#2af writes

[2af-afterdark]

Once a Decade Hobby

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Foras & GN!MC (they/them), fluff turns into mild violence, MC is a little unhinged and selfish,  Summary: MC asks Foras to teach them his hobby. They throw a tantrum when they don't get their way. A/N: You know what? I love terrible MCs. I love when they are absolute garbage. Long live these bitches! Word Count: 709

“I don't think I'm doing this right,” they say as they turn the thick horn over in their hand. The rough, bark-like exterior has chips and gnashes in it from where the knife had dug too deeply or had slipped out of their control. 

They had imagined this would Be more fun than it actually was due to Foras unusually bright smile while widdling.

“The outer layer of horns like those needs to be scrapped off before they can be shaped properly,” Foras reminds them. “It also allows you to see if there are unseen cracks that run through the core or up the sides which could jeopardize the integrity of your sculpture.”

“I know that's what you said, but that doesn't make it any easier.” They look over at the horn that he's carving – a smooth, curved one that's marbled with turquoise and seafoam – and pout. “You didn’t scrape yours off? Can we switch? That one looks more simple.”

Foras looks at them with expressionless eyes. “This one is more difficult due to its shape and the fact that it is thinner and more delicate than usual. I didn't scrape its outer layer because so much of it is damaged. If I tried, I would have very little left to work with. The one you have may seem like more work, but that's because it's healthy and thicker horns are more forgiving if you make mistakes.”

“I can be careful. I promise.” 

They're bored though. The horn Foras gave to them to experiment on and fiddle with is black and the shape doesn't inspire any creativity in them. They want something prettier. Something that shimmers. Something that inspires them.

“No. Beginners should work with sturdier materials that are more forgiving to mistakes.”

Foras is the type of devil that seems hard to approach because of his unintentional directness and tactless behavior. They couldn’t even recall how many times he had scared them after suddenly turning visible after following them in secret for an unknown amount of time. But, in this moment, he seems like a completely different devil. His passion makes him act like someone else.

They stare at him while he carefully works the sharp edge of his knife across the supposedly delicate horn. Each stroke releases a small sliver of the outermost, seafoam-speckled layer. Each shaving gathers as little curls in a messy pile in hip lap. They are beautiful flakes, like glitter under the light.

They place the rough horn with small notches down on the ground beside where they sit, having lost all interest in it. They stand with their knife in hand. Slowly, they take a step closer to where Foras sits, working on his once-in-a-blue-moon hobby. They sneak around behind him to watch him from the back. His eyes, that would normally be carefully watching every moving object in the room, flicking back and forth so quickly that they would almost appear to be staring straight forward. For once, he is so engrossed in a singular task that he isn’t watching the rest of the world as if it’s a play being put on around him.

Foras is cute when he’s passionate.

So cute that they can’t help but wrap their fist around his beautiful, shimmering horn and yank his head back. 

“If you won’t share that one, I'll take this one instead.” 

A coy smile creeps across their face as they lean in close, forcing Foras to look at them the way he usually did. They run the flat of their tongue from the base of his horn all the way to the tip, smirking at the sound of his surprise and arousal.

If the horn in his hand sparkled like glitter, then his own horn 

“Yours looks healthy, so I can have it… right? Like you said, an amateur like me needs something sturdy so I can make lots and lots of mistakes. We can even start from the top.” They pull away, replacing their tongue with the edge of the knife they are still carrying. “Teach me how to saw this off. I'm feeling inspired to make something.”

Foras will look lovely with a collar made from his own horn snapped tighter around his throat than even Leviathan’s noose.

[jessamine-rose]

₊｡˚⋆˙ Venus Callipyge ˙⋆˚｡₊

Once again, WHB has compelled me to do ~research~ for my fanfics. First Lucifer and tear-catchers, now Mammon and historical art…what will be next?? T0T

Notes:: spice, pygophilia, does this count as quasi-exhibitionism??

If Mammon were to name humanity’s greatest creation, it would be the Venus Callipyge.

…Yes, it is a subjective answer but not a shocking one. One look at the ancient statue is all it takes for you to understand Mammon’s bias—the pure marble, the sensual pose, the shapely derriere which commands full attention. It is his definition of perfection.

Your mistake takes the form of a special message. At first, your lover thinks you sent him one of your usual selfies. There are a few nudes, some lingerie shots…and an imitation of the Venus Callipyge. The dress and hairstyle are more modern but the pose is the same, from your confident gaze to your bare lower half. The photo is instantly saved, followed by an appreciative reply~

Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there. During your next visit to Tartaros, Mammon proudly shows you his newest treasure aaaaaand it’s a gold statue based on your photo. With zero cover-ups, unless you count real pieces of jewelry draped over its body. The model’s identity is a no-brainer.

At the very least, you successfully convince Mammon to not display the statue in his palace. If his lover isn’t comfortable with his creation, then it will be kept for his eyes only. Now, have you heard of the Reclining Naiad?

♡

Still hornii?? Read my other WHB fics =w=

Grrrr I don’t even like this character but this idea was too funny not to write. Fortunately, two of my friends are Mammon simps and their reactions were worth it >:3

Tag a Mammon enjoyer!! @jazeswhbvault @gr0tesquerom4ntica @sparkbeast20 @h2o2-and-baking-soda @ghostiegirl56 @shredderwest @2af-afterdark

[elsecrytt]

i am,,, still in the metaphorical doghouse for kinktober, but!!! @2af-afterdark hit me up with a tag so,, i will,, do the thing?

Rules: Write the latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don't reblog.

--

For some reason, you’d expected more squirming.

But no – Barbatos accepts being strapped down to the examination table, by the ankles and the wrists, with surprising grace and dignity.

--

my lines are normally very long so ksjhdgfhldsg there u go. i won't bother to tag anyone (i'll bet most of the people i'm acquainted with have been tagged already) but if u want to do it, go for it!

[bolachasgratis]

Bolachas Now Playing, a new music Spotify playlist updated every Tuesday. 

As we approach 2018’s twilight and the first few publications start posting their best of the year lists, we decide to keep focusing on brand new music for a few more weeks. This week, we highlight State Champion’s new LP, ‘Send Flowers’. We’ll let the Silver Jews’ David Berman (we miss you, come back) make the introductions: "If Bob Dylan was funny, if Tom Waits was relevant, Ryan might not be peerless at what he does best, which is writing large gregarious circles around his pitiful colleagues in the field. He's the best lyricist who's not a rapper going."

