#sfaradi

[fiendishfinesse]

(I AM LATE BUT HERE I AM.)

She observes. A quieter than normal pastime for Salome, it seems; laying her features low with dispassion and something else just beyond readable. Her lips drawing even thinner as amber eyes follow the spectral glow of a lost soul slipping through widespread fingers. The flickering, fading trail it leaves in its wake glinting upon the wedding band that wordlessly explains the presence of a mortal in this House not driven to madness by either the Hells or Raphael. Or both, for the truly unlucky.

In Avernus, there are no stables for her horses. Pastures for her flock. A means to make a livelihood separate from her Husband. Raphael is now the keeper and dispenser of anything tied to The Old Ways, and short of trinkets to keep her appeased and amicable, they will pass away like all things ought do.

Salome will, too; under every jewel and layer of silk she will decay into something unrecognizable, and cruel. A being that finds her delights in the spaces between subclauses and housed within the terrified glint of a debtor’s eyes. The price of love, perhaps. Or her damning desire for freedom.

As another wayward soul slinks through the wayward expanse of her palm , Salome closes her hand. Watches as it begin to disintegrate and fade before she brings its dying remnants to her lips and breaths it into her lungs.

She’s never done anything less than fully, so why start now?

“I hope you’ve brought my books from home, habibi.”

husband material (and by material, he means leather, gems & silk)

“I usually prefer them screaming.” Perhaps with a quivering belly for him to sip wine from.

Raphael emerged from the gloom of the corridor, silent save for the crackle of hellfire. With proprietary pride, he stared at her. A clawed hand reached out to capture her delicate one, the hand bearing the heavy gold band that marked her as his.

“My, my. You are acclimating” he sounded satisfied. . .mostly with himself. “Shedding the tedious morality of the Material Plane like a snake shedding dead skin. It suits you.”

He bowed his head and kissed her knuckles, over the wedding band. It was a courtly gesture, elegant, yet the kiss lingered; the tip of his forked tongue darted out for the briefest second to taste the residue of the soul she had consumed. Salty. Bitter. With a finish of despair.

The devil stood up, letting go of her hand but maintaining eye contact as he looked for the defiance he so loved to play with. With a snap of his fingers, the air beside them tore open. A small stack of her books, which smelled like old leather, fell out of the crack and onto the table.

“I am nothing if not a provider. Your little window into the past.” Past. He lingered on the word. Let her have her scraps; it makes the cage seem larger.

“Paper and ink are dry, brittle things. And you. . .” He paused, eyes sweeping over feminine frame oh-so harshly. “. . .You require adornment befitting your station.”

Another snap, and a second object materialized. It was not a book, but a gift package. He placed it atop her stack of literature, commanding immediate attention.

“Even you, with your stubborn scepticism, will be forced to admire the craftsmanship.”

Modesty is a virtue. Raphael has absolutely no use for virtues

Inside lay a bikini garment of impratical beauty: blood-infernal-red adorned with gold and heavy crystals. A jeweled cage designed to catch the light (and his eye.)

“I find your current attire terribly dull. If you are to dine on souls in my House, little weaver, you really ought to dress for dinner.”

A smirk played on his lips as he imagined her in it. More importantly, imagined taking her out of it.

“Wear that for me, would you? I prefer my meals beautifully plated.” one suspects he intends to skip the cutlery entirely.

[mxchineherald]

[@sfaradi asked :: [ SHY ]:  sender  covers  their  face  and  receiver  moves  their  hands  away.] [ask meme here.]

 Her features are suddenly hidden behind her hands, closing her off to the full brunt of their intimate moment. No clothes have been shed, no kisses exchanged, but the tension and yearning lingers in the air like sticky, toxic fog. He’s come to know her and cherish her company for long enough that sparks have begun to fly between the two of them, and he won’t let them pass unnoticed.

 His metallic hands reach up to her wrists, taking them gently and pulling her hands away from her face. “Salome… You need not hide from me,” he says quietly, his eyes bearing nothing but warm, calm serenity. He slowly blinks as he clasps their fingers together. “I…I have thought about you. In many ways. It is difficult to put them to words, but I want you to know… You are extraordinary.”

