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phantoms-planet · 23 hours

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Barred Protection Chapter Five

This one is short, I am sick of writing in this chapter and just want to get to the next part so I'm saving us all a several months long writers block and posting it "unfinished" instead. It's also unedited. This chapter is the definition of Started Making It, Had a Breakdown, Bon Appetite. Hope it's enjoyable anyway.

No tw besides medical settings.

Ao3

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Tim didn’t like being used as a prop to get Bruce into Ameliorate, he didn’t like being poked and prodded for over an hour by Percy Daelus while Bruce sweet talked the man, and he most definitely didn’t like the results from the analysis that he had just finished on the medication he’d been prescribed.

Most of the contents made sense but there was one chemical that wasn’t like anything in their system. And they had a lot of chemicals in their system.

“Tim?” He flipped around to see Duke trotting to him. “We got the stuff you asked for.”

Tim took the bag he offered with a short nod before turning back to the table and riffling through it. When he realized there was an unknown ingredient, he asked Duke and Damian to get him different medicines and cure-alls from the company, any they could get their hands on. If this strange chemical was in one of them, it very well could have been in more.

He tried to ignore Duke hovering as he prepared the machine for another round. Damian had taken perch on a chair to the side. “Tt, are you certain there is an unknown-?”

“Yes.” Tim snapped. “I tested it six times.”

“Maybe the machine is wrong?” Duke sounded hesitant to suggest it. Tim stopped what he was doing to turn to him with an unimpressed, flat expression. “Or…you know, maybe not.”

---

Daelus listened carefully to the child’s heart, struggling to hear it past the labored breathing. Thankfully it seemed healthy. When he pulled away and slid the stethoscope back around his neck the young boy’s mother was watching him closely.

He offered her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, the cold is minor. It’s nothing we can’t handle for sure.” The relief that washed over her face was more rewarding than anything else in the world. “I’ll have the nurse prepare your first dose, and then you can pick up the rest of the medication at the front pharmacy, alright?”

“Thank you.” The mother slumped back in her chair. He understood why she would be so scared for her baby. Not even a year old and the poor thing was sick as a dog.

He left the room as quietly as possible while flagging down his current nurse. Once she had been filled in Daelus made his way to his personal office.

Normally on clinic days he would spend the whole ten or so hours seeing as many patients as possible but today was a special case; he had another meeting with Bruce Wayne. After meeting Tim (who was remarkably healthy for missing a spleen, if quite sleep deprived) Mr. Wayne seemed much more comfortable with Daelus.

That in and of itself was a massive relief. With one of the world’s favorite billionaires on its side, Amiliorite could finally start stage three of operations. Moving global would be hard without support from a well-liked celebrity, and Daelus much preferred when things ran smoothly.

There wasn’t much time to clean up before one of his front desk workers opened the door. Daelus went to greet Bruce with a smile. One that didn’t get returned.

“I have concerns.”

Daelus furrowed his brows. “Is there an issue with Tim’s medicine? I was certain we’d prescribed-“

Bruce, normally jovial and frankly ditzy, was looking far more serious than Daelus was familiar with. “I had my scientists look at your medications. There’s something in them that they can’t identify.”

In giving Bruce permission to test the medications Daelus knew there was a chance that subject P’s tears could be isolated. He simply hadn’t thought it would happen. Inwardly he cursed himself for not expecting the Wayne Enterprises scientists to be able to figure it out.

“Oh that,” Daelus tried another smile. “That’s nothing to worry about. My people did rigorous testing to ensure-“

“What is it?”

“What is the substance?” Daelus asked.

“Yes.” Bruce said, tone sharp and cold.

“Ah, well we refer to it as Healosol.” He pronounced the word like ‘heal us all’, slow and deliberate, hoping the name would ease some of Bruce’s worries. “My scientists synthesized it themselves. It took years to develop and years more to test. We’ve ensured that it is entirely safe for human consumption. Not just safe, actually, but wholly beneficial!”

Unfortunately Bruce didn’t seem quite as comforted as Daelus had hoped. His coldness was replaced with a thoughtful edge that made him more than a little nervous. If Bruce vocally opposed the company, it would be disastrous.

It had taken most of his adult life to get the company up off the ground and especially in Gotham the process was nowhere near easy.

Dealus had forgone personal relationships to further Ameliorate. His physical health would be tanked if it weren’t for the medicines that he made for his own use. He slept in one of his offices practically every night, barely entering his own apartment. Everything he had was thrown into making it work. If it didn’t work-

Anxiety tangled through his ribcage. They had helped so many people in Gotham and the neighboring cities already but he didn’t want to stop there. How many people in the world were sick, dying, wallowing?

They could save so much more. Subject P was producing enough to help entire countries! But no one would want their aid if one of the most influential men in the world scorned their product.

Before he could calm the storm of frantic thoughts Dealus blurted out, “What if I gave you a tour of the synthesizing facility?”

His heart jack knifed but he couldn’t take the words back. That facility was where Subject P was held! If the tour went in the wrong area-

“I would like that. Would I be able to speak with your scientists?” Bruce’s demeanor had softened significantly, even with the tension still in his shoulders.