Plus: new tracks by Superchunk, Richard Dawson & Rhodri Davies’ Hen Ogledd, Action Bronson, Altın Gün, Jacco Gardner, Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy, Girlpool, Mercury Rev with Margo Price, Carson McHone, Craig Brown Band, Rhett Miller, Robert Ellis, Raoul Vignal, Eiko Ishibashi, Liela Moss, Nadine Khouri, Pearls Before Swine, and Jozef Van Wissem.

Bolachas Now Playing, 40/2018 (#167):

Superchunk - Total Eclipse Hen Ogledd - Problem Child Action Bronson - Ring Ring (feat. Big Body Bes) Altin Gün - Vay Dünya Jacco Gardner - Levania Jeff Tweedy - Let's Go Rain Girlpool - Hire State Champion - My Over, My Under State Champion - If You Don't Show Me Mercury Rev - Sermon (feat. Margo Price) Carson McHone - Ain't You Lucky (I Love Being Lonely) Craig Brown Band - Big City Small Town Rhett Miller - Wheels Robert Ellis - Fucking Crazy Raoul Vignal - I Have Sinned Eiko Ishibashi - Agloe Liela Moss - Memories and Faces Nadine Khouri - To Sleep Pearls Before Swine - I Saw the World Jozef Van Wissem - How You Must Leave

[raggywaltz1954]

It’s another soggy grey day here in north Alabama, and as such, out comes the reflective music.  Here’s a record I found during my cross-country tour this summer.  To the music!

The Music

https://raggywaltz.files.wordpress.com/2018/09/festive-minor.wav

The Tune:  “Festive Minor”

Recorded:  15 January, 1959 in New York City

Personnel:

Gerry Mulligan-  Baritone Sax

Art Farmer-  Trumpet

Bill Crow-  Bass

Dave Bailey-  Drums

The music on this album is near-perfect.  Continuing his fruitful explorations in the piano-less quartet format, the music is clean, paired-back, and all-business, representing some of the better ‘cool’-toned jazz being made in the 1950’s.  Gerry Mulligan was always a reliable swinger, and his full-bodied bari sax perfectly fills in the cracks in the music, providing a harmonic foundation here, a lyrical solo there.  Art Farmer’s beautifully warm, malted trumpet serves as a wonderful foil to Mulligan’s baritone sax.  Art Farmer is one of the only examples of breathy trumpet I can think of, quite a difficult thing to accomplish on a brass instrument.  Bill Crow, former bassist with Marian McPartland’s trio, flourishes in the spare arrangements and instrumentation.  His bass lines are impeccable, swinging, and melodic.  In the drum chair is long-time Mulligan collaborator Dave Bailey.  Half of the tracks find him tastefully knitting away with brushes, the other half keeping time with sticks.  He was a perfect drummer in the context of Mulligan’s smaller combos, keeping things moving without getting to busy, in the great tradition of solid time-keepers like Kenny Clarke.

The music flows smoothly in the well-programmed sequence of tracks, opening with the unusual choice of a ballad, the title tune of the album.  Arranged by Mulligan, as were all the tunes on the album, the song features some great ensemble writing, with some improvised solos throughout.  “Just In Time” has some tempo changes (fittingly) and trading solos where Mulligan and Farmer alternate choruses.  There’s some great blowing here.  There’s a couple of tunes written by Mulligan with a nod towards the Newport Jazz Festival.  The cleverly titled “News From Blueport” is a lazy blues in waltz time, while “Blueport” is a straight-ahead blues with a quicker tempo.  “As Catch Can” has the fleetest of all the album’s tempos, with some excitingly driving solos to match.  Of course, there’s a few throwbacks on the album, too.  “My Funny Valentine” was established as a jazz standard at the hands of Mulligan’s earlier treatment of the tune with Chet Baker, and gets a fresh examination by Art Farmer here.  “Utter Chaos” is another old tune from Mulligan’s partnership with Chet Baker, often played as a set closer during club dates.

The best tune on the album, however, is slightly noir-ish original by Mulligan entitled “Festive Minor”.  With Farmer’s cup mute firmly in place and the simple yet effective melody taken up as a round between the two horns, the piece conjures up images of a rainy, dark day in the city as a suited man in a trench coat slinks down the sidewalk.  It’s like the opening of a black and white detective movie from the 1940’s or 50’s.  Farmer’s muted solo sets the mood with a bluesy, spare opening.  His use of space and silence heightens the mood while Mulligan’s languid sax purrs rhythmic accents in the background to provide a harmonic framework as well as some propulsion.  After Farmer’s solo, Mulligan blows some of the most lyrical, achingly beautiful bari sax on the record.  The title, “Festive Minor”, is at first a contradiction.  How can one be festive and happy yet minor and slightly dark?  The tune proves how.  The fellas are obviously enjoying themselves, playing some inspired and hip jazz, all with a slightly dark accent.  Bill Crow has a chorus to blow some bass, then the horns come back sans mute to restate the beguiling theme.

You know an album is good when our friend Scott Yanow over at Allmusic gives it a full five stars.  While tempering his 10/10 rating by pointing out the album’s brevity, he conceded that the music was significant and noted that “[v]irtually every selection is memorable..”  Which is true.  This is one of those rare albums where you can play it through without feeling the urge to skip a tune.  Absolutely superb jazz laid down by four men with the sparest of instrumentations.  Like Don Draper once said, it’s simple, but significant.

The Cover

Raggy Waltz Rating:  B-

An artistic, posed cover shot of an artist looking pensive and reflective isn’t new, but rarely does it actually match the mood of the music on the record.  It succeeds here, capturing both the album title and the music on the album.  The famous if not ubiquitous Burt Goldblatt is the photographer.  It’s a nice shot, utilizing light and shadows expertly to create a moody photograph.   The spare artwork on the cover is another way the cover art acts as a harbinger to the uncluttered music contained on the record’s grooves.  The album has seen better days, though, or hasn’t, to be more accurate.  It’s a victim of being stored in tight quarters with other records, without a protective album sleeve, and as a result has a worn patina with a faint ring of record wear.

Unfortunately, I suffer from a condition where things that should be serious are funny to me, and the longer I look at the cover, the more comedic it becomes.  Perhaps it’s because he looks like he’s on time out, perhaps it’s because he appears to be trying to figure out what else there is to say.  Either way, it makes me chuckle.

The Back

The liner notes, written by Gerry Mulligan, are quite entertaining and expressive.  This in spite of their succinctness.  In his brief essay, Mulligan mulls over the purpose of liner notes and what really needs to be said on the backs of albums.  After saying what he thinks is the only info really needed on albums (tune titles, personnel, and the dates the tunes were recorded), he makes some valid points of which most are still as valid today as they were in 1959 when he wrote them.

