Devil's Games
A/N: …I have no excuses. Please don’t kill me. This is all because I took the crack pairing generator on Seventh Sanctum as a challenge… I can’t believe I’m doing this. If I wasn’t already, I’m going to hell for this.
Pairing: Lucifer (Bible)/ General George Washington and George Washington/Martha Dandridge Custis
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: Umm… Crack couple, consequential seeming disrespect for a great historical figure, male/male relationship, bad writing, death, implied sexual activities, adultery (erm…. Kind of? I dunno…) Also, I got my information from Wikipedia, so if historical facts are wrong, I’m very sorry. They aren’t my strong suit… I think that’s about it, but with crack like this, there’s probably more. Oh, and Luci ended up seeming more like Crowley from Good Omens. I’m sorry. I haven’t read the Bible in a very long time (as should be obvious, if I’m enough of a horrible sinner to write this). XD;;
[Read more]
Washington tensed as a figure slunk out of the darkness, fear gripping his hazy mind. The man stepped entirely into the red light that surrounded him, two chairs materializing out of nowhere. George slumped into the one that appeared behind him, watching the other man warily as he sat gracefully in his own chair. He seemed normal enough, with short black hair and a matching suit, but he exuded unnatural power. After a few moments, George realized that it was the man’s face that made him wary- a devilish smirk and red eyes.
Bothered by the silence, he spoke up after a moment. “Where are we?”
“In your mind.”
It was a simple answer, and he accepted it as such, not bothering to ask for further details. “And what do you want?”
“You aren’t going to ask who I am?”
“No,” George answered with a tired smile.
The man hummed, content. “Very well, then. I want to make a deal with you.”
“You want my soul, correct?”
“You’re a smart man, George,” the man said, and suddenly, those red eyes were right beside him. He stood behind him, leaning forward so that his face was next to George’s own, one hand resting on his shoulder. “Sssstrong, too,” he said, a serpent-like accent escaping through his whisper as his other hand idly brushing from George’s elbow to his shoulder. “We could use someone like you, someone to… Lead the armies, if you will.” With this, the man pulled away, reappearing to stand in front of George.
“This isn’t a one-sided deal, I hope?”
“Of courssse not, George,” he answered with a short laugh. “I can make you a legend. Your people love you now, but as time passes, you will be forgotten. Greater heroes will come and take your place in the hearts and minds of your beloved Americans. I can make sure that never happens. Every child in the country for hundreds, even thousands, of years to come will know your name before they reach the age of ten. People will worship you as if you were a saint. Nobody wantssss to be forgotten, George.”
Somehow, the last sentence made him shudder. He wasn’t sure if it was because it sounded like a threat, or if it was because of the low hissing voice it was said in. George hesitated before answering. “…If I decide to accept your proposition, how long will I have before I die?”
The raven-haired man cringed a bit, though he has known the question would come. “…Not long, George. But think of it this way: you will not have to see your wife die before you, and you would have been gone a few years from now, anyway. And I can restore you to glory- you wouldn’t just be any lost soul, you would be among the elites, preparing for and fighting in battle when need be. When you aren’t leading, you will be my personal guest. Nobody will dare to bother you, and you will have everything you could ever want. Fine wine, women (or men, if you prefer), food, clothes, mansions… Anything you desire, no matter how… sinful- you will have it.”
George felt his heart rate pick up at the words “personal guest,” and by the time that the other man was finished talking, it was pounding in his ears, nearly drowning out the words. “I see,” he said, forcing himself to continue to act calm. “And it’s only my soul? Nothing will happen to my family?”
He waved it away as though it were a tiny matter. “No, no, they’ll continue on the course that He has set for them,” the man answered, his voice taking on a scathing tone at the word “He.”
Thinking on it in a silence for a few minutes, George finally asked, “Exactly how long will I have if I accept?”
“One month, George. That’s the most I can give you. If you haven’t come to me when that month is over, I will come to you.”