Mr. Wayne was known to take in young children in dire situations. With subject P’s chosen form he would pull at anyone’s hearts who didn’t understand what was happening.

“Of course! I’ll have them prepare material for you to look over. So long as it doesn’t get spread everywhere, of course. I trust you not to steal our company secrets.” The last sentence sounded more hesitant. Daelus nearly flinched. It was supposed to have sounded like a jest.

Bruce finally smiled again. “Of course not. But if what I see is good, I hope a partnership might be on the table?”

A partnership? With Wayne Enterprises?! All of Dealus’s anxieties washed away. With THE Wayne Enterprises on their side they could take the world by storm, faster than just having Bruce endorse the product himself.

“That would be fantastic, Mr. Wayne! Shall we have the tour this Saturday? I can arrange transportation for you.”

After getting all the details hashed out, Daelus led Bruce back to the front desk. A warm goodbye later and he was back in his office making a call.

“Sir?”

“Carter, we need to make preparations. Mr. Wayne will be touring Facility Zero on Saturday.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”

“Of course I am.” Daelus grabbed a pen from his cup and started clicking it open and closed. “Think about the doors this will open!”

“But if he finds the subject this whole thing is going to get shut down.”

Daelus knew he should feel concerned about that, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself to worry when the chance of a lifetime was sitting right in his lap. “He won’t find it, and you are going to help make sure of that.”

A tired sigh came through the speaker. “Yes sir. What do you need me to do?”

#dc x dp #dp x dc #my writing #ao3 fanfic #dpxdc #barred protection

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the-darklings · 2 years

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"What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?"

#submission #im resubmitting this bc idk if the first one was sent #i have no idea how submissions work #i try making smth w this edit but idk if it worked #anyway this fic had a chokehold on me so i needed to make this #the last chapters ENDED MEE #this is like that british bake off meme #i started making it. had a breakdown. bon appetite #also can you tell i got tired of looking up for face claims and just used a bunch if mitski clips #i mean she has really aesthetically pleasant videos #so slay ig #KAT NOTES: HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO??????#OP????#HELLO. HI. HIYA. HELLO??? THE WAY THIS VAPORISED ME???#THE WAY THIS ENDED MY LIFE #THE WAY I'M BUT A SHELL #GOD THE EDITING ON THIS IS INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#THE VOS AND THE CLIPS AND JUST DSJKGHJDSDGH ALL OF IT #god the power you have. unreal.#you say the fic has you in a chokehold well this edit has me in one as well #wowowowowow #stunning!!! thank you so much i'm emotional dhfjkadadgh #lost count how many times I looped this wow #op not sure if you use Tiktok but you should put it on there. girlies would eat this up wowowow #fic: today i bury you in me

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wallbang-buzzkill · 1 year

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rudy did ale's facepaint

#modern warfare II #rudolpho parra #alejandro vargas #alerudy #the idea of alejandro doing it himself cracks me up though i bet it wouls have taken hourrrssss #i started drawing this when the season started #started making it. had several breakdowns over the course of a few weeks. bon appetite #call of duty #mwii #click for better res apparently

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licollisa · 2 years

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First day of school photo recreation

#started making this. had a breakdown. died twice. my funeral is at 6. bon appetit #there's supposed to be a dialogue but i liked it better this way. captures the moment #just know that gaster is bragging hard about his 'lil handsome man all tidied up for his day of school!! my lil genius!!'#papyrus is just nyeh'ing the whole time #undertale #gaster #sans #papyrus #lico arting

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wizard-laundry · 5 months

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the holidays are always tough when you've lost someone

#starting making it #had a breakdown #bon appetite #doing fine now i just got sick of trying to color this sucker #it's a little cheesy #undertale #sans #papyrus #wizard-laundry art

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ryuunosuke · 9 months

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dormouse

#yeah i genuinely dont know what this is. started making it had a breakdown etc bon appetit #vincent nightray #pandora hearts #smaragdine

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granlance · 6 months

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"'Twas long ago he earned the name 'hero'...

"He led his retinue, ten Pokémon, against the almighty unknowable.

"In battle did his valiance proclaim at last the strength of humble humankind.

"The great unknowable approved this feat, and to its domain of no place returned."

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nofacednerd · 3 months

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So for my animation class we had to do a superhero of our choice doing a run/walk cycle and because I don't know how to be normal or calm down ever, I did this.

