the-auguer

[the-auguer]

The Devil Cries Gold

//Warnings: NSFW, no gender specified. Blood mention, Plague Lucio//

It wasn't like you hadn't been up there before—the way his eyes widened with the blood red sclera almost let you see the whites of his eyes. Almost.

His body was frail looking; small in the big bed of his comforters as his head lolled side to side in an almost trance.

It wasn't like he could do anything else.

"You know, people usually either leave or come in here to stick something in me." his eyes were on you now, dried blood settled at the corners of his ever thinning lips, "you come in here to ogle? Take pity on me like some kind of wounded animal? You can keep it."

You heard the strain in his voice clearly, no matter how hard he tried to mask it, the dryness of his throat held out over the loosely threaded threats.

You didn't say a word, only moved closer as the doors closed behind you. The room was eerily quiet as you made it to the side of his bed, a hand reaching out to brush away the matted hair on the sides of his face and forehead.

"No, not in the slightest. I thought maybe.." You shifted against the edge, propping back on your hand as you watch him strain to shift under the heavy covers, "you could have some company..."

An almost silent scoff emanated from his lips, your lips following to his throat as he swallowed deeply to say his next words clearly.

"Company? I've been locked in here for three months and you think I want company?" A clear chuckle rumbled through him, his hands gripping the fabric beneath them as a unsettling cough swelled in his throat.

You stood sharply, watching his body shake as he leaned back against the pillows. You reached for the water dish beside the bed, grabbing a clean cloth as the blood trickled down either side of his mouth.

He didn't move as the cold water dabbed away at the crimson liquid, eyes set at the canopy above his bed as his thin fingers held purchase at the matching comforter.

Your hand shook slightly as you looked at him; the whites of his eyes overtook with the tell-tale sign and veins obvious and vast underneath his ever-paling skin.

"What" His voice startled you, his eyes looking at you now as you settled back, "You want to play doctor now? The best in the field can't take care of me but somehow you can..."

"No, that's not..." You cleared your throat, looking at the curtained windows along the wall "I just...dont like seeing you like this.." You smiled slightly, shaking your head as you stood. A small chuckle escaped you as you walked around the bed, a hand trailing lazily along the bannister. "Not that you care, you think everyone hates you.."

"And who are you to tell me they don't? You think anyone besides you has came up here and tried to speak peace to me? No. All I get are doctors coming in one right after the other to tell me the same thing: I'm dying." Your eyes met his as he sat up, making your way back to him as he leaned against the headboard.

#OMG!! #would love love love LOVE more of this #the potential of this is just sooo—!! #lucio being loved and cared for but not for any of the reasons he so desperately wanted to be— not his looks his wealth or his power #but because he’s just another human and the apprentice cares #AND— AND!!! #the angst of when the apprentice catches the plague from him too… and dies from it! #so it’s DOUBLE lucio’s fault!!! #sipping and feasting on the imagined juiciness of that #anyway… #count lucio #the arcana lucio #lucio/apprentice #the arcana

[the-auguer]

Hayeeee the fight night is so great but I quite didn't understand the end T T

Did belphie hurt mc again or mc just passed out or what happened 😭

Yeah, mc passed tf out. 💀

That’s how I ended it in the draft forever ago and I didn’t wanna say something overused like ‘everything went black’ or something.

Glad you enjoyed 💖💖💖

#augury speaks

[the-auguer]

Fright Night

Just a li’l something that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while. It was titled ‘the girls are fighting’ so do with that what you will.

___________________

Mammon’s nails dig a little bit into your arm. It’s not harsh or purposeful. It just happens. Like how his arm constricts around your chest and squeezes you a bit too tightly. You crane your head to stare at him. His eyes are a harsh blue, the yellow near his iris ablaze, and he’s not looking at you. 

Belphie retracts his arms slowly, a frown marring his previously soft face. 

“Mammon.” he says slowly. Tightly, like Mammon’s arms. “What are you doing?”

