none of the work. That is exactly how I prefer my deals to go.

“Which, while the idea,” he shuddered, “of my child laying with someone wearing my skin is repulsive, having to feel it would be worse.”

“So why not just give me the Hammer, then? Why not help me?” Tav demanded. Maybe their mother had coddled them too much growing up. She would probably pamper and fuss over the adult tiefling still.

Raphael laughed at them. “Your being of my blood doesn’t make you that special. A devil always gets his due. Though my – fondness – for you has me inclined to give you a slight discount.

“Remember, you are just one of many whelps. You just happen to be one in the right place at the right time to give me what I want. In return, I’ll give you what you need to survive this whole ordeal. Should you fail – I shan’t weep for you.

“Though I am impressed by all that you’ve accomplished thus far. And that fascination is developing into a twinge of – pride – knowing that such brilliance is spawned of my seed.”

“Gross,” the infernal tiefling gagged.

Raphael smirked. Ten years on the front lines of Zariel’s war hadn’t dampened the tiefling’s spirit.

He strode over to the group, absently touching each of them as he pushed past them and left the archive. “I really am enjoying this little discussion, but, unfortunately, I’m a very busy man, especially as of late.

“I suppose you’re welcome to visit,” he levelled his gaze on Tav. “Fathers ought not to have favorites, but I daresay you’re mine. Do write first. Or call? I can teach you a spell that can connect us, but I can’t promise always to answer.”

He snapped his fingers, feeling the pull of the portal as he and the seven guests were whisked out of Avernus and put into the mortal realm. “As much as I love entertaining my clients, I do so loathe uninvited guests.”

The adventurers looked around themselves, now standing in the small brothel room that he’d rented in Sharess's Caress. “As I said before, when you’re ready to reconsider my offer, I’ll be waiting here.”

#baldur’s gate 3 #raphael #baldurs gate 3 #haarlep #raphael bg3 #bg3 #fanfic #fanfiction #i'm obsessed #Please may I sleep

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red-dead-sakharine · 8 months

Text

Sundered by the Styx

underdog!Raphael, RaphaelPOV, Raphael x m!OC, conflicted!cambion, hurt/comfort, warlock!OC, tiefling!OC, whump, pining, relationship with obstacles Spawned from anon 🔴 prompt. I hope anon forgives me for naming Tav. The prompt was so close to my own character, I decided to indulge myself.

Part 1 | Part 2 (soon)

"Nice decor." An interesting response. Not phased by being whisked away to some unknown place. And either brazen or of good taste. Which one of the two, Raphael had yet to figure out.

"The House of Hope, where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed - lavishly. Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all, it might just be your last."

The tiefling who seemed to be the leader of the group of mortals raised a brow, then turned and browsed the table. Eventually he picked up a particularly good looking piece of cake and began eating. A sweet-tooth. Raphael was intrigued by the reaction. "Not easily rattled, I see. Good. Makes the next part that much more straightforward." And with that, he dropped the human guise and showed off his true from. Spreading his wings and preening before his audience. The mortals looked shocked. "Fuck. A cambion." the other tiefling, Karlach, cursed. "What's better than a devil you don't know? A devil you do." Raphael cited his practiced line with a satisfied grin. The leader of the group kept chewing on his cake, only halting for a short moment when Raphael revealed himself, then returned to munching. Raphael had to admit, the equanimity of this one intrigued him. Provided it wasn't utter stupidity that made the mortal simply dull and callous. He would find out sooner or later. He continued his introductory speech, enjoying the mortals' reactions to it. Ah, he loved the underlying panic in their expressions.

When he was done with his speech, he waited for their reaction. The group looked to their leader, who swallowed the last bite of cake and cleaned his hands with one of the napkins from the table. Manners, Raphael observed approvingly. "Great introduction," the tiefling said honestly, "I liked the 'devil you don't know' part. Very clever." Raphael raised a brow, trying not to look too taken aback by the reaction. "Alas, I'm afraid I won't be making any deals anytime soon." He put the napkin back neatly on the table and offered a slight bow, "Varvain 's the name, by the way." The name rang familiar to Raphael, but he couldn't quite place it. Some of the tadpoled mortals had been harder to identify than others. Karlach and Wyll had been easy to figure out, due to Raphael's decent rapport with Zariel.

