Can I get some Mammon fluff? Like he or MC are upset about something and they come to one another for cuddles? I think that's cute.... Plus I'm in need of a hug 🤗
Sorry, anon this took so long!!! Mammon was being a butthead throughout this whole fic and was not cooperating! And this is not exactly cuddling, but I hope it suffices! AND OMG ANON YOU SHALL BE HUGGED 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗 Also, as usual, this story can be read on AO3 here. Additionally, I have a few more writing requests to do, but feel free to send more if you’d like!
Title:
Avatar of Greed
Summary:
Mammon barges into your room very upset. You may not have all the answers, but you sure know when someone is in need of a hug and a listening ear.
Genre:
Angst/Comfort/Fluff
Rating:
G
Word Count:
1606
-
You tap your fingers on your desk and stare daggers at your Poison Lore 1001 homework. Your assignment is to create an extremely volatile aphrodisiac using belladonna, hemlock, and another toxic, yet arcane plant native to the Devildom—which is what stumps you, because as a human, how are you supposed to know what toxic plants are native to the Devildom!?
You growl in frustration. You aren’t supposed to use the internet to acquaint yourself with said plant and you can’t find your library card in order to check out a book at the Royal Library to find out what it might be.
Resting your head on your desk, you sigh. Before you can decide that the assignment is a lost cause, you hear your bedroom door swing open. Someone stomps in and sighs dramatically; you can hear them flop onto your bed. You already know who it is before they say a word.
“Mammon,” you groan, not raising your head. “What did I say about sitting on my bed?”
“‘None of the members of the House of Lamentation are allowed on MC’s bed,’” he recites. He pauses and then amends, “‘Cept for the Great Mammon, ‘cause he was MC’s first.”
You moan and turn behind you, where you see Mammon lying all starfish-like on your bed. “I don’t remember adding the last part.” You walk over and poke him. “Get off.”
“No,” Mammon whines, slinking further into the sheets. “MC, ya gotta let me stay.”
Again, you poke him. “Why?”
He sighs. “Just do it, okay?”
Surprised with his answer, you finally decide your homework is most definitely not going to get done and scoot onto the bed with him, sitting on your pillows with Mammon sprawled out in front of you. Absentmindedly, you fiddle with his hair, not noticing the blush that spreads across his face as you do so.
“St—sto—” he sputters incoherently for a few moments, before closing his eyes and retreating to silence. The two of you sit like that quietly for a spell, before he breaks it again. “MC,” he begins, his voice so faint that you barely can hear it, “d’ya think I’m annoyin’?”
You don’t miss a beat as you continue playing with his hair and answer, “Yes.”
“Whaddaya mean by that, huh?” he demands, his blush growing even deeper and his eyes flying open. “Didn’t ya hear what I asked? I asked if ya thought I was annoyin’!”
“I know; I said ‘yes.’” He doesn’t see the tiny smirk that forms at the corner of your mouth.
Mammon fidgets, his face tomato red now. “K—keep talkin’ like that MC, and I might actually believe ya!” He pauses again, and sits up, turning behind to look at you. He looks down and his voice turns into a whisper. “… Do you really think that, though?”
You look at him, raising your eyebrows. Before he had looked down, you had seen something in his dark blue eyes—something you hadn’t noticed before.
You had always noticed the pools of a desire for validation that rippled in his dark sapphire irises, but today—today, you saw thin streams of desperation swirling amongst them, as well. You decide that the time for teasing the tsundere, tsundere demon is over. You pull him back down, letting his head rest on your lap and scoop a pillow off your bed.
“Wh—whoa, MC!” he exclaims. You didn’t think his face could get any redder, but somehow it does. “I know you’re desperate for The Mammon, but ya didn’t even answer my que—”
Before the fool can finish his sentence, you whomp your pillow across his head. You blush, grit your teeth, and answer his initial question, saying, “If I found you annoying, I wouldn’t sit here and listen to you babble, would I?”
Mammon coughs in embarrassment and wisely avoids eye contact—a fact which you are very grateful for, because what would you do if he saw how red your face was now?
You try to regain your composure. You clear your throat and wonder, “Why do you ask?” You ponder if one of his brothers had said something to him for him to ask such a question, but then you remember Mammon’s neverending patience when it came to the verbal lashings that his brothers magnanimously granted to him.
“It’s nothin’.”
You remember the desperation you had seen in his eyes and in your most wheedlesome tone, cajole “Come on, say.”
“I told ya, it’s nothin’ for you to worry about, MC.”
“Please say.” You take a deep breath and muster your sweetest voice. “For me?“
“AAAH!” he grumbles, nestling his head deeper into your lap. “MC, you know damn well that I can’t say no when ya use that voice!”
You smile in satisfaction and amuse your fingers in his hair once more. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Mammon turns to his side so you can no longer see his face and sighs. “Fine.” He takes a deep breath. “MC, what sin am I the Avatar of?”
“Stupidity.” The tease pops out of your mouth without your consent.
“HEY! Stupidity’s not a sin and you know it!”
You stifle a laugh as you notice that he doesn’t deny his idiocy and try to remain serious. “Alright, alright. I know you’re the Avatar of Greed.”
“Mm-hm,” he agrees. “And ya know what? I’m damn good at what I do.” Mammon’s confident tone falters for a moment. “Sure, I’m klepto as hell, but it’s not like I can help that … y’know?” He pauses. “I’m greedy—it’s who I am. When I see somethin’ I like, I gotta have it, no matter what.” You don’t notice that he lightly coils his fingers around your calf as he says this.
Saying nothing, you nod at his spiel. You know the secondborn demon well enough to realize that he has more to say.
And he does. His voice lowers to a whisper and he wonders, “Then why am I always gettin’ blamed for bein’ who I am, huh?” You can feel his head shake in your lap. “Sure, I guess me lootin’ stuff isn’t fun for everyone, but it’s not like I can help it—it’s instinct.”
You’re not sure how to answer his question, so you continue your silence and let him talk.
“But hey, doesn’t everyone notice that it also ain’t fun for all of us to have to explain to the whole class why Belphie’s sleepin’ during lecture again or to open the fridge and realize Beel’s eaten damn near everything? Or hey, do they think it’s easier to have Asmo hittin’ on everything with a pulse? Maybe it’s better for Satan to blow up the House in some kinda tantrum or to have Levi freak the fuck out ‘cause some rando on the internet has a Ruri-chan figure that he doesn’t? Or to know that Lucifer—” his voice breaks, but he swallows quickly and continues, “—to know that Lucifer’s so fuckin’ perfect that I can’t think of any flaws for him?”
Even though you vowed not to interrupt him, you decide it’s best to cut him off there. “Lucifer’s not perfect.”
“Trust me—” Mammon’s voice breaks again as he turns his head deeper into your lap. “—trust me, MC, I know that! Ignore ‘im for a minute here.” He sighs and pivots so that he faces the ceiling, and you can see that his eyes are ever-so-slightly glassy. “Just … why’s that okay, huh? Why’s everything all hunky-dory for them when they’re givin’ into their sin, but all pitchforks ‘n’ torches for Mammon?”
You pull your hands out of his hair and bring them around his shoulders. For once, he’s too distraught to blush. You’re not sure why his brothers act the way they do, but you are sure of the response he needs. “It’s not fair.”
“No,” he mutters, “it ain’t. And it’s not like it bothers me a lot, but sometimes … when I get to thinkin’ … ”
That’s when you realize that the desperation you had seen earlier in his eyes wasn’t just his desperation to be validated, but desperation for someone to just listen to what he was saying.
You’d seen how the other six demons reacted when Mammon spoke—they’d tromp over him (although … could you really blame them? Mammon’s dialogue usually made it clear that he was merely operating on one brain cell). Perhaps it was in an effort to tease, but even then there was only so much a demon can suffer. You’re even more thankful now that you had let him monologue for so long. If anyone deserved to, it was the silly secondborn.
You don’t even have to think as you yank him into a seated position and wrap your arms around his back tightly; you don’t let go as you slowly rub circles into his back. Graciously, you decide to do him a favor and not make the adorable little squeak! he elicited as you did so public knowledge.
“H—hey, MC! Ya don’t have to feel sorry for me or anythin’!” He blushes, having regained some of his cockiness. “I’m a demon for cryin’ out loud! I don’t need a hug!” Nevertheless, he takes a deep breath and leans into you.
Your head is nuzzled into his hair as you murmur, “Shh … everyone needs a hug, sometimes.”
You feel his body stiffen and you worry that that was the wrong thing to say. However, Mammon turns around and wraps his arms around you, just as tightly.
You breathe warmly into him and stifle a laugh when he meekly asks, “Y—you’re not gonna do this for my brothers, right?”
The Night Team Is Bad At Road Trips (Oneshot) (Fanfiction)
You can read it here on AO3. I know that there's no "Hour 4" section. It's because I was too lazy to write it, and I figured the early hours when Nine drove, it was so peaceful that nothing interesting happened!
Title:
The Night Team Is Bad At Road Trips
Summary:
When the 14th Department Annual Retreat rolls around, the Manager, Nyang Lead Manager, and Sei Housemaster decide to turn the eight-hour drive to the retreat location into a road trip competition to encourage all Soul Reapers' attendance. The prize? No cleaning duties for a month.
And there is no way Nine is letting any of the other teams get even a glimpse at a prize that wonderous.
As the Night Team travels to the retreat location, he begins to realize ... maybe he is the only one is his team with a braincell.
Then again, maybe not.
Just some Noctu bonding.
Genre:
Slice of Life, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor
Rating:
T
Word Count:
6574
-
Hour 0
Our story begins inside the Noctu Team Dorm, in the bedroom of Nine and Day, where the human puppy of the two Soul Reapers ransacked the room in search of the last few belongings that he needed to pack for him and his team’s trip to the Purification Plains for the 14th Department Annual Retreat.
The 14th Department Annual Retreat was a favorite of Nyang Lead Manager’s, as the destination point—the Purification Plains—was a place where all Soul Reapers could rest and relax and take time to remind themselves of the true meaning of Purifying vengeful spirits (of course, many suspected that the lake brimming with fish was actually the real allure for the fussy feline).
He, Sei Housemaster, and the Manager had already gone ahead two days earlier to get things set up for the rest of the 14th Department, and, to encourage the Soul Reapers to attend the retreat as soon as possible, had set up the days prior to the actual event as a competition to see which Reaper Team could travel the eight hours to the Purification Plains the fastest. The winning team was exempt from all Soul Reaper cleaning duties for an entire month.
And oh, how Nine craved that one month of complete freedom.
Yet, he could feel a muscle in his left eye twitch, as he watched his roommate (who had decided that five minutes before their departure was the most opportune time to pack) scramble around the room for his remaining shirts and pants and hair ties and candy and snacks and pretty rocks and shiny beetles and mini elephant figurines and all manner of fidget toys to play with.
Noctu was, by some stroke of misfortune, the last team to leave for the day (even Mane—who had Jamie, the supposed slowest Soul Reaper in all of existence—had left before them), and Nine could slowly feel his grip on the prospect of a month free from all cleaning duties slip away.
Day’s side of the room had always been a mess, and Nine loathed the day when Theo would get a glance at it, but he never bothered the lumbering Soul Reaper about it, because firstly, it was too much trouble, and secondly, even in all the chaos, Day seemed to know where everything was.
Or so it had appeared.
“Nine-Nine, Nine-Nine, I can’t find my favorite jacket!”
“I believe it’s on top of your chair, Mr. Day.”
“Nine-Nine! My hair ties are all gone! Tachi-Tachi made them for me! What am I going to do?”
“Are not the hair ties Aitachi gave you the ones on your wrist, Mr. Day?”
“Wow! Can I show you the really sparkly flower I found under my bed, Nine-Nine?”
“Mr. Day, I promise I’ll look at it after you finish packing.”
And so it went for another five minutes before Day declared himself “ready for adventure.” Nine breathed a sigh of relief as he and his roommate grabbed their respective luggage (although Day had offered to carry Nine’s seventeen suitcases for him because he only had one and was “stronger than Nine-Nine!”) and walked into the common space of the Noctu Team Dorm. He prayed that he would find the tribesmen duo of Aitachi and Kirr, all packed and waiting for them, but unfortunately, that was too much to ask for, as the pair were nowhere in sight.
Before Nine could send Day to go out looking for them, however, out lumbered both Kirr and Aitachi from their bedroom, each with not a single suitcase in sight, but rather, massive messenger bags slung across their shoulders, Kirr’s made of leather, and Aitachi’s, merino.
Kirr smiled at the two from across the dorm. “Day, Nine, do not fear: Aitachi and I have packed emergency provisions enough for the both of you.”
“Brother Kirr is right,” replied Aitachi, nodding, and patting his bag. “We will stave off our mighty foe, ‘Malnutrition,’ with all the food that we have!”
Nine shoved down the need to facepalm at the duo and in a composed voice, asked, “Do you two happen to have any clothes packed with all the emergency rations you have in your bags?”
Aitachi and Kirr exchanged confused glances, before the older of the two asked, “Why would we bring a change of clothes if we plan to wash and dry the ones we’re wearing right now in rivers as we blaze our trail to the Plains of Purification?”
“Kirr-Kirr, Tachi-Tachi, that’s so smart!” exclaimed Day, as he made motions to throw out from his own suitcase all his clothes, too.
Nine held a hand out to stop him and swallowed a sigh. “Mr. Kirr, Aitachi, I think it would be greatly beneficial if you two brought several days change of clothes along with all this, as we won’t be doing trailblazing of any sort to the Purification Plains.”
“Oh, that’s right,” realized Day, sadly. “Manager said that everyone is taking a ‘road trip’ there, and we’re supposed to be driving the car that the Department left for us.”
Nine wanted to laugh at the we’re supposed to be driving the car remark, because, due to the fact that he wanted to go on living, there was no way that he was going to let any of the other members of the Night Team drive their Department-sanctioned car.
It wasn’t that he liked driving or even particularly wanted to, but he was one hundred percent certain that up in the cold alpine regions that he had grown up in, the only thing that Kirr had ever driven was a pack of sled dogs; Aitachi was only fourteen and up until yesterday, had assumed that the entire party was to travel by way of horseback; and Day, who he treasured greatly, was … Day. Nine was sure that in the entire time Day had been in the Otherworld, he had yet to pass his driver’s license test and was still patiently nursing his permit.
But he didn’t have the heart to correct the well-meaning Soul Reaper and nodded. “Mr. Day is right. Our trip shouldn’t take us more than eight hours if we take the car, so you don’t have to worry about washing and drying your clothes on the way there, but you will definitely need a change of outfits when we get to the Retreat, unless … you want Mr. Theo and the other Soul Reapers to keep a twenty-mile radius from you.”
(Was it terrible of him to think that that wasn’t so horrible of a prospect?)
Aitachi valiantly declared, “Mr. Theo’s actions will have no effect on me!” but turned around to his room to pack some clothes, anyway, while Kirr slunk off after him, muttering under his breath, “How inconvenient.”
Nine groaned softly as he and Day followed the pair, because frankly, while Aitachi—who liked to sew his own clothes—had something that resembled style, Kirr believed clothes were simply a troublesome necessity; he didn’t even own anything nicely colored or patterned (“In the forest, it is best for a hunter to wear dark, solid colors to blend in with their surroundings”) and had absolutely no fashion sense at all. And as Nine, who had an appreciation for beauty, refused to let one of his teammates be the bane of anyone with eyes, he felt it his obligation to now ensure that Kirr did not pack everything in the realm of beiges, blacks, and whites for the Retreat.