“But I notice a lot of jazz albums these days…whose notes go pretty far afield, with hardly a mention about what’s inside (sometimes no mention at all).”  I always hate that.  People who treat the back of albums like a college textbook, discussing all manners of the polemics of jazz and art and blah blah blah with barely a discussion about the music itself.  Mulligan goes on to indict those jazz writers who engage in such prose:

“But some of the people who do the most talking about jazz (that may even be the basic problem, right there!) don’t seem to get any real fun out of listening to it.  It seems to me that all the super-intellectualizing on the technics of jazz and the lack of response to the emotion and meaning of jazz is spoiling the fun for listeners and players alike.  So if the critics haven’t got everyone scared with a lot of high-flown technical talk and Jack Kerouac hasn’t got everyone impressed with the beauties of numbness and hipness for hipness’ sake, maybe we could launch a little enthusiasm and restore fun to its rightful place in jazz.”

Well-said.  He closes his liners by saying that he, his band, and the good people at Columbia put a lot of work into making this album, and how much fun it was.  What follows is a track listing with the recording date directly below each track.  The way it should always be.  More people like Mulligan should’ve written liner notes for jazz albums.

Because of Mulligan’s brief notes, there’s space for a gloriously large photograph of the Gerry Mulligan Quartet at a recording session in Columbia Record’s legendary 30th Street Studio in New York City.  I’m not sure what the brown smudge at the top of the album is, and I think it’s best that I don’t.  I tried to take the price tag off, but it began to take some of the cover with it, so it stayed.  The delightfully dated note about the mono record being able to be played on stereo equipment and thus never going out of commission is cool.  I mean, it’s not lying.  Almost 60 years later and it’s not obsolete yet!

The Vinyl

When done right, Columbia’s sound was unparalleled.  Their beautifully crisp, sonorous and life-like sound was famous even then in the 1950’s and 60’s.  Mono, stereo, 6-eye, 2-eye, it doesn’t matter.  Well, it kind of does, but that’s splitting hairs.  Pressed originally in 1959, the album used Columbia’s classic ‘6-eye’ labels, used for most releases in the mid-50’s thru the early 60’s.  My copy was a later pressing, as indicated by the runnout matrix codes of 2AH and 2AF, meaning a second master tape was used and was on its 32nd and 34th run.  All that means really is that this isn’t a brand-spanking new pressing.  The lack of a deep-groove shows it was probably a release from the early 1960’s.  Neato bandito.

Perhaps this is an indication for my increasing interest and fanaticism in collecting jazz records, but I actually like the mono pressing of this album more than the stereo version.  After having heard the stereo version online on Pandora and YouTube, the monaural version has more body, more bite, and more character, than the airy stereo.  Of course, this isn’t a very fair comparison, since I’ve only heard the stereo version online and not on a record.    At any rate, this record sounds fantastic, with barely a crackle or pop to be heard, and the fidelity is excellent for a 59-year old piece of vinyl.  The group is front and center, with the blessed acoustics of Columbia’s church studio giving the music some space and reverb.  Bill Crow’s bass and Dave Bailey’s drums are miked to perfection, and on my sound system it sounds like the fellas are in my room.  Amen and amen.  So where did I find an album in such great condition, anyhow?

The Place of Acquisition

After a cross-country drive originating in Ohio, my friend and I arrived at our destination of Salt Lake City, Utah.  An avid thrifter, my friend found a thrift store in town, so we checked it out.  I searched for the record section and eventually found two and a half stacks of records in the back corner of the store.  I didn’t expect to find much, it being Utah and all.  Buried among the Lawrence Welk, Percy Faith, Ray Coniff, and other typical thrift store vinyl detritus, I was shocked to find this record as well as two other solid jazz albums.  For only 50 cents, I felt like I was robbing the store.  Once I got home and played the album, I knew I had robbed them.  For being my first time in the state of Utah, this is the kind of souvenir I like to have to remember my time spent there. Luckily, the “rebirth of vinyl” craze hasn’t struck out there yet (I was at a thrift store that thought it was ok to charge $5.00 for a record! The nerve!).  Thanks, Salt Lake City!

    A cool-tinged album from one of the originators of the cool jazz sound. What Is There To Say? // Gerry Mulligan (Columbia CL 1307) It's another soggy grey day here in north Alabama, and as such, out comes the reflective music. 

[2af-afterdark]

"Would You Love Me if I Was A Worm?": The Kings' + Minhyeok + Angel Answers Versus the Truth

A/N: I need some random, goofy fluff. Please don't look at me.

Satan

“I don’t know.”

Honestly, Satan is the kind of guy who couldn’t answer you because, well, you aren’t a worm. How would he know if he’ll still love you? In reality, he would probably love you in a sense of the word. He would definitely take care of you and kick anyone who dared to get too close to his worm, because you know half of Hell would still be obsessed with you.

Mammon

“My master as a worm? How amusing.”

When he said he belonged to you, he meant it. Human or worm, that will always be true. So, yes, he would still love you as a worm. You would live in a worm palace and have all the pleasantries you could ever desire. He’d set you on his desk when he’s working and carry you around when he’s out. You are not some mere pet that stays at home when he leaves. You will always be at his side and pampered to an absolutely terrifying degree.

Leviathan

Yeah, he’s going to glare at you because the question is nonsensical and really dumb. He doesn’t even answer it because it’s a waste of oxygen to do so. 

Except the truth is that he would be the only one caring for you because he’d get jealous if anyone else tried to. The emotion isn’t exactly romantic love, but he loves you even as a worm regardless. You are his special little worm. He takes good care of you, although he’s not much nicer to you as a worm than he is when you’re human.

Beelzebub

“What a weird question. Sure.”

He says he would love you if you were a worm, but we all know that he would forget about you whenever he leaves the palace for more than 2 hours. All your care would fall on Bael, just like everything else does. He would definitely pay attention to you when he remembers to come home though. He would probably give you apple slices and watch you for a while whenever he returns. His feelings would probably be more akin to fascination than love; like watching a squirrel in the wild, except you're a worm in a terrarium. That’s sort of a form of love… Sort of.

Minhyeok

“Yes!”

Honestly, he responds before you’ve even finished the question. You got to “would you love me” and he already knew the answer. He will love you no matter what. He would want to be a worm too so he could be your worm husband and start a worm family with you.

Gabriel

“No.”

Why are you asking him this? He wants to kill you! A worm sounds really easy to kill. On second thought, sure. He’d love it if you were a worm… For about five seconds before you weren’t anything anymore.

