#crude language

[alphajn]

I swear I saw a post with the shirt under cut but I forgot to like and save it and now I can't find it to reblog with this. What ever

[docpunk2]

In the abstract

All his life, he looked up to the famous artist Yagi Toshinori. He would paint in all styles, using all sorts of mediums, and his works were renowned worldwide. He was truly one of the greats. Some would praise his technical skill; his use of colors and contrasts, light and shadows, clean lines and brushstrokes. Others focused more on the emotional aspects, and his ability to reach and affect the viewer. 

Izuku was focused on the latter as a kid. He would always feel something when looking at his paintings. But now, as an adult, and as a fellow artist, he appreciates every aspect. 

After all these years, there's only one art style that he's never learned to understand. Not on any level. And he's pretty sure he never will.

Abstract. 

Which is why he is struggling, trying to come up with something to say about the piece he is currently viewing. 

"It's... beautiful. You're very talented", he tells the artist. 

He's at a local exhibition, not showcasing any pieces of his own yet, but always interested and wanting to support his fellow artists.

He's even found a new favorite (potentially on par with Yagi Toshinori, though he'll need a closer look at more of his works to really be able to tell for sure) and his works are displayed next to this guy's. Unfortunately, this abstract painter had clocked him as he was on his way over there, and Izuku had immediately been intercepted. He'd been forced to stop, and more or less forced to have some sort of opinion on this random splash of color on a canvas. But this guy doesn't strike him as the type to take well to criticism. I mean, he's an abstract painter. Maybe Izuku is biased, but he thinks that says enough... 

"Yeah? You know, if I'm being honest, I'd much rather spend the night looking at you than the works on display here".

Oh, great. Now the creep is hitting on him, too. This is just what he needs. 

Trying not to be offended on behalf of his fellow artists, and trying to change the topic back to the guy's "art" (if only because it's the lesser of two evils), Izuku awkwardly laughs and says, 

"It's- it's really um... interesting. I like your... choice of colors". 

There's a scoff from behind him, and a rough voice saying, 

"Please. I've seen cum stains more interesting than this, and equally artistic". 

The crude comment has Izuku spitting his sparkling water all over the canvas before sending him into a coughing fit. The abstract artist panics and starts screaming about how his painting will be ruined, all while the crude commenter cackles like a maniac. Izuku apologizes over and over again, trying to tell him it was an accident, and how he was startled, and- Well, it doesn't matter. In the end, the artist runs off, screaming for someone to find him some napkins. 

Izuku turns to glare at the crude commenter (who is still laughing, by the way) only to be met with the most attractive man he's ever seen in his life. 

"Ah man, what an amateur. No way is a few napkins gonna do him any good". 

"Wha- Y-you don't know that! He might be able to- to dab it off and-"

"Oh shut up. It's fucking abstract. Nothing can save that painting, and you and I both know it!" 

Izuku's face is beet red for a thousand different reasons. He refuses to admit that he finds this guy's comments funny, and bites his lip so as not to laugh. But the way that he grins at him tells Izuku that he's not hiding his opinions as well as he might have hoped. Clearing his throat, he asks, 

"And h-how would you know what I know or not? That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it?" 

"Why? You're kidding me, right? I saw you. You were on your way to check out my works when that loser caught you. And I refuse to believe that someone with brains enough to like my art could possibly enjoy this crap!" 

Izuku pauses as he takes that in. He blinks, and then his eyes widen with awe. 

"You're Dynamight? You made those pieces over there?" 

"Yep", the man says with an easy shrug. His chest is puffed out with pride, even as he acts calm and casual. "Bakugou Katsuki. Who are you?" 

"I'm- I'm just- I love your art! I- That piece with the hands and the explosions- The- And the cherry trees with the- Oh! And don't get me started on your portrait paintings! I mean, they're just- they're- You're amazing! Your use of the-"

"Yeah, yeah. You can tell me how awesome I am in a bit. But first; what's your name?"