Mammon’s grip tightens a little. You push at Mammon’s chest, and try harder when he doesn’t budge. 

“Mammon, let go.”

Mammon glances down at you. “What?! Why!?”

You glare at him. “You’re squeezing.”

Mammon’s hold on you loosens, but he doesn’t let go. You push uselessly at him again, unwilling to Order him, but getting close to it. 

“Mammon,” Belphie says again, his light frown beginning to pull into a scowl. “Why?”

“Whaddaya mean, why?” Mammon snipes back. “You were touchin’ them.”

“We were hugging.”

“Yeah, and you’re not allowed.”

“Not allowed? Then what are you doing?”

“Wha— well obviously they want the Great Mammon to hold them. I’m allowed.”

“And I’m not?”

“No!”

“Why?”

Mammon splutters. “Why? Be-because you’re not allowed, that’s why!”

Levi snorts, sinking deeper into your bed and not glancing up from his D.D.D. “I’m telling Beel that you hit Belphie.”

From his hold, you feel Mammon’s body tense. “I didn’t hit him!”

“You shoved me,” Belphie says, confusion fading into anger. “When I hugged them, you shoved me.”

Beel walks back into your room, a tower of snacks in his arms. He drops them irreverently to the ground and they crackle and crunch at his feet. “Who shoved Belphie?”

Levi cackles. “Mammon.”

Mammon startles, backing both you and him up a few steps. “I did not!”

“Yeah, you did,” Levi sings.

“Yes, you did!” Belphie yells. 

You drive your hand into Mammon’s face to  create more space between the both of you. You were just trying to watch a movie. Why did watching movies always evolve into shit like this? It’s not fair. 

“Let go, Mammon. Now.”

“No!” Mammon shouts, obviously panicked as both Beel and Belphie begin to advance on him. Levi lifts his D.D.D, obviously recording. 

“Why not!” You yell back, wedging your elbow against his cheek and push with all your might. Mammon squawks and tries to pry your arms off his face. 

“Because!”

“No one should push Belphie,” Beel intones, moving closer and closer. 

“They’re not something you can hog all to yourself, Mammon,” Belphie says darkly, in step with Beel.

“Let me go right now!” You shout. If this continues, there’s going to be a dog pile on Mammon and you are not the slightest bit interested in the broken bones that will follow if you get caught up in that. 

“Fight, fight, fight, fight,” Levi chants.

“Mammon,” you scream as Beel gets closer. He’s so obviously focused on Mammon and not on you. Maybe Beel doesn’t even see you right now. “Now!”

“No! He’s not allowed!”

“Why!” Belphie howls.

“You’ll hurt them!”

Belphie freezes his prowl forward, and you pause your attempts to pinch under Mammon’s arms. 

Levi lowers his D.D.D. Beel stops moving entirely. 

Mammon’s eyes dart around anxiously, sensing the change in the room. 

He laughs nervously. “Yeah, you’ll just hurt them, so it’s better for me to hold them. See,” he jostles you, “no harm done.”

You shove Mammon harshly. “Get. Off. Me! Get off me now!”

Surprisingly, Mammon lets go of you this time. His eyes are big and wet. “Why?”

He looks hurt, and usually you would backtrack right about now. You would assure him and explain to him. Sighing, you try. 

“Belphie won’t hurt me.” You say, tiredly. You motion for Levi to put his D.D.D down. “Is this about how you were late? I told you what time I was starting the movie and you decided to stay out shopping.”

“No, it’s not,” Mammon says, sounding petulant. “I’m not mad because of that. I’m mad cause yer lettin’ him touch all over you and he’ll hurt you!”

“No he won’t,” you say, exasperated.

“No I won’t,” Belphie presses.

“No he won’t,” Beel echoes, confusion evident in the furrow of his brows. 

Levi stays quiet, his D.D.D laying on the bed next to him. 

Mammon is your friend. A close friend, even if he’s really bad at being a friend sometimes. You try to understand, despite the throbbing of your head. 