After several minutes of sorting through Kirr’s clothes and wondering how every item managed to smell so strongly of pine and bramble, Nine deemed the Night Team ready to take on the open road of the Otherworld.
He herded the group outside of the Department building and toward a clunky black minivan that looked nearly five hundred and thirty-seven SRE years old (he knew the 14th Department was cheap, but really?).
Nine bit back a laugh when he saw Day carefully arranging his lanky arms and legs into the driver’s seat.
“Mr. Day, I believe it would be best if I did all the driving.”
Day looked surprised. “Nine-Nine, that’s not fair to you. We need to take turns!”
“Brother Day is right! As warriors, we must all learn to share the burden,” said Aitachi.
Kirr nodded gravely. “It’s not possible for one hunter to take up all the shifts in a single season and succeed.”
Nine didn’t know what to say to that, but as he definitely wasn’t going to let the rest of the team drive, he decided to politely allay their concerns by saying, “In the Otherworld, you need to have a license to drive.”
This seemed to satisfy both Kirr and Aitachi—although he suspected that that was because neither of them was familiar with what driver’s licenses were—but Day surprised him by pulling out a glistening card from his pocket. “Ta-da! Look, I have a license, too! Manager went with me to go get it last week!”
He felt his stomach sink as he slunk toward the front passenger seat and said, “Ah, excellent work, Mr. Day. Let’s you and I take two-hour shifts, then.”
Nine sighed as Day revved up the engine and cheered, “Yay! Let’s go, Night Team!”
He was going to die for a second time, wasn’t he?
Hour 1
“Nine-Nine, Tachi-Tachi, Kirr-Kirr! Do you guys mind if I play some music?” asked Day, who, although had proven in the past fifteen minutes to be a moderately competent driver (He had only almost crashed three times! A new low record!), was now completely turned around to address the two of his team members that were seated in the back passenger seats.
Kirr looked mildly concerned because as a hunter, he was used to and greatly appreciated the silence, and had regarded the quietness of the group in the strange vehicle known as “a car” as a kind of comfort. However, he assented with a stoic “No,” when he noticed the disconcerted expression that Day, who enjoyed silence as much as any exuberant puppy, wore.
“I have no objection!” assured Aitachi, who was curious as to how Brother Day intended to play a musical instrument when he was busy using both of his hands to operate the “car” machine that they were currently in.
It wasn’t that Nine didn’t appreciate Day’s choice of music—it was just that he knew that all the songs on the tall Soul Reaper’s Otherworldify travel playlist were either super sweet bubblegum pop or some kind of holy music in another language with lots and lots of sitar. As it turned out, he, like Kirr, was a slave to Day’s melancholy expression and was forced to suffer with a “That’s fine, Mr. Day.”
Day brightened instantly—it was so gloomy when it was silent—and, taking his eyes off of the road for a few seconds, reached for his cellphone to blast his travel playlist on the car’s speakers.
Nine cringed almost imperceptibly, and Kirr and Aitachi exchanged astonished glances because where was the music coming from (Kirr also privately wondered if the flamboyantly peppy lyrics of the female singer even could be considered music)?!
“It must be the work of spirits,” concluded Aitachi, nodding. “Brother Day must have employed them to make these noises!”
“Waaaaah, Tachi-Tachi, it’s not noise—it’s music!” said Day, whose eyes had grown to the size of saucers at the comment. “And hehe, nope, no spirits—the music is coming from these speakers!” He gestured toward their various locations in the car, leaving exactly zero of his fingers on the steering wheel.
Nine nodded and took this opportunity to lower the volume as he elaborated, “Speakers amplify the sounds that pass through them.”
“What an amazing contraption!” cried Aitachi. He turned toward his companion on the right. “Don’t you think so, Brother Kirr?”
Kirr was silent for a few moments before measuredly answering, “It is indeed extraordinary … but will the music not distract you from your task, Day?”
“Don’t worry, Kirr-Kirr!” promised Day, who secretly had to admit that his focus from the road was wavering as he tried to sing along to the songs, but he wasn’t sure if he could stand the silence, again. “I’ll try to stay alert!”
Nine was struck with an idea. “Mr. Day, you have been asking to hear my personal compositions for a long time. Would you like to listen to one now? The classical music will help fill the long silence ahead of us but will allow you to keep your focus.”
Day beamed at the compromise. “Yay! We get to listen to Nine-Nine’s music!”
“Yes, play it, Brother Nine! It is always good to listen to the music of a fellow warrior!” said Aitachi, as Nine opened his own Otherworldify account and began to play an instrumental soft piano melody.
The group listened for a few moments before Kirr reached forward to lightly press a hand on Nine’s shoulder. His eyes gleamed with praise as he said, “You have true talent, Nine.”
“Yeah, Nine-Nine is the best!” agreed Day, as he felt calm overcome him with the music.
“Brother Nine is a prodigy!” Aitachi said.
Nine smiled softly at the encouragement as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat as he, along with the rest of the Night Team, listened to the masterful notes of the first movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Number 14.
While he loved Noctu dearly, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to show his fellow members his own personal compositions.
Yet.
Hour 2
As it turned out, the car that the 14th Department had given them was a gas guzzler, and at the beginning of the final hour of Day’s shift, Nine had the wits to peep at the fuel gauge—as the driver forgot to—and noticed that they were in dire need of gas, ASAP.
“It looks like we’ll need to refuel,” Nine announced.
Kirr immediately reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a short rope of jerky, handing it to him.
Nine shook his head. “Not that kind of fuel, Mr. Kirr,” he said. He took out his phone and searched for the nearest gas station. “I meant fuel for the car.”
“It can share our jerky if it wants!” assured Aitachi, looking confused. He wished he had remembered to bring carrots or hay, as that was the kind of food he had fed his horse, Tata, in the past, and he assumed this “car” would be more than obliged to consume the same fare, as well.
“I think Nine-Nine means gasoline,” Day said. “That’s what gives cars their energy.”
Kirr grimaced. “I’m afraid Aitachi and I failed to bring that kind of food.” He lowered his head. “We take full responsibility.”
As Aitachi bowed in tandem, Nine’s eyes widened when they both reached for their weapons. “Mr. Kirr, Aitachi, it’s not your fault, truly.” He gestured for them to lower their bows and knives, worrying that it was some kind of custom of both the Cicady and Atiyah tribes to self-mutilate as penance for an offense. “Don’t hurt yourselves, please.”
“Hurt ourselves? No, Brother Nine—Brother Kirr and I were only going to go hunt food for the car, as we didn’t think to bring any 'gasoline' for it!” said Aitachi.
Nine couldn’t hold back his laugh at the pair’s earnestness. “There’s no need. If Mr. Day will take a left here,” he nodded at the driver, who took an uncoordinated turn as instructed, “we’ll arrive at a station where we can fill up our car with gas ad libitum, provided we have the money.”
“Which we do!” Day pat his pockets in satisfaction, but upon remembering that he no longer was a wealthy human being, but rather a penniless Soul Reaper, he turned to Nine and blushed. “Hehe, or I think Nine-Nine does.”
As the car rolled into the gas station, Nine smiled. “That I do, Mr. Day.”
Hour 3
“Night Team, will you be with me as I wage war on Mane?” asked Aitachi abruptly as he rummaged through his messenger bag, his face a shade of red that matched the beads in his hair.
Nine looked at the youngest of the group through the rearview mirror in concern, as Kirr instantly answered, “We will battle your enemies together, Aitachi.” Nine was driving now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the main (read: sole) disciplinarian and voice of reason of his team. “Did something happen?”
“Yes, something did happen, Brother Nine!” Aitachi pouted. “It is a most grievous insult!” He pulled out from his bag an enormous straw sunhat. Around it was a sky-blue ribbon with the words “Aitachi: Cutest Warrior Ever!” embroidered on it.
Day turned from his seat in the front to survey the commotion. “Tachi-Tachi, that’s so cute!”
“That Mr. Licht snuck it into my bag, I’m sure!” Aitachi shook the large headgear effusively. “He's the only one who would do such a thing!”
Kirr nodded. “We must seek the restitution of Aitachi’s honor against the Morning Team for this affront.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea …” mumbled Day, who loathed conflict of any kind. “Brother Licht will just apologize if you ask him.”
“Mr. Day is right,” said Nine. “No waging war of any kind, okay?” He strained his ears to hear the muted mutters of assent from Aitachi and Kirr. “I said, okay?” He nodded when the pair agreed louder this time. “Good.”
He looked at the clock, wondering how far the other teams were ahead of them. Surely no one must’ve reached the Purification Plains yet, else the Manager would’ve made a post (or the team itself) on SNS. He peered in the rearview mirror to see Aitachi unwinding the straw of his new hat in frustration. “How about in order to avenge Aitachi, we do it by beating all the other teams—including Mane—to the retreat?”
Aitachi brightened at the prospect. “What a good idea!” He raised a fist determinedly. “Death to the Morning Team! Drive as fast as you can, Brother Nine!”
“Yay! Let’s win this race, everyone!” cheered Day.
Kirr bobbed his head. “To the winners go the spoils.”
Nine grinned as he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. It was nice to see the Night Team come together like this, and for once, despite their extremely late start, Nine believed that they had a chance of winning.
Hour 5
First a nervous smile.
And then a frown.
Another nervous smile.
Another frown.
And then … something that resembled a mixture of both?
These were the expressions that consecutively passed on Day’s face in the two minutes that Nine had watched him out of the corner of his eye.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Day?” he finally had to ask.
Day stuttered, “I—um, no!”
“Brother Day, do not feel as if you need to hide your feelings from us!” said Aitachi. “We are all warriors of equal caliber and can speak freely to one another.”
Kirr echoed the thought by saying, “Aitachi is right. There are no secrets between us.”
Day’s face absolutely melted at the kind words. “It’s just that,” he blubbered, “I really have to go to the bathroom and I know we’re on a tight schedule now and I don’t want to be a bother, and, and, and—”
“Mr. Day, there is no shame in needing to relieve yourself.” Nine looked out the window and saw that a rest stop was coming up. “We could all use a break, and look over there—there’s a resting place ahead, so we won’t even have to go out of our way.”
“Th—thanks for saying that, Nine-Nine,” sniffled Day, rubbing his watery eyes, as he pulled the car into the shelter that Nine had pointed out.
As soon as the vehicle came to a sudden stop (à la Day’s masterful parking skills), the party mosied out of the confining space of the car and into the open expanse of the rest stop.
Day sprinted to the bathroom shelter upon their arrival and Kirr began to stretch his muscles, much to the excitement of the flock of girls who stared nearby.
Nine followed Aitachi, who had smelled water and had grabbed Licht’s hat with every intention of throwing it into whatever body of water larger than a puddle that appeared.
The younger boy saw Nine shadowing him and, as he came upon the lake which he had sensed, turned to the older Reaper and said quietly, “Brother Nine, you probably think I am being wasteful by casting such a finely-crafted piece of apparel away.” He sighed and held the hat over the water. “But I am a warrior and worked hard to be recognized as one in my tribe—it's disheartening to know that many in the 14th Department don’t see me as one simply because of my appearance.”
Nine shook his head. “I don’t think that way at all.” He himself loathed his own beauty and the other Reapers’ constant mention of it. In that moment, he felt a kind of kinship with Aitachi, for they both hated what they saw in the mirror. He pulled the younger Soul Reaper closer to the lake until they both could see their reflections in it. “You are more than your appearance, Aitachi. Us on the Night Team know that, but if the Reapers on the other teams need a reminder, we will make sure they get one.”
With that, he guided Aitachi’s hands farther above the water and gestured for him to let the hat go. They both released a cathartic sigh as the ripples in the wake of its tumble down to the depths of the lake marred their reflections in the water.
Hour 6
“Is that the Evening Team?” asked Kirr as Day’s haphazard driving sped them past a field of fruit trees. He was sure that his keen eyes had spotted Noah, Sian, Kati, and Cyrille lounging under several boughs, each munching lazily on an armful of apples.
He watched—mildly amused—that upon noticing that the car that blazed past them was indeed of 14th Department and belonged to the Night Team (whose car had a vanity license plate that read “NOCTU”), no less, Hesperide dropped all the fruit they had been eating and looked at the passing faces of Day and Aitachi—who were sitting in the seats by the windows facing them—in shock.
Nine smiled. “That is the Evening Team. And if I’m remembering correctly, they were the first to leave?”
“Yep, yep!” said Day. “I remember because Little One was in a mood and told me to go away because I offered to get a suitcase that was too high for him to reach! He told me my height wouldn’t matter in the end because Hesperide was going to leave first, and by Brother Cyrille’s calculations, that means they would get there first, too!”
Aitachi clapped his hands eagerly. “They must have thought that their leaving early meant they could take long breaks. A true warrior knows never to be so unguarded!”
“It looks like they’re already on our tails, nevertheless,” observed Kirr, who was still peering behind them at the Evening Team. “They are fast like rabbits.”
“They’re already in their car?” asked Nine wearily. Hadn’t they just seen them maybe two minutes ago? Could they already be following them on the road? He peeked into the rearview mirror in confusion. There were no cars behind them for several yards—just how good was Kirr’s eyesight?
Kirr squinted, but he could still definitely make out Sian’s pink hair and Kati’s angry fist at least one mile behind them. “They have not mounted their vehicle, yet. They’re putting all their apples into some kind of compartment in the rear.” As a hunter, he could gauge the distance and time it would take for them to catch up to the Night Team car in an instant. “I have an idea.”
“What is it, Brother Kirr?” Aitachi asked eagerly.
Kirr looked at his companions. “Let us set a trap for Hesperide to throw them off their course—and any other team that follows this path.”
“That is,” said Nine, “an excellent idea, Mr. Kirr. Do you have any plans on what to do?”
“Normally I would suggest setting several snares to capture our prey, but as I believe Manager would be angry if the Evening Team was killed, I advise we set up a distraction that the other teams cannot refuse.” He peered ahead with his sharp eyes and discerned a road marker that read:
Route 14 — Keep Right
Route 24 — Straight Ahead
If he was remembering the extremely long lectures Nine had given the group regarding the many winding roads of the Otherworld and how keeping on Route 14 would lead them straight to the Purification Plains, going on a different route would surely set one astray. “Perhaps we should change the directions on that sign up ahead.”
“Waaaaah, Kirr-Kirr, I don’t see any signs!” complained Day as he and the rest of the Night Team failed to see ahead what was so clear to the eagle-eyed hunter.
“There is one,” he assured them. “If Day were to move this vehicle with great speed, then we would be able to make it to the sign two minutes before the Evening Team. In that time, we must rewrite the directions on it. At present, it reads, ‘Route Fourteen, keep right, and Route Twenty-Four, straight ahead.”
“We will write ‘Route Fourteen, straight ahead, and Route Twenty-Four, keep right’ instead, then!” realized Aitachi. Out from his messenger bag, he pulled several sticks of colored wax and lumps of coal, which he sometimes used to color pictures with—even though he insisted they were for the purpose of marking trees so one wouldn’t get lost in the woods. “We can use these to rewrite the sign.”
And so that’s what they did.
Kirr’s estimation in how much time they would have to alter the road sign was correct, and the short time span caused their work to be rather shoddy, even though Nine’s beautiful calligraphy remedied it a little.
As they drove off, Nine bit his lip and said, “They won’t expect sabotage, so I hope they think that the mistakes in the sign were simply due to an error on the signmaker’s part.”