"M-me? I name- I mean- My Izu- Uh, my name is Midoriya Izuku. I'm... Izuku. Sorry, hi!" 

Katsuki snorts at his half-muttered, kind of failed attempt at an introduction, but takes his offered hand and shakes it anyway. 

"Well, Deku-"

"Izuku".

"Let's not waste more time looking at garbage. Let me show you my work instead". 

[airasora]

After Derek finds out Odette is having an affair with Thrax

Derek: "So what is your plan now, Odette? You were always so much smarter than me, so tell me what you think is gonna happen now, huh? Do you really think our people would want you as their queen? A devil's whore?"

Odette: "I'd rather be his whore than your wife."

[neonhumbuzz]

[violetmuses]

Diced Pineapples - A. Aretas 💥😂

Title: Diced Pineapples - A. Aretas 💥😂

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: Mike and Marcus see an unexpected face when dodging law enforcement with Armando. 🏷 @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

====

2024

What the hell?!

While “visiting” Tabitha for help, Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett realized that you joined this wild nightclub as one of the bartenders.

Leaving this seat that perched over neon lights, Armando walked straight toward you and smiled to gain overdue joy, finally away from prison.

Wearing this Bud Light shirt, one trucker hat veiled his remarkable brown eyes. Dirty jeans covered both legs and boots stepped along.

“Hi, baby.” Facing Armando, you offered genuine happiness and joined this section.

Uncle Mike and your father Marcus still can't believe what's going on.

“My daughter slept with a criminal.” Your father Marcus barely kept his mouth shut, but you don't care.

Armando survived everything.

[birthdaycakeplate]

@fluffythecthulhu said they wanted a fic in a comment under my Mother’s Day Megop art. I’m not sure how serious you were, but I still made one! It’s short for once, but it got embarrassing fast.

Thank you for the sweet comment, btw 💕🦑

TFA Carrier Optimus Megop

Warning in the tags✨

-/——————-

Optimus hadn’t touched his rations all cycle- more concerning still, he hadn’t fueled properly in a deca-cycle. He complained more about feeling nauseous or on the constant brink of downright purging than he ever did use that snarky mouth of his to consume his Energon.

Megatron had grown used to him neglecting himself in ways he formerly thought him too sensible to make the mistake of. Choosing to ignore fueling in lieu of finishing a communication relay at least a thousand lightyears out of range to reconnect a straying ship- which could take hours, where every precious minute counted.

Strika had ordered him not to work so hard to salvage the fodder that either purposely veered off their course, or were too stupid to read a set of coordinates correctly. She would insist that it was what they deserved for acting so foolishly.

And every time, Optimus would argue that that was no reason to leave them there to suffer both the chilling isolation of lost space or such a flippant branding from their superior. There was always some reason, he insisted, for their severed connection. There was always some argument he would make that Strika and the other high command -or any average Decepticon in close range willing to insert their opinion upon hearing the conversation- were being too harsh.

She’d leave in a huff, Optimus would resume working himself to death, and his rations would go untouched for another hour straight.

Megatron regretted assigning a brat with such an unprejudiced, smart little mouth a position in communications.

Unfortunately, Optimus’ abhorrent lack of charisma was unexplainably magnetizing…somehow. And he was by the book and strict in regulations, making him a fantastic -brainwashed- soldier to trust to carry out an order. His dedication to everything he was tasked with, as well as that odd charm, assured Megatron near immediately that he was the best choice for the job.

Optimus would always do what he was told and do it to a fault, so long as no one else suffered unfairly for it. It was perfect for Megatron who was looking for a mech willing to communicate with both halves of the reunited factions. Especially since no one else could be convinced to take the job. Those that were willing were sorely lacking the skills to delegate, and so it went to Optimus not a mere three cycles after his reassignment to the Nemesis exploration crew.