George nodded. A month was actually longer than he had expected. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
The other man gave a grin and produced a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and a pen from his lapel. “Great. Now, as much as I hate this part, it is necessary. A deal’s not a deal until it’s on paper, you know?” He unfolded the piece of paper and handed it, along with the pen, to George. Leaning in unnecessarily close, he pointed to a few blank lines. “Just sign in these places, and we’ll be good to go.”
The man pulled away, and George’s hand shook as he held it over the paper. Already, he was beginning to doubt his own decision. However, he signed each line quickly, determined to finish it before he lost his nerve. As soon as he finished, the man pulled the paper away, flipped through it to make sure each spotted was signed, and grinned even wider. “Marveloussss. I’ll see you in a month, George.” And with that, he tilted George’s chin up with one finger, gave him a quick kiss, and disappeared.
-----
George awoke with a gasp, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings in a panic. When he realized that it was only his own room, he calmed a bit. Knowing immediately that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, he crept out of bed and down the hall to his study. After all, if he was going to die in a month, there were things he needed to first.
-----A few hours later, Martha tiptoed into the room in slippers and a long nightgown. “George? Are you alright? Why aren’t you sleeping?”
He turned to her with a smile, standing up to kiss her lips. They didn’t feel the same (as they had just a few hours ago, before he had signed his life away, or as the man’s to whom he had signed his life away. He didn’t know which he was comparing). “I’m fine. I just had a nightmare, that’s all.”
She ushered him into a chair and sat across from him with a frown, close enough for their knees to touch. Taking his hands in her own, she asked, “What was it about? Nightmares aren’t usually enough to keep you awake like this… Was it about the war?”
George shook his head, still wearing the same kind but tired smile. “No, it wasn’t the war. I dreamed of Lucifer.”
She gasped, but unable to think of anything to say, simply squeezed his hands reassuringly.
After a few minutes of silence, George patted his wife’s hands and stood to go back to his work. She stood up drowsily and moved her chair by his, resolving to stay with him until he went back to bed, or until morning if necessary.
When several hours had passed, George looked down at the woman leaning on his arm and wondered how long she had been asleep. He moved his unoccupied hand and ran it through her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Martha,’ he thought with a sad smile.
-----After two weeks of finishing any leftover business and trying to figure out how he could go about his death without it looking like a suicide, George finally decided. It would have to be done right away, though, since there was a high chance that it wouldn’t work on the first attempt, or that it would take longer than two weeks.
Despite the snow that was falling, he only threw on a light coat over his normal clothes before heading out to the stables. It had been a while since he had gone to inspect his farms, and it had to be done sometime.
By the time he reached the first farm, the snow had turned to freezing sleet. George shivered throughout his whole body, but he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. His plan was going to work.
-----When he got home, George slumped down at the table to eat his supper, resisting the urge to change out of his wet clothes or at least stand by the fireplace for a few minutes.
He was surprised that his wife didn’t question his actions, but also glad, because he wasn’t sure how he could answer her queries without seeming suspicious. They ate supper silently, and George wondered how long it would take for him to die. He hoped it wouldn’t take the full two weeks that he had left.
-----Sure enough, he awoke the next morning with a sore throat, hardly able to talk throughout the day. He grimaced and choked out his words and choked down his food around the pain, determined to not worry Martha. As night fell, however, with nothing to distract him but his own thoughts, he began to panic. ‘I accepted a deal with the devil!’ he thought. ‘I’m going to die!’
In the early hours of the morning, finally unable to handle his own fear, he awoke Martha. “I don’t feel well,” he said simply.
His wife stared at him groggily for a moment before standing to get a slave, telling him to fetch the nearest physicians. Then she found one of the men who worked for their family and told him the situation. She led him to George’s chambers, kissed her husband on the forehead, and then left to await the doctors.
-----George spent the rest of the day in bed, trying to ignore the pain as the physicians came in one after another and he was bled and giving medication and an insane range of other treatments. As afternoon wound into evening, he began to realize that it was hopeless, that he wouldn’t be cured.