Michael

“How tragic that you want a form different than the one God blessed you with.”

Again, he wants to kill you! Please stop harassing Heaven to ask weird questions. He doesn’t love you now, let alone if you suddenly became a completely different creature. He’s actually insulted by the question. Why are you like this? Yes, he would definitely be fighting Gabriel over who gets to kill your adorable little worm form.

Raphael

“Do you plan on being one? I'm sure I could keep you.”

The man is kind of obsessed, honestly. Look at how cute you are as a worm; truly the most beautiful worm in the world. Man would treat you like a pet but still expect your little worm self to show him affection. He wouldn’t want to leave home and would spend waaaaay too long watching you all day. Also, he would sleep next to you, even if that meant sleeping in the dirt. The man is weird.

[2af-afterdark]

So while I was scrolling through Instagram reels, I encountered a prompt(?) that's like

"I wanna ride someone slowly until they get impatient and start thrusting up into me, holding my waist so I can't get away"

Imagine if the kings and nobles following MC's social media account, and see that MC liked the posts of that kind, so they immediately barge into MC's room to try it with them

-🐰

OKAY HOLD ONE! I HAVE THOUGHTS AND THOTS FORMING!

Satan is very straight forward. He's a man of passion and that passion is very focused on MC. The second he sees that they liked that post (along with probably others) there will be no stopping him from grabbing them (even off the street or from another kingdom) and dragging them off to the nearest place to fuck. If he makes it to the bed, it will be a miracle. "You don't need a bed to ride my dick, do you?" as he tears their clothing to tatters and gets them settled on top of him. He's already impatient. So impatient that I doubt you can count what MC is doing as riding so much as it's him bouncing them up and down on his cock and watching them scream because they clearly needed an orgasm or two.

Mammon is much better at waiting. He is addicted to his master's selfishness, so simply making himself available for their whims is enough. He lives to watch MC slowly roll their hips over his cock and take their pleasure. The waiting kills him though. He's smart. He knows he can't use that trump card immediately. He should let it simmer, let MC get used to using him like a dildo (plus he likes it a little too much to intervene sometimes). He has to make sure they aren't expecting it when he grabs onto their hips, "I can't wait for my master today," and goes from being their dildo to using them like a fleshlight. Claims it's for their satisfaction since they clearly need it, but... he's enjoying it as much as they are.

Does Leviathan even have social media? Would he even see it if MC liked something like that? Probably not. "What are you doing?" The man isn't going to understand when MC starts riding him slowly and agrivates him until he feels the need to reestablish his dominance. It may not be his hands on their hips though. His style is more of a... noose around their neck, pulled tight to keep them from riding him at their pace and set it more at his.

If you want the king of impatience though, look no further than Beelzebub. He will show up outside MC's door, post already pulled up on his phone, and flashing it at them the second they open up. "You wanna try it out?" He's here to make all their dreams come true and then some. There is no beating around the bush with him, but that just means he will do anything you want, whenever you want.

[2af-afterdark]

You Will

Content: GN!MC (you/your) x Leviathan (whb), kisses, need to write to figure out how their personalities work, fluff (I think this counts as fluff?)

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent. I needed to kiss Leviathan and this fic happened. There is no smut in this fic, but whb is an 18+ game so it is going on the 18+ blog.

Word Count: 315

"Leviathan," you placed your hand on either side of his face, "I'm going to kiss you."

His opalescent eyes darkened and narrowed, his handsome face somehow even more attractive as he glared. "Who gave you permission?"

"No one." You leaned in closer. "I just want to."

There was a flicker in his gaze, as if he was debating how best to put you in your place. He was a king. Even if you were the child of Solomon, what you wanted was irrelevant to the conversation. The fact that you dared to take the initiative and touch him without knowing your position would have seen your hands broken if he so willed it. And that was if he was feeling merciful.

"May I, my king?" You asked with a quiet voice that exemplified your nervousness in awaiting his answer.

His harsh glare didn't change, but it somehow seemed softer as he spoke. "You will." Not may. Will. Your request had become his order.

A small smile broke out across your face as you finished leaning in and gave him a small peck on his right cheek, afraid to push your luck with his magnanimous patience.

His brows seemed to furrow more than they already were. He turned his face to the side so you were staring at the other side of his face. "You will do it again before my left cheek gets jealous of my right."

"Of course, my king." You gave him another peck.

Then, he turned to face you.

You snickered. Will a jovial tone, you asked, "Are your lips jealous now? Shall I kiss them too?" It was a facetious question, meant to be only a joke.

"You will," he said confidently. If he realized you were joking or not was irrelevant now.

You felt blood rushing to your face, heat engulfing you from the inside out. "Of course, my king."

[2af-afterdark]

Hiii, sorry for the confusion :'3 I'm the one who request for chubby things, I mean that the king's reaction when they see MC get crazy/in love/... with the king's chubby parts 🥲 Like MC want to bite/hickey/nom nom on that part (... me too)

Oh right I don't know if you still accepting requests or not, sorry.... 🥹🥹🍀

OKAY! NOW IT IS TIME TO GO FERAL! Also, yes, my requests are currently open. I'm just slow.

Let's not kid ourselves here, Satan has an ass that just won't quit. He's the kind of man you hate to leave but you love to watch him walk away. MC will not hide for a second that they are admiring Satan's ass and he will not hesitate to invite them to do more. They have absolutely zero chill when it comes to getting their hands on his glorious butt and squishing it between their fingers. Give it a good slap and watch it jiggle. "Is that as hard as you can hit? Let me show you show it's really done." Just be careful, because Satan will definitely take the opportunity to enjoy MC's body too. Blessed be the MC's with an ass, because Satan is about to turn that thing red.

Mammon is a pretty safe bet with his voluptuous tiddies on display at all moments. He is clearly very proud of his chest and even more so when MC takes their time to stare at and admire it. Actually, I get the feeling he would offer them a closer look and invite them to shove their full face in there. His tiddies belong to MC and will be the main course of their horny feast for the evening. "Every word of praise from my master is worth a fortune." At some point, he'll just start waiting for them to work themselves up into a horny frenzy and show their greed for his fine features. When they are greedy, he is happy.

Leviathan looks like the kind of man that is lean and perfectly proportioned all over, but his thighs are perfect for taking a bite out of. His inner thigh is so meaty and would look perfect with bite marks. While he agrees that his body is perfect, he does not appreciate MC's antics. Watch him get upset (read: angry) at MC for wanting to get their hands (and lips) on his thighs. They will be strung from the ceiling in no time. Consider it the perfect opportunity to gawk at this fine features and tell him exactly how seeing his juicy thighs drives them absolutely- "Enough." AND he's covered their mouth so he doesn't have to listen to their horny ramblings.