That meant having to deal with the sassy bot more than Megatron would have liked to- at least once a cycle, in fact.

Things…. Only developed from there.

It wasn’t Megatron’s fault- contrary to what Starscream insisted otherwise regarding fragile little civil frames, and their easily overwhelmed, shy nature. Never daring to make the first move and take up so much space in the affairs of their large counterparts.

As Decepticons, thus far, hadn’t the single most qualm with inserting themselves into the matters of their new, tiny crew mates.

But truly, it wasn’t Megatron’s fault. He was not the instigator.

It was the fault of limited worthwhile conversation for so many millennia and the equally refreshing opportunity to have an unbiased presence in his life once more. One, unlike Strika, who wasn’t adverse to talking about subjects unrelated to warfare and maneuvers. One that was keen to show Megatron respect as his newly appointed commander, though not to defer to his every whim and judgement and roll over for him in niceties.

It made their time together less like the chore of keeping basic communication with his personnel, and more a thing of thrill and fancy.

Megatron was having fun again.

More fun than he’d ever had attempting to destroy the mud ball planet his new officer so loved. Who knew?

Of course, it…. Quickly turned into something else….

Which was more or less ignorable for a time, since both parties knew best that they would benefit from an aloofness and detachment while resuming their duties. Keeping to formalities anyplace outside the berth.

It helped that Megatron had deluded himself into thinking he actually meant it.

But their coupling had admittedly lead to this new current issue Megatron was having. The matter of his once dependable -brainwashed- soldier refusing to feed himself, and Megatron caring a lot about it…

None of that was to say how unsettling Optimus’ sudden bouts of stasis were.

Whether the mech was walking peacefully on his way to deliver his reports, or merely sitting in on a barely mandatory -but damned if Optimus wasn’t going to be there with bells on- conference Shockwave routinely made Civil bots sit through on cross-build interactivity regulations, the little mech was always seen falling into recharge. Cheekplate propped up in one palm or with pedes propped against the table.

It was horribly unsettling… Horribly. Had Megatron mentioned that?

Strika said he was paying too much attention to the colorful thing (and chalking it up to that). Somehow oblivious to the scents still faintly permeating Megatron’s armor where little servos had held on to him tight the night prior.

He knew it was true all the same, that something was wrong with his former Prime.

Megatron blamed it on his extended workload, combined with the appalling lack of Energon he was consuming. But that theory only lasted for so long.

When even Ratchet was petitioning him on Optimus’ behalf to allow the firetruck to take a temporary leave, Megatron was certain this strange new behavior was something far more sinister than an overworked Officer.

This was… stressful. Worrying.

The space between them had grown much smaller over the vorns. Their relationship had significantly changed- whether Optimus shared that opinion with him or not.

Staying over in Megatron’s berth had become a much more frequent occurrence. As of a few cycles ago, a proper nest -normally a construction reserved for two settled mechs- had appeared, and was drenched in their combined scents to the point they left Megatron’s quarters each morning practically wearing the other out.

That was comforting, smelling the irritating aft everywhere he went throughout the day. Megatron didn’t want to lose that.

Was Optimus’ condition dire?

Was their time soon to be limited?

Would their bond nest come to unravel with the eventual loss of its imperative second occupant? Their time, was it to be cut so short so soon, fated by Primus as punishment for all his wrong doings?

They’d only just started sitting together in the command center when Megatron ushered him forward to give his report- finding him a place by his throne. On the armrest…

Was there to be no more late night rendezvous where Megatron graced him rare glimpses of his poetry and Optimus laughed at the absurdity of the writings?

Was he doomed to spend his entire functioning a solemn, bondless mech, now that he’d had a surprising and unforeseen taste of a partner worth sharing one with?

Was he to give up his dignity and dilute all their ship’s resources into traversing the galaxy for some impossible cure to safe his sickly lover?

Was he going to have to replace his only willing Communications Officer?