When the current doctor left the room to speak with Martha, George sighed in relief. ‘Ahh… I see,’ he thought. There was no way to get out of a deal with the devil, and Lucifer was determined to have him. He pulled out his diary from the drawer in his bedside table, once again resigning himself to his fate, and wrote the simple words “’Tis well.”
For the next few hours, he continued to cooperate with the doctors so as not to worry Martha any more than she already was, but he knew it was pointless. He felt himself drifting farther and farther, as if being pulled from his body, until he was simply gone.
-----When George came to again, he was once again in a space with only shadows and dim red light that seemed to come from nowhere. Looking around in confusion, he wondered where the fire was, where the screams of agony were. Was hell truly this empty space? Would he just be left here to go insane with nothing to see and nobody to talk to but the voices in his own mind?
However, before he could dwell on this for too long, he noticed a patch of light on the “floor,” if it could be called that. It extended out, up, and back in, and soon enough, he realized that the light was surrounding a black door. He felt around for the door handle and pushed it open slowly.
He stepped into the room and was instantaneously blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Once his grew accustomed to the light, he chanced a look around. He seemed to be in a normal room, with the exception of its inhabitants. There was a mix of humans, demons, animals, and things that looked like some sort of hybrid between two or even all three of those categories.
There was a banner hanging from the ceiling that said “Happy Deathday!” and when they saw the guest of honor, several of the creatures stepped forward to congratulate him and give him a pat on the back. ‘A… party?’ George wondered. ‘Am I really… in hell?’
As if reading his mind, Lucifer stepped out from the crowd and put an arm around his shoulders, chuckling. “Don’t look so surprised, George. You’re a VIP.”
Before he could even finish taking in the party or Lucifer’s words, he was being led through another black door. He barely got a look at the much emptier, darker room before he heard the door close behind him and was suddenly slammed against it, Lucifer pushing against him and giving him a kiss much less chaste than the one he had given before disappearing from George’s dream.
‘This is wrong…’ George thought vaguely. He should be pushing Lucifer away, should be screaming or something. Not only was he another man, but Satan himself. However, he was in hell now, Lucifer’s territory, and he couldn’t force the words out of his throat as Lucifer sank to his knees with a smirk befitting the devil.
Pairing: Lucifer (Bible)/ General George Washington and George Washington/Martha Dandridge Custis
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: Umm… Crack couple, consequential seeming disrespect for a great historical figure, male/male relationship, bad writing, death, implied sexual activities, adultery (erm…. Kind of? I dunno…) Also, I got my information from Wikipedia, so if historical facts are wrong, I’m very sorry. They aren’t my strong suit… I think that’s about it, but with crack like this, there’s probably more. Oh, and Luci ended up seeming more like Crowley from Good Omens. I’m sorry. I haven’t read the Bible in a very long time (as should be obvious, if I’m enough of a horrible sinner to write this). XD;;
[Read more]
Washington tensed as a figure slunk out of the darkness, fear gripping his hazy mind. The man stepped entirely into the red light that surrounded him, two chairs materializing out of nowhere. George slumped into the one that appeared behind him, watching the other man warily as he sat gracefully in his own chair. He seemed normal enough, with short black hair and a matching suit, but he exuded unnatural power. After a few moments, George realized that it was the man’s face that made him wary- a devilish smirk and red eyes.
Bothered by the silence, he spoke up after a moment. “Where are we?”
“In your mind.”
It was a simple answer, and he accepted it as such, not bothering to ask for further details. “And what do you want?”
“You aren’t going to ask who I am?”
“No,” George answered with a tired smile.
The man hummed, content. “Very well, then. I want to make a deal with you.”
“You want my soul, correct?”
“You’re a smart man, George,” the man said, and suddenly, those red eyes were right beside him. He stood behind him, leaning forward so that his face was next to George’s own, one hand resting on his shoulder. “Sssstrong, too,” he said, a serpent-like accent escaping through his whisper as his other hand idly brushing from George’s elbow to his shoulder. “We could use someone like you, someone to… Lead the armies, if you will.” With this, the man pulled away, reappearing to stand in front of George.