“What do you mean, Mammon? You have to expla—“

“Whaddaya mean, whaddaya I mean?” Mammon interrupts, frustrated. “He already did! He— he—“

Mammon clamps a handful of his hair in his fist, tugging ineffectually. “He hurt you.”

Mammon’s eyes are more than just wet now. He’s tearing up, staring at you imploringly, worse than when he begs you to hide him from Lucifer. It’s almost too much for you to bear. 

Belphie snarls. “That was before— that was because I— I said I was sorry! I’m not going to do it again! You’re just jealous they want to spend time with me, so you’re making up excuses!”

“No I am not!” Mammon yells back, tears disappearing under a rare bearing of fangs. “I’M their first, so there’s nothin’ ta be jealous of! I’m bein’ honest here!”

“You know why you’re their first?” Belphie says dangerously. Beel puts a worried hand on his shoulder, but Belphie shakes it off. “Because Levi threatened them into it to get his money back! They didn’t want to form a pack with you, they had to.”

Levi sank deep into your comforter, mumbling something indistinct as he attempts to be absorbed by the sheets. 

“It’s different now! And that doesn’t matter anymore!”

“Mammon‘s right, Belphie,” you say. “It doesn’t. But both of you need to calm down so we can talk this through.”

“Talk through what? How Mammon thinks I’ll hurt my contractor?”

Beel moves forward, pressing a hand on Belphie’s chest. “That’s right,” he stresses, brows still drawn together. “Belphie has a contract with them. He can’t hurt them.”

“Yes,” you agree, pouncing on Beel’s statement with vigor. “No one in this house can hurt me. See? It’s all fine.”

You glance at the clock, prepared to make an excuse about how late it is and how you are oh so tired and they’ll have to watch a movie another night. 

“But Mammon hurt you,” Levi pipes up, peering out from inside the cocoon he made out of your blanket. “Just now. You’re bleeding.”

You glance down and yeah, the skin of your upper arm is a bit red and there are small cuts where Mammon’s nails had dug in. They’re not bleeding, per se, but they are raw pink and surrounded by ripped skin. 

Mammon almost falls over with how hard he startles. “What! I didn’t— but I didn’t— I didn’t mean to! That was an accident!”

You poke experimentally at your arm. It stings, but no more than it should. You’re fine. 

“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

You try to smile soothingly at Mammon, who is staring at you like you are the killer in a slasher film, his honey brown skin pale and stricken. 

“Hypocrite,” Belphie crows vindictively. “All that talk and you’re the one who hurt them!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Mammon swears, louder than before. 

“Are you okay?” Beel asks worriedly. He plucks a bag of chips off the floor to press into your hands. “Eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

You open the bag eat a chip to stave off his fretting. “I’m fine, Beel. It’s fine.” You look at Mammon meaningfully. “I’m fine.” 

“Go-good. And what the hell, Levi!” Mammon shouts, gaining back steam. “Why’d ya have to go and bring that up?”

Levi burrows tighter into your blanket. You wouldn’t be surprised if there’s rips stressed into it by the end of the night. “Just leveling the field. Now everyone in here has hurt them. Balanced team. Every RPG needs a balanced team. All the Seven Lords hurt Henry before they became friends. It’s the way it is.”

Everyone shifts uncomfortably at that. The air around you is suffocating. You suddenly ache to be the one in Levi’s cocoon. Preferably alone. 

“Thank you, Levi,” you grit out frustratedly. “So. Much. Since this conversation is over, I think I’m done with movie night. You all can go back to your rooms.”

Belphie startles. “What did I do? It was Mammon that started this!”

“Belphie.” Beel glances at you, uncertain and guilty in equal measure. You want to hide in your closet to avoid his gaze. “Let’s just go. We can talk about it later.”

Levi slowly extracts himself. He looks at you like he wants to say something, but turns away instead. 

Mammon clenched his fists. “I wanna talk more. Are ya sendin’ me out cause I hurt ya? I didn’t mean to, honest.”