By request of 🪰anon, I will now be talking about Beelzebub's dick. They said it as a joke, but I am going to be very serious about the bulge that thing makes in his pants and how fat his balls must be. Those deserve to be massaged and sucked on. He will gladly sit back and let MC do as they please, just waiting for his moment... "It's my turn now." Expect him to return the favor when MC gets tired, because he's the devil of gluttony and he refuses to walk away without a meal of his very own.

[2af-afterdark]

Whatever Way You Like It

Rating: Explicit  Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Satan/MC Characters: Satan, MC Additional Tags: AFAB!MC (you/your), vaginal fingering, very short Summary: Satan asks how you’d like it. You have no answer for him. A/N: I wrote this months ago and never shared it publicly. I refuse to edit it now. Word Count: 261

"Soft or rough?" Satan asked pointedly as his hands trailed feather light touches up your hips, pushing the fabric of your top aside to access your warm skin. "How shall I have you today?"

Your face burned as his green eyes peered straight through you, pulling you close to press against him so tightly that you could feel the bulge between his legs straining against his jeans.

The lump in your throat wouldn't go down as you fought to say something - anything - in response.

"Is it my choice then?" His head dipped down into the crux of your neck, biting and sucking at the skin there until it started to bruise. "Then I choose to do whatever I please."

You nodded slowly, understanding and agreeing to whatever he wanted as long as he promised to keep touching you; sweet like a lover or forceful like he owned you, you didn't care as long as he didn't stop until you were satisfied down to your very soul.

His hand ventured past the band of your pants, pressing cool fingers against your hot slit and stroking your folds that grew only more and more wet with his ministrations.

"I've barely touched you and you're already soaked," he whispered in a low, husky voice. "Have you been waiting for this?"

Yes. You had been waiting for him to touch you all day, even if you didn't know it.

As you looked at him with hazy eyes, he slipped two fingers deep inside of you. “Then enjoy it before I have my fun ruining you.”

[2af-afterdark]

🦩anon asked for Leviathan and prompt 7 “Be a good boy/girl and swallow for me” along with some others but I saw my boy and decided to chew on him

Please keep in mind that the game is still not out, so when you ask for this you are asking for a bunch of random headcanons sort of put together.

Content: Dom!GN!MC (they/them) x Leviathan (whb), aphrodisiacs, mentioned humiliation, no actual sex

They throw themselves onto the sofa beside him, all of their weight pressing down on the the frame simultaneously as their butt digs into the seat cushion. They reach into their breast pocket and pull out something which they pass to him with a smile.

"Be a good boy and swallow this for me," they whisper into his ear.

Leviathan takes it as he reclines against the sofa that currently holds them. He stares at the dubious bubbling vial they've handed him, swirling with shades of pink and purple and reeking of magic. He can smell the stench of Abaddon wafting from whatever is inside, even contained securely by the small glass container.

"I refuse," he says as he tries to hand the vial back to them.

"Oh, Leviathan," they reach over only to pull the cork out of the vial and push his hand back toward him, "that wasn’t a request."

The overwhelming scent of lust, no longer held at bay by the seal, burns his nostrils and sends blood flowing straight to his crotch. It's pure and concentrated and definitely illegal (not that devils cared about legality in the same manner as humans) outside of any kingdom but Abaddon itself given that lust so powerful is barely distinguishable from madness.

The muscles in his face scrunch up in a mixture of disgust and concern for who would give them something so clearly dangerous, but the worry starts to fade and make way for his own desires as he feels their hand gliding over the bulge growing in his pants. He knows it's whatever is in the vial controlling his body, which is why -- if this is how potent it is by smell alone -- he tries to hand it to them yet again before it can invade his senses more than it already has.

"I have no interest in it."

Short and to the point. He was a king (even if he barely felt like one compared to the others and was always analyzing which aspects of them were better than him). It was only right he put his foot down every now and again, especially with a human.

That thin resolve of his vanishes in an instant, however, as they place their finger against the base of the horn nearest them and start rubbing circles around it.

"Liar," they tease. "I can tell you want to drink it," they softly squeeze his growing erection, "but you're afraid of what it will do to you. You're afraid that you'll humiliate yourself while under its influence. You're imagining all the worst possible scenarios in your head and wondering how you'll ever live them down. It's the uncertainty making you hesitate."

They trail their finger up the fine, sand-like texture of his horn, stroking between the junction where it splits in two and is most sensitive. His pants have gotten uncomfortably tight and he fears they will burst at the seam from how strongly he's straining against them.

"Allow me to alleviate your fears." Their voice has dropped as low as it will go and there is a sultry tinge to their words. "When you drink that, nothing will matter to you more than feeling good and I won't hesitate to abuse that power over you. Any filters or self-restraint you have will disappear. You'll humiliate yourself in ways you can't even imagine and I'll enjoy every moment of it almost as much as you will."

Leviathan bit the inside of his lip, a slurry of contradictory thoughts rushing through his mind but all of them based on his all-consuming jealousy at the unknown.

It was thoughts of fear and anxiety at potentially being seen in a vulnerable state by others. It was the way he wanted them to focus solely on him. It was how his stomach collapsed in on itself when he imagined people whispering behind his back that he was a degenerate or, worse, a prude. It was the fact that he was nowhere near being a king like the others if he let a human push him around. It was the way their voice made everything sound so tempting, despite his misgivings. It was the desire he had to do whatever it took to have their attention. It was the collapsing of his reason and judgment. It was every voice in his head screaming all at once in a cacophony of different desires, all as equally pressing as the last. It was knowing that if he held strong he would envy what could have been, what he could have gained. It was the opposite, knowing that if he gave in he would envy what he'd lost. It was envying the him from only seconds ago who didn't have to make such a choice. It was-

"Go on," they prompt yet again. "I promise you it's the best stuff in all of hell. After all, you deserve nothing but the best."

He tips the vial back into his open mouth like a shot.

Instantly, he feels every nerve inside of him firing simultaneously and his constrained cock twitches as he cum in his pants after two rapid orgasms -- one from the initialshock of the drink and a second from the embarrassment of knowing he'd just ruined his pants. His skin feels like it's boiling and his clothing is a nuisance at best. Any thoughts he may have still had melt and are quickly replaced by his hands wandering across his own body as they try to make him feel good -- a sisyphean task given that every part of him feels unyielding pleasure from even the lightest of touches, but is left uncomfortably wanting when not under the ministrations of his fingers.