#started making it had a breakdown bon appetit #my adventures with superman #my art #I know the the middle bit is super janky I could not for the LIFE of me figure out how to make that turn look good

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eissaphir · 2 months

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I thought of this with a carnival in mind but feel free to interpret this any way you want. Looking at you, Radioapple shippers

#Hazbin Hotel #Lucifer Morningstar #Lucifer Magne #Alastor #Fanart #I love their dynamic so much #There are still things I'm not completely happy with but this took embarrassingly long and if I look at this any longer I'll go insane #So yeah. I thought the idea was funny #I hope nobody has thought of this yet. And if somebody has don't tell me bfjsjsjw #Yeah I'm still frothing at the mouth #The songs and characters have been bouncing around in my head ever since the show came out #Oh btw I changed their outfits just a teeny tiny bit #Namely the buttons and Lucifer's collar #Can you tell I had no idea what to do with the background #And that I have zero idea how to draw hands #Yeah those were not fun to draw. So yeah. Started making it had a breakdown bon appetite #My posts #My art #Swearing #Okay yeah click on the pic for not fucked up quality. Thanks Tumblr

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honeyynymphh · 1 year

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Il Cuore Della Principessa Papa IV x Fem!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 1.7k tags/warning: thigh riding, daddy dom papa, kisses, cuddles, google translated italiano summary: overworked and exhausted, Papa insists you take a break.

ao3

“Sorella?” Bleary-eyed you look up and see Copia standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of him. The sight of him in his black suit with his meticulously painted papal paints makes you smile, albeit tiredly. You hum in response, stifling a yawn as you do. You’ve been in the library for hours now—what time was it? You glance at the large clock on the wall and notice it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Another glance out the large windows of the abbey library shows the darkened sky and you can hear the rain steadily pattering against the glass. There is barely anyone else in here. You’d only ducked out briefly for dinner and that had been hours ago.

You stretch your arms up, luxuriating in the feel of your poor cramped muscles getting a break from the hunched position you’d been cooped up in. You drop your arms and try to stifle another yawn, twiddling the pen in your hand.

“It’s time to rest, cara mia,” says Copia, coming around the large table and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“But I have to get this done for Sister Imperator,” you say with a sigh, eyes dropping down to look at the pages strewn before you. Why did you agree to help Sister with Papa Terzo’s taxes…a nightmare.

“You can do so tomorrow or the next day,” he says, taking the pen out of your unresisting grasp and throwing it on the table. “Pick up your things.”

“But Sister—”

Copia takes your chin gently, but firmly, between two gloved fingers to make you look up at him.

“I am your Papa, not Imperator, and I said pick up your things,” he repeats evenly. “Now, dolce.”

With a sigh, you grab all your documents, placing them back into the numerous folders. Really, you could have worked in Sister’s office. But it was so much calmer in the library—and there was so much more space. Also, you did not like all the prying questions she had about you and Copia. You know she meant well, but it was annoying…and also, you had no idea what your relationship was with the head of the church.

He effortlessly steers you out of the silent library and towards his papal chambers, taking the folders from your hands and carefully placing them on a nearby coffee table when you enter the room. The chill from the rain had permeated the old abbey, but it was currently being banished by the low fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. When he seats himself in the overly gilded, yet surprisingly comfortable, chaise lounge in front of the flickering flames he pats the space next to him. You follow, legs dragging with how tired you are to sit next to him. Immediately he pulls you into him so your head is in the crook of his neck and your legs tangled with his as you lie together on the lounge. The smell of chapel incense still clings to him from this morning's sermon, along with the heady mix of his cologne and that earthy yet undeniable scent that is so purely him. You bury yourself into him with a contented sigh, eyes closing as you relish in the feel of the warm fire and his arms around you.

“You’ve been working so hard, dolce,” he says, voice a gentle tease. “I’ve been lonely without you.”

Your eyes snap open at that and your hand fiddles with the fabric of his jacket as you listen to the steady beat of his heart underneath your cheek. You watch the flames flicker low in the grate for a moment before you speak.

“You’re Papa, you cannot be lonely,” you say, trying to not sound like a jealous child. But you are. You are certain he’s still managed to find someone else to warm his bed while you’ve been working overtime. You try to keep your voice casual, despite the way your words make your heart ache in your chest. “You can have any sibling you wish to keep you company.”

“I only have one principessa,” he says, the words rumbling against your cheek as he speaks.

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead. It’s sweet. But it still makes your eyes prick as your chest is suddenly overwhelmed with feeling. You don’t want to share him. It doesn’t matter if he only calls you that, it still doesn’t stop the bitter feeling you have knowing he is still kissing others the way he kisses you. Or that he touches them with the same fingers that are now skating over your cheek.

“Mmm.” You keep fiddling with his suit jacket, fingers tracing over the embroidered grucifix.

“Principessa.” His voice is a gentle admonition. You ignore him, still letting your fingers worry the embroidery. He takes your hand away and forces you to lean back so his slightly unnerving gaze is upon yours and you quickly look down, unable to face it. “Principessa, look at me.”

Reluctantly you do and a gloved hand cups your cheek while staring defiantly at him, willing yourself not to cry. The smell of him and his hand on your face is overwhelming you, your chest aches as that unwavering gaze holds you.

“Just you, amore mio,” he says.

You try to look away again but his hand holds you firmly. “Copia, I—” The words fail you. You cannot speak as they catch in your throat. Yet you do not need words, the man knows you too well by now.

“Shh,” he murmurs, sitting up and pulling you towards him so you’re in his lap, legs straddling him and habit bunching around the tops of your thighs. “Papa has you.”