“This isn’t a one-sided deal, I hope?”
“Of courssse not, George,” he answered with a short laugh. “I can make you a legend. Your people love you now, but as time passes, you will be forgotten. Greater heroes will come and take your place in the hearts and minds of your beloved Americans. I can make sure that never happens. Every child in the country for hundreds, even thousands, of years to come will know your name before they reach the age of ten. People will worship you as if you were a saint. Nobody wantssss to be forgotten, George.”
Somehow, the last sentence made him shudder. He wasn’t sure if it was because it sounded like a threat, or if it was because of the low hissing voice it was said in. George hesitated before answering. “…If I decide to accept your proposition, how long will I have before I die?”
The raven-haired man cringed a bit, though he has known the question would come. “…Not long, George. But think of it this way: you will not have to see your wife die before you, and you would have been gone a few years from now, anyway. And I can restore you to glory- you wouldn’t just be any lost soul, you would be among the elites, preparing for and fighting in battle when need be. When you aren’t leading, you will be my personal guest. Nobody will dare to bother you, and you will have everything you could ever want. Fine wine, women (or men, if you prefer), food, clothes, mansions… Anything you desire, no matter how… sinful- you will have it.”
George felt his heart rate pick up at the words “personal guest,” and by the time that the other man was finished talking, it was pounding in his ears, nearly drowning out the words. “I see,” he said, forcing himself to continue to act calm. “And it’s only my soul? Nothing will happen to my family?”
He waved it away as though it were a tiny matter. “No, no, they’ll continue on the course that He has set for them,” the man answered, his voice taking on a scathing tone at the word “He.”
Thinking on it in a silence for a few minutes, George finally asked, “Exactly how long will I have if I accept?”
“One month, George. That’s the most I can give you. If you haven’t come to me when that month is over, I will come to you.”
George nodded. A month was actually longer than he had expected. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
The other man gave a grin and produced a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and a pen from his lapel. “Great. Now, as much as I hate this part, it is necessary. A deal’s not a deal until it’s on paper, you know?” He unfolded the piece of paper and handed it, along with the pen, to George. Leaning in unnecessarily close, he pointed to a few blank lines. “Just sign in these places, and we’ll be good to go.”
The man pulled away, and George’s hand shook as he held it over the paper. Already, he was beginning to doubt his own decision. However, he signed each line quickly, determined to finish it before he lost his nerve. As soon as he finished, the man pulled the paper away, flipped through it to make sure each spotted was signed, and grinned even wider. “Marveloussss. I’ll see you in a month, George.” And with that, he tilted George’s chin up with one finger, gave him a quick kiss, and disappeared.
-----
George awoke with a gasp, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings in a panic. When he realized that it was only his own room, he calmed a bit. Knowing immediately that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, he crept out of bed and down the hall to his study. After all, if he was going to die in a month, there were things he needed to first.
-----A few hours later, Martha tiptoed into the room in slippers and a long nightgown. “George? Are you alright? Why aren’t you sleeping?”
He turned to her with a smile, standing up to kiss her lips. They didn’t feel the same (as they had just a few hours ago, before he had signed his life away, or as the man’s to whom he had signed his life away. He didn’t know which he was comparing). “I’m fine. I just had a nightmare, that’s all.”
She ushered him into a chair and sat across from him with a frown, close enough for their knees to touch. Taking his hands in her own, she asked, “What was it about? Nightmares aren’t usually enough to keep you awake like this… Was it about the war?”
George shook his head, still wearing the same kind but tired smile. “No, it wasn’t the war. I dreamed of Lucifer.”
She gasped, but unable to think of anything to say, simply squeezed his hands reassuringly.
After a few minutes of silence, George patted his wife’s hands and stood to go back to his work. She stood up drowsily and moved her chair by his, resolving to stay with him until he went back to bed, or until morning if necessary.
When several hours had passed, George looked down at the woman leaning on his arm and wondered how long she had been asleep. He moved his unoccupied hand and ran it through her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Martha,’ he thought with a sad smile.