“‘Sabotage’ doesn’t sound very good, Nine-Nine,” said Day, who looked a tad bit queasy at the prospect.
Nine smiled benignly. “Surely Manager expects a little healthy competitiveness in this contest.”
Hour 7
“Hm-♪-hm-♪, doesn’t everyone else think it’s funny that the only team we’ve seen in the past six hours is Hesperide?” mused Day, tapping absentmindedly at the windowsill. “If what Little One said about the Evening Team leaving first is true, shouldn’t we have seen all the others in between?”
Aitachi pursed his lips. “Maybe the other teams also sped past Hesperide when they were grazing, and they didn’t notice and so couldn’t take action?”
“Maybe,” said Nine, whose brow had begun to furrow, “but I don’t think Noah would be that lax. Especially since there aren’t that many cars on this road and all of the 14th Department ones have very obvious vanity license plates.”
“Diluculo and Mane up ahead,” announced Kirr, as if on cue.
The other Reapers’ eyebrows shot up.
“Both of the teams?” asked Nine, needing clarification because what were the chances?
Kirr nodded, looking ahead. “All eight members are outside of their vehicles.”
“I see them, now!” exclaimed Day, whose jaw dropped open at the sight. “Nine-Nine! Nine-Nine—slow down! Let’s see why they’re stopped!”
Nine, who didn’t necessarily want to waste time in oogling at the other teams, obeyed nonetheless and rolled down his window as the Noctu car stopped, with the engine running, in front of the field where the Dawn and Morning Teams were meandering about.
Quincy did not look happy to see them. “Oh, great—it’s Doggo and his band of Night Team weirdos!”
Ell’s reception was much more welcoming. “It’s great to see you guys—achoo!”
Day and Aitachi wriggled their way to Nine’s open window and poked their heads outside.
“Hey, everyone! Why are you all stopped?” asked Day.
Aitachi, who had been surveying the area, pointed to Jamie, who was standing a few feet away with Non-Non, chanting, “Come on, lil’ feller, you can do it!”
“I think, Brother Day, that Mr. Jamie is trying to get Non-Non to relieve himself!”
“You brought Non-Non with you?” asked Nine incredulously.
Ell blushed. “Mr. Jamie wouldn’t leave without him.”
Kirr also peeked out from Nine’s window. “I too, would not leave without Non-Non if I were him.” The tone he said this was so menacing that even Non-Non could feel a shiver down his spine.
“Waaaaah, so that solves Mane, but what about you guys, Diluculo!” Day looked a yard in front of him where Verine was pacing with some kind of inhaler at his nose. “Oh no, is Bambi sick?”
“The Whelp is always sick, Doggo,” spat Quincy. “And if he doesn’t get out of the car every hour for thirty minutes to get his stupid fresh air, then he gets even sicker!”
Youssef cleared his throat apologetically. “What Quincy is trying to say is that Verine can’t stay cooped up in the car for very long so we’ve had to take a lot of breaks. It’s only by chance that we met the Morning Team here.”
“If you’ve needed to make so many stops, how come you’re already only an hour away from the Purification Plains?” Nine had to ask.
The eldest Soul Reaper flushed and looked away. “Mori … may have found that even though Route Fifteen doesn’t lead to the retreat location, it does merge into Route Fourteen quite aways down and in that span, manages to complete the same distance in only half the time.”
“Yeah, but Route Fifteen is shady as hell, so because of him,” Quincy whirled around to point a finger at Mori, who looked unperturbed at the accusation, “we almost got robbed seventeen times when we were taking the Whelp on his walks!” He kicked the ground. “And it doesn’t help that the dumb Morning Team decided to stop exactly where we did!”
“Speaking of the Morning Team,” Aitachi said, curling his fists angrily. “Where are Mr. Licht and Mr. Ghilley? I have many things I want to say to Mr. Licht for giving me that demeaning hat!”
“They’re both in the car, I think,” admitted Ell. “And I’m sorry about Mr. Licht—he means well—achoo!”
Nine realized that unlike Diluculo, who had come through a different path, Mane must have stayed on Route Fourteen, and considering that they were ahead of Hesperide, must have found a way to avoid the Evening Team’s detection when they rested in the fruit trees.
“How were you able to get past Hesperide?” asked Nine. “Surely if you went past them, they would have seen your car and drove ahead.”
Jamie, who was still trying to coax Non-Non into taking a bathroom break, called over, “Aw, Ghilley said that we should cover our license plates to confuse y’all.”
“Waaaaaaaah, isn’t that illegal?” asked Day, who didn’t realize that his team had no right to question Mane’s actions, as they themselves had done some unsavory things in order to win.
Ell’s blush deepened. “O—oh, is it? We had no idea—achoo! Achoo!”
“While it is entertaining to hear of your exploits,” cut in Kirr, though not unkindly, “we of the Night Team must get moving, for we still have an hour yet to travel.”
Aitachi nodded. “Brother Kirr is right! We wish Diluculo the best of luck!” He pointedly left out wishing well to Mane because dishonor!
“Bye-bye!” chirped Day, as Nine bade farewell to the other two teams and rolled the window back up.
“That means the only team we have yet to meet is Die,” concluded Nine as they continued their drive down Route Fourteen.
Day gulped. “And scary King Ethan is on that team!”
“Brother Day, do not be afraid of Mr. Ethan! We will most certainly beat him and the rest of Die!” assured Aitachi, although, he, along with the rest of the Night Team, could hardly fathom a scenario where the pretentious, but diligent Soul Reaper didn’t demand an absolute victory from his team.
Hour 8
“We’re almost there!” sang Day. While he was busy playing Pictionary with Aitachi in the fog that formed from his breath on the window, he had still been keeping track of the time that had passed.
“And we’ve still seen no sign of the intrepid Day Team,” Kirr said.
Aitachi looked away from his and Day’s game to nervously offer, “What if they’re already at the Plains?”
“They can’t be,” affirmed Nine, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He was not going to give up a month free from cleaning shifts to someone as snobby as Ethan.
Kirr looked calm as he said, “Do not worry, Aitachi. The members of Team Die are sneaky, but fast and strong, like foxes—and you remember how much fun we had the last time we hunted foxes.”
“Kirr-Kirr and Tachi-Tachi hunted foxes? That’s so cool!” Day exclaimed. “Next time, take me too, please!” He looked ahead and brightened. “Hey, hey, that sign says ‘Welcome to the Purification Plains!’”
Suddenly, they heard an engine revving behind them and everyone besides Nine, who was driving, whirled around to see who the new car was.
Aitachi’s jaw dropped. “Is that the Day Team?”
The license plate on the front of the car proved it plainly, for it indeed, had “DIE” written on it, and the words were becoming clearer and clearer as the vehicle whizzed toward them at speeds that none of the decrepit 14th Department cars could even dream of moving at.
Nine made the connection when he saw the plume of smoke and flames that the Day Team car left in its wake. “Mr. June’s using his fireballs and blowing through all their fuel at once to move the car as fast as possible!”
“They were tailing us—” realized Kirr, running a hand through his hair in desperation, “waiting for the right moment in which to launch their true speed! How could I have been so foolish as to not see this coming? Ethan is a crafty foe, indeed.”
Aitachi tried to keep the panic out of his voice to console his friend by saying, “Do not think it your fault, Brother Kirr. I’m sure Mr. Ethan purposely kept his car far enough that you couldn’t see what he was doing, but so that he could see us.”
“He probably saw us switch the signs on Hesperide, too,” recognized Nine. However, he couldn’t dwell on that now, as the Day Team’s car was now right up next to them and was speeding past.
Suddenly, Day was struck with an idea as he watched the golden smoke that depicted June’s handiwork from the tailpipe of Die's car. “I have an idea!”
“Say it, Brother Day! We’ll take anything!” exclaimed Aitachi, watching Die race closer and closer to the entrance to the Purification Plains.
Day nodded. “Let’s all draw our weapons and throw them at the car’s wheels on my count!”
Aitachi and Kirr bobbed their heads in agreement, but Nine stared at Day carefully. “Are you sure about this, Mr. Day? This is rather underhanded for you.”
“I’ll do anything to protect Tachi-Tachi’s honor,” assured Day, with not even a slight waver in his voice. He drew his weapon and signaled for the others to do the same. “On my mark, ready … set … go!” He exclaimed the last syllable when he saw that the Day Team was fifteen feet in front of the entrance.
All of Noctu rolled down their windows and released their weapons at the word and every one of them hit true on the mark of one of the other car’s wheels. As the Day Team’s tires blew out, the Night Team’s car sped past Ethan’s enraged face, but they had gotten no more than five feet before one of their own tires popped.
“Oh, no, King Ethan retaliated!” cried Day, referring to the lone sword that had pierced their car’s wheels.
However, Ethan’s sword did not have the slowing effect that he had intended, for as soon as Kirr and Aitachi felt the tell-tale loosening of pressure from one of their tires, their instincts and fleetfootedness, honed from years of hunting nimble hares and deer in the forest, took over, and they kicked open the car doors. Before anyone could blink, the pair raced toward the Purification Plains’ entrance.
“Come, Mr. Day, let’s follow them,” ushered Nine the instant the two sprinted out, offering his hand to the tall Soul Reaper.
Day took it and grinned. “Aye-aye, Nine!”
Ethan, along with the rest of Die, arrived at the entrance just as the last two members of Noctu did.
“We did it!” cheered Day, huddling all the members of the Night Team into a group hug. “We won!”
“You didn’t win,” began Ethan, his eye twitching in irritation. “You can’t win if your vehicle didn’t cross the entry point.” He grit his teeth. “Now since neither of ours can make it across, the winners will either be Mane, Hesperide, or Diluculo.”
“That’s not necessarily the case,” said the Manager, who seemed to materialize from out of nowhere. She beamed at the two teams. “The rules were that whichever team arrives at the Purification Plains first would win. And since Kirr and Aitachi are both of the Night Team, Noctu wins!”
Ethan’s frown—which had momentarily disappeared at the sight of the Manager—deepened. “But ma’am—they played unfairly.”
The Manager bit her lips. “Technically, Sei Housemaster, Nyang Lead Manager, and I never said that there were parameters on what you could and couldn’t do to win, so while I don’t condone their actions—and yours, too, Ethan, I saw you throw your sword at their tire, as well—I think in terms of this competition, it’s okay.” She turned to look sternly at the members of the Night Team. “But I expect you four to pay for the damages you caused to the Day Team’s car.” She cleared her throat. “And to the sign.”
Day’s eyes widened. “You know about that, Manager?”
The Manager only laughed and took out from her pocket four pink slips of paper and handed them to the members of Noctu. “I award these coupons, which serve as passes from cleaning shifts for one month, to the Night Team!”
The group of four held their tickets up to the sky and cheered, and Nine had to admit, although his motivation for this road trip initially had been for these passes alone, he now considered them just a sweet, sweet bonus for the time he had spent bonding with his teammates.
And on their drive home after the 14th Department Annual Retreat, he scrounged up his courage and poised a finger on the “play” button on the car speaker to share with the rest of Noctu his most prized, secret music composition.
He had hesitated before to show this part of himself.
I wrote this little oneshot initially on AO3, but I decided to post it on Tumblr, as well, since I am trying to write more fanfic on here!
Title:
Poison Apple Crêpes (Part 1/2)
Summary:
An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger.
(Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.)
Genre:
Fluff
Rating:
G
Word Count:
2011
-
Mammon clutched the sheet of paper even more tightly in his fists, his knuckles curled so fast that his shapely white fingernails dug deep into his palms.
The paper—his fifth Chemistry III test with a score of less than 10%—was a crumpled mess and, unlike his usual treatment of schoolwork, couldn’t be thrown away. Because it was his fifth F- in a row, his professor had stapled an angry pink notice to the front of the exam, biding Mammon to have it signed by his guardian and returned to the professor so that he knew that someone other than Mammon was aware of his failing grades and was helping him get through the course.
However, since Mammon had no actual guardian, the role of signing permission slips, detention notices, release forms and the like for all the brothers fell upon Lucifer. And as far as Lucifer was concerned, he had signed far too many test-failure notifications for Mammon and was already livid with his younger brother for another one he had brought home yesterday for his Statistics IV class; he had confiscated Mammon’s beloved Goldie the second he had seen the telltale pink sheet stapled to the front of Mammon’s test the day before.
Of course, Mammon had thought to forge Lucifer’s signature on all his failed tests, but unfortunately, during the past year, much of the R.A.D.’s grading system had become computerized and Lucifer could see his siblings’ grades whenever he pleased. Mammon figured it would be worse for his brother to find out about his grades over the computer than for him to realize it in person—that gave him less time to plan out his punishment agenda.
Mammon shuddered at the thought of what his penalty would be this time and cursed Lucifer a thousand times over. A boiling ire snaked its way through his bones as he thought of the firstborn demon’s cruel sense of justice, but even more so at the fact that his preliminary punishment had already been granted the day before: his precious Goldie had been impounded.
He absolutely despised knowing that the few thousand Grimm coins that rattled around in his jacket pocket were all the money he had on him, period. The thought only caused his frown to deepen as he wrung his test even tighter and made his way to Lucifer’s private study.
The eldest demon’s study had always been a bit of a puzzle to his siblings, as rather than being locked by a key, it was kept shut through a voice command phrase. Belphegor and Satan had always reveled in guessing goofy phrases about Lucifer’s relationship with Diavolo as the code, but none of those phrases opened the door. Even when Leviathan, Beelzebub, or Asmodeus made any kind of attempt to speak the right phrase, the door still wouldn’t budge.
The five of them had always assumed that the code was some kind of personal anecdote, something that only those closest to Lucifer would know. This baffled them, as who would be closer to Lucifer than his brothers?
Mammon, on the other hand, never understood what was so hard about guessing the code—as far as he was concerned, any low-level demon could figure it out easy enough—not that he’d ever tell his other siblings what it was.
He walked up to the door to Lucifer’s study and muttered, “Eine klein Nachtmusik.”
It was common sense for that to be Lucifer’s super-secret code phrase. Back in the Celestial Realm, when Lucifer had been the Archangel of Music, "Eine klein Nachtmusik" had been his first and most beloved composition. He had written a great multitude of pieces for every instrument ever to be in existence, but there was no composition that he was more proud of than that one. Or, he had been, until his prized work had been released into the Human World and the credit for it had been taken by some Austrian mook by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
Mammon shook his head as the door to the study slid open smoothly without so much as a hiss.
Too easy.
He stomped in, his displeasure evident on his face as he turned toward his brother’s desk, hoping to see a dumbfounded Lucifer, irritated that someone had been able to outsmart his voice command security.
Instead, Lucifer was hunched over his desk, his head down and only propped up by a gloved hand that was sprawled delicately on his face.
Mammon raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the firstborn demon. His eyebrows raised; Lucifer was … sleeping? He paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen his brother at breakfast this morning, either. Had he been here in his study all night?
Mammon couldn’t even begin to wonder what kind of work would prompt his brother to slave at such odd hours. However, this didn’t bother him as he clasped his hand around Lucifer’s shoulder, poised and ready to shake the exhausted demon awake.
“Yo, Lucifer,” he began, but before he could finish his thought, his eyes wandered to the disarray that was Lucifer’s desk.
He cocked his head. His brother was renowned for being an incredibly immaculate demon; there never was a hair to be found out of place on his head, and even the clutter on his desk was always neatly arranged and tidy.