The parts of him that feel the best, however, are where they lay their hands; his cock and his horn. He can already feel that he's going to cum again because, even through the fabric of his suit pants, their hand against his groin is pure ecstasy and the other rubbing his horn is euphoria he could never have imagined in his wildest fantasies.

They laugh; a light laugh that is somehow both irrevocably loving and deeply condescending. Whatever intent they have behind such a laugh is lost on him though as all of his reasoning has given way to whatever Abaddon's magic has done to him. He doesn't want to think or restrain himself. All he wants is to feel good, whatever that takes.

"Good boy," they finally praise as they tug at his horn to pull him into a kiss.

As they slip their tongue into his mouth, he can tell that he has cum again and it won't nearly be the last time for the evening.

[2af-afterdark]

Keeping Him Warm

Rating: Explicit  Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Lucifer/MC Characters: Lucifer, MC Additional Tags: ftm!MC (he/him/they/them), cockwarming, tcock (it's called a cock though), vaginal penetration (by fingers), pet name: pretty boy (MC receiving) Summary: Lucifer warms his favorite human’s cock with his mouth. Word Count: 363

Stars flood his vision, heat pools in his belly, and the cuffs around his wrists bite into his skin as he twists from side to side trying to escape from the lips and tongue tormenting his throbbing sex. Lucifer stares up at him with a glint in his eyes as he holds his position, wrapping his fingers around his cute human's thighs to hold them open in place so he can continue his ministrations without them rutting to find the relief they long for.

His pretty human groans and whines as Lucifer laps at the precious cock he's been sucking at for so long, taking perverse delight in how much they struggle to lie still and accept it all. Oh, how handsome they are.

"No moooore," he cries through throaty moans and pleas. "Move already. It's too much!"

Lucifer unwraps his lips from around his cute, twitching cock and shushes him from between his legs. "You can handle a bit more. After all, you're clearly enjoying it," he says as he takes a moment to brush his fingers over their leaking, neglected sex.

"I can't," he protests. "My body feels weird."

"Unfortunate," he chuckled darkly before returning to his place sucking at their swollen, engorged cock – teasing it with slow, languid licks that made their thighs tremble and buckle around his head.

“Lucifer! Please! Stop touching my cock!” He bites his lip to hold back any more whines that may encourage the demon to keep going any longer.

“Of course,” he whispers against them before pulling away with a devilish smirk that makes them more concerned than relieved.

“After all,” he presses his fingers against their sex, feeling the slick wetness coating their folds before slowly burying his middle and forefinger to the knuckles inside of them, “my pretty boy has more than one place to keep occupied.”

He begins to weep in frustration and denied pleasure. “Lucifer-”

“You can do it. Can’t you, my love?” 

Even if they couldn’t, he didn’t intend on ending his teasing until he was thoroughly satisfied their body was past the point of desperation. Only then would he finally give them what they were clearly already craving.

[2af-afterdark]

Bloody Valentine

Fandom: What in Hell in Bad? Content: Raphael & MC, God!MC au Summary: Love has many meanings, but it is always fickle no matter its form. When it comes to Raphael, all you can do is ensure that that love stays focused on you. A/N: This was originally supposed to be more violent toward MC, but then I learned that Raphael is actually the biggest puppy dog when it comes to MC so that idea left my head. Now he’s violent towards others! Word Count: 514

Raphael smelled like blood. Even after washing it all off –a request you made a while ago because the sight of him covered in it made you sick – the senguin smell still clung to him like a man to a raft. Whose blood it was you couldn’t dare to guess, but you were sure that, given enough time, you would learn to tell the difference between angel and devil’s blood. You were not looking forward to that day.

“Who was it this time?” You asked, praying – ironic given the circumstances – that you wouldn’t recognize the name that came out of his mouth.

“No one,” he said as he approached the small nook in which you sat day after day.

It was hard to tell if that was the truth, a lie, or his way of saying that the answer wasn't worth your time. Angels, unlike devils, were difficult to understand. They would say whatever they wanted because they had convinced themselves that everything they said was the truth simply because it was, no further justification needed. To them, nothing was a lie, even if they said the sky was green.

Raphael took another step forward and you moved aside to make room for him at your feet. Not beside you. Never beside you. You couldn't tolerate the smell of blood rubbing off onto the pillows you relaxed against while stuck in your beautiful gilded cage. 

He didn't complain. He liked the view from sitting at your feet. There was something comforting about being made to look up at you; something reminiscent of long ago.

Somehow, even with untold liters of blood on his hands, the thing you felt toward him wasn't anger. It was pity. You wondered if you were so quick to ignore his faults and look at him with sympathy because of how God – how a ‘you’ that you couldn't remember– treated him. All he wanted was love, but he'd been denied; he was no different than a child lashing out for their parent’s attention and approval.

You reached out to run your fingers through his blonde hair, knowing he would become pliant the second he received any affection. “Who was it, Raphael?”

“Zadkiel. Kafiel. Raziel.” He said the names so calmly that it seemed unnatural.

Those were all angel names and, you hate to admit it, but a part of you sighed in relief.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, but you already knew you wouldn't like the answer.

Raphael looked up at you with large, manic eyes that were filled to the brim with displaced affection. “They didn't deserve to worship you.”

And, in angel terms, that was enough.

A part of you flinched, fearful of when he might turn those same impulses towards you who had stolen the name of the person he loved most. But his aggression was tempered for the moment by your gentle hand, the same one he said reminded him of the very person he expected you to replace. The same one who had never dared to lay their hand upon his head before.

For now, this was the dynamic you and he had fallen into; he would be the sword you never wanted, rending the flesh and bone of anyone who he wanted with your name on his lips as justification, and you would give him the love he never received so that hatred never turned toward you.

[2af-afterdark]

Honor Me

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad?

Content: Gabriel & GN!MC, not god!mc au but mc is God, MC is as bad as the rest of Heaven, basically imagine if MC was picked up by Heaven to play god instead of Hell to play Solomon, not smut but you know Gabriel is hard the entire time

A/N: Sometimes I write random stuff when I am half asleep and I wake up to entire fics I don't remember writing. Usually short blurbs, but they fascinate me when I see them in the morning.

Word Count: 248

“You're mine,” They said as They stood over him with Their nails digging into the sides of his face. “You brought Me here and you're the one that made Me more than I was. For that, I allow you to call yourself Mine. Everything you do is for Me And in My name. Do you understand?”

Gabriel stared up into Their unwavering steel eyes. In them he saw exactly what he'd been searching for; ruin, damnation, piety, mercy, apathy, love, hatred, power; something entirely beyond his understanding as They encapsulated every possibility simultaneously. They were beyond any lesser creature’s understanding and he was blessed to kneel at Their feet.

