#guests: beelzebub and mother hell

[werekxnglives]

Stephen's Revelation: Agatha & Alphonse

It's been a few good years since he last thought of the elderly human couple, the one pair who loved him enough to give him a head start when he was thrown out of the high community. And yet...it seemed weird?

Why then? Why at the time did they decide to risk it all?

"Your heart be heavy, My Little Tide Dragon. What is on your mind?" Mother Hell's voice was soft and startled her 'grandson' though he calmed the moment he recognized that it was her and not Xentha. "I didn't mean to startle you, Iris." She added as he chuckled and the softer dusty rose colored his cheeks.

Right, in Hell he is referred to as Iris by everyone minus a few select souls. It was a little embarrassing but it felt right too, and he knew better than to lie to the very woman who gave birth to the realm he calls home. "I...I been thinkin' of a human couple who...who loved me. I think they did, in a way." He realized after living on his own in the slums that Alphonse and Agatha had to be careful since he would have been blamed for getting them fired.

"They did." A statement as she looked at her beloved grandchild. "But they could have gotten you out of Druindar's clutches far sooner. Instead, they allowed you to suffer, causing your father to nearly start Armageddon far too soon."

What?

'Wha-wha-wha-what do ye...Máthair Chríona, what do ye mean by that?" He asked taken aback by this. Nae, they had to be careful...I could have gotten them sacked! He knew that Druindar would have seen to it that the human couple starved and their children cast out on the streets.

"My Iris, breathe." She instructed in a calm manner. Of course, he would be shocked! Her Little Iris never faulted the human couple who had been kind to him, but he must learn the truth. Once she had Stephen calmed down, she dropped the bombshell. "They made a deal with The Morrigan in haste. Agatha offered her life in exchange for you to be set free. It was back when you were just a small child, a hatchling as Sai Gong would say. Do you not remember when you first laid eyes on your father in the glen?"

Aye, he remembered that day. He was just a small child, but he remembered the red dragon who called him 'Son'. Who sang softly the words, 'Come my Child homeward bound'. "For I am found." He whispered and fell to his knees as his new tail wrapped around his waist.

"Agatha...Alphonse...they told me to hide what I could see...To not reveal that I dreamed of Papa and Da, of my siblings...that I could hear and see the spirits..." he had thought it was for his own safety, as they all knew that Druindar would have abused him further.

Hell watched him piece some of the truth together, as much as it hurt her. "Agatha could have allowed you to go to your fathers, to live here in the safety of the farm. But instead, she chose to let you suffer til you turned twenty-one."

It made sense now, why the couple had limited their affections, using the excuse of their jobs being on the line. "Then why bother making the deal? Why Máthair Chríona?"

Her eyes revealed the truth as she spoke with a heavy heart. "Because they didn't think it through, My Iris. They were desperate at the time, willing to do anything-Druindar had vowed to kill you to end the embarrassment to his family name. However, upon realizing that Agatha signed away her life, just as humans do with your fathers and the rest of the Demon Lords, they tried to find a loophole; anything to preserve Agatha's life."

A rage he's only felt towards those who caused his suffering flooded his heart and the desire to now hunt down Alphonse to curse him for his part-Agatha was dead and in Morrigan's realm, nothing he could do about that.

Stephen had tried to take the higher road, to ignore the lust for bloodshed because he didn't want to disappoint the couple, let alone Régime who has become a role model. But where had the higher road led him? Beaten, broken-he had been suicidal for the love of the Nine Hells! And they knew it! The human couple knew...

Hot tears rolled down his face as growled and soon looked at his grandmother. "I canna get revenge on Agatha and it no seem right to go after Alphonse..." He will not go for their-a wicked idea came to him and he let out a dark laugh as Mother Hell smiled at him.

"I be no real demon lord, but I am Yun and Beelzebub's son, the grandson of Set and Máthair Chríona. And it be high time I gave me dragon what he desires. It time I started actin' like a Duke of Hell." With that, he vanished back to Earth.

"That really wise, Momma?" Beelzebub asked the primal who turned to face him. He was worried that Stephen was going to become like Yun and do something he'll regret later. "Stephen ain't the bloodlust type, but now with his inner dragon callin' fer it..."

"He won't change too much, Beelze. He's growing and neither Yun nor Hope and you will allow him to make the same mistake." She then smiled softly at him. "Stephen's heart is still kind, Beelze. He has your heart and Yun's sense of justice. He must shed the old so that he can begin anew."

#drabble #tw: mention of suicidal thoughts #guests: beelzebub and mother hell #tw: angst #canon #guest: stephen

[qveenofgluttony]

The time had come for the sin to finally reveal herself. A huge screen was placed onto the stage. After which, an equally large figure emerged from behind as she walked onto the stage. Her silhouette was unmistakable even to those who might have only ever seen her from afar. However, she wouldn't reveal herself just quite yet.

She posed dramatically. Each of the lights went out. One by One. As if by some supernatural force, the entire ballroom fell utterly silent. Waiting with baited breath to see what she would do next. Then, she began to sing.