[allpossibilitiesold]

“   so  what  do  you  think?   ”     jayce  asks,  picking  up  the  device  in  his  hands  and  holding  it  to  the  other.  he  tilts  it  slightly  in  the  light  in  attempt  to  highlight  how  it  wasn't  just  functional  ...  but  attention  grabbing.  something  he  unfortunately  had  to  consider  if  he  wanted  to  make  something  that  topsiders  would  be  interested  in.  the  device  was  essentially  a  multi-use  tool,  all  condensed  into  a  simple  cylinder  that  could  be  kept  in  a  bag,  or  even  a  pocket.  the  exterior  engraved  with  elegant  line  work  and  an  inexpensive  but  pretty  white,  marble  like  band  surrounding  it  at  the  middle.   “   try  it  out,   ”   he  offers,  holding  out  the  device  to  her.  “   there  are  scissors,  a  knife,  screwdriver,  lighter,  comb  ...   ”  he  begins  listing  off  before  adding,  “   and  i'm  thinking  some  custom  tools  so  people  can  pick  and  choose  what's  most  important  for  them.   ”

@sfaradi  liked  for  a  starter

[ta1is]

@sfaradi || cont.

Jayce had to hand it to her: she had a way with words.

—which he didn’t even mean sarcastically, actually. Anyone in her shoes could be nothing short of savage to him in his big boots, understandably perturbed by the golden boy of Piltover parading around their streets like he owned the place, like he knew a damn thing about what life was like here. He’d gathered that much when he committed to this, to following in Viktor’s steps and leaving the Council behind to make a difference they’d not been allowed to otherwise: no matter what his intentions were, he still looked like a Piltie. The divide was still there. And foreign territory, foreign faces, foreign everything did little to help him navigate. He felt like some child just learning to walk.

But she traced it back to naivety. Further, a lack of exposure due only to circumstance; Jayce was born what many might say “lucky.” The people of the Undercity . . . ? Not so much. But how could either side begin to understand each other if they continued to find all the ways they were different? He’d make that first step, if he had to.

Or, at the very least, make up for past mistakes.

“You know . . .” Jayce took in a heavy breath, let it out in an abrupt burst of an airy laugh. “You’d never believe it, but this isn’t my first time down here. Or the second. Or the third. I’ve come to the Undercity before just . . . looking for things we don’t have topside, but I guess— It’s different, right?” He rolled his shoulders back, gaze tracing the passersby—particularly those who leered his way. “Maybe I’m finally seeing it for the first time, now that it’s not just a ‘quick trip’ and I get to go home after. I— I want to help.” He always had. Now more than ever.

Glancing sideways, Jayce proposed, “So where do I start?”

[hraunwyf]

@sfaradi

how often can a single place truly change, over the years?

it isn't loki's first time at the school, and assuredly won't be her last, but the damn place has been razed and rebuilt so many times that it seems every visit, she has to relearn where everything is. a simple mission for a book—no amount of cosmic awareness can replace the satisfaction of flipping through old, worn pages—has turned thus far into 45 minutes of roaming the halls, searching for where the library's gone this time.

it isn't helpful she's come in on winter break. not a single person, student nor staff, has yet been sighted, and she'd have abandoned her endeavor already if it weren't for the lingering sense that someone is here. somewhere.

maybe, as she turns the next hall, a little nearer than they were before. her block heels thunk a little faster, purposefully echoing to announce her presence since surprising people traditionally doesn't go that well in her case, even when she is notably less recognizable in civvies.

"hello?" she calls out, a decent few yards before the open door she finds, where she eventually stops and knocks anyway, leaning in to scan for whomever she's managing to bother this time of year. "hey, sorry to bother you, just a quick question. where's he put the damn library now?"

[mxchineherald]

[@sfaradi sent :: ( heal ) : receiver uses their magic / powers to heal a wound on sender // LETS GO][ask meme here.]