Your throat closes with the emotion and you suck in a sharp breath to steady yourself. He removes his gloves before you feel his large hands in your hair, soothing against your scalp. When he brings you closer, tucking your head under his chin you can’t help the few tears that fall. You’re so tired, and stressed—oh, you are happy to help Imperator, but it’s a lot of tedious work. The possibility that you do not have to share this man with anyone else is too much right now and the inviting pull of sinking into his embrace is too hard to ignore. All you want is to stay safe in his arms, letting the soothing motion of his hands stroking your hair lull you into a gentle reverie.

“Do you need Papa?” he asks, once more tilting your head up to look at him. He sighs at the sight of tears on your face and you press your lips together to stop the sob from escaping. When you give a quick but fervent nod, he wipes the tears from your cheeks. “No more tears, principessa.”

He leans his, lips capturing yours effortlessly. Despite the paint, you melt into it. Or perhaps you have simply grown too used to the paint, and the taste of it is merely a promise of pleasure to come. The hands in your hair move to hold your face as his tongue snakes into your mouth. Your own hands are pressed against his chest, the solid feeling of it is a steadying comfort as you are consumed by the urgent way you respond to his kiss. Your entire body is suddenly on fire for him, the melancholy starting to slink away back into the shadows as Papa nips at your bottom lip. A whimper manages to escape and you press your mouth against his with earnest, grinding into his lap in your desperation to be closer.

“Papa…” you whine.

The man nips at your lip again and you feel the gentle rumble of his low chuckle when you press yourself down against him again. It’s impossible to ignore the hardness pressing against you when he is wearing those tight trousers and you’re overcome with wanton desperation at the thought of him buried within you. Hastily you move to undo his jacket but he grabs your wrists with ease and you catch the smirk on his smudged lips.

“You have such little patience, principessa,” he teases, releasing your wrists and shifting you over so he can spread his legs. With you now straddling a single thigh, he pushes it up against your clothed sex. Your hands move to grip at his shoulders as it sends a wave of bliss rolling through you, leaving only a want for more in its wake. “You need to calm a little…relax, si? Go slow.”

You nod and he presses his thigh up against your pussy again making you moan. The friction feels far too good and you don’t need any more words from him to start rubbing yourself against his thigh. It’s solid beneath you and whenever he presses it up to meet you, causing your clit to throb at the added pressure your breath hitches.

“Good girl,” he says, hands moving to hold your waist. “You use Papa.”

Your movements get quicker as you feel your core tightening, the tendrils of bliss just within reach. You are sure you must be ruining his trousers, you can feel the sodden fabric of your knickers as you rub yourself against his thigh. It’s nowhere near as good as having his cock in you, or his fingers, but right now you are too keyed up to care. It’s friction, delicious friction, and the way Papa holds you in place has you keening. The tension snaps quickly when he presses his thigh against your clit and you come, the sweet relief making fresh tears prick at your eyes.

You ride it out against him, moaning as the pleasure ripples through you. Hands grip his suit jacket, creasing the fabric as you frantically hold onto him. A few moments pass as you come back to yourself, breaths evening out as Papa brushes a hand against your forehead before leaning in to plant a kiss.

“Does that feel better, la mia piccola principessa?” Another kiss is pressed against your forehead and you can’t help but smile. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Papa,” you breathe, sliding closer to him so you can tuck your head back under his chin.

“Sei l'unico per me, dolce.” Arms wrapping around you, he holds you close. “Just you, capisci? The only one for Papa.”

Amore mio - My love

La mia piccola principessa - My little princess

Sei l'unico per me, dolce - You’re the only one for me, dolce

Capisci? - You understand?

I have not proof read this and its like 12:30am but WOOH.

#started making it had a breakdown bon appetit #im fine #🥲🥲🥲#the band ghost fic #papa iv x female reader #papa iv x reader #fic: il cuore della principessa #im not sticking this on ao3 because i cannot be bothered and its kinda lame :))))#this isnt even that emotional but im Unwell so !#anyway dont perceive me thanks :)))#my-writing #update: less mentally unstable me added it to ao3 lmao

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pearlcaddy · 1 year

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lockwood & co appreciation week 💀 favorite trio character

Lucy Carlyle

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwoodandcoedit #l&coaw2023 #lucy carlyle #lucycarlyleedit #smallscreensource #tvedit #dailytvwomen #femalegifsource #femalecharacters #cinematv #pearlcaddyedit #pearlcaddy l&co #honestly i love every single member of the trio equally #but fandom being fandom i figured the boys--especially lockwood--would get most of the love today #started doing a rainbow edit but then it gravitated into cool colors mostly because i just don't like warm colors #this set is the epitome of 'started making it had a breakdown bon appetite'#the yellow gif makes me giggle because in episode five she's like 'don't girlbossify female serial killers'#which is a great point!#just slightly undercut by her wholehearted embrace of annabel ward's revenge in episode three (where the shot is from)#the epitome of a tumblrina #'if my blorbo does it it's not a crime hope that clears that up :))'#hopefully i'll be able to post something every day this week but we'll see if life cooperates

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varenykmeson · 6 months

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What do you mean this isn't the plot of Gungrave in general

#gungrave #beyond the grave #fun fact: this thing somehow ended up having over 130 layers #anyway started making this had a breakdown bon appetit #hahaha i drew that

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mjuuuk · 4 months

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Hopeless

Summary: The Archduke's legacy gets snatched from just beneath his claws. There’s rage, and beneath it, old familiar beasts rear their ugly heads.