Mammon looked behind the desk and noticed that Lucifer had propped a window open and realized that the wind must have scattered the items on his desk.
Dozens of sheets of paper were strewn about and various pens and knickknacks littered the floor. In fact, Mammon noticed that the only thing that seemed to have survived the wind was the file folder that was directly in front of Lucifer. He found that strange and wondered why that was the sole object not privy to the elements.
He moved his hand off of Lucifer and stepped back when he noticed that the item that acted as a paperweight and held the file down was a small tabletop photo frame. Mammon raised an eyebrow as he picked the frame up and nearly dropped it when he saw the photo that was inside.
It was an older photograph, taken maybe five hundred years ago or so. He smiled, realizing that in the picture, he was only perhaps nine hundred years old. Lucifer, the other demon in the photo, was about thirteen hundred. The two of them were huddled under an umbrellaed patio table at one of the small cafés on the outskirts of the Devildom, grinning widely for the camera. Mammon had an arm wrapped chummily around his older brother’s shoulders, while the latter leaned into the touch with a carefree beam bigger than Mammon had ever seen it before.
Mammon smiled fondly; he recollected the café well. When the seven brothers had first moved to the Devildom, they had reveled in exploring the many restaurants that the realm offered, before finally settling on Ristorante Six as their favorite. However, Mammon reminisced, the particular café featured in the photograph remained a favorite of both him and Lucifer. On days that they weren’t busy with their own responsibilities, the pair used to would make the long trips to the fringes of the Devildom to the café and enjoy its specialty—crêpes.
He recalled that at first, he had kicked his legs stubbornly and pouted because none of the crêpe fillings were foods that he liked until Lucifer had persuaded him to try the dried blackbelly newt legs macerated in vanilla simple syrup as a filling. Mammon had fallen in love that day, and ever since then, he couldn’t get enough of the coarse, wiry stuff and considered dried blackbelly newt legs to be one of his favorite foods.
Lucifer, on the other hand, always ordered his crêpes brimming with several extra portions of poison apples. The sticky fruit was always slick with thick, purple glaze, and Mammon laughed when he remembered that by the end of every meal, Lucifer would woefully find his lips a very unbecoming shade of lavender.
His laughter stopped when he realized that it had been a very long time since he and Lucifer had been to that café. In fact, for the past several years, Mammon had spent most of his time meandering about in the exclusive and expensive shopping districts in the heart of the Devildom, never venturing to the dingy outskirts of the realm.
But still, he wondered, why he and Lucifer hadn’t at least made one trip to the café in all the years since.
Mammon’s heart dropped as he racked his brain and remembered Lucifer asking him, year after year—in an underhanded way, of course—if he wanted to accompany him on various outings, all of which were located in the very fringes of the Devildom and dangerously close to their café.
“Mammon, I’m going to drop Baby Satan at his Little Bookworms Club at the edge of town. Care to join me? We can find something to eat while we wait for him to finish.”
“Mammon, Levi stayed up late playing zombie games again, and he wants me to walk him to the Akuzon Delivery Center; he’s afraid something will creep up from the shadows and attack him. It’s at the far end of the realm, but we can buy some lunch in one of the cafés nearby if we get hungry. That is—if you’d like to come.”
“Mammon, do you recall that Beel received those three passes for two free meals apiece at any café in the Devildom? It was a prize for when he won the Devildom Junior High Pie-Eating Contest, I believe. Yesterday, he gave me one as penance for eating everything in the refrigerator, again. Would you care to use it with me?”
“Mammon, Diavolo said that it’s imperative that I deliver this bowl of warm chicken heart soup to his grandmother. She’s sick and lives in the Hellfire Retirement Community. You know where that is, correct? It’s on the outskirts of town, and we can get brunch afterward. Will you join me?”
He cringed as he remembered that he had turned down every invitation, too deep in one of his many get-rich-quick schemes once he had gotten settled in his life in the Devildom to take a moment to spend time with his brother. He realized now that Lucifer, his pride having taken too many hits from being snubbed a multitude of times, must have just decided to stop inviting him altogether.
Mammon sighed and put the photo frame back on the file in front of Lucifer. He decided to let him sleep—with all he did for his younger brothers, Mammon wagered Lucifer sure needed it. He uncrumpled his test and with one of the pens scattered about, scrawled Mammon already signed up for tutoring ); on the back, and left it on the desk, making a mental note to do just that—even though he despised the idea of spending his much-needed cashflow-planning time with the pretentious tutors at R.A.D.
He stared at Lucifer’s peaceful form for a moment before reaching down to pick up the windblown papers and place them neatly on his desk. He even rearranged all the other office supplies that were scattered about in a fashion that he was sure that even the tidy Lucifer would approve of.
“Stupid Lucifer,” Mammon muttered as he quietly closed the door to his brother’s study. “No wonder you were Father’s favorite.”
As he walked down the halls of the House of Lamentation, Mammon fingered the Grimm coins in his pocket. Now that he thought about it, he had just the right amount of money to buy a stack of crêpes to-go at that little café.
He nodded when he realized that in the glove compartment of his Demonio 666 Lexura, he’d also left at least six thousand Grimm worth of change for roadside emergencies.
… The perfect amount of money to add an extra helping of poison apples to said crêpes.
A Day in the AFTER L!FE Drabbles (1 — Kirr | Dogs) (Fanfiction)
You can read it here on AO3. This entire drabble collection is not only under the tag #adverbslut_writes_al (and #adverbslut_writes), it is also under the drabble collection tag of #adverbslut_drabbles_al.
Title:
1 — Kirr | Dogs
Summary:
Kirr’s lived his life among hardworking sled dogs and hunting dogs. What’s he to do when the Manager brings a dog that’s not meant to be a worker, but a friend?
Genre:
Fluff
Rating:
G
Word Count:
761
-
Growing up in the mountains amongst the Cicady tribe, Kirr saw many animals for the useful resource that they were. Animal meat, roasted over an easy fire, could stave off hunger for many hours, animal bones could be used to build many an apparatus, and animal pelts served as excellent coverings to trap in the warmth that was so easily lost in the frigid alpines.
All animals were to be used and properly dissected this way—except one.
Dogs were quite the anomaly in his survivalist mentality. They were by no means food, nor, when dismembered, were of any use as building materials or clothing.
In the Cicady tribe, canines were seen as something other, something quasi-human, in the fact that they were workers. Mute employees of the tribe were dogs, who, when properly trained, could blitz across the mountains with a sled trailing behind them, or silently follow as hunting partners deep into the forest. These animals were too useful to be cast aside and were always rewarded for their pains with solid hunks of meat and jerky. These workers, when not sleeping, were constantly on duty and not meant to mingle among the other members of the tribe, for what tribesman would want the shame of distracting a determined breadwinner while they worked for their keep?
So that's why it came as an absolute shock to Kirr when the Manager brought, from a neighboring Department, a tiny Shih Tzu, who, in every respect, a lapdog, yearned to be petted and admired and played with, whilst looking ever the ornament.
By some stroke of misfortune, the Manager had dropped it off at the Noctu dormitory for the afternoon and bade Kirr, who had been the only one in the room at the time, to "watch it for a bit."
And "watch it," he did.
For thirty-seven minutes did he stare stolidly at the animal, who seemed infatuated with the silver bow in their fur, waiting for the Manager to return and relieve him of his shift.
However, the Manager did not return, and Kirr was left to wonder what this sorry excuse for a dog meant when it rolled about on its pillow, its tongue lolling out of its mouth playfully.
Kirr reached into his pockets for something to do and pulled out a rope of jerky. He handed it to the dog, who looked at it with interest. "You have not worked today, but that is no reason for you to starve."
The dog eagerly nibbled at the treat, as Kirr caught sight of some kind of strange, pink, leather necklace that adorned its neck.
"'Princess,'" he read aloud. He looked at the animal, who was now gracelessly chasing its own tail. "You do not look like the princesses I have heard described in fables, but I suppose the Princess of Canines behaves differently than those in the stories."
With that, Princess meandered toward him, her short claws caked in an odd glittery fuchsia pigment. He had no time to dwell on this fact, though, for as soon as she reached him, she began to bonk her nose on him repeatedly, before settling in what he had once heard called "the downward dog position." She bapped the ground in front of her in what seemed like excitement.
Kirr's eyes widened—what was this? Was this some kind of strange demonic ritual that Otherworld dogs partook of before summoning all manner of hideous beasts from the Underworld? He had never seen this behavior from the sled and hunting dogs of the Cicady tribe.
"She wants to play, Kirr," said the Manager, laughing from the entrance of the Noctu dorm. She tossed him one of those infernal tennis balls. "Throw this."
Kirr looked at her quizzically before chucking the ball haphazardly with his well-muscled arm. After subsequently knocking over twenty-two of Day's religious artifacts (all of which he caught with great alacrity before they crashed to the floor), Princess hurled after the ball.
Something about the way that she dutifully brought it back to him, panting with enjoyment, brought a smile to his face.
"Again," the Manager instructed before Kirr obeyed. She cringed as she watched the ball ricochet off of the beautiful tribal, religious, and musical decorative pieces in the dorm. She was a second before suggesting that they take their play outside before she saw Kirr's face and heard his chuckle.
Never in her life had she seen him more exuberant than in that moment, as he beamingly tossed the ball to Princess and laughed like a carefree child.
The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips (Fanfiction)
I just *clutches chest* really love the boys at Purgatory Hall and felt they needed more spotlight so here they are being big dummies on the road. Oh, I also posted this on AO3 here.
Title:
The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips
Summary:
On a R.A.D-sanctioned road trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy, the Purgatory Hall boys prove that they have just as many brain cells as the demon brothers (read: none).
Genre:
Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life
Rating:
T
Word Count:
6870
-
Hour 0
Our story begins just outside the gates of Purgatory Hall, where two of its three non-native Devildom residents stood near a rather expensive-looking, immaculately-maintained vehicle.
The short, prone-to-fits-of-righteous-anger one yanked behind him a wagon, which was piled high with duffel and overnight bags, all made of a stiff white and gold fabric straight from the Celestial Realm.
The other, older man, who never left home without a mysterious smile and his magic wand, too, tugged the handle of his own luggage—although his was a wheeled backpack which sagged due to the weight of the approximately seven-hundred souvenir keychains from around the Human World that he had clipped onto it.
The pair were waiting for their third friend—who, in every sense of the word, was an angel—as together they were planning to embark upon a new R.A.D tradition, which the Demon Prince Diavolo had appropriately christened—Our Annual Road Trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy (A.R.T C.D for short). The Caverns of Degeneracy were on the far outskirts of the Devildom, over six-hundred-and-sixty-six miles away from the R.A.D campus, and yet, for some asinine reason, Diavolo had decided that they were the perfect spot for hosting the academy’s yearly Bleeding Hearts Festival.
(Many of the Student Council Officers and faculty had wagered that the Demon Prince had just wanted an excuse to take a road trip—a phenomenon he had recently been introduced to through one of Leviathan’s video games.)
Diavolo himself planned for his personal driver to ferry him and his butler, Barbatos, up to the Caverns a day early so he could begin preparations for the festival and encouraged all students to find their own means of transportation in order to get to the event on time.
The R.A.D Student Council Officers—all of whom resided in the House of Lamentation—had decided to pile themselves into Asmodeus’ tour bus (he had bought it specifically because once he became a famous DevilTuber, he would need it to do meet-and-greets with his fans and also because it had a “bear-y adorable design”) and drive down together.
As the Purgatory Hall boys had no modes of transportation to call their own, Lucifer had graciously allowed them to borrow Mammon’s Demonio 666 Lexura (fits had ensued à la the secondborn but were ignored), which both Luke and Solomon now hovered around.
However, as Solomon poked and prodded the vehicle, commenting admiringly under his breath at the paint job, the young angel peered nervously at the sorcerer’s backpack.
He cleared his throat, bent on sounding as polite as possible—but failing miserably—and said, “Solomon, er—are you the one who’s bringing our road trip snacks?” He followed this with a silent please say no, please say no, Father please let him say no.
Solomon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were bringing them.”
Luke dropped the handle of his wagon. “No! I would’ve made some snacks if I had the time but I was helping those,” he gagged, “wretched demon brothers pack using some low-level Celestial Realm magic.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Solomon said, snapping his fingers. “I just remembered that I volunteered to make the snacks, but Simeon heard and immediately offered to do it for me. Then he sent me on a bunch of errands to buy groceries, but it felt more like he was trying to get me out of the kitchen.” He laughed at the last part and shook his head because there was no way that such a criminally calm angel like Simeon would be that underhanded.
“No!” wailed Luke, yanking his hat off and clutching it to his chest in despair. “Don’t you know what this means?”
“It means you don’t like Simeon’s cooking as much as you let on,” decided the sorcerer with a smile at Luke’s theatrical display.
Luke shook his head so vigorously that Solomon had to hold in a laugh based on how much the angel looked like a chihuahua shaking itself dry. “For trips, Simeon only makes the most nutritious, most energizing food.” He screwed up his face in disgust as he seethed, “The most disgusting food.”
“The stuff Simeon cooks for dinner isn’t particularly unhealthy and you seem to like that just fine,” pointed out Solomon.
Luke frowned. “Yes, b—but I’m talking about real healthy stuff here, so we’ll all have lots of energy throughout the trip! L—like entire salads squished between two pieces of bread and ‘yummy morsels’ of banana slices dipped in cashew butter and drizzled with mung bean and coconut water paste!” He gestured toward himself. “Look at me, Solomon! I was made for jam-filled pastries and perfectly-iced cakes! No—not,” he shuddered, “health foods.”
“You’re serious? He’s really going to bring that kind of stuff?” Solomon’s eyes widened. “I guess I should’ve given in to my gut intuition and made some pork pies as backup snacks. ‘Snackups,’ if you will.”
Luke could feel bile rising up his throat at the thought of Solomon’s cooking. “Er—no, I don’t think that would’ve been necessary!” He spotted a figure exiting Purgatory Hall. “Oh, look, there’s Simeon, now; we can just ask him what snacks he brought.”
“And then burn them,” finished Solomon.
The younger angel gave a scandalized gasp at the comment as Solomon nodded at Simeon, who walked closer to the pair.
A lone celestial blue suitcase trailed behind the elder angel as he beamed at his traveling companions. “Is everyone ready?” Before waiting for an answer, he turned toward Luke with a gaze that was almost motherly in nature. “And has everyone gone to the bathroom? We only have a day to drive to the Caverns of Degeneracy and I want to see some of the Devildom sights along the way. I even brought an instant camera to take pictures.”
He pulled out from his cape pocket said camera and an enormous stack of printed DevilmapQuest directions and began to rifle through them, trying to decide which of the landmarks and tourist destinations he wanted to visit most.
“S—Simeon! Why did you have to stare at me when you asked if we all went to the bathroom? I may be young, but I at least know that I should go to the bathroom before long car rides!” He then blushed and handed Solomon his wagon handle. “A—and that being said, I—I have to go to the bathroom.”
As he ran inside, Solomon peered over Simeon’s shoulder at the map sheets and laughed. “You know, most of these directions are online.”
“I know, I know,” admitted the older angel. “But reading the directions off of a D.D.D requires knowing how to operate one, and you know I’m not too good at that.”
Solomon smiled and said, “That’s fine, then. We three will take turns driving and meanwhile, one of the two who aren’t behind the wheel will navigate.”
“Haha, you’re aware Luke can’t drive, right?” asked Simeon, turning to give Solomon a look that cautiously strode the line between tolerant and what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you.