He smiled. 

His heart fluttered. 

He was whole because of Them.

“I am honored by Your words.”

“My words?” They chuckled darkly as they released his face, leaving behind red cuts where they had been gripping him. “Is that all it takes to feel of value to Me? No, Gabriel.” He loved to hear his name in Their voice and They knew it – enough to ensure that he would do most anything for such a simple reward. “You gain honor by carrying out acts of glory in My name and I expect nothing less from you.”

Heat built up in his cheeks and they flashed such a vibrant pink that it looked as if he would cook from within. The corners of his mouth twisted upward and his crystal eye fogged over in delight.

“Whatever honors You, my God.”

[2af-afterdark]

Property

Content: Sitri & GN!MC, Angst, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 703

A/N: Again, not smut but the game is 18+ so it goes to the adult blog.

You were Solomon's child before you were a person. Whether you knew it or not, that had been the case from the moment you were born; both the first time from your mother's womb and second when you had to accept a different life to save your best friend. The moment you took your first breath, Hell unknowingly looked toward the human world in reverence and Heaven looked on in condemnation. Your existence was only a continuation of a dead man's.

Child of Solomon was the better name some called you by. At the very least, it acknowledged that you were a descendant of the man who owned your life. It was a tacit admission that you were a replacement meant to live up to a legend rather than the man himself.

The worse of the names given to you by the devils was-

"Solomon?" Sitri spoke through your alcohol-filled mind.

You turned your hazy attention toward him, feeling each and every one of your muscles throbbing in your head as you did. Even the ones in your fingers somehow pulsed in your brain louder than even the yelling and cheering of all the devils crowding the bar for their nightly – although it more often seemed to be hourly – celebration.

“Heeeeeeey Sitri,” you said with a voice that was loud enough to make your head throb. “What are you doing here?”

“We came together.”

“Oh, right.” Because Satan was busy and you needed an escort to wander around an active war zone. 

Sitri was reliable enough to have Satan's trust without too much fighting. At the very least, he was good at keeping you from being swarmed by every other devil in the bar all at once that wanted to catch a glimpse of Solomon. It was still awkward when they turned their heads each time he called for you though.

You held out your half finished drink to him with a lazy smile. “Want some?”

His cheeks flashed a deeper hue than the pink of his eyes. “You would offer some to me, Solomon?”

“Yeah. I would.”

You. Not Solomon. Maybe he would offer Sitri his drink when he was so smashed that he was seconds from passing out, but you wouldn't know. All you knew was that you were the one offering it right now and that you were too tired to try to correct Sitri on who you were. Again.

“You are as generous as ever.”

Because you would always be Solomon and never yourself. You were hunted because Heaven saw you as a long dead man. You were protected because Hell loved that men. You gave devils hope because you were his second coming. You and every action you took were an echo of him.

“Hey, Sitri?” you asked. “Do you like me?”

His pink eyes went wide for a brief moment before the softened. “Of course I like you, Solomon.”

And that was all you needed to hear to know that you weren’t even an afterthought in his mind. Him and most other devils that didn't even give you the dignity of being Solomon's descendant rather than his continuation.

“I like you too, Sitri.” And you wished you could say that without knowing that he and every other devil wouldn't give a damn about you if you hadn't happened to have been born the Child of Solomon. 

You laid your head against the cool, sticky bar table, too tired to move or lift it back up. "I want to go home," the honesty induced by the alcohol in your system said.

"Of course, Solomon. I'll help you." He set down the now empty glass that you hadn't seen him drink from and gingerly grabbed your arm to help sling it around his shoulder and lift you to walk. "We'll return to the palace soon."

"Mhm." You nodded without correcting him.

You didn't want to return to Gehenna's palace. You wanted to leave Hell altogether. You wanted to go back to the one place where you would always be yourself rather than some ideal of a man you had never met before.

You wanted to be somewhere you weren't simply the Child of Solomon. Or, worse yet, Solomon himself.

[2af-afterdark]

The One True King

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Bael x Reader, Reader is clearly in a (currently) one-sided admiration,technically this is based on what 💛 told me so it’s not a general reader but… I am trying, Reader is a devil, not smut A/N: 💛 anon gave me a really good prompt and I kind of wanted to wrote this for them. Uhhh… ngl, I have only written for a specific person one other time before. I usually say to give me a handful of personality traits and I will whip something up. So, you know, this was an exercise. May need more practice using other people's MC’s and self-inserts… Sorry if it’s a little… messy… There were many personality traits I couldn’t include in full because of the setting and length of this fic, but I hope that a few of them are noticeable at the very least. Word Count: 1854

Bael was trying to finish the work that Beelzebub had left behind in his latest rush to escape responsibility. Trying. It was hard to concentrate with all the unusually noisy hustle and bustle happening not only outside his office door, but traveling down the hall. The heavy footsteps were more frantic than usual, with one particular set noticeably pacing back and forth right outside.

He held his breath as he waited for when the person inevitably finally knocked for him; a knock he was slowly getting anxious over given how hesitant that devil seemed to me to call for him. But, call for him they did as they peaked their head through the narrowly open door and said, “There's someone at the front gate asking for Lord Beelzebub.”

Bael cocked a single eyebrow only slightly. It was a well known fact that Beelzebub was rarely in Avisos, let alone the castle. Whoever had come to the visit was looking in the wrong place and causing a ruckus at the same time.

“They won't leave,” the devil in the doorway added when it became clear that Bael wasn't moving.

“The others haven't chased them away yet?” Not to be rude, but now was not a good time to visit.

“Stolas and Naberius still haven't returned from the mission you sent them on,” that would be attempting – and likely failing – to track and follow Beelzebub.

“What about Amon?”

The devil hesitated and Bael knew immediately that he wouldn't like the answer.

“Amon has been… subdued,” they said with no further explanation.

At least, as the devil in the doorway clarified, the person at the gate was a normal devil. It seemed they were another of Beelzebub’s many fans – like the rest of Avisos – and could be convinced to leave once they were assured that the king was not present. If Bael, the current acting king in Beelzebub’s absence were to come outside, then perhaps the visitor would leave willingly.

Bael was exhausted. He couldn’t recall the last time he had slept properly and it was starting to impair his judgment. Having an unexpected and unwelcome guest causing a scene at the palace gates was not helping his current state.

He stood from his desk. “I’ll see them away quickly.” If only so he could return to his work undisturbed. 