 The space inside of his home has been prepared for her. There are blankets, pillows, and the dim glow of sunlight coming in through the round windows above. Huck and Luon guide her in, with Huck taking point ahead of them, and Luon holding her hand as they enter. Viktor is in the midst of a trance, floating above the pile of bedding. In one of his hands is a woven square of lace, a gift from her. He rubs it between his thumb and index fingers as a fidget, while his eyes remain closed and calm.

 As soon as the three of them are close enough, his eyes drift open, and he regards Huck with a nod. The speaker dips his head, then smiles to Salome before leaving. Luon remains until Viktor lowers to the ground, approaches, and grazes his cheek with his free hand. A communication takes place between their minds, and Luon gives Salome’s hand a squeeze before making his own exit. Viktor gives her a smile, softly asking, “It is time for you to be free of this pain. This dependence.” He offers his hand to her to take, ready to guide her to the bedding for her Healing.

[mxchineherald]

[@sfaradi asked :: "“With everything you’ve been through lately, of course you’re tired.”"][ask meme here.]

 The stranger had a point. He had been remaking much of the sumps, that day, and Healing the sick who came to him for help. But in the way she said that…she seemed to have a hint of knowledge beyond herself. He felt curiosity toward her nature, and a pull to enter her mind, but resisted to preserve her privacy. Instead, he turned toward her, his draped robe still pulled in a hood over his head. “… Tired. I have known nothing else for some time now, yes.”

 He slowly lowered to sit on the edge of the well he had been looking down into, sinking his staff into the ground next to his feet. “But a tool cannot be tired. It will simply fulfill its purpose.” He contemplatively looked to the ground between their feet, then let his eyes trail up to her face. “I do not know whether I am more man or tool, now.”

[fiendishfinesse]

y’know what: 💦 marking

meme answer || cw: smut.

The sharp scent of Raphael’s signature perfume clung to the heavy air of the devil’s den, mingling with the faintest trace of sweat. It was a fitting stage for the devil himself, who loomed above Salome like a predator. His grin was sharp, all teeth and hunger, golden eyes glinting like coin as they roamed her trembling, bare form, with dark hair spilled like ink across silken sheets.

“Do you know what happens to little doves who wander into the jaws of a wolf, dear?” Raphael purred, voice velvet-smooth, rolling over like a lullaby.

Clawed fingertips traced a slow path down her spine, dragging lightly over the intricate tattoos etched into her flesh. He paused when they reached the raised scar along her lower back, pressing against it just hard enough to remind her it was there. A sadistic pleasure curled within him at the sight.

“They’re swallowed whole… piece by piece… until they forget they ever had wings at all.”

He leaned closer, breath warm against the nape of her neck as sharp fangs grazed tender skin. His cock twitched, hard and insistent, grinding against the soft curve of her lower back. The friction was just enough to pull a low growl from deep in his chest—a sound as predatory as it was pleased. She was so delicious he could feel himself salivate.

Raphael was heavy in this form, broad shoulders and wings casting imposing shadows over her slight frame, yet he shifted his weight with care, mindful not to smother her beneath his bulk.

“But don’t worry” he continued, “I won’t break you. No… I’ll make you mine.”

Suddenly, he sank his teeth into the crook of her shoulder. The bite was deep, a claim written in violet bruises and the faint tang of blood. His hips rolled forward in a slow grind, now the head of his cock pressing flush against her entrance, a tease that lingered on the edge of satisfaction without ever granting it.

A clawed hand dug into the soft curve of her waist, possessive, unyielding. Each mark he left behind was purposeful, a devilish signature.

“Every scar, every breath, every little tremor, it’s all mine.”

His tail snaked around her left thigh, curling tight enough to keep her still, to remind her of the power coiled in every inch of his form.

“Say it, little dove” he purred darkly, the cruel edge of a smirk audible in his voice. A command. “Say who you belong to.”

He stilled completely, save for the heat of his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. 

“Say it, or I’ll carve my name into this pretty flesh myself.”

And he would love that.