“Well, I guess he’ll be the one giving directions, then,” replied Solomon, without missing a beat. He couldn’t help but silently add he’ll be doing that, either way.
As Simeon continued to sort through the DevilmapQuest papers and double-check all the items packed in the messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Solomon began to load everyone’s luggage into Mammon’s car. He couldn’t help but envision himself playing Tetris as he carefully arranged in the trunk the seven blocky bags that the group had among them—six of which belonged to Luke, who packed as if he were planning to change his clothes at least twelve times a day.
His own backpack—and Simeon’s messenger bag—would be staying with the trio in the cabin space of the car. He hadn’t felt the need to pack nearly as many outfits as Luke and most of his bag consisted of medical supplies, while Simeon’s was supposed to be filled to the brim with road trip snacks.
Speaking of snacks, Solomon felt his mouth turn dry as he mulled over the healthy monstrosities that Luke believed the older angel had created in place of actually palatable food. He turned to Simeon. “Er, Simeon—what’s on the menu in terms of snackage?”
“‘Snackage?’” Simeon laughed. He pat his messenger bag and said, “Let’s see, well, whenever I go on long trips, I try to make foods that provide a lot of energy, since we’re going to need it—especially you and I, as we’ll be driving. Here, I made dried, salted edamame and roasted chickpea trail mix, almond-butter-and-white-bean-stuffed dried dates, and oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls with dried pineapple, coconut, and avocado.”
Solomon did not like how many times Simeon had mentioned “beans,” for as far as he was concerned, road trip food was junk food exclusively. He took a deep breath and carefully twisted his mouth into a smile. “That sounds well … delicious. Ten out of ten.”
“Excellent. Now, where is Luke?” Simeon peered behind them toward Purgatory Hall, where a munchkin of a silhouette now appeared. “Ah, there he is.” He tossed Solomon the keyring Mammon had tearfully given him the day before. “Mind starting the car?”
Solomon nodded and after examining the gaudy charms that adorned Mammon’s keys, he clicked open the car and stepped toward the driver’s seat door. “I’ll take the first shift. It’ll take us fifteen hours of sheer driving to get to the Caverns of Degeneracy, so we’ll take three-hour turns.”
As Solomon yanked the car door open, something tumbled out of the front seat. He jumped back, and Simeon and Luke rushed toward the commotion.
“M—Mammon? What are you doing here?” exclaimed Luke.
Simeon laughed, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Hoping to hitch a ride?”
Solomon had to swallow his smile when he saw the almost-comical tears that ran down Mammon’s face. “Did your brothers leave you behind?”
“N— no! They’d never leave without me, The Great Mammon!” Mammon hastily wiped his nose before sprawling his hands over his Demonio 666 Lexura. “I just couldn’t fathom leavin’ my beloved baby for so long! I had to say goodbye!”
“Speaking of saying goodbye, you do know that Asmo’s bus already left a few minutes ago, right?” asked Simeon. “I caught a glimpse of them before I came out here and they were already on the road.”
Mammon’s face paled. “Wh—what? They wouldn’t! Wait—of course, they would! Those bastards!” He immediately turned into his demon form, planted a kiss on his car’s hood, and sped off into the horizon.
“I suddenly understand what the term ‘speed demon’ means,” commented Luke as he watched Mammon’s quickly disappearing form.
“I sure hope he manages to catch up to them,” Solomon said, rubbing his chin. “Anyway, everyone, pile in. It’s time to get this show on the road.”
Hour 1
After they had driven well out of the bounds of R.A.D’s campus, Solomon announced, “All right—first item on the agenda—”
Luke raised his hand from the back passenger seat as he strained against his seatbelt. “—What’s an ‘agenda?’”
“Oh. An agenda is basically a list of things we have to do,” explained Solomon.
Simeon’s eyes widened in concern. “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”
Solomon nodded gravely. “Oh, yes—an unwritten road trip one. And the first thing on it is picking some tunes.”
Again, Luke raised his hand. “I have a suggestion! I have a suggestion!” From the pocket of his shorts, he drew out a CD case labeled 1001 Hymns to Praise Him. “This album is my personal favorite.”
Solomon began coughing violently in attempts to cover his laughter, while Simeon smiled and took the CD from him. “That’s a great idea, Luke, but how about we play this when I drive, and when Solomon drives, he’ll pick the music.”
The sorcerer handed Simeon his D.D.D, keeping his eyes on the road as he instructed, “Here, go to my Akutify account and play my Travel playlist. Hope you guys don’t mind that I managed to export my entire Spotify account onto Akutify, so we’re going to be listening to Human World songs for now.”
It took Simeon seven tries to carry out Solomon’s orders, but before long, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys blared through the state-of-the-art stereo system of the Demonio 666 Lexura.
Luke was silent for a few moments before he innocently asked, “I don’t understand, Solomon. What do they want ‘that way?’”
Solomon shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”
Hour 2
It didn’t take very long for Simeon to discover the first location on his list of places to visit along their trip.
“The Maw of Beelzebub,” Simeon breathed, taking in their dark, ashy surroundings from the passenger seat. “I’ve seen it in pictures when I researched for TSL, but I never fathomed I’d get to see it in person.”
Luke pouted as Simeon exited the vehicle. “Don’t tell me we’re going to see those dumb demon brothers.”
“Nope,” Solomon said, unbuckling Luke from his seat, despite the vehement protests from the little angel. “The Maw of Beelzebub is a chain of three volcanoes, actually. The two smaller ones that form the ‘eyes of Beelzebub’ are active, but the huge, massive one that we’re going to walk across by way of that bridge,” he pointed to a shaky overpass that was suspended over a volcano crater a thousand miles wide, “is dormant. However, you can still see the enormous pool of lava bubbling inside. Tourists like to drop things down into it—and of course, it disappears into the molten lava—which is why it’s named after Beel because no matter what you feed him, he’s still hungry as if he’s never eaten.”
“Remind me again, then, why we’re walking across it?” Luke asked as the trio wandered over to the entrance of the precarious bridge.
Simeon looked at him curiously. “Don’t you think it’s exhilarating, Luke? To be so close to something so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than yourself?”
The younger angel pondered that for a moment before deciding, “Father is so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than me. I think that’s enough.”
Simeon laughed. “So it is.” He wiggled his fingers under Luke’s hat to rumple his hair. “But let’s go see it, anyway.”
Hour 3
“Psst,” Luke hissed, “Simeon.” The elder angel seemed to be too enthralled by the latest song in Solomon’s playlist, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, to hear him, so Luke reached out to poke his shoulder.
If he wasn’t strapped to his seat by his seatbelt, Simeon would’ve jumped about fifty feet in surprise. “Ah, you startled me, Luke. Did you need something?”
Luke adamantly refused to meet Simeon’s eyes as he flushed and muttered, “I have to go.”
“Don’t worry, Luke—there’s no shame in needing to go to the bathroom,” assured Simeon.
“There is when you just went ten minutes ago,” mumbled Solomon under his breath, but he swerved into a gas station, nonetheless. “I guess we’re due for a tank refill, anyway.”
Simeon put up his hand. “You paid for the gas last time—let me do it, especially since Mammon left explicit instructions that his car is supposed to be ‘fed’ premium gas only.”
Solomon grinned cheekily. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He followed Luke, who had already gone into the gas station convenience store. “I guess I’ll just have a look around, then.”
However, before he got more than a few feet into the store, he heard someone whisper-screaming his name.
“Psst! Solomon! Over here! Behind the candy stand!”
He followed the voice, only to find that it belonged to Luke, who was very much not in the bathroom and rather ripping open a packet of fruit snacks.
“Whoa, I didn’t know you had it in you to employ the much-loved five-finger-discount,” Solomon said, nodding appreciatively. “Considering you’re an angel and all.”
Luke stared at him with blank eyes. “I don’t know what that means, but these were in my pocket from earlier!” He motioned for Solomon to come closer and poured a few of the gummies into his hand. “This is my last pouch—eat them fast. They might be our last bit of yummy food before we have to eat Simeon’s nightmares.”
Solomon bobbed his head, before dumping the fruit snacks into his mouth all at once, savoring their sweet taste. He gestured toward Luke. “Do you always keep those on you?”
The angel’s offended gasp could be heard by all the demons in the convenience store. “I’m a ten-year-old, Solomon! Of course, I keep fruit snacks in my pocket!”
Hour 4
It wasn’t that Simeon was a bad driver. It was just that driving in the Devildom (and the Human World) was very different from driving in the Celestial Realm.
Here, in uncontrolled intersections, it wasn’t customary to say “hello” to the drivers rolling to a stop in all directions. Even stranger, the traffic lights weren’t celestial blue, gold, and white, but rather red, green, and yellow!
Luke, who had discovered a “2020 Devildom Rules of the Road” manual crumpled inside one of the cupholders, was forced to bark instructions at the eldest angel, all while offering condescending commentary on how imbecilic the rules of driving in the Devildom were.
“Simeon! Listen to this! In the Devildom, you have to obey the posted speed limits, or else you’ll get in trouble!” realized Luke.
“Wait—you don’t have speed limits in the Celestial Realm?” Solomon asked.
Luke replied smugly, “No, because angels have the sense to know how fast they should or shouldn’t be driving.”
“Wow, that’s honestly impressive.” Solomon grimaced as Simeon ran through another red light. “Remember, if the light is red, then you have to stop.”
Simeon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m so used to remembering that blue means ‘stop.’”
Solomon slunk low in his seat, knowing better than to rile up the angel, who was rumored to have a feisty side when he got angry. “I just hope the police or whatever they have here don’t catch us for breaking so many traffic laws.”
“What’s a ‘police?’” asked Luke.
“Oh, you know … people who are supposed to make people follow the laws and stuff,” replied Solomon. His eyes widened. “Do you not have a police force in the Celestial Realm?”
“The Celestial Realm is a perfect world, Solomon,” answered Simeon. “We don’t need police.”
Hour 6
Solomon didn’t know that he could get sick of songs. Sure, he got tired of the “Despacito” remix after the first dozen times it was played on the radio—but he meant real music.
“Amazing Grace” in particular.
Luke’s favorite album, 1001 Hymns to Praise Him, really should’ve been called 1001 Ways An Angelic Choir Can Sing “Amazing Grace” because Solomon swore about ninety percent of the songs on the album were just renditions of the classic hymn sung by different groups of angels.
And this seemed to bother neither of his driving companions, who crooned along to the choir in heavenly tones—it seemed to be a prerequisite for angels to be divine singers—without missing a beat.
He hadn’t even known all the words to “Amazing Grace,” but now he could recite all six verses on demand. He fought the urge to smash the “eject” button on the CD player, but he worried that Luke would throw a fit or Simeon would look at him with a stare so full of disappointment that Solomon would be willing to throw himself off a bridge just to rid himself of its gaze.
But one could only hear the line “amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” so many times.
He had to do something.
“Hey! I have an idea!” Solomon chirped. “Let’s make up our own song!”
He had to fight the urge to smack himself upside the head. Why did he say that? He had no ideas for potential song lyrics!
“I like that!” Luke pursed his lips, deep in thought. “Here, let’s have the first lines go like this: ‘Father, You are all that I need!’”
Simeon used one hand to snap out the beat, and continued, “‘Father, listen to my creed!’”
Solomon sighed.
He did not know if this was any better.
Hour 8
“Luke, wake up. We’re here.” Solomon couldn’t help but layer on the desperation thick as he shook the younger angel awake, despite the fact that they were in no danger whatsoever.
Luke shot up, trying very hard to hide the fact that he had been drooling all over his shoulder. He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “What? Did we beat all the other demons here? Are the Caverns of Degeneracy as hideous as I imagined?”
Solomon unbuckled Luke’s seatbelt and dragged him out of the car. He snickered, saying, “We’re not at the Caverns, yet.” He gestured toward their surroundings, which now consisted of precarious cliffs and rocky crags instead of the open road of the Devildom.
Simeon stood a few feet ahead of them and turned around, spreading his arms wide in wonder. “Welcome to Sinner Falls!”
Luke stared at the dark stone formations. “I don’t see any waterfalls.”
“That’s because Sinner Falls isn’t a waterfall,” Solomon explained. “You probably better know it as ‘the Abyss—’”
“‘The Abyss? ’ Why didn’t you say so?” Luke exclaimed, his eyes glittering excitedly. “The place where demons are tortured for a thousand years during the Millenium has always been one of my dream places to visit!”
Simeon smiled, a little taken aback by the younger angel’s enthusiasm. “If we’re lucky, we might get to see Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. He’s supposed to be guarding the canyon up ahead.”
“If we see him, do you think he’ll let me call him ‘Abba?’” teased Solomon, even though the remark earned him a kick in the shin and a “He most certainly will not! How dare you even say such a thing about one of the most high-ranking angels!” from Luke.
“Careful now, Solomon,” Simeon warned, as the trio walked toward the deep canyon amongst the cliffs. As far as anyone could tell, there was no end to the inky, suffocating blackness that was visible when looking down into it. He pointed into the canyon. “This is the Abyss—er, Sinner Falls. Us angels cannot pass this invisible barrier—” he pressed his hand out to the ledge of the canyon, only for it to smash against some kind of unseen wall, “—but any human or demon who falls down into it falls for eternity, never to come back to the surface.”
Luke beamed. “That must be why it’s called ‘Sinner Falls!’ Because most humans and all demons are sinners!” Despite this, he grabbed Solomon’s hand to prevent him from wandering too close to Sinner Falls’ ledge (as he was wont to do), because, despite their bickering and mutual pestering, Luke had a soft spot for the sorcerer.
Simeon followed in suit and intertwined his fingers with Solomon as the trio looked down into the great Abyss, wondering if any of their demon friends would be among the many thrown into it one day.
Hour 9
Simeon rifled through his messenger bag, intent on looking for something to eat. He had made sure to pack plenty of goodies and was pleased as to how nutritious the snacks he’d made had turned out. He scooped a handful of edamame and chickpea trail mix into his hand and turned to Luke, who was hunched over a map in the back passenger seat.
“You haven’t eaten anything in over eight hours; aren’t you hungry?” Simeon offered him the bag of trail mix.
Luke gulped, as he beamed and shook his head. “N—no, no! I’m okay!”
Simeon shrugged and held out the bag toward Solomon, who was driving. “Do you want some? I can pour it into your mouth if you want, so you don’t have to take your eyes off the road.”
“As titillating as that sounds,” said the sorcerer, “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment.”
“I guess that’s more for me, then.” Simeon poured more of the trail mix into his palm, but before he could eat any of it, he heard a strange sound.
It was a low rumble, but very, very loud.
It almost sounded like … stomachs growling?
He whirled to face Luke and Solomon and scratched his head in confusion. “Are you two sure you’re not hungry?”
When the pair shook their heads furiously, Simeon raised an eyebrow. He yanked out from his bag the stuffed dried dates and the oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls. “So … you two wouldn’t mind if I ate all of the snacks?”
“Yeah, sure, go nuts, Simeon,” Solomon assured. He winced as his and Luke’s stomaches rumbled in unison. “You wouldn’t actually have any nuts in that bag o’ treats, would you? Preferably of the chocolate-covered variety?”
“The dates have almond butter stuffed inside them,” pointed out Luke helpfully, although his expression was less-than-enthused.