[ cw: miscarriage, mentions of pregnancy, self-doubt, grief, a certain cambion only possessing one single braincell]

A/N: Withers kindly brought me back from the dead and so I finally get to drop this on here. The anon I promised this to, I hope you like it! [place a little kiss on your head] I tweaked the 5e genetics for devils/tieflings a little bit for this. Please indulge me. Also tagging @dark-and-kawaii and her wonderful works here because one of her fics inspired me to finish this!

Slowly turning the wine bottle in his hand, the devil keenly observed his client’s face. Sharp contours illuminated by waxen candlelight. A young man, handsome but hollow-faced - progeny to a mortal dynasty, desperately trying to cling onto the crown as it threatened to slip from his inexperienced hands. He let out an amused chuckle. Oh, mortals and their crowns.

The wine did well to loosen the boy’s tongue, and soon all his shortcomings were laid out on a silver platter before his host: The unwinnable war he started, the mistrust at court, the way his own uncle suddenly plotted against him. One by one, the master of the house picked them up with his fork and regarded them like little treats from the cake platter. The fact that he already had his hands in half of them lay sleeping under the table, and he would see to it that it stayed that way.

“Ah, yes”, he mused. ‘I see it now. But fret not. I’m always eager to help the needy, of course.’

Like a general well-versed in orchestrating battle legions, Raphael understood how to carefully conduct the feeble strings of mortal desire. It was a matter of theatre, like most everything else. First, one listened attentively - face camouflaged in a sympathetic fabrication, pushing apart pauses and paragraphs and delving into what lay beneath, as cats did with mice under the floorboards. Looking, clawing, hunting, until, at last— was that a shimmer of hope? Oh yes, right there.

One sighed and bowed. Spread their arms in a grand gesture as if to fling open the curtains to one’s endless conglomeration of little hopes and prospects, and drew up a carefully worded contract. This was where one had tread lightly; Find a balance. And yet - hope was such a wonderfully cruel tease, and in most cases simply the best argument.

And damn him if he wasn’t just a maven of conjuring arguments out of his pocket.

The troubles were glazed in honeyed prospects, and the devil felt the corners of his mouth itching upwards at the glassy sheen in the lads’ eyes. Good.

‘So what do you think, my most-cherished client?’, he asked, filling their glasses for what had to be the dozenth time that night. The wine started to tingle even in his fiendish veins, pleasurable as it was. Offers had been made, and the bait set. Now, it was time to wait. ‚I’m sure you’ve enjoyed our little consultation just as much as I did. And you will think about what I offer, won’t you?’

Taking a sip, movement caught his eye - Specifically, a little mouse wandering through the halls. She was wearing her nightgown; It was smoothly hugging her fertile form, the fabric caressing every curve like she was an ancient statue. There was no doubt she’d chosen the attire to attempt specifically to tease him in front of his guest, the little minx.

The boy nodded, cheeks already looking fuller than they did an hour ago. Raphael smiled. ‘Beautiful. Now, pleasurable as this is - I’m afraid I’ll have to whisk you back to your own princely chambers. We shall speak soon.’

A single snap of his fingers, and his guest was gone in a flash of hellfire. The sight of his consort at this hour of day was reserved for his eyes, and his eyes only.

‘Business at such a late hour, dear husband?’

His mouse’s lovely form leaned against a marble pillar, a picture of vividness. How his fingertips ached for her. He stood to meet her half-way from the fireplace; Her voice was low with just a smidge of reproach tainting her tone, and he placed a kiss on her lips to wash it away.

‘Always, my pet.’

One of her eyebrows dug a barely noticeable line into her forehead. She was bored, and the part of him liking to have his assets close missed her as well. Seated next to him at the long table. Corresponding. Telling tales. Mediating between devils and debtors, the realms and the hells.

But alas, there were bigger plans on the table now, and he’d rather keep them - and her - behind closed walls for the time being.

His mouse smelled oh, so sweet, and he indulged himself, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. Something fruity greeted him. A hint of cinnamon and cherries. Himself. The Archduke sighed, taking the scent in, before awarding it with another kiss to her jaw. His right hand found its way down her arm to her stomach, drawing a thumb across the fabric stretched over her distended abdomen. Surprisingly, he grew rather fond of caressing the swell. There lay a strange kind of power in the motion, a display of belongingness, and it tingled in his veins like fine wine. Feeling the kicks from tiny feet beneath, a stark beautiful reminder that she was entirely his; That now there was a legacy, a reign of his to endure generations, and a part of him claiming her to everyone else around, even when he wasn’t present.

___________

His mouse didn’t revel in the afterglow that evening. She slipped out of their shared covers as soon as she regained her breath, and evidently left any sense of calm behind as well.

‘See, I haven’t felt the little one all evening’, she told him, standing in front of the mirror and running mildly fussy hands up and down her nude form.