Optimus approached him in the middle of another one of these fantastical spirals on the bridge one evening, while Blitzwing stood awkwardly at his side, waiting patiently to be given his dismissal post debriefing.

To Megatron’s surprise, he looked more alert and awake, frankly, than he had in nearly two Earth months.

When he looked down at wide, frightened optics peering up at him with so much uncertainty and fear, Megatron dropped to one knee in an instant. Uncaring who was seeing such a display, when insanity had muddled his processor so throughly into thinking the worst of his last moments with this precious mech.

“Optimus, what ails you?” He crooned, trying to pacify the quivering thing. Barely able to resist grabbing ahold of him.

Optimus said nothing- could say nothing, as his throat tubing began to tighten.

Megatron looked at him so earnestly, so despairingly…. When had this change occurred? When had they begun to care so deeply for one another? So openly.

Optimus assumed the answer to that was sometime around the creation of the tiny passenger he was carrying that they had both been oblivious to- or else the little one couldn’t have ever come to be…

Megatron blinked worried, narrowed optics at him, just as that thought seemed to fully integrate itself into Optimus’ logic unit.

He…began to smile up at the towering mech. Though it vanished in the next instant with the realization that Optimus would need to explain his… ‘ailment’.

“Megatron, sir. I need to discuss… This isn’t about my reports…. Actually, I… It’s….”

“What is it?” His new commander urged him on. No longer able to keep large palms from encompassing his shoulders in a caress for every pair of curious optics on the bridge to see.

“No need for formalities, even here, Optimus. Just tell me what’s wrong- you haven’t been fueling.”

Optimus lost his courage -or ability- to speak then. As his mouth clamped shut again and his optics grew wet, pointed finials began to droop down his helm. Clearly still frightened by something.

But whatever it was, he could always tell Megatron.

They were lovers now, destined to share a nest and a sparkbeat- Megatron would have it no other way. Regardless of what it was going to cost him to lead the excursion for Optimus’ sickness’s cure.

“You can tell me anything, beloved. Anything at all. Speak to your spark’s content, I shall listen-“

“Should I leave for zhis?” Blitzwing murmured cautiously from behind, still waiting to be released after the last time he’d been punished for breaking formation early.

“No matter what it is, speak it to me now, Optimus, and I shall tend to the matter however is necessary.” Megatron continued to soothe his little Sweetspark.

“I will not fail you- I will not leave you behind-“

“Even if it’s really bad…?” Optimus burst out.

“…And pretty permanent?”

Megatron blinked. Optimus swallowed, maintaining optic contact through sheer force of will and…. Hope?

There was a strange glimmer in his eye, and Megatron, no matter how keenly he tried to chase it as it bounced around the other mech’s shimmering optics, he couldn’t discern its meaning.

The smaller mech’s question, however, was easily answerable.

“Nothing at all could stand in the way of my devotion to you, Optimus.” Clawed digits carefully curled around strong, scarlet servos.

“Now that I have you, I shall not release you to any unkind fate or the malevolent will of gods.”

Besides an ever present amusement for his mate’s dramatics, Optimus looked much more settled and ready to spill everything then and there. His optics losing a great deal of the uncertain edge to them.

But still….

“Can’t stress enough how bad this is…”

“I should leave, right? I von’t be thrown in ze sparring room vith Sixshot again for failure to be properly discharged if I do, ja?”

“You encompass my entire being, little Autobot. You fill me with meaning and faith, dare I say it! Faith that there is a life far better than one fighting for a meager home on Cybertron once more… You promise me a home with spirit and life. You are my home, Optimus.”

Optimus, for his part, had lost much of the color to his derma that made it blue. Shades of searing red painted high above the arch of each cheek, filling out his round face nicely with a sweet dusting that faded seamlessly where it began to spread.

Megatron was enraptured. In love.

Optimus was enraptured, too, with the severity of his words. Megatron’s promises to him.