“I'm the light…every night in your world… Are you ready to watch me be legendary? 'Cause I'm…! Ultra…luminary…”

As the band joined in, the stage itself transformed. It separated into a platform that rose high into the air above the guests. Steps began to pop out, connecting the platform to the rest of the stage that remained on the ground. 

“You wish on me in my glitter light First star you see tonight”

The screen still remained in place, yet Beelzebub began to move behind it, dancing along to the music.

“So wish away, wish with all your might Upon this radiant sight~”

Balls of glittery light began to dance and fly through the air, bursting into miniature explosions of different colored bursts of light.

Beelza chuckles form her “hiding place” on top of one of the chandeliers. The darkness gives her relative cover from being seen by the other guests. The way her hands move in slow, purposeful circles hint that she is the one behind the light show.

“The stars ignite They flame from dust Born out of gravity and force, they combust And though they try in rivalry…”

The screen fell away, revealing Beelzebub in all her shining, glittery glory. 

“THEY’LL NEVER SHINE BRIGHT AS ME~!”

Beelza’s magic, combined with the iridescent gold dust covering every inch of her mother’s gown was enough to illuminate her form as she descended down the staircase while keeping in rhythm with the music.

“I'm the light every night in your world, hey! You revel in the glory of my beauty You ready to watch me be legendary? 'Cause I'm ultraluminary~!”

Beelzebub smiled down at the guests, relishing everyone’s attention focused solely on her and her alone.

“The cosmic shine of my fine display Can turn the night to day I hear they say that the Milky Way Can't help but envy me I am the brightest star Superb, spectacular~!”

Once she made it back down to the stage, she twirled dramatically, the train of her dress spinning along with her as she dropped to the ground. The lights dimmed once to be replaced by a single spotlight on the sin.

“It was a desert here in Hell when we arrived Gathering all of my tears, heartbreak and sighs I made a potion ignite and turned the night To a radiant city of light From tears I rise….!”

She slowly stood up, using her own magic to create a swirl of golden light in her hands as she began to hover off the stage, ascending into the air. She stopped until she was well above her audience and sent tendrils of light out towards the guests.

“I RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSEEEEEE!”

The tendrils traveled vertically and illuminated the chandeliers, flooding the room with bright light once more.

“I'm the light every night in your world, hey! You revel in the glory of my beauty You ready to watch me be legendary? 'Cause I'm ultraluminary~!”

Beelzebub landed back down on the stage and posed. There was brief moment of silence before the entire room erupted into thunderous applause. The sin grinned, and blew kisses out to the guests. Ah, she missed this. The sounds of cheering and clapping that came after a brilliant performance such as hers.

“Let’s give another round of applause for my mom, Queen Beelzebub!” Beelza cheered, flying down onto the stage to join her mother. She turned to address the guests for the final time that night.

“I’d say that the perfect end to an exciting weekend. On behalf of my mother, I’d like to thank everyone for coming out this weekend! We hope you had a great time!”

Beelza took off her top hat and dipped into a bow, just like she had done on the first night.

“Good night, everyone! Hope to see you again next year~!”

#🐝Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ʙᴇᴇ: ʙᴇᴇʟᴢᴇʙᴜʙ #Guest Muse; Beelza #and thus ends the ball #drabble #but ofc I'm still gonna continue ball threads for the foreseeable future xD #Beelzebub's Masquerade Ball: Event

[kylo-wrecked]

@graysistance ://

— ☾ —

He doesn't know what he's doing at an annual Foster Care and Adoption Conference, only that Dad warns him, 'Your mother will kill us both' if Ben doesn't attend, and he for one would prefer 'to be alive and well backstage—supporting'. And so Ben waits in the designated Ben area with whoever can still tolerate him. It's a short list: the interns and their head-sized smartphones, Ian the IT guy, Mr. Pryde (who only darts his ugly mug inside now and again to ensure Ben's ongoing presence), and Miss Rugy. 

Miss Rugy was initially hired to give each member of the Organa-Solo family a pass with a makeup brush and a blotting sheet for such functions as the adoption conference and has, over time, become Ben's PR department. Tonight, his sage advice? 

"Do not piss off your mother, you hear? This is her moment, okay? Nobody leaves or shits until she does. Now, if you sweat off my Bobbi Brown, come to the left vomitory, and I will do you up again and douse your inners with a little lemon water. I am your personal spa. We are going to get you through the night."

"Now," Miss Rugy says again, affecting Bela Lugosi, wetting his matte red lips and squeezing a dollop of concealer onto a sponge, "Do not move."

"I am not moving," says Ben, whose face takes on the structural moroseness of the neo-Gothic friezes facing the North, East, South, and West of their indeterminate ceiling. 

The foam wedge oozes with makeup. It's green, and that is the point, Miss Rugy tells him as he blots the sanguine swells beneath Ben's eyes.

"Now, look up," he demands, pressing the heel of his palm into Ben's jaw.  

"Please don't touch me there," Ben says. 

"Quiet. I am rehabilitating you. You look like fifty shades of shit."

"I think that gets the point across." 