He simply hummed in response, attention fixed more on the unfinished contract in his hands - specifically clause thirteen, the phrasing needed more work - than on his wife’s anxious musings.

Only when she started to pace and let out a frustrated sigh did his eyes lift up from the parchment. She wasn’t usually prone to senseless worrying, and he felt the restless energy get on his nerves. Reluctantly, he set his work aside and caught his lover’s hips before she took another turn and walked imprints on the floor. It had cost a fortune, after all.

‘Perhaps not the worst thing,’ he said, dragging his lips against the flesh of her shoulder. ‘Maybe I shall get to enjoy my nightly rest without getting kicked in the back, for once.’

Another huff of frustration, but she didn’t object. Satisfactory.

‘Now, off to bed with you, my mouse.’

He tucked her in. Enveloped her with his infernal warmth and placed a kiss on the shell of her ear, sweeping any and all of her woes with it.

___________

The cataclysm arrived the next day.

The ink on the parchment had hardly even dried when the news found their way to him in the mortal plane - they’d travelled in the form of Korrilla, materialising in front of the fireplace, standing upright in her usual collected composure. In her eyes lay an urgent gleam however, holding his gaze across the table with matters of highest urgency. It went unnoticed by his client. The little fool, the boy king, had his eyes rather fixed on the contracting paragraphs laying on the table in front of him. It was not the first deal with the devil he’d set his name under, and Raphael wondered if he realised that it would be his last. The crown sat securely on his head, and the hopeful beam on his face answered the matter. The kingdom was not going to be his for long. A satisfied smirk was allowed to lift the corners of his mouth as he excused himself from the affair.

It was swiftly wiped from his face again as Korrilla stated the means of her interruption.

‘She - your queen - is having pains.’

There was something haggard in her voice that suggested this was no new information, and he gnarled his teeth. Just when had the imbeciles decided to bring this to his notice? He’d set off to his business early in the day - there was no need to wake and check on his mouse beforehand, surely.

‘How long for?’

Korrilla stared at him vigorously. ‘Two hours. Maybe three. It’s hard to say. Things unexpectedly took a turn - I already fetched the healers. She had–’

She faltered for a second, and the rest of the sentence was shaken off by a sway of her head. ‘She’s in the boudoir as of now.’

Something, everything, in him tightened up.

It was too early. He had the mental image of his mouse in front of his eyes, belly round and standing on the balcony looking oh, so ripe and sweet–

But still, the travail wasn’t to come for at least another month, were the bustling healers he’d sent for to be believed.

Rage. Scorching, shifting, gnawing its way up his shoulders. Questions of Why’s and Who’s and how many fingers he would have to tear out personally until there would be answers - and even more extremities to be torn out. His jaw tensed as he begrudgingly pushed them from his tongue to the back of his mind. No, he had to stay focused. There’d be plenty of time for proper chastises, later.

For now, he turned on his heel, not waiting up on Korrilla as he snapped his fingers and set right off into the eye of the hurricane. Trying to ignore the utterly detestable twinge of his insides.

He found the house in the middle of a hideous transition of power. During the hours of absence, the crown of his own reign had evidently been taken over by a horrible, detestable fuss. The patter-pat of feet echoed through the halls as apprentices scurried in and out the boudoir, carrying sweetly-soothing herbs, rags and strange iron implements; One of them nearly toppled him over. A woman with a wide, freckled face stuck her head out and shouted at them from inside - to ‘Hurry, for fucks’ sake! And bring more tea, while you’re at it!’.

Raphael spotted fabric in her arms, and noticed with disdain that the burgundy walls matched its stains perfectly in tone. It was one of his mouse’s dresses. His fingers suddenly ached, to grab the lady’s neck and twist - and hells, he would have indulged himself, was it not for the fact that she probably was necessary, if only for the moment. The other reason was the undercurrent that set the tone to this whole horrendous orchestra.

Muffled, pained wails from the other side of the door seeped into the hall through its many slits and cracks. The voice was ragged at the edges, as voices tended to become after hours of continuous torture; Vocal chords that were hauled on sand paper until the sounds emitting from them resembled more crow than human. He would know.

This, however, were his mouse’s screams. And he felt pure fury at whatever made her honeyed voice sound so haggard.

Was this how his own mother had fared in her own final hours? Screaming her throat out as her son, Avernus’ future archduke, tore her apart? He knew the tale, old as the hells themselves. Devil’s spawn, sired by sin, clawing and biting their way out their bearer’s wombs until they left no more than a bloody shell of whoever was unfortunate enough to have been blessed with them.

The half-devil regarded the door with vivid eyes, and just for a moment there was consideration of tearing it all apart. The door, the healers, the house itself, if must be. If he simply destroyed enough things, he would eventually also eradicate the thing causing his mouse such pain.

Pity the thing was his own offspring, though.

This would not do. He had to know what was happening to his favourite pet. The stream of harried conversations continued to rush - his debtor’s usual soliloquies mingling with the servants on top of it all - and exactly none of them cared for the devil that stood in the middle of the scene. The king of the house was reduced to this, a mere spectator.