No mech had ever promised themselves to Optimus like this- he hadn’t even bothered to entertain the thought he’d see such a thing in his lifetime. And if that was how Megatron felt, it made much more sense how their extra passenger had came to be.

“Ratchet told me to triple my fuel rations… He put me on mineral additives and a stasis increase.”

Megatron blinked slowly. Thinking that didn’t sound anything like a debilitating disease he was about to have to fight god for. That sounded like he was treating Optimus for something else, actually… but….

“Why would he do that?” Megatron asked with his barely functional glossa.

“Ah- I really zhink I should leave for zhis!”

Optimus cheeks managed to burn brighter as, finally, he lost the battle to keep Megatron’s gaze. Blushing faceplate turning into the hollow between Megatron’s shoulder and collar.

The bigger mech didn’t fight him, finding himself in something of a daze as well.

“Um…. Well…. Ah….” Optimus attempted to explain. Poorly.

Megatron tried to focus back on the blushing bot when he lifted watchful…. glittering optics back up at him.

“Sorry, I’m still here!?”

“I’m carrying.” Optimus murmured. Cheeks pleasantly warming for reasons other than horrific embarrassment under Megatron’s powerful gaze.

“Carrying?” Megatron echoed back in something less like a whisper, and more like a string of broken syllables being carried off by the nonexistent wind.

“Wow…” said Blitzwing.

And also,

~Whirr~

“Straight shootin’, Tex!”

Optimus watched the emotions morph across his new Sire’s faceplate. Watched his utter confusion change into absolute delight, then pride. A pride himself to have been able to provide, a pride to have found himself such a perfect mate- with whom he had made such a perfect sparkling with.

And finally awe- no… Reverence. Like Optimus was a god amongst mortals, complete with a glow and this holy essence about him, as Megatron stared in blissful silence at the place in Optimus’ gestation tank where it would soon fill with a sizable bitlet, likely to take after his or her’s sire.

Now Megatron understood. That ‘hope’ he’d seen in his love before, it was an instinctual faith in his new carrier that Megatron would be proud. That he would be loyal and strong and provide.

Well, his hope was not misplaced- Megatron would surpass all others as sire!

Megatron reached down and settled a hand over the ridges of Optimus’ otherwise perfectly flattened grill. Soon, his body would change, quite drastically, in fact.

Hard edges would soften, the heavy duty armor making up most of his abdominal plating would part and reconstruct to allow for room for the protoform to grow. Strong, healthy pleats in his armor below his eventual ‘bump’ would aid in the support of his growing frame.

And inside, the sparkling would turn about happily at the thrum of their Sire’s sparkbeat close by- as there was no doubt in Optimus’ mind after Megatron’s words that they would never be parted again.

Which would only become an issue anytime his doctor attempted to check on the sparkling’s progress and Megatron’s (more than adequate) donations of raw materials.

The ex-warlord, and frankly feral gladiator, would not stand for another to touch his expectant mate.

Which made Blitzwing’s right as the new Sire’s witness -some strange, apparently credible Decepticon law- to survive a hand to the carrier’s belly to feel for the sparkling’s pulse every now and again all the more surprising.

Optimus couldn’t even be angry with the big brute when he condemned his lover with child to their nest for the foreseeable future- not even on Ratchet’s order.

It was the first time any bot had felt so passionately about him before… and primitive coding in Optimus’ core couldn’t help but encourage him to defer to the Sire. Orbit, kicking and bouncing away the cycle inside his gestation tank, didn’t seem to mind either.

——————

I could not proof read this the way you deserved me to- every day is like a rush to survive, now that summer’s here.

You’re always so kind when you comment, though, @fluffythecthulhu 💕✨thank you!!