He marched out of his office with his head held high and a confident swagger that attempted to hide how completely and utterly tired he really was. A few devils who had clearly decided to stick to their own tasks rather than deal with the unexpected guest stopped only long enough to watch Bael walk by before busying themselves again. In his current state, he was their acting king and that made him someone to admire as he passed by.

But they didn't dare stop him to admire him in full. Even if they tried to, they wouldn't be able to. He was, after all, too used to focusing on the kingdom's operations to be distracted by how devils stared at their substitute king, and that was why he could arrive at the palace gates without delay. That’s how he made it in time to see the unfamiliar devil at the gate speaking through the bars to Amon who seemed to be doing nothing to move them along.

“Are you the one who asked to see Lord Beelzebub?” Bael asked as he approached the two. “You came at a bad time.”

You stared in awe as Bael came closer, the loose strands of his blonde hair dancing lightly in the wind, his skin-tight black uniform hugging his muscles and thin waist, and his uneven eyes staring back.

You were not one of the grand and illustrious 72 like he was. It was rare to be one of the 72 considering that there were, after all, only seventy-two of them in total compared to the entirety of Hell’s population. Still, even those who weren’t part of the 72 had a place serving their kingdom and their kings. What was Hell without its devils, after all?

Nothing. The answer was that Hell would be nothing without the myriad of devils that brought it to life. From the madness of Abaddon to the luxury of Tartaros to the efficiency of Hades, Hell was made by the kings and the devils that swore loyalty to them; each kingdom a reflection of its king and people. 

The only kingdom that could be argued was not a reflection of its king was Avisos, which was want to run rampant without its should-be-leader at the helm. Or, perhaps it was exactly the kind of thing the wandering ruler Beelzebub would want. A kingdom full of mindless pleasures in which frequent coming and going was the name of the game. Establishments in which he wasn’t expected to stay any longer than it took him to grow bored of whatever mindless indulgences they offered. It made for a wonderful economy, but a complete headache for any devil unfortunate enough to have to deal with the actual business and politics of the kingdom rather than simply enjoying all the treasures hidden around every corner.

You were one of those regular devils who called Avisos and its many different entertainment establishments home. The proof of your citizenship was pierced into your skin. You were not ashamed of your status as just another devil in the crowd. If anything, it made it easier for you to accomplish your goal. After all, it was in the nature of the 72 to care about their king, kingdom, and people. Amon already seemed to be on your side after a well placed bribe.

The next goal was Bael himself.

“No,” you corrected, “I asked to see the king.” You held out a wrapped, three-tiered bento box filled to the brim with food. “Have you eaten yet?”

Bael blinked at you a few times before glancing at Amon, who seemed entirely indifferent to the conversation between Bael and the unexpected guest. In fact, he seemed more taken with a piece of paper in his hand rather than anything happening around him.

You continued to speak without hearing an answer from Bael. “You seem like you’re always overworking yourself and it’s important to eat. I have a feeling you won’t take a break to cook for yourself so I cooked for you.”

Bael inhaled in a way that seemed more like an exasperated sigh. “Beelzebub really isn’t here. Attempting to bribe me will not get you an audience.”

“Who cares about Beelzebub?” you said bluntly, seeming to finally get a reaction from Amon who looked at you only long enough to glare judgmentally. You didn’t bother to even look at him before pulling a small envelope out of your pocket with your free hand and holding it out to him. He took it without a word, seemingly content once again. “I came to see you, Lord Bael.” You could feel your face heating up as you spoke. “Haven’t I made that clear by now?”

Bael looked at Amon once more, who was looking inside the envelope with approval. It seemed he really would receive no backup from his cohort.

He tried to put on his most convincing inflection as he began to speak, attempting to send this stray devil away without further delay or incident. “While I appreciate your intentions-”

“Amon, will you make sure King Bael eats something?” You were already waving another piece of paper in front of him; your last bribe of the day.

Amon took the paper and bento without question. 

“Thank you, Sir Amon.” You smiled at Bael who hadn't had a chance to finish his attempted rejection of your efforts. “I'll come by again tomorrow to pick up the dirty dishes, so make sure you eat everything. Wasting food is unforgivable in Avisos.”

You turned away with a pep in your step and tried to hide the absolute glee on your face. Not only had you managed to give King Bael the meal you had made for him, but you also managed to promise him that you would be returning tomorrow. Knowing that had you practically giggling as the distance between you and the gate where Bael still stood grew.

Once you were out of sight, Bael looked to Amon with a sense of defeat in his eyes. “Who was that?”

Amon shrugged. “I don't know.” He held out the bento to Bael so he wouldn't have to be the one to carry it. “Take this.”

Between the strange devil's antics and Amon's lackadaisical attitude toward them, Bael could feel a headache coming on. “If you don't know them, then why were you so amicable to them? Especially when you should have been escorting them away from the palace?”

He titled his head slightly, indicating he was too tired to have this conversation. “They gave me photos of King Beelzebub.” That was all the reason he needed. It's not like they were doing anything bad, so he didn't see a reason to waste his energy on changing them away, especially when he was getting rewarded for looking the other way.

“Is that all it takes to convince you?”

Amon ignored the question. “My arm is getting tired,” he said as he motioned again for Bael to take the bento.

Begrudgingly, Bael took the bento with both hands. It felt heavier than it should have.

“Are you sure all they came for was to deliver food?” 

It felt odd to have a citizen of Avisos storm the palace gates just to give him something to eat; something that, in all honesty, he could not see himself sitting down to indulge in given all the work he still had to do. Perhaps if he tossed out the food or gave it away? It wasn’t as if the other devil would know what had happened to the contents of the bento once it was empty.

“You’ll eat it,” Amon interrupted his thoughts.

“I won’t eat something given to me from someone unfamiliar.”

“Lord Beelzebub would.”

Bael winced, but in a way where only those who knew him well could tell that Amon’s words had cut him deeply.

“Lord Beelzebub accepts what his subjects give him. Sometimes he takes it without being offered…”

Did that mean Bael had to accept everything too? The same way he accepted all of Bell’s work and duties and even his face, did he have to take every gift as well? Because he was simply a substitute for Beelzebub?

“That devil called the fake king a king,” Amon said absentmindedly. “Do you think they know that you're just keeping the throne warm?”

“I’m sure they’re aware.” After all, there wasn’t a soul in all of Hell, let alone Avisos, that wasn’t aware that Beelzebub was the wandering king.

He looked at the bento in his hands.

He turned back toward the palace and began to walk.

“I have work to do.”

“Are you going to eat it?” Amon asked. “They already bribed me to make sure you do.”

“If I have a free moment, I’ll consider it.”