It was anarchy. And he would not abide it.

'I demand to be informed on the state of things within these - my - walls at once', he finally inquired, voice rumbling through all the others in a brash demand for order.

Only it did not follow, and neither did calm.

His command was simply ignored, its threads left loosely hanging in the air. The rift between his brows deepened further, as it always did when instruction was not met with obedience. And with each guttural groan of his consort he felt his stomach grow more unsettled, something that felt like ice jolting through his hellish veins. How dare they ignore him, and keep him in this bothersome state of unaware darkness? When it was his legacy at stake here, if not even his most treasured little mouse?

Another two hours of anarchic disarray had to pass before someone finally emerged from the boudoir’s door to enlighten him about the situation. It was the freckled midwife, all gory apron and ruffled hair. She looked, even by mortal standards, positively worn-down. Raphael noticed the buzz in the background gradually dying down to a dim murmur, like a hidden truth being discussed under the table. It sent a cold rush, similar to Cania’s winds, down his back.

His mouse was alive.

The child, his heir, a girl, was not.

‘There was nothing to be done’, the woman stated, wiping her blood-red hands on the fabric of her apron.

His brow furrowed. And her neck cracked oh so deliciously, as he finally indulged himself and squeezed it out like the non-truths she uttered.

___________

Raphael somehow didn’t expect her to look quite so… mortal. There was a tail, granted, and two little stubs on her forehead where her horns were supposed to come in, once she was older. Dainty little wings between her shoulder blades. But aside from those the infant was all pale, cool skin; So easy to mistake for some arbitrary planetouched newborn instead of the rightful heir to Avernus - the granddaughter to the lord of hellfire himself, though he felt his face sour at the thought. No, he’d not have shared her with that bastard of a devil, absolutely not. She would’ve been his, and his alone. Soft dark curls adorned her little head, neatly fitted into his palm as he traced a finger along her cheek. Feathery lashes, draped over eyes that he imagined would have been the same royal ebony shade, were they ever to open. It was a shame, really.

He hadn’t paid much attention to her earlier, when he retrieved her from where his mouse lay sleeping and made his way through marble hallways to his bureau, arms full of lost child.

The babe was held securely in his grip, wrapped in silken cloth and shielded from his heavy steps, though he supposed it was no use any longer. It never had been. He held on, nonetheless.

The desk waited for him as he left it, although he shoved his the staples of contracts to the side for now. There were far more urgent matters at hand. Korrilla, ever devoted, waiting at his beck and call, was summoned. She didn’t ask questions, and he was glad for it. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t have had her spine ripped out as well if she did, and as things stood, she was still a valuable asset. It would’ve been truly regrettable.

He instructed her swiftly, directing the tasks.

To prepare the tomb; To keep an eye on his mouse, and a healer near until he was able to return to her bedside. To banish all those damned souls in the house for the time being, just anywhere he wouldn’t be distracted by them. There was rage beneath his gaze, and it was black and bold and all sharp teeth. No, he’d have to find more drastic measures to quell its hunger, for it was far too great for his debtors this time. As he dictated and the woman before him obediently took notes, he felt at least slightly natural for the first time since returning to his home in this state of disarray. This, he was good at - Rationally putting the world before him in its allocated role, making it follow his schedule rather than the other way around. This was how the hells worked, or at least how they were supposed to be.

She ineptly tried to hide it, but in the dim candlelight Raphael did notice the impertinent gaze of his servant resting on the little limp creature in his arms before sneaking back down on the notebook in her hand ever so often. It was a hard, short gaze, and he knew she was trying to intrude, to figure things out. Perhaps get a glimpse of a little hand, or a nose tip. Something dark and liable inside him stirred, and he protectively drew the bundle closer to his chest. This was his, and his to mourn. His failure, not to be scrutinised by foreign eyes.

Korilla’s keen eye flashed in recognition of the warning, sharp as she was, and she turned on her heel without casting another glance in his direction.

Only when the door closed and there finally was silence did he allow for the tension to crawl up his neck and for the silent fury to flame where his heart beat so violently, as he looked down on his lifeless heir. Gaze burning on her features - her nose especially, so similar to her mother’s - a thought bit at his mind, and his brow furrowed.

Too weak. Too mortal for the hells, too much like her mother. Like him.

Except–

No, no, it couldn’t have been her mother. Not his little mouse. Mortal as she was, she was singular. There was without a doubt no creature other than her he’d deem worthy enough to continue his legacy with.

His grip on the bundle tightened. The matter seemed plain enough, still. The babe simply had too little infernal in her. Infernal that had to come from his bloodline, diluted as it was. His collar suddenly cut into his throat, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thoughts of this sort were usually banned from his mind, gnawing at his insides no matter how many statues of his hellish demeanour staring back at himself he put in his house. Reminding him of what he was and what he thus never was suppose to be. The final discrepancy keeping him from fully claiming his place in the infernal hierarchy.

And yet, he’d done so anyway. He’d claimed power, a status earned that should have been birthright. A birthright he would have given freely to his own spawn, for that was how one built empires.