But this one - this Varvain - he had trouble to place. He could sense the warlock pact, but he didn't know who or what he was pacted with. Another fiend would explain the unflappable attitude upon seeing a devil. It would also be highly inconvenient for Raphael.

"By all means, take your time," he told the mortals, "Shop around..." He launched into another dramatic speech, enjoying himself greatly, as he put on the theatrics. Upon finishing, he sent the mortals back to where he had plucked them from.

Raphael rubbed his chin in contemplation for a moment, before snapping his fingers to summon Korrilla. "Watch those mortals, and eavesdrop on their leader. I need to know who is lending him their powers." The dwarf nodded, "Will do, boss." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand; sending her back to the mortal realm.

The leader of the group lingered on his mind. "ell mannered, not easily rattled, and admittedly not unpleasant to look at. Raphael's eyes fell to the napkin left neatly on the table, and narrowed his eyes in contemplation. The tiefling didn't look highborn, but he certainly knew decorum. An intriguing puzzle. A puzzle, Raphael set out to solve.

He mobilized some of his resources within Baator to discreetly keep an ear out for any mentions of a Varvain. It didn't take long until one of the cambions sworn to him returned with news. "I might have found this Varvain's patron, master." she said, as she approached Raphael, who was browsing books in the archives. "Well, don't let me wait." He responded drily, turning his attention to the other fiend. "I figured someone in the Fetters in Dis might know him. And they did. He actually has a bit of a reputation there." the cambion reported, "Apparently he's the favorite pet of a pit fiend called Frith."

Raphael's expression turned into an annoyed frown, "Frith..." He felt the need to punch something. Or someone. He knew the name. One of Dispater's lap dogs. "Anything else?" he asked, trying his damnedest to stay composed. The cambion shook her head, "No, master. That's all I could find out without my questioning becoming obvious." Raphael nodded, "Good work," and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He mulled the information over in his head for a while. This might be an obstacle for his plans, depending on the details of the contract between Frith and Varvain that gave the mortal his power.

When he finally turned to leave the archive, he saw the Archivist giving him a look Raphael didn't appreciate. Upon seeing the devil glaring at him, the archivist swiftly busied himself with a ledger.

The cambion's nostrils flared in annoyance, but breaking spines would have to wait. He had a problem to solve.

Raphael made his way to Dis. He didn't particularly like the place; mostly because every time he came here, the streets had changed, making navigation difficult. It ground against his sense of order. At least coming here was easy enough. Due to the fetters being accessible to mortals, Raphael could just slip in without any trouble.

The fetters' market was a curious sight. Mortals and devils, both peddling their wares to each other. Many a deal struck, many a soul claimed. Though he did not like the city, Raphael had to admire the industrious efficiency of the procurement of souls in this place.

He focused back on his task - it wasn't hard to find Frith's haunt, the "bath house", as he called it. Truly it was more of a brothel, but appearances mattered in some way, when trying to trap mortals. It was a gaudy place he's been to before. There was a pool in the middle of it, so technically calling it a 'bath' was valid, even if most of the mortals who found themselves lured here, ended up enjoying either the music, or other physical pleasures outside the water. In a way, the place reminded him of Sharess' Caress, but with very different clientele. In the far back, on a dais lording over the place stood, what could only be described as a throne, with a large bed not far behind it. Raphael wrinkled his nose but was glad, that Frith wasn't heaving any entertainment right now. The pit fiend sat on his "throne", wearing his more palatable disguise of a handsome devil - tiefling, even - with short horns, slicked back hair, and a gaudy beard that reminded Raphael of both, his father and Dispater.

As he walked along the outside of the pool, Raphael took stock of the other beings present. Most were mortals, either guests who will probably never be able to leave again, or Frith's enslaved mortals who offered the entertainment. Some played music, some made food, some lulled the guests into letting their guard down by massaging them, and some... well. But there were also devils here. A succubus or two, Raphael noticed. Made sense, given the purpose of this place. But also some other devils who were here to be entertained. Probably allies of Frith's enjoying some sort of treat, Raphael assumed.