[captainkurosolaire]

Rumblin' & Tumblin'

 Coyotes within a pack cried, migrating Vulture’s overhead flew with a piercing yap across the savannah heat, both parties, stalking prey on wounded legs; laws of hunt. In a tumble world bound by nature. Couldn’t ever know what appeared like an ally today, was a looming enemy for tomorrow. Footprint’s cratered into desert soils, one feet lagging behind. Captain, found himself still suffering from wounds not fully healed. A traitor was amidst his safest space. Keeps any man up at night, even the wickedest. Prowlers, six steps like units, drew behind forming shadows behind him. Their pursuit dated back from the Saloon. Their indoor voices between each other. Their slightly drifting formation shown by their silhouette, they were of ambush, killers for hire, message senders. Whoever his traitor was, confirmed a hunch. They were out to take him out, and there wouldn’t be a second date. Defensively in silence, drew his posture while continuing his pace, feline ear’s canted back, his breathing still had a whistle pitch. There was no surviving this, hand’s attempt to clump together; for a fist, but a spasm had painful tear’s excruciating leaking from his eyes. Cackling heard between the pursuers. Before rocketing speed toward him from three directions, one came with a lunge from a hidden blade between sleeves. The Seeker prioritized and grabbed the wrist of the offender and twisted it but didn’t connect enough force to entirely disarm but gave a small body push. Outmatched and numbered he was lobbed with a clubbing blow from the forearms of a towering Roe in his backside. That pushed saliva from his lungs, with force.

Pushed into another offender, who sucker punched him on the come up, his head snapped back and wobbled, the hired-gun, Roegadyn, caught him like a dance partner, effortlessly. Hoisting by underarm, centering a free attack for the other two companions, ganging up, how flattering. Captain resisted with a kick from his good leg, serving an effortless inconvenience, who just staggered and regrouped, noticing his accomplice with blade, rushed forth again blinding. The Pirate’s tail in desperation unhooked his utility coeurl-tooth carved knife, and tactically stabbed it in the hip of the hulking mass who held him in a lock, causing a break, one moment before being skewered. The assailant tried stopping his momentum, but Captain slid and sprawled forth and acted like a launch pad in that fluid movement and had him incidentally puncturing the giant. Landing with a stumble before the third man, fed up, fetched his firearm, took aim for a head-shot. Before finger’s tapped his trigger, another went off and popped with precision to the executor's dismay. Causing a disarm and squeamish shout. A thick rugged voice shouted in the desolating sands, “Y’all best git ta steppin’.” The thorn intruder to the mercenaries they glared with daring orbitals, the behemoth of the mercenary, stupid, dumb and ugly, challenged and tried to quick-draw a holstered sidearm, before taking a cap into his chest, steam leaving the barrel. Sigh exhaled from the saver of Captain, “Typical vermin.” Although giant fell, he provided a distraction for the assailant with the knife to stealth past, trying to ambush, before the western slinger, grappled the wrist with his own tail, giving a harsh elbow, making the assailant’s neck crack, back from whiplash, then stuffing his barrel into the mouth of the groaning hooligan. Fear shown in eyes, before using his pistol to smack his daylights out. The last assassin ditched and ran off towards the horizon. Spurs of boots clanked to the side, the prone pirate, trying to stand, was given a hand. “Couldn’t help but notice em’ boys eyeing you at the crawl. What ya’ do ta’ earn their ire?” The sailor shaking cobwebs, “Told them, I don’t do anal.” He shot a witty response before giving a cough that smoke still wasn’t entirely out of him. The other Seeker laughed boisterously, “Hey, you seem awfully familiar, stranger… I can’t seem t’ pull thuh damnedest trigger.” His accent rooted deep under his tongue in his verbiage. Scoundrel, parted lips into smirk, before committing to his line earlier and turning a lie into his truth precautionary to evade his actual name that often led to trouble anymore. “Seemed like ye were quite a skilled trigger puller… Probably recognize me as a courtesan, I go by C’ock Nunh as my stage-name, I’m pretty incredible. Wasn’t kiddin’ about them rascals, they just displeased client’s tryna’ get me off-duty. As they say, 'don't take a free-load fer no toll’.”  The ruggish rogue, didn’t ever consider this not to be an authentic story, he was once formerly a courtesan, working in a place called the Pleasure Dome. But had an outlandish tinge to it. Studied faded-emerald orbs and studied the Blackguard. Before a chortle, “Ain’t that a way tuh say it, can’t say I recall it but I aren’t often sober. Well, fella need a ride somewhere?” Following through with a whistle between fingers, a galloping brown stallion over mountain hills gave blitz to the Gunslinger’s beckon. The Man of Seas contemplated thoughts momentarily. Unfortunately he couldn’t question the assailants, they wouldn’t confess who their employer was, knowing these types. But there were more connection’s forming, and Kuro was on the precipice of an epiphany, finding a solution to find the culprit now. “If isn’t a troubl –” His body locked up, pain tensing up viciously, suffering from the tumble’ world, he face-forward into the arms of this new stranger into a blackout, his wounds couldn’t handle the exerting rapid movements Captain used just trying to preserve survival.