His gaze fell on the open notebook right next to his contract staple, bound in olive leather. He picked it up with his free hand, skipping through its contents with a lingering feeling of tartness. The pages were familiar, and painted with reports - some months apart, some only days, orderly furnished with dates. On what his mouse was eating (herring drenched in chocolate; pork steak with cherries; inherently heretical culinary choices, a note deemed). On how she felt during the day, and how there could be seen more and more of a curve to her midsection each week. By page forty-two his buoyant handwriting reported movement from her stomach even he could feel. He nearly gagged at the sheer literary range his month-old self chose to describe the jolts with.

What truly sent a wave of indistinct discomfort to the pit of his belly though was the sight of the most recent entry, still unfinished: A collection of lullabies, neatly transcribed, and alphabetically sorted.

„Laughable“, he snarled, not knowing if it was directed to himself or the little thing in his arms.

The seed had taken when he was in his mortal form, he was sure of it. It had felt right then, good even, when he had allowed tiny shards of his formerly disdained lineage to breathe. Making love his mouse, the apple of his eye, called it, bless her woefully sentimental heart. And perhaps the cat got too comfortable in the mouse’s palm. Adapted its miserable mortal concept to cultivate, and grow.

So much of it stuck. And oh, how utterly pathetic it all was.

With a snap of his fingers, the notebook was engulfed by a single, glazing flame, and its contents erased out of existence.

No, he’d have to make sure he sired the next, the true heir in due manner and form, and maybe even get some spells involved. There was a purpose to all this fuss, after all. Banish any and all foolish benevolence from his being, and plant the infernal sprout so deep and fervent there was absolutely no chance it’d wither.

___________

As was fit for any heir to his realm, a sepulchre was set up, and it didn’t disappoint. Its chamber a vast eternal nursery, furnished in marble, complete with pillars and statues and riches valuable enough to outbid kings. A temple. He’d have the servants put even more treasures in, had there only been room.

A single kiss was pressed to a tiny forehead as he lowered the silk-veiled body of his legacy down into the big casket in the middle of the room.

‘Have you decided on a name?’ Korrilla stood behind him, brows furrowed in the progress of conjuring marble inscriptions into the walls.

He didn’t stop the sardonic grin that spread on his face, and into his voice.

‘Hope’, he told her.

___________

Haarlep wasn’t to be seen for the entire chaotic ordeal, and when he finally showed up at Raphael’s desk, it was evident why.

‘Family greetings’, he purred, draping himself over staples of contracts, and dropped a neatly-parcelled letter in front of his master. ‘Or condolences? Curious as I am, I haven’t taken a peek, I promise.’

The seal’s figurative mark was all too familiar. Centuries spent under its gaze it had made sure the devil knew its alliance. His nose scrunched up, and he shot the incubus a scorching glance. ‘You contemptuous little–!’

But Haarlep had vanished, his form dissipating into the darkness like an ill-behaved cat.

The letter’s tone was held in a uniquely distinct manner of phrasing. Raphael knew it just as well as his own voice, felt his face sour at the paragraphs as if he was still merely a boy, trapped in his sire’s court. No purpose was behind his father’s words. It was all mockery.

Of his realm. His ascension. His legacy.

The dark rage within roared, and he had to restrain himself with every fibre of his being to not smash the fine mahogany desk beneath his claws to pieces.

___________

He felt his mouse’s gaze burning into his back, resting on his shoulders as he sat on the opposite side of the bed. He’d hoped that he would find her fast asleep. Slowly, she reached out. Bringing her darkness with her, into his, brushing her way comfortably up his neck. He stayed frozen, though he knew she felt the burning growl beneath his crimson skin.

„I know.“

Voice as soft as her touch against his ear, it ripped apart his flesh in the same instant as it put balm in the wounds. He inhaled, shoulders rising with the motion.

„I saw your diaries. The lullabies.“

Of course she did. No nook or cranny too small for a little mouse, after all.

Finally, he let himself lean into her, and she took him in like a shelter would a lost sheep. Holding his head against her steady heartbeat, she stroked his dishevelled curls and placed gentle kisses on his brow. Thick mouse tears dampened his skin.

They did absolutely nothing to diminish the flames, yet for the moment, he kept his cheek against her nightgown and let them try.

Tomorrow, he would rage. Tomorrow, he would march onto the material kingdom and tear its patchwork rug of fields and acres apart at the seams, stitching it back together in a fashion that was fit for him, and him only. Drag the claw down to the hells and the realm and its thousands of souls with it. Make use of the portal to Mephistar for the first time in decades, hells be damned. Avernus’ crown sat righteously on his head, as the first layer’s boy king - almost a father himself - readied himself to rip his own sire’s smug grin off his head.

#bg3 raphael #bg3 #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate iii #*drops this on the table* started making it. had a breakdown. bon appetit #literally trashed the whole thing and started anew while also having a 39°C fever😭 it got WAY too long lol #also if you find any typos or weird wordings please keep them. they're low-maintenance and like scratches behind the ears #anyhow. to all enjoyers of angsty bitterness: i hope this sparks joy #my writing

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