Ficlet: The Devil Wears Prada...and Vera Wang, and Donna Karan...
Title: The Devil Wears Prada...and Vera Wang, and Donna Karan...
Author: enchanted_jae
Pairing: Lucifer/Voldemort
Rating: PG13
Warning(s): Er, it's set in hell...and it's crack.
Word count: 530
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This drabble/fic was written for fun, not for profit.
Author's note: I have no excuse for this. I blame eeyore9990, who asked for DragQueen!Lucifer for her birthday. Happy Birthday, one day late!
Summary: Voldemort learns what hell truly means.
"Oh, Tommy!" came the sing song voice from down the hall.
Voldemort sighed and rolled his eyes. It was hell being in hell. "Yes, Master?" he responded.
"Would you come here for a moment, dumpling?" Lucifer called.
Voldemort gritted his teeth and rose to do his Master's bidding. He had learned early on not to defy Lucifer, as his Master could make Cruciatus seem like a tickle in comparison. He entered the swelteringly hot bedroom to find The One True Dark Lord standing in front of a full length mirror, eyeing his reflection critically. He was modeling a yellow, form fitting dress that clung to the planes of his body. His dark hair was slicked back to his skull, revealing his small, wicked horns, and he had white, sling back sandals on his feet.
Who would have guessed Satan was a cross-dresser?
"Does this dress make me look fat?" he asked, frowning at his reflection.
"No, my darling, you look stunning, as always," intoned Voldemort.
Lucifer scowled at him, sulfur wafting out of his nose as he did so. "You're just saying that so I don't torture you with a hundred Harry Potters again," he accused.
Voldemort winced at the memory. His Master had conjured one hundred demons and made them all take on the appearance of the boy who'd brought about Voldemort's demise and ultimately sent him to this...hell. "No, no, my Master," he hastened to deny it. "You look radiant in yellow," he added.
"It's buttercup," the creature before him stated flatly.
"My apologies," groveled Voldemort. "Buttercup suits you perfectly."
Lucifer brightened immediately. "Do you really think so?" he gushed. Without waiting for a response, he continued, "I'm doing a show this evening in the Devil's Den Lounge, and I want to look my best."
The Devil's Den was the special place in hell for those who'd committed the sin of horrible public performances. The director of the ill-fated movie Ishtar was among them, and there was a table in front reserved for Ashlee Simpson. Being forced to watch even worse performances than their own was their eternal punishment.
"I'd like you to be in the audience tonight," purred Lucifer, slinking over in his high heels to tickle Voldemort's ear. "You can sit at Miss Simpson's table, since she isn't using it yet."
Voldemort considered. He could sit in the lounge, drink liquid fire, and listen to his Master perform, accompanied by a demon band playing banjos, accordions and kazoos, or he could spend the evening in his closet, which was an exact replica of the one Potter had been raised in by his Muggle relatives. Reaching a decision, he smiled through his teeth and said, "You know how I love to hear you sing."
"Splendid!" squealed Lucifer, enfolding Voldemort in a hug and pecking his cheek. Turning to his wardrobe again, he added as an afterthought, "Oh, and Tommy? I'll be wanting a little lovin' after the show, so I expect you to be ready, sugar lips!"
Voldemort shuddered involuntarily. It was hell being the Devil's concubine.
Author: enchanted_jae
Pairing: Lucifer/Voldemort
Rating: PG13
Warning(s): Er, it's set in hell...and it's crack.
Word count: 530
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This drabble/fic was written for fun, not for profit.
Author's note: I have no excuse for this. I blame eeyore9990, who asked for DragQueen!Lucifer for her birthday. Happy Birthday, one day late!
Summary: Voldemort learns what hell truly means.
"Oh, Tommy!" came the sing song voice from down the hall.
Voldemort sighed and rolled his eyes. It was hell being in hell. "Yes, Master?" he responded.
"Would you come here for a moment, dumpling?" Lucifer called.
Voldemort gritted his teeth and rose to do his Master's bidding. He had learned early on not to defy Lucifer, as his Master could make Cruciatus seem like a tickle in comparison. He entered the swelteringly hot bedroom to find The One True Dark Lord standing in front of a full length mirror, eyeing his reflection critically. He was modeling a yellow, form fitting dress that clung to the planes of his body. His dark hair was slicked back to his skull, revealing his small, wicked horns, and he had white, sling back sandals on his feet.
Who would have guessed Satan was a cross-dresser?
"Does this dress make me look fat?" he asked, frowning at his reflection.
"No, my darling, you look stunning, as always," intoned Voldemort.
Lucifer scowled at him, sulfur wafting out of his nose as he did so. "You're just saying that so I don't torture you with a hundred Harry Potters again," he accused.
Voldemort winced at the memory. His Master had conjured one hundred demons and made them all take on the appearance of the boy who'd brought about Voldemort's demise and ultimately sent him to this...hell. "No, no, my Master," he hastened to deny it. "You look radiant in yellow," he added.
"It's buttercup," the creature before him stated flatly.
"My apologies," groveled Voldemort. "Buttercup suits you perfectly."
Lucifer brightened immediately. "Do you really think so?" he gushed. Without waiting for a response, he continued, "I'm doing a show this evening in the Devil's Den Lounge, and I want to look my best."
The Devil's Den was the special place in hell for those who'd committed the sin of horrible public performances. The director of the ill-fated movie Ishtar was among them, and there was a table in front reserved for Ashlee Simpson. Being forced to watch even worse performances than their own was their eternal punishment.
"I'd like you to be in the audience tonight," purred Lucifer, slinking over in his high heels to tickle Voldemort's ear. "You can sit at Miss Simpson's table, since she isn't using it yet."
Voldemort considered. He could sit in the lounge, drink liquid fire, and listen to his Master perform, accompanied by a demon band playing banjos, accordions and kazoos, or he could spend the evening in his closet, which was an exact replica of the one Potter had been raised in by his Muggle relatives. Reaching a decision, he smiled through his teeth and said, "You know how I love to hear you sing."
"Splendid!" squealed Lucifer, enfolding Voldemort in a hug and pecking his cheek. Turning to his wardrobe again, he added as an afterthought, "Oh, and Tommy? I'll be wanting a little lovin' after the show, so I expect you to be ready, sugar lips!"
Voldemort shuddered involuntarily. It was hell being the Devil's concubine.