🌊 ♫Dead to Rights♫ - Reference - Last Chapter 🌊

[arcadejohn127-9]

How the demon brothers react to being called gramps

[imagine: calling the brothers gramps as a joke]

Lucifer:

He's stunned, you're pretty sure he hasn't blinked for a full minute

"gramps? Do I look like an old man to you?"

Depending on your answer determines your fate

If you say yes, you better start running because you're about to get a taste of Lucifer style punishment

If you say no and apologise he'll be skeptical

"I'll forgive you this time, it was but just a slip of the tongue, wasn't it?"

He has murder in his eyes

Please never call him gramps unless you want to perish

Mammon:

Cut the cameras

Deadass

"GRAMPS?! I'M NOT YOUR GRANDPA!"

If you bring up his age he'll start waving his arms around

"I'm not some old geezer, if anyone's the gramps here it's Lucifer!"

May Hell have mercy on him and not let Lucifer know he said that

Overall, very embarassed about the whole thing

Levithan:

He is SHOCKED

he's struggling to process why you would call him that

"I'm not that old! I'm still young! Don't call me Gramps- that just makes it weird when I- i- FORGET I SAID ANYTHING!!!"

You have to tease him now, he's opened up the gateway

He does get really frustrated and embarassed so don't take it too far

He's doesn't need to find a way to be self conscious about his age

Satan:

"don't be silly, we're barely reached old age for a demon - I could give you my book on our biology."

He has the tamest reaction to it, surprisingly

Actually finds it amusing

"though, I guess to a human like you we do seem pretty old."

Will make a joke of calling you 'kid' and now it's just an inside joke between you two

Asmodeus:

If you thought Lucifer's murder eyes were bad

This is worse

You made him cry, how could you

"don't tell me I have wrinkles?! I knew spending time with levithan would age me!"

You had to reassure him he looks just fine and you meant it as a joke

Referring to his actual age not looks

He calms down but demands the two of you have a spa day with de-aging cream

"you really scared me, though to you I would be pretty old- does that mean I'm your sugar daddy?!"

You let him buy you one thing and now this has happened

He'll makes jokes about it from time to time but please never scared him again

Beezlebub:

Confused about it

He laughs when after some hard thinking

He thinks it's cute, he'll treat you like a kid though afterwards

You'll be on his shoulders for the rest of the day

"am I really that old to you?"

You'll say yes and explain how short human life spans are

He is now really upset, he often forgets you won't be with him and his brothers forever

You'll have to give him some cuddles to soothe him

Belphegor:

He's going to hold this against you for YEARS

"you like spending time with old men like me?"

"I can't help you today, I'm your gramps remember? My old bones won't be able to handle it"

He will give you that shit eating grin afterwards

You've made this happen and now you're stuck with this

He will dress up like an old man just to annoy you

He knows it's no longer funny but he doesn't care