-----After two weeks of finishing any leftover business and trying to figure out how he could go about his death without it looking like a suicide, George finally decided. It would have to be done right away, though, since there was a high chance that it wouldn’t work on the first attempt, or that it would take longer than two weeks.
Despite the snow that was falling, he only threw on a light coat over his normal clothes before heading out to the stables. It had been a while since he had gone to inspect his farms, and it had to be done sometime.
By the time he reached the first farm, the snow had turned to freezing sleet. George shivered throughout his whole body, but he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. His plan was going to work.
-----When he got home, George slumped down at the table to eat his supper, resisting the urge to change out of his wet clothes or at least stand by the fireplace for a few minutes.
He was surprised that his wife didn’t question his actions, but also glad, because he wasn’t sure how he could answer her queries without seeming suspicious. They ate supper silently, and George wondered how long it would take for him to die. He hoped it wouldn’t take the full two weeks that he had left.
-----Sure enough, he awoke the next morning with a sore throat, hardly able to talk throughout the day. He grimaced and choked out his words and choked down his food around the pain, determined to not worry Martha. As night fell, however, with nothing to distract him but his own thoughts, he began to panic. ‘I accepted a deal with the devil!’ he thought. ‘I’m going to die!’
In the early hours of the morning, finally unable to handle his own fear, he awoke Martha. “I don’t feel well,” he said simply.
His wife stared at him groggily for a moment before standing to get a slave, telling him to fetch the nearest physicians. Then she found one of the men who worked for their family and told him the situation. She led him to George’s chambers, kissed her husband on the forehead, and then left to await the doctors.
-----George spent the rest of the day in bed, trying to ignore the pain as the physicians came in one after another and he was bled and giving medication and an insane range of other treatments. As afternoon wound into evening, he began to realize that it was hopeless, that he wouldn’t be cured.
When the current doctor left the room to speak with Martha, George sighed in relief. ‘Ahh… I see,’ he thought. There was no way to get out of a deal with the devil, and Lucifer was determined to have him. He pulled out his diary from the drawer in his bedside table, once again resigning himself to his fate, and wrote the simple words “’Tis well.”
For the next few hours, he continued to cooperate with the doctors so as not to worry Martha any more than she already was, but he knew it was pointless. He felt himself drifting farther and farther, as if being pulled from his body, until he was simply gone.
-----When George came to again, he was once again in a space with only shadows and dim red light that seemed to come from nowhere. Looking around in confusion, he wondered where the fire was, where the screams of agony were. Was hell truly this empty space? Would he just be left here to go insane with nothing to see and nobody to talk to but the voices in his own mind?
However, before he could dwell on this for too long, he noticed a patch of light on the “floor,” if it could be called that. It extended out, up, and back in, and soon enough, he realized that the light was surrounding a black door. He felt around for the door handle and pushed it open slowly.
He stepped into the room and was instantaneously blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Once his grew accustomed to the light, he chanced a look around. He seemed to be in a normal room, with the exception of its inhabitants. There was a mix of humans, demons, animals, and things that looked like some sort of hybrid between two or even all three of those categories.
There was a banner hanging from the ceiling that said “Happy Deathday!” and when they saw the guest of honor, several of the creatures stepped forward to congratulate him and give him a pat on the back. ‘A… party?’ George wondered. ‘Am I really… in hell?’
As if reading his mind, Lucifer stepped out from the crowd and put an arm around his shoulders, chuckling. “Don’t look so surprised, George. You’re a VIP.”
Before he could even finish taking in the party or Lucifer’s words, he was being led through another black door. He barely got a look at the much emptier, darker room before he heard the door close behind him and was suddenly slammed against it, Lucifer pushing against him and giving him a kiss much less chaste than the one he had given before disappearing from George’s dream.
‘This is wrong…’ George thought vaguely. He should be pushing Lucifer away, should be screaming or something. Not only was he another man, but Satan himself. However, he was in hell now, Lucifer’s territory, and he couldn’t force the words out of his throat as Lucifer sank to his knees with a smirk befitting the devil.