He was pulled from his thoughts, as he closed in on Frith's "throne". "You, cambion, you're not one of mine. I hope you have a good reason to be here." Frith's smooth but powerful voice boomed at him. Cambion. Raphael ground his teeth. Not only did the pit fiend not recognize him, he was also degraded to just a cambion. "I would have a word with you," he replied, doing his best to not let his frustration show. "I don't waste my time with half-breeds not sworn to me. So unless you're here to pledge your undying allegiance - shoo." Frith waved his hand dismissively.

Raphael clenched his fists in anger. Half-breed? Half-breed!? He took a deep breath, "I am Raphael. You might have--" "Oh, one of Mephistopheles' brood. I've heard of you." Frith interrupted him with a chuckle, "Bit of a rebel from what I hear. Not in your father's best graces, hm?" Raphael wanted nothing more, than to wipe that smirk off the fiend's face. But he knew he was no match for him - yet. This would all change, once he had the Crown of Karsus. Only a matter of time...

He took a frustrated breath, "Yes. My father and I don't exactly see eye to eye. But I'm not here to speak about him." Frith kept smirking condescendingly at the cambion before him, "Well, I am intrigued what would bring you here, half-breed, So I'll humor you." he beckoned Raphael to come closer, which he did. "Why do you visit me in my humble abode?" Raphael's jaw clenched, "I think I have stumbled upon one of your wayward warlocks." he tried to sound casual, "And I got curious what kind of relationship you have with them. I've seen different kinds of patronages during my days. I'm always interested to..." he gestured vaguely, "...learn, from others and their experiences."

Frith's superior smirk slowly vanished, "And which warlock would that be, pray tell? Do you have a name?" Raphael did his best to sound conversational, "He did introduce himself as Varvain." The moment he said the name, he saw something shift in Frith's expression. Though he couldn't quite tell what it was. "Varvain - my pet. He's having an unplanned vacation in the mortal realm." Frith replied and narrowed his eyes, "How did you run into him?" Raphael shrugged, "Oh, I was looking for souls, you know. Lots of death going on at the Sword Coast these days." He smirked a little. Frith regarded the cambion for a bit, "Well, you won't have Varvain's soul. It is mine." he put a lot of emphasis on that last word, adding a threatening undertone that was hard to miss. Raphael gave a little sideways nod, "Far be it from me to get between you and your pet. But pray tell, might I have a look at his contract, by any chance?" This was far from smooth, but there was no way around asking about the contract sooner or later, "Merely to serve as inspiration for my own, you understand. There's a little tiefling girl I'm interested in... mentoring."

Frith was quiet for a moment, as he looked Raphael up and down. Then he stood up, smiling casually - but something wasn't right, Raphael could tell. "You want to look at Varvain's contract?" He echoed the request, as he stepped down from the dais and approached Raphael. The cambion felt like he should be retreating, but he stood his ground. An error. Frith's hand shot up, grabbing Raphael by the throat and pulling him close to his face, "Varvain is mine, and whatever you think to want or get from him, you best swiftly forget about it, you half-mortal filth." Frith growled. Raphael grabbed the pit fiend's arm, tried to wrest himself free, but to no avail. "I am no mortal!" he croaked angrily, defiantly, but only got a laugh in response. "Well, you're certainly no devil either." Frith hissed and tightened his grip. The cambion tried to respond but all that came out of his strangled throat was a strained gurgle. "Mephistopheles would probably thank me for getting rid of you, but you are his problem, mortal spawn. Get out of my domain. Now." He threw Raphael to the ground like a ragdoll, "And if you dare to even so much as sniff on Varvain's soul, I will throw you into the pit of flame myself!"

Raphael could see the pit fiend's eyes burn with rage, and he had no doubt he was one spark away from dropping his disguise. Coughing, Raphael staggered to his feet. He glared angrily at the other devil, but he knew if it came to open violence, he would draw the short end of the stick. The entire bath house had become silent. The music had stopped and nobody dared to speak or move. Raphael glared at Frith, but he knew when to make a tactical retreat. He turned and stomped out of the building, stewing in his anger and frustration. He swore to himself, once he had the Crown of Karsus, he would return and tear Frith limb from limb. But for now he would have to bide his time.

He returned to the House of Hope to nurse his bruised ego.

(To be continued...)

#bg3 #fanfiction #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael the cambion #rds #baldurs gate 3 #anon ask #raphael x tav #conflicted!cambion #gn!tav #Varvain and Frith #warlock!Tav #hurt/comfort #jealousy

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