Simeon raised his other eyebrow. Clearly the pair were hungry but refusing food. What kind of rebellious spirit had gotten into them? Didn’t they know that food was essential to oh, survival? His left eye twitched as he felt a black miasma of rage cover him. “If you two don’t eat, I’m turning this car around. That’s a promise.”
Solomon exchanged nervous glances with Luke at the normally calm angel’s outburst. “Angry Simeon is scary,” he whimpered.
“If you don’t eat, you’ll see just how scary I can be,” promised Simeon with a smile that bordered downright terrifying. He plopped an oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean ball into Solomon’s mouth and handed a stuffed date to Luke. “Now, eat your snacks.”
He definitely didn’t miss Luke’s grumpy, “Yes, mother.”
Hour 11
“Solomon, I hate to complain—” which earned a snort from the sorcerer, as Luke continued, “but do you really have to play that now?” He gestured toward the sound system, which, now that it was Simeon’s turn to drive, blared 1001 Hymns to Praise Him. “Seven Lyres is my favorite orchestra and their take on ‘Amazing Grace’ is simply the best!”
Solomon, who had purposely pulled out a reed pipe from his backpack in an effort to drown out the nine thousandth chorus of “Amazing Grace,” sighed and put it down. He knew he wasn’t an expert in playing the reed pipe—in fact, this was the first time he’d ever seen the instrument, but the racket was so soothing.
“Where did you even get that from, anyway?” asked Simeon.
“Found it in my backpack. I didn’t pack it, but considering there was a note attached to it that said ‘Blow,’ I think Asmo put it there as some kind of visual innuendo.” Solomon shrugged. “Now seemed like as good a time as any to play it.”
Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What’s an ‘innuendo?’”
“Something you’re not allowed to make until you’re much older,” replied Simeon sternly.
Luke seemed satisfied with the answer and held out his palm toward Solomon. “May I try?”
Solomon handed the reed pipe over and cocked his head. “You know how to play?”
He received his answer when Luke gestured for him to lower the stereo volume (which Solomon did with immense pleasure) and began to carefully place his fingers over the openings and gently blow into the instrument.
The young angel played masterfully and Solomon would’ve given him a standing ovation if it weren’t for one tiny thing.
“Why don’t you play a different song besides ‘Amazing Grace?’” he suggested.
Luke furrowed his brows. “It’s the only thing I know how to play!”
Hour 12
“I don’t like this place, Simeon,” Luke mumbled, yanking his hat over his eyes. “It looks like something straight from the End Times.”
He, of course, was referring to the town at which’s city limits they stood in front of. It was one of the last tourist spots that Simeon had wanted to visit, and it was renowned for being one of the Devildom’s most haunted ghost towns.
Solomon nodded. “I’m with the Chihuahua. I’m super excited for the end of the world, and even I’m not getting a good feeling from whatever-this-place-is-called.”
“Deathblow Beggar’s Pass,” answered Simeon, ogling the city entrance sign gleefully. “They say it’s the most haunted district in all of the Devildom.” He took a step onto the creaky wooden path that led into the town. “It’s been evacuated for centuries and now, even most demons are petrified to go inside.”
Luke gripped Simeon’s cape so tight, his knuckles turned white. “Then why do you want to visit this place?”
“Don’t worry, Luke,” the older angel said (avoiding the question, which the young angel noticed), laughing, as he tousled Luke’s hair under his hat. “I’ll make sure none of the scary ghosts come near you.”
Luke’s eyes widened. “Sc—scary ghosts?” He cleared his throat when he realized how incredibly uncourageous he sounded. “I—I mean I’m not scared of any g—g—ghosts!”
Solomon and Simeon shared a secret smile at the angel’s feigned bravery, and instead of teasing him, Solomon turned to Luke very seriously. “I strictly deal with demons, not ghosts. How about you do me a favor and sit on my shoulders to be my lookout in case any of those ghosts try to pull anything?”
“W—well if you need my help, I’m definitely willing to offer it!” Luke blushed as he climbed onto Solomon’s shoulders. “It’s my duty as an angel to help humans, after all!”
“That’s the ‘spirit,’” Solomon said. He laughed when he saw the angels’ unamused faces. “Get it? ‘Cause we’re walking into a ghost town?”
Simeon laughed stiffly as to not hurt the sorcerer’s feelings before straightening his posture and looking ahead. He channeled his inner fantasy writer as he declared, “Get ready, everyone! We must put aside our doubts and fears as we charge forward into Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, where no creature has exited without releasing screams that could curdle the blood of the Demon Lord! We might not be of this world, but we certainly can brave its most terrifying sites!”
It would have been a very heroic speech if it weren’t for the fact that not five minutes after the trio entered the city limits, Solomon and Simeon sprinted out, with Luke wailing loudly.
“That was the worst ever!” the little angel blubbered, yanking Solomon’s hair.
The sorcerer didn’t even have enough energy to flinch as he panted, “What in the name of all things unholy was that?”
There was nothing but fear in Simeon’s eyes as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “We should’ve known the saloon bathroom stalls wouldn’t be empty.” He gagged. “I never want to see millennia-old demon penis again.”
Hour 15
“Simeon, are we there yet ?” asked Luke for the twenty-first time in the hour.
The other angel sighed. “Almost, Luke. Just a few more minutes.”
“Don’t you have the map?” Solomon pointed out as he honked the horn in irritation at a slow driver ahead of him. “Shouldn’t you know where we are?”
Luke fussed with the multitude of papers that were stacked on his lap. “I only have the stuff for Simeon’s places.” His eyes opened wide in realization. “Wait—how do you guys know where to drive if my maps don’t lead to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”
“Diavolo said as long as we travel along Route 666 until we see the sign markers, we should have no problem getting there,” explained Simeon. He peered ahead and squinted at one of the upcoming signs. “And look—that sign says that the Caverns of Degeneracy are ten miles up ahead.”
“I hope we’re the first ones there,” said Luke. “It’ll be nice to see all the looks on those dumb demons’ faces when we get there before them.”
Solomon pursed his lips. “Speaking of those ‘dumb demons,’ I wonder if they’re all right. We haven’t heard from them since we left Purgatory Hall.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Simeon assured. He let out a laugh as he continued, “Assuming they haven’t killed each other already. It must be hard having all seven of them cooped up in one small space.”
“We can only hope,” said Luke solemnly. He paused for a moment as he shimmied as far as his seatbelt would allow him and peered over Solomon’s shoulder to look at what was going on in the front seats. He pointed at the gear shift. “What does ‘D’ mean?”
“I’m not supposed to say that word in front of you,” answered Solomon as Simeon simultaneously replied, “Drive.”
“Oh. What does ‘R’ mean, then?”
Simeon replied, “Reverse,” before Solomon could say anything.
At the elder angel’s preemptive glare, Solomon widened his eyes and innocently said, “I was going to say ‘reverse,’ as in ‘Uno Reverse Card.’’”
Luke turned toward the dashboard. “What’s ‘E?’”
“I feel if I say ‘Evanescence,’ Simeon is going to yell at me, so I’ll just go with ‘empty,’” pouted Solomon.
“Empty what?”
“Gas.”
“So … since that line-thingy is almost at ‘E,’ that means we’re nearly out of gas?”
“Yep.”
Simeon turned around to cover Luke’s ears at Solomon’s next sentence: “Holy shit—we’re almost out of gas!”
The older angel’s eyes promised murder as he stared at the sorcerer, before directing his stare to the fuel gauge. “We’re running on fumes.”
“We need to refuel, stat. Simeon, grab my D.D.D and look up the nearest gas station,” directed Solomon. “I always forget that Mammon’s car is a gas-guzzler.”
“What should I do, Solomon?” asked Luke, eagerly awaiting orders like a baby soldier.
The sorcerer nodded, deadly serious. “Sit there and be cute.”
Luke pouted as Simeon—with surprising speed—brought up a log of the nearest gas stations on Solomon’s D.D.D. “There should be a station three miles ahead.”
Solomon frowned as he analyzed their fuel gauge. “I’m not sure we’ll make it.”
“We have to!” cried Luke. “How will we ever beat those demons if we don’t even make it to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”
“We’ll have to trust that Mammon’s baby is strong enough to get us to the gas station, then.” Solomon stroked the dashboard as if trying to offer the vehicle some kind of encouragement.
And as the car’s fuel began to peter out, Simeon and Luke began to cheer in chorus, “You can do it, Mammon’s car!” while Solomon exclaimed, “You’re a fierce, strong woman who doesn’t need any man to tell you that your fuel gauge is empty!”
After an eternity (okay, it was more like five minutes), the Demonio 666 Lexura finally eked it’s way to the first pump at a Demobil gas station.
As the engine sputtered out, the trio let out a cheer, and Solomon and Simeon shared a hug in the front seat.
“Thank Father we made it!” exclaimed Luke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car. He pat Mammon’s car. “Also, thank you for getting us here, even if you belong to the scummiest demon in the Devildom.”
Solomon grinned and turned to Simeon. “You spotted the gas bill last time, so I’ll do it now.”
“Are you sure?” asked Simeon. “My TSL royalties are huge, even after I’ve tithed my ten percent. I’ve got no problem paying.”
“Nah, it’s fine—you can go stretch your legs.” With that, Solomon exited the car and began to work the gas pump.
Simeon nodded and together with Luke, walked toward the attached Demobil convenience store. By the entrance stood a higher-level demon, who appeared to be selling bouquets of fresh flowers.
The vendor, who had noticed the pair exit Mammon’s car and had seen Solomon get up to pump the gas, called to Simeon, “Flower for your Mister?” He gestured toward the white-haired sorcerer.
Luke gasped, absolutely scandalized, and huffed, “Simeon would never settle for a human!” while Simeon chuckled, replying, “I’m sorry, he’s not my ‘Mister,’ but I’ll take a bouquet, anyway.”
After exchanging Grimm for the flowers, Simeon and Luke strolled back to the Demonio 666 Lexura, where Solomon was just closing the fuel tank.
“Simeon bought you flowers!” announced Luke.
The angel nodded as he handed the sunny bouquet to Solomon. “It matches your wand.”
“How did you know gerberas are my favorite?” laughed Solomon. “These are great—thank you.” As they all piled back into the car, he carefully arranged the flowers in one of the cupholders and beamed, because God, sometimes the angel was so nice.
The group drove in silence for a few moments before Luke commented, “I didn’t know gerberas smelled like … salt?”
Simeon sniffed the air. “I think that’s the sea. After all, the Caverns of Degeneracy are right along the beach.”
Just as the angel spoke the words, Solomon pulled right into a parking lot that was situated right next to miles and miles of black sand.
Luke cheered, kicking his feet at Solomon’s seat excitedly. “Yay! We’re here!”
Their road trip had finally come to an end.
Destination
After wandering the beach for a few moments, the trio eventually found themselves at the mouth of the Caverns of Degeneracy, which turned out to be several huge caves filled with glowing pastel stalactites and stalagmites. Hellfireflies twinkled in the air, while friendly gentlemanbugs strolled about the cavern floor. Some kind of glittering pink moss had been used to adorn the walls with the words, “R.A.D Bleeding Hearts Festival 2020.”
In the middle of it all stood Diavolo, who was discussing the festival decorations with Barbatos.
As soon as he saw the Demon Prince, Luke raced up and, bobbing uncontrollably, asked, “Are we first? Are we first?”
Diavolo let out a hearty laugh. “Welcome you three! And first for what, Luke?”
Solomon sauntered up and answered, “To arrive.”
“Luke’s been very anxious to know if we’re the first ones here at the festival,” elaborated Simeon, placing his hand on the younger angel’s shoulder.
“You make it seem like it was a competition to get here first—which, yes, you three are,” said Diavolo. His eyes lit up. “That’s an excellent idea, though! Next year, we’ll make the R.A.D C.D a contest to see can make it to the Caverns the fastest! First place will get a coupon for teatime with me!”
Luke wrinkled his nose. “Teatime with you? That sounds—”
“Incredibly fun,” cut in Simeon smoothly. He turned to Diavolo. “Have you gotten any word from those seven demon brothers?”
Diavolo grimaced. “It seems that they’ll be late. Beelzebub ate all their road trip snacks immediately as he entered Asmodeus’ tour bus, so they had to stop for food at every fast food restaurant they could find because he still wasn’t satisfied, Belphegor kept falling asleep at the wheel, and Mammon got so many speeding violations and every time the police showed up, Asmodeus tried to seduce his way out of their ticket, which only earned them more fines and lectures from Lucifer. It’s comic-con season, so of course, Leviathan had to stop at every convention center along the way, and unsurprisingly, Satan’s road rage forced him to get into out-of-car fights with every driver he encountered when he was at the wheel.” He sighed. “They managed to turn a fifteen-hour trip into a twenty-two hour one.”
Solomon smiled as he said, “I guess we should’ve expected that.” His grin grew even wider as he gestured toward his traveling companions. “Meanwhile, we did all fifteen-hours of driving—courtesy of me bending the speeding rules quite a bit when there was no traffic— and saw some of the sights of the Devildom along the way.”
“Oooh, did you manage to get any pictures?” asked Diavolo with an excited gleam in his eye. “I always want to travel around the Devildom but never get the chance.”
Simeon nodded as he pulled out from his messenger bag some of the pictures he had asked fellow tourists to snap with his instant camera. He handed them one by one to Diavolo and beamed at the goofy scenes.
The first one was from when they stopped at the Maw of Beelzebub: Solomon teasingly dangled Luke’s hat over the bridge’s railing while the young angel cried and stomped on the sorcerer’s foot in retaliation. Simeon, meanwhile, tried to rescue Luke’s hat.
The second photo showcased Solomon sitting at the ledge of Sinner Falls with his feet swinging over the bottomless canyon. Luke and Simeon posed obnoxiously as if they were going to fall into the Abyss, even though as angels, they were unable to.
The final picture was the only one he had from Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, and it was of the trio crouched in front of the sign that spelled “Enjoy your stay at Deathblow Beggar’s Pass!”
Diavolo examined the images wistfully. He sighed as he handed the photos back to Simeon. “You three looked as if you made some fun memories.”
The angels and the sorcerer exchanged contented glances and chorused, “We most certainly did.”
I have writing requests to do and I’m 10,000% working on them, but I was listening to Lauv's "fuck, i'm lonely (with Anne-Marie)" and got hella Mammon vibes. I actually recommend you listen to the before you read this oneshot because I kind of borrow some things from the "plot" of that song.
This story doesn't realize have really have a true ending; it's just pining and sorta happens under the illusion that Belphie and MC never communicated at the end of Chapter 20.
As per the usual, this story is also on AO3.
Title:
fuck, i’m lonely.
Summary:
After MC returns back to the Human World, both they and Mammon realize that they're lonely.
Essentially some unresolved dumb mutual pining shit.
Genre:
Romance, I think?
Rating:
T
Word Count:
1065
-
Mammon scrolls absentmindedly through the Internet browser app on his D.D.D and sighs. He has clicked on every application on the device and still has found nothing to pique his interest and take his mind off of the boredom that looms over him as Lucifer does when he attempts to do his Statistics IV remedial homework. He groans and drops his phone to his side, nestling his head deeper into his pillow.
Typically, when he is this deep in a pool of lassitude, he hauls his ass to MC’s room, raps on their door an unholy number of times, and “bribes” them to hang out with him for a spell (only MC never actually accepts his payment, which, in his obviously important opinion, is ludicrous, but super kind, ‘cause he’s like, broke ninety percent of the time).