"You—" Miss Rugy says, going in with an angled sponge the wet color of Ben's skin, dabbing and dabbing. "—are playing mama's child tonight. You are going to look the part." 

"I've never looked like my mother's child. I think she found me under a bridge and took pity on me. Tonight might be the night she gives me back." 

Miss Rugy snorts and scolds, "Ben! Do not make me mess up!" 

What's meant to be gentle daubing motions feel like Miss Rugy replacing his skin with octinoxate and titanium dioxide. Two more dabs, and done. 

"Remember, the lemon water refresher later. Now go." 

So, Ben goes the route of a thousand print-out arrows. On his way, he discovers a corridor mirror and, repulsed by his new laudatory reflection, glossed and airbrushed as a magazine ad but more orange, indicating tonight's company of Nikon cameras, Ben tears at his under-eyes with his thumbs until Miss Rugy's blended magic is undone. He wipes the makeup on the inner lining of his suit cuffs and straggles on, idling behind the deco ingress of an ilk that once dominated lower Manhattan, until they open upon an 'I've very much bloody had it' Mr. Pryde, who may well have pulled Ben in by vaudeville hook.  

The belly of the assembly hall is like an Anabaptist church, holy in its ugliness, its staunch rows of oak flip-down seats arranged in an inelegant continental and bolted down into stale blue carpet. The curtains obstructing the dearth of the stage are the same blue, flanked by pillars of lilies on either side. Their scent gives grandma's musty sunroom sarcophagus or school play from the Sloth Ring of Hell. Whatever it is, it's cloying. It's confining. It's inescapable. 

Ben is the only conversation piece in Belphegor's auditorium not to take the stage at a time when all the movers and shakers therein have long since been introduced, once upon Senator Organa's successful reelection. The day Ben died. Again. 

Many are already seated. Just as many gather in small annular cliques, buzzing at low volumes. Theirs is the conversation written thousands of years ago by Beelzebub, and Ben pretends not to pick up on the contours of their words. The guests, in turn, pretend not to see him. Nobody waves or raises their paper cups and straws in welcome, as was writ. 

Snoke's absence is notable, but his senior associate, Armitage, stands beside an equally steely tripod. As Ben makes his way toward the front rows, he tries to treat his fixture there like any other camera by ignoring his existence completely. 

By the time he sits, he has already sweated through his shirt underarms and is sure he'll die tonight, too. He soaks up the measly space closest to the emergency exit in case he needs to throw up beforehand.

This is why Ben wears black. He's never sought to make a statement with the custom threads that detain his frame's jumbo bones and musculature or the color of his perspiration. He's trying not to do anything except shield himself from the added heat of the relentless stage lights when his mother approaches the lectern. 

She seems piqued while she adjusts the mic, but not at Ben—because she looks at him. Because when she looks at him, the corners of her eyes crinkle, and she eases her death grip on the bezel. He thinks while sweating buckets: it's a wonder his presence could ever mollify anyone, let alone his mother. 

She taps the mic and begins; Ben goes far away somewhere. Until he's jolted back by the sudden incline of her voice, introducing the next speaker, and he realizes he's missed the entirety of his mother's address. Every word of it goes into the ether or on a camera for later, where they will be hacked to pieces. 

Feeling chilled and disoriented, he looks around. Everyone else is still seated—thank God—but in this gap of mild laughter and riveted applause, Ben registers someone, a woman, sitting just one seat away from him. She's pert, either much younger or less miserable than him. Perhaps both. He has never seen her before. She is the one, the only stranger to him at this event. 

Twisting toward her, Ben's lips form the word 'who' before knotting themselves into a confounded lump. Left without words, he lodges his ill-fitted frame into the seat again and wills himself into... one of those wooden statues of the Three Kings. Whatever they're called. Where are the words? He wants to scream through the knot on his face, his soft and fleshy apparatus called a 'mouth.' 

The materialization of this perfect stranger dislodges the other knot, the clump of ice-cold dread he'd tried all the previous afternoon to chisel loose. And in its place, heat rises, and there's that feeling again. Now might be a good time to take Miss Rugy up on his lemon water, only, despite every protracted moment, he's just got here. So exactly when did she show up?

Call the feeling bad nerves, bad vibes, or poor human mechanism; it always feels like a rush of anger; and is always a loosening agent for speech. 

Finally, Ben turns to the woman and whispers, "Excuse me, are you lost?" Winces and yet adds, "I have literally never seen your face. I have no idea who you are. I wish I had seen you before."

The next speaker takes the stage, more clapping, Ben whispering fiercely: "Tell me you're not in politics. Lie if you have to. I will—" 

And if she did? If she responded to his maelstrom of verbal vomit at all? Ben would what? He starts undoing his tie, the stupid Armani noose that strangles him. 

"I will stay all night."

These are the ramblings of a certifiable thirty-year-old man hissing under the ovations of a Green Party delegate who once called Ben a ticking time bomb. 

#graysistance #m. au | modern!ben: the senator's son #thread tbd #edited: for quality assurance #{may the force be with you and i mean that most sincerely}