He shakes his head as soon as the thought enters his head; this is no time to think about MC. MC was long gone, back to their home in the Human World, and he had already done his share of moping around lugubriously in the five months that had followed. Now is the time to sideline those feelings, the time to put his pedal to the medal and become the truly amazing, perfect, and extraordinary demon that MC totally expects him to be.
Except … fuck, he’s lonely.
Mammon picks up his D.D.D and juggles it between his fingertips before squeezing it tightly in his hands. He closes his eyes and wonders … maybe now is the time. He gulps and navigates to the Phone app and clicks Contacts. His fingers are poised on MC’s name before he catches himself. What is he doing? MC hasn’t written, hasn’t texted, hasn’t shown any interest in reliving their time in the Devildom since they had gone. Who is he to hit them up out of the blue when clearly— his heart sinks at the thought—they were enjoying their life in the Human World?
He sighs and throws his D.D.D onto the ground and scoots up his bed so his head rests on the headboard. He leans back and takes a deep breath — he can almost smell MC’s stupidly-good-smelling shampoo in the air.
Fuck. Not letting MC cloud his thoughts is harder than he thought it would be. He then makes a decision: he is not going to think about MC—not about their fingers combing through his hair, not about the fact that their hands fit perfectly in his, and he most definitely is not going to think about their frigid arm wrapped around his torso under the warm blanket on his bed.
He groans and yanks a pillow onto his face.
This is going to be harder than he imagined.
You clicked “Play Next Episode” on Devilflix, the Devildom’s version of the popular streaming site, Netflix. You had downloaded the app from the dark web on your computer so you could keep watching a show that Mammon had recommended to you back in June. Although it is October now, you are still chipping away at the two seasons that comprised it. Somehow, you have trouble powering through the comedy with its tsundere, money-hungry main character, as it reminds you of a certain someone.
You take a sip of the bottle of Demonus Asmodeus had gifted to you as a secret going-away present from when you left the Devildom. Although the Avatar of Lust was a fan of the grape flavor of the drink, he had wisely purchased for you a bottle of the ever-unpopular pomegranate flavor—in fact, the only people in the whole Devildom who actually drank the somehow somber-yet-sweet-tasting wine numbered two, you and Mammon, from whom you had acquired the taste.
You blanch at the drink; strangely enough, when you had drunk it with Mammon, the wine had a candied flavor, however, now, drinking it by yourself, it tastes hopelessly bitter.
You muscle through the dark flavor and stare blankly in front of you. The Devilflix show is white noise to you, as you can’t bring yourself to laugh at the main character’s stupid get-rich-quick schemes without his seemingly real-life counterpart at your side.
You curse yourself for thinking this way — surely you have better things to do besides ruminate on the year you had spent in the Devildom, especially over Mammon, the one demon who you had spent the majority of your time with.
Especially since … you know that he, one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, is probably too busy to even spare you more than a passing thought.
You sink lower into your chair and take another swig of Demonus, wondering for the seventeen thousandth time why the demonic wine had no alcoholic effect on humans — if there was any time you’d rather be completely and utterly inebriated instead of trapped inside in your own mind with your stupid feelings, it was now.
You never realized how much you appreciated Mammon’s constant pestering, how he’d always frenetically come to your room in a frenzy with some kind of money-grubbing plot for the two of you to stage, and how at the end of the day when his plans inevitably failed, he’d come to your room with an apologetic smile and some kind of penance.
It then hits you … fuck, you’re lonely.
You sigh and open your desk drawer. Pilfering through the clutter, you blindly reach to the deepest corner of the drawer and retrieve your D.D.D. It’s October now—making it five months since you last used the device back in June. You type in your passcode, surprised that the four digits have yet to escape your memory, and scroll until you reach the Phone application. You run through your contacts until you reach Mammon’s name.
Just as you’re about to click his contact, however, you stop yourself.
You shake your head and laugh darkly. What are you thinking? Trying to call an actual demon with a role as important as Mammon’s for no other reason than that you’re bored?
You’re not that desperate … are you?
You shake your head resolutely. You most certainly are not desperate for Mammon’s remorseful grins, his blushy, tsundere stutters, his weirdly toned arms wrapping around your torso as he rests his head on top of yours —
You drop your head onto your desk as you realize …
I know I said that every chapter would begin with a Celestial Realm Michael scene, but as I was writing this fast (totally forgot to update my fics), I couldn't think of a good scene to write, so, unfortunately, I shall skip this chapter's initial Celestial Realm scene; I apologize! As per the usual, this chapter is available on AO3 here!
Title:
To Be Human
Summary:
When a mysterious force attacks the Devildom and destroys it, the brothers are forced to turn to their Father in the Celestial Realm for answers and assistance. However, the Almighty is still miffed at the seven due to their involvement in the Great Celestial War, and sends them to seek asylum in the one place they have yet to make their mark—the Human World.
Without the help of their beloved MC, the brothers must learn to assimilate into this strange new world, all while trying to figure out who is responsible for the destruction of the Devildom and take back their home.
Rating:
T
Word Count:
3446
Previous Chapter:
Read Chapter 3 here!
-
Satan raised his eyebrow at the establishment before them. “Wal-Mart,” he read aloud.
“You think it’s like the old War-Mart retail chain back in the Devildom?” Belphie wondered.
Satan stroked his chin. If this store was anything like the store at home, it would be an adequate location in which to shop for groceries, especially on a budget as they were forced to do now. As the seven brothers had originally been dubbed the “Seven Rulers of Hell” and were very wealthy, they never had a need to frequent War-Mart, but Satan had heard of the store from one of his less-fortunate friends.
He nodded. “I believe so.” It wasn’t as if they had any other choice; Belphie and he had wandered the streets within a mile-radius from their new home, and this was the only store that they had seen. “Let’s go in.”
Belphegor followed his brother, grumbling under his breath, “It’s just like Lucifer to put us two on shopping duty.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather be out here shopping than cooped inside that hovel with the others.”
“I guess.” Belphie shrugged. “You have the grocery list, right?” He pat his pockets. “I have the debit card from Simeon.”
Satan bobbed his head. “Yes.” He unfurled the paper in his hand and read aloud the angel’s loopy handwriting, “Here are some economical foods from the Human World I’d thought you’d like!” Underneath were written about forty different items, twenty-five of which Lucifer had taken the liberty of circling in red, for they were foods that were also found in the Devildom.
As the pair walked into Wal-Mart, Satan did a double-take. Humans flooded every corner of the store, pushing around metal carts piled high with not just foodstuffs, but other household items, as well. He raised an eyebrow as several people stopped to stare at the two demons who stood in the entryway.
Belphegor leaned closer to him and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Satan … why are they staring at us?”
He remembered their new human names and hissed, “Call me,” he gagged, “Nathan. And I don’t know … ‘Eigh.’”
“Don’t call me ‘Eigh,’” Belphie snapped back. He turned to the left to scan the various products that sat at the entryway to immediately grab customers’ attention. His eyes lingered on a box of toilet paper, reading the brand name. “Call me ‘Scott.’”
Satan wrinkled his nose at the name, intent on chastising his brother for such an idiotic choice, but before he could say a word, the brothers’ attention was diverted by the sound of a camera flash. Their heads whipped in the direction of the noise, and they stared accusingly at the culprit, who gave herself away with her raised phone.
“Damn it,” the woman cursed, pocketing her phone and hurrying away. “Forgot to turn off the ringer.”
With this, a crowd began to form in front of the demons—a crowd who whispered furiously amongst themselves loudly, saying “They’re so hot—they must be celebrities!” and “I swear that I’ve seen them on TikTok before!” and “I wanna take a picture with them and post it on Instagram!” Someone even ventured to mutter, “Wonder if they’d be interested in a threesome …”
“Belphegor,” Satan muttered under his breath, momentarily forgetting his brother’s human pseudonym, “we can’t shop here.”
“What choice do we have?” Belphie replied, backing away as the crowd drew closer and closer. “There are no other stores around.”
Satan pursed his lips as more people began to whip out their phones and snap pictures of the handsome duo. Getting photographed was not in their definition of “lying low,” and although he knew that this debacle would piss his eldest brother off to no end, the idea of self-preservation quelled even his most devious side. “We have to put a stop to this.”
“You don’t think we should use our powers, do you?” Belphegor asked.
“And cause this to be an even bigger scene than it already is?” demanded Satan. He raised an eyebrow. “No. I have an idea. Just play along.” He gagged inwardly at the thought that had taken formation in his mind, but he knew it had to be done if he and Belphie were to shop in peace. Satan puckered his lips, closed his eyes, and leaned toward the seventhborn demon.
“Sat—Nathan, what’re you—” was all Belphie could ask before his lips met his brother’s.
Satan could feel his mouth fill with bile (He! Was! Kissing! His! Brother! How! Disgusting!), but he swallowed it down as he saw from the corner of his eye that the crowd began to yell shouts of aversion and start to disperse. Some of the teenage girls stayed to ogle at the “scandalous” PDA and video-record the scene before they were yanked away by what he could only assume were their small-minded parents.
As soon as he saw that the group had gone, he ripped his lips off of Belphie, scrubbing them voraciously with his forearm, while Belphegor dry heaved several times and covered his mouth.
“That was disgusting,” Belphie decided. He scowled at his brother. “Never do that again.”
Satan reassured, “I don’t plan to. And besides, at least we got everyone to leave.” He revealed the crumpled grocery list in his hand. “Now we can shop peacefully.”
Belphegor continued to mutter obscenities under his breath as he followed Satan to get a cart.
The fourthborn scanned the grocery list as he pushed the cart down the aisle. They had five hundred American dollars to spend on food and they had to buy enough to satiate all seven brothers, including the gluttonous Beel; they had to be economical. The first item on the list that Simeon had given them was “apples,” so Satan reached for a bag of the cheapest kind and placed it into the cart.
Satan nodded. “His favorite food are Princess’ Poison Apples.”
Belphie smiled strangely and lifted the bag of apples out and threw them back on the shelf. “I’m going to guess he wouldn’t be too happy if we came home without his favorite food.”
Satan raised an eyebrow. “In case you forgot, I like apples, too; apple pie is my favorite, but … I suppose I’ll make a sacrifice this once.” He rubbed his chin pensively. “And that gives me an idea.” He showed the list to Belphie and nodded, smirking. “Let’s use this opportunity to torture Lucifer and skip everything on this list that we think he’d like.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
-
Meanwhile, Lucifer scanned the list of prospective jobs that Simeon had given him.
The angel had warned them that since none of the demons had college degrees, it might be harder for them to get any “serious” jobs—therefore, most of the jobs on the list simply called for “unskilled labor.” Perusing the list caused Lucifer to wonder what humans considered “unskilled” for all of the possible jobs on the sheet still seemed to require prodigious talent and dedication.
He had already marked that he would work at the local War-Mart—although in the Human World it was called “Wal-Mart—” and he figured that Satan would like to work at the Cedar Bridge Public Library. Levi, who had whined himself to sleep when he found out that there were no Ruri-chan merchandise stores nearby, had already called working at GameStop, hoping that his salary would allow him to finally buy a gaming computer to use instead of the ancient laptop that had come along with the house. Lucifer had no idea what kind of job would be fit for Belphegor, so he decided to hold off on choosing something for him until he returned from shopping with Satan.
That left Mammon, Asmo, and Beel’s prospective careers to look into.
… And therein lie the headache.
“Beel, you can’t work at any kind of establishment that serves food,” repeated Lucifer, holding the bridge of his nose. “Maybe in the Devildom it was okay for you to constantly munch on the food being served—no one would reprimand you because you were one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, but you can’t do that here.” He stared at the sixthborn demon firmly. “I will not have you work anywhere near food since I can’t trust you not to give in to temptation.”
“Yeah,” Mammon agreed, shrugging. “If ya eat any of the food, they’ll prob’ly make you pay for it, and y’know we’re broke as fuck up here.”
Beelzebub twiddled his fingers, looking down. “Fine, I won’t take the McDonald’s job, then.” He peered over Lucifer’s shoulder at the sheet. “Or the Wendy’s job. Or the Chick-fil-a one. Or the one at Burger King.”
“Wow, it seems that Simeon marked a lot of these jobs as ‘foodservice,’” Asmo observed. He smiled. “Good thing my job has nothing to do with it!” He poked his chin cutely. “Although I suppose they serve food sometimes in strip clubs.”
Another headache.
“Asmodeus,” Lucifer bellowed, staring at the fifthborn. “I already told you: you are not going to become a stripper. That’s final.”
Asmo frowned and held up a fist. “What is your problem, Lucifer? I’ve done it before in the Devildom tons of times.”
The other demons raised an eyebrow at “tons of times,” and Lucifer rolled his eyes. “You can strip as much as you want in the Devildom; it’s not frowned upon there, but Simeon expressly told me that it is here. We are not going to be known as the family where one of the members is a stripper. Think of all the negative attention it’ll draw.”
“That’s bullshit!” Asmo growled. A black miasma began to surround the fifthborn. Horns started to sprout out of his head and wings burst forth out of his back. But before his demon transformation was complete, Mammon put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a good shake.
“Calm down, ya idiot! You can’t transform here of all places. People’ll see us through the windows!” Mammon gestured toward Beel, who rushed to cover the closest window with his large form, for the brothers had yet to purchase any curtains. He wrestled off Asmo’s arms as the younger demon tried to shove him off and said, “Come on. I’m plannin’ on going into modeling down here like I did in the Devildom. You like that kinda thing don’t ya? We can both do it, y’know.”
Asmo glared at Mammon, finally succeeding in ripping his hands off of his shoulders. He wheeled toward Lucifer. “And that’s another thing! How come you’re okay with Mammon going into something as prestigious as modeling, which will no doubt draw attention, but you’re worried about the attention I’ll bring if I become a stripper?”
Lucifer massaged his temple. This actually was the first he was hearing of Mammon’s interest in Human World modeling, but he supposed that it was an appropriate career path for him, for looking pretty was one of the secondborn’s least annoying skills.
“The difference is,” Lucifer began, “that here, modeling convoys positive attention while stripping brings the opposite, for humans are small-minded, as you are aware. While I’d rather draw as little attention as possible, I can see where that could be seen as suspicious, so positive attention is all I’ll condone.” He turned toward Mammon and nodded. “But yes, both of you feel free to take up a modeling job.”
“On Simeon’s list here, it says that there’s only one position that they're looking to fill in the modeling agency he recommended,” Beelzebub observed, reading off the prospective jobs.
Mammon and Asmo exchanged glances, before simultaneously shouting, “I’ll take it!”
“People will actually want to see my beautiful face instead of your ugly mug!” Asmodeus yelled.
“Oh, yeah? Well, I ain’t got no other talents ‘sides modeling, so I actually need this job!” Mammon yelled back.
His fervor never waning, Asmo spat, “You have other talents!”
“No, I don’t!”
“You’re a very talented individual, Mammon!”
“Yeah, well, so are you!”
“You should take the modeling job!”
“Nah, you do it!”
Lucifer sighed at the pair, whose voices rose with every sentence. He held the bridge of his nose, as he said, “You both can call the number for the modeling agency and see which one of you two they like better. We’ll find another job for whoever doesn’t end up getting it.”
He was also going to have to call to see if he could get jobs for his other brothers and himself, and Simeon had graciously provided numbers for them to call. However … there was still the matter of figuring out if the Celestial Realm had tapped their phones and were also looking through their Internet searches. To mitigate any trouble, Lucifer had forbidden anyone from using the phone or laptop until they could get solid information regarding the issue, unless it was for something important, like getting a job.
Speaking of jobs, he realized that now with Mammon and Asmo battling on who would be the model of the family, that left Beel (and Belphie) in dire need of work.
He turned toward the sixthborn. “Any idea of a non-food-related job, Beel?”
“I don’t think so …” Beel muttered, still perusing through Simeon’s list of jobs. He raised an eyebrow a moment later. “Wait … it says here that there are some people close by looking for tutors in basic math for their kids. You think I should do that?”
Lucifer nodded. “Good idea. Give them a call later, actually—I’m sure Belphie won’t mind doing that job, too, provided he’s doing it with you—see if they’d be willing to hire two tutors.”
Beel nodded obediently. “So, I guess that’s it. Everyone has a job, now.”
“Yeah. Problem is,” realized Mammon, “that all of you guys who work close by have it easy. Then there’s some of us who’ve gotta find a way to hitch a ride to our jobs.”
Asmo pursed his lips. “He’s right. We don’t have a car, not to mention licenses to drive.”
Lucifer sunk into one of the understuffed dining room chairs, running a hand through his hair. “One problem at a time, Asmo. One problem at a time.”
-
“I just wanna say,” Mammon announced, twirling a limp spaghetti noodle on his fork, “I think I understand why Solomon’s food tastes like crap.” He dropped his utensil back onto his chipped plate. “‘Cause all Human World food tastes like crap!”
Leviathan, who had just been relieved from his Ruri-chan-filled dreams a few moments ago, blinked sleepily and said, “MC was from the Human World and made good food.”
“Maybe stop criticizing my cooking and just eat your dinner,” Lucifer snapped.
He blithely spun his noodles across the plate, secretly admitting that the Human World fare of spaghetti and tomato sauce that he had prepared for dinner paled in comparison to their usual supper courses of Scorpion Thermidor and Havoc Devil Crown Roast. In his defense, he had never prepared meals with food from this world and had just used the recipe on the back of the box of bargain-bin spaghetti that Satan and Belphie had brought home.
Beelzebub grinned, eating his pasta straight from the massive stockpot that the Junior Guardian Angels had magnanimously purchased for them. The other brothers had already taken their servings and the remaining thirty-two were left for Beel. “I think you made a really tasty meal considering you just used two ingredients.”
“There’s no seasoning,” complained Asmo. “And it's not even pretty enough to post online.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow in irritation. “You can always go to bed without dinner.”
“And you’d miss dessert!” Beel gasped. “Although … there’d be more for me, then.”
“Speakin’ of dessert,” Mammon said, “what’re we havin’?”
Lucifer grimaced. He had been intent on trying to make an apple pie, but since some demons had thought it funny to not bring home any apples, he’d been forced to be a little more … creative, thinking carefully of foods that the two mischief-makers despised to incorporate into the dessert.
“We don’t have a large variety of ingredients to work with, so I modified a simple Devildom recipe for venom-infused vanilla mousse and made White Chocolate Mousse with white chocolate, heavy cream, and sugar.” He looked directly at Satan and Belphie as he said this, for it was no secret that the pair didn’t take a liking to oversweet desserts.
Belphegor blanched at the statement, and Satan frowned, snapping, “That sounds completely unpalatable.”
All Lucifer could do was smirk as he went back to the miniature kitchen to get the mousse from the fridge. He passed out the dessert, and turned to Mammon, saying, “Hearing you speak of Solomon earlier got me thinking on whether or not we should contact him. I know I said not to bother MC while we’re in the Human World for their own protection, but Solomon’s a sorcerer, so perhaps he could be of service.”
“Yeah, he might even be able to help us figure out how information was stolen from Father’s omniscience,” added Leviathan, gagging as the mousse slid down his throat because frankly, Lucifer was not an exceptional chef.
Lucifer, who noticed this, mentally vowed to put Levi on cooking duty next for his insolence. “Asmo, you were the one closest to Solomon. Have you any means to contact him?”
“Ever since the exchange program ended, we kind of fell out of touch,” the fifthborn admitted sadly, shaking his head. He tapped his chin. “I think I remember his number, though.”
Lucifer grimaced. He really didn’t want to use the phone unless it was absolutely necessary, but Solomon seemed to be their best bet in unraveling this mystery regarding their Father. “Call him then. Put him on speaker.”
Picking up his cup of mousse, Asmo meandered over to the landline. He picked up the phone and clicked the speaker button, which was covered in a layer of dust, for he was the first of the brothers to use the phone in the Human World. To their surprise, there was no dial tone and an automated female voice spoke out from the device.
“Welcome to the Celestial Realm Cellular Service and Internet Provider, ” the voice said. “This machine is preloaded with three contact numbers by Simeon the Gatekeeper for your convenience. If you would like to hear them, press one. If you would like to dial a different number, press two. If you would like to speak to His Majesty, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Great I Am, the Good Shepherd—”
“Sorry, I just pressed one,” Asmo said, rolling his eyes. “She didn’t sound like she was going to stop listing titles any time soon.”
“The three contacts saved to your device are as follows: press one if you would like to call Simeon the Gatekeeper, press two if you would like to call Luke the Junior Guardian Angel, press three if you would like to call his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel.”
Lucifer did a double-take. It couldn’t be … could it? Could that Solomon that visited the Devildom be the one and the same King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, from the Bible? He shook his head to clear it of such foolish thoughts … it had been millennia since King Solomon had ruled over ancient Israel, and the exchange student Solomon was a youthful young man.
“Wait a second—that can’t be our Solomon, can it?” asked Mammon, echoing Lucifer’s thoughts. “I haven’t read the Bible in like, three thousand years, but I’m pretty damn sure that King Solomon died a long time ago.”
The group was silent for a moment before Satan snapped his fingers, his eyes widening. “The pacts.”
“What about them?” asked Belphegor.
Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We know the exchange student Solomon made hundreds and hundreds of pacts with demons. Isn’t it possible that that was the same Solomon from the Bible, only he’s retained his youthful looks and even gained immortality, perhaps, with the aid of demons?”
“Only one way to find out, I suppose.” Asmodeus shrugged. He pressed the number three on the keypad.
“Calling his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel,” the automated voice chirped.
Lucifer’s blood ran cold as the phone rang for a mere two seconds before a voice flooded the room.
“May I ask who this is?” Solomon’s voice was overlaid with static, but the brothers could still very much recognize the low baritone of the former exchange student.
“So Solomon really is King Solomon from the Bible,” Levi gasped. “Roll infinity for ‘Did Not See That Coming.’”
This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but a few people were asking for a follow-up to this story from Lucifer's perspective, so I finally decided to buckle down and write one! I really hope it met your guys' expectations! 🤞 Read it on AO3 here!
Also, I included some of my headcanons in regards to Lucifer's feelings about angels and stuff, and I hope that doesn't bother anyone. In fact, it has a lot to do with another story I am working on for Obey Me!.
Title:
Poison Apple Crêpes (Part 2/2)
Summary:
An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger.
(Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.)
Genre:
Fluff
Rating:
G
Word Count:
1824
First Part:
Read the first part here!
-
Lucifer’s mouth gaped open in a yawn, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Blinking lazily, he cursed himself when he realized that the arm he had apparently rested his head on while he slept was covered in drool. He sighed in relief as he remembered that he was in his private study and none of his brothers were there to catch him in such a state of disarray.
More awake now, he glanced at a small clock situated on his desk, and his eyes widened in surprise when he realized what time it was. Had he really been asleep for so long? He knew that skipping sleep last night in order to finish the last round of R.A.D attendance reports for Diavolo would no doubt tire him, but he hadn’t expected it to cause a bout of weariness that lasted for this long of a time.
Lucifer’s stomach rumbled slightly, reminding him that in his desperation to finish the reports on time, he had forgone breakfast that morning, as well.
He shook his head, trying to relieve himself of the last dregs of sleep, and took a deep breath to reorient himself.
He realized that he never did end up completing his work. Lucifer reached toward the left-hand side of his desk, where he had originally placed a pencil holder filled with pens and highlighters, but found nothing. Surprised, he noticed that someone had shifted it over to the right side of his desk. He nodded in appreciation at the act—after all, he was right-handed, so it made sense for his pencil holder to be on the right side.
With that, Lucifer’s eyes widened as he realized that not only was his pencil holder’s location changed but many of the other objects’ on his desk, as well. They were artfully displayed, and although he appreciated the neatness of their arrangement, his eyes narrowed when he realized that all of this meant that someone had entered his private study.
His face reddened in fury; he had explicitly told his brothers that while in his private study, he was not to be bothered, hence why the room was locked through voice security and none of his siblings were allowed inside.
And his codeword—Eine klein Nachtmusik! How did any of his brothers even guess that phrase? ‘Eine klein Nachtmusik’ had been his most precious composition as Archangel of Music back in the Celestial Realm, but he never expected the other six demons to remember something as trivial and personal as that.
For a moment, Lucifer was touched that someone would make the connection between his beloved piece and the code phrase, but he couldn’t dwell on the fact when he noticed the sheet in front of him.
He grit his teeth; on the front of the sheet was a glaring pink slip—the telltale sign of test failure. He yanked off the pink paper and nodded once when he saw the name on the test.
Of course, it’s Mammon’s.
Lucifer leaned back in his chair and put his hand on his temple. Was it so much to ask for his money-grubbing second brother to take school seriously?
It was no small fact that Lucifer wanted his brothers to perform and be the best students at R.A.D—after all, they were an elite demon family and considered to be the Rulers of Hell. And of course, excelling in their schoolwork would surely get Lucifer and his family on the good side of Diavolo.
This was motivation enough for him to work hard and maintain his grades, but indeed, there was something else that propelled him to encourage his brothers to put their best foot forward …
All his life, Lucifer had been taught that demons were the scum of Creation—horrid things, with no respect or love for the Father; he himself had considered demons to be absolute worms beneath his feet.
When he was an angel, he was among the many who despised demons—that is, until he was forced to rely on them and therefore become one himself. And for all his bravado about being proud of going against his Father and living a demonic life, a small part of him still considered him and his brothers to still be holy angels (with the exception of Satan, who he sometimes believed could be an angel by proxy).
And as he had been ingrained to believe, angels were better. Angels were the best. Angels were sons of the Royal King, with blue blood flowing through their veins, superior to all other life.
A minute part of him wanted the demons in the Devildom to know that, to never forget that the Seven Rulers of Hell were always going to be above them.
Being the best at R.A.D was such one reminder.
And yet, his brothers refused to take themselves seriously in regards to school, and Mammon, with all his potential, was the worst culprit.
Lucifer realized Mammon must have snuck into his private study to leave this refuse on his desk. He violently grabbed a fountain pen from his now rightly-situated pencil holder and signed his name on the designated line on the pink slip with a flourish.
More irritated than he had ever been, Lucifer shoved the paper forward, leaving it upside down, so he wouldn’t have to see the abhorrent failure notification, again. As he did this, he noticed that he almost knocked over a white paper bag that was balanced on the edge of his desk.
He cocked his head curiously and pulled the bag closer. On it was a sticky note and in Mammon’s very loud handwriting, it read, WOW bro I just realized you drool a lot in your sleep XP hopefully that means you’re hungry!!. Lucifer couldn’t help but blush … and here he thought he was lucky to not have anyone notice his drooling.
Going against his better judgment, Lucifer peeled off the sticky note and opened the bag. As soon as he did, his anger melted away, for his nose was immediately graced with the warm, fruity scent of poison apples.
He froze; it had been years since the homey aroma had entered his nostrils, and instantly, he was brought back to a small café on the outskirts of the Devildom, where he and Mammon would used to enjoy a stack of crêpes when they were much younger.
Without thinking, his eyes zoomed toward a mini picture frame on his desk, where he and Mammon sat underneath an umbrellaed patio table at the café and beamed into the camera of a stranger, who had been so taken with the cheerful pair of brothers and insisted on photographing them.
“Lucifer,” pouted Mammon, his bottom lip sticking out profusely. “I don’t like these creeps.”
Lucifer shook his head and cut off another bite of poison apple. “They’re called crêpes, Mammon. And here, we can try another filling, if you’d like. Choose something else from the menu.”
“Hmph, okay.” He poked their waiter, who was walking by. “I want this!” He pointed to ‘Super Salty Tuna Fish Surprise crêpes.’
Lucifer bit his lip. He knew Mammon well enough to remember that the young demon did not enjoy salty foods.
Lucifer had hoped Mammon would enjoy this outing with him, and there was no way he would if he couldn’t find anything he liked. He took another bite of his poison apple crêpes, disheartened that despite it being his first time eating at this café, he had already found something he liked, while Mammon was left hungry.
“Wait one moment,” Lucifer told the waiter. He turned to Mammon. “Let me see that menu.” For a moment, he perused the list of foods, before landing on ‘Blackbelly Newt Legs Macerated in Vanilla Simple Syrup crêpes.’ He knew Mammon loved spicy foods—blackbelly newt legs were renowned for their heat—and the sweetness of the simple syrup would make sure that the flavor wasn’t too hot for his little demon palate. “Actually bring him this, please.”
“Boo, Luci, you suck,” Mammon grumbled, as the waiter walked away. “What if I don’t like those?”
Lucifer bobbed his head. “I’m sure you will.”
And he was right.
“Yum! This is tasty!” Mammon mumbled between mouthfuls of crêpe, and he grinned.
Lucifer beamed back. “I’m glad you like it!” He spooned the last bit of purple poison apple sauce off his plate. “We should come here, again.”
“Yay! We should!”
Lucifer sighed. That had been the first of many trips to that café. Over the course of many years, he and Mammon had tried every crêpe filling on the menu, but nothing ever came close to dethroning their favorite fillings of blackbelly newt legs and poison apples.
However, as time drew on, Mammon and he had become quite the busy demons, with various responsibilities to look after. Lucifer had always tried to make time to ensure that they still could frequently satiate their desire for crêpes, but Mammon constantly seemed to be occupied, being instantly taken with the glitz and glamor of the Devildom’s exclusive shopping districts.
He shook his head, momentarily wondering why he never thought of venturing to the café by himself, but then he realized that the trips wouldn’t be the same without his silly younger brother.
Lucifer carefully pulled out of the bag a fork and knife—it seemed as if Mammon had thoughtfully pilfered them from the House of Lamentation’s kitchen before bringing the crêpes to him—and a cylinder rolled in white paper.
He unwrapped said cylinder to reveal three crêpes, each oozing with several extra helpings of poison apples, just as he liked. The jewel-tone purple of the sauce glittered under the lights of his study, and he breathed in again the fruity scent of it. He nudged a chunk of apple with his fork and smiled when he realized that it was nice and tender, cursed to perfection.
Lucifer put a hand to his mouth—eating the filling would stain his lips mauve for days … but could that really be helped?
Overcome with nostalgia, he brought his knife down into the crêpe and forked a piece into his mouth. He smiled; it tasted just as sweet and sticky and delicious as it had the first time he had tried it.
Chewing thoughtfully, he noticed some scribbling on the back of Mammon’s test. It read, Mammon already signed up for tutoring ;(.
Perhaps it was the nostalgia talking, but seeing as Mammon was making an effort, Lucifer decided that maybe that was enough.
Putting his fork down, Lucifer pulled out his D.D.D and texted his secondborn brother.
Mammon
Lucifer: Crêpes next weekend?
Immediately, he saw three bubbles pop up, indicating that Mammon was typing. A moment later, his response appeared on the screen.
Mammon: I guess the Great Mammon can spare a minute or two!