“I know Mammon, and I’m fine,” you sigh. “I’m tired, though. We can talk later.”

Belphie shakes Beel off again. “Sure. We can talk later.” He gives Mammon a nasty smile. “We’re all on the same team, after all.”

Mammon is across the room in the blink of an eye, Belphie’s collar clenched tight in his hand. Belphie rises to the tops of his toes and snatches Mammon’s collar in return. 

“I am not on the same level as you. As any of you. Because I never tried to kill them.”

And there it is. Exactly what you were hoping would never be said. Ever. 

“I never almost killed them. I never actually killed them! You did that!” Mammon yanks at Belphie’s collar. “Ya killed them! And said sorry ‘cause a’ Lilith! Ya didn’t mean it!”

“Yes I did!” Belphie howls. He releases Mammon’s collar to claw uselessly at Mammon’s hands. His horns curl out of his hair and his tail lashes behind him like a provoked cat. “I meant it! I meant it, you selfish bastard! You just wish I didn’t cause you want them all to yourself!”

Beel is shifting from foot to foot, obviously longing to step in or speak up, but does not move. His eyes are locked on Mammon, unsure. He doesn’t seem scared, but he is uncertain. Levi moves between your table and the wall, like the added barrier puts him further away from the situation. 

“Ya didn’t! Ya killed them! Ya killed my best friend! I had ta watch them die!”

Mammon is not in his demon form, despite Bephie’s bared fangs and the flashes of purple singing through the air. He holds Belphie captive like it doesn’t mean anything, like Belphie’s struggles to free himself don’t require the smallest hint of his demonic power. 

“Stop it.” Your fists clench. “I don’t like this.”

Mammon continues to yell, and tears are falling freely down his cheeks. Belphie curses him, screams his name and damns him in every way he seems to know how. 

“Ya don’t know! Ya laughed! Ya laughed when I cried an’ they weren’t breathing! No one cared but me! They were dead an’ no one else cared!”

The shockwaves of Belphie’s power grow more drastic, more erratic.

“You didn’t notice I was gone!” He bellows. “Lucifer kept me in the goddamn attic and you thought I was playing nice with humans! You were supposed to be my big brother! You were supposed to come for me!”

“How could you?” They both wail and wail and wail. 

Why.

Why did you have to break up the fights between beings that are thousands of years older than you? Why did you have to be the one with the level head in a room full of people that could kill you on a whim? In a simple accident? Is it because you dared to care about them? Is it really that bad to care about them? God help you, you care about them so much. 

Shouldn’t this feel vindicative? Shouldn’t you feel better now that the confrontation has happened, feel more seen? Shouldn’t you want your housemates, your friends, to acknowledge you and your past pain? Why did you feel so drained and defeated, then?

Maybe because you were always going to die. 

From the moment you arrived in that throne room with the most powerful demons that gave less than a shit about your continued existence, you were always going to die. Maybe it was not a possibility but a race of circumstances. A race of who would do it first.

Leviathan in the Tales of the Seven Lords trivia competition, the first to charge at you. His scornful gaze as he verbally contemplates the pros and cons of killing you. The force in his eyes as he made you a pawn in a game of revenge against his brother. 

Beelzebub in the kitchen, your room in shambles afterwards. The knowledge that that could have easily been you. His flat, hungry eyes in the student council room, and a few more places beyond that. 

Lucifer in the crypt, bearing down on you with the light of heaven’s finest and looming power of the right hand of the ruler of hell. A hand clamping down on your injured wrist. Lucifer time and time again reminding you of how easily he would kill you if you stepped out of line. Would. Not could. 

Asmodeus’s hypnotic gaze training itself on you dozens of times, certain you will yearn for him, certain you will bow to him. His annoyance when you do not. Cerberus’s breath lashing across your heels as you run, heart plummeting to your stomach. 

Satan’s room, green flames licking at the walls and beginning to scorch your skin. His claws reaching for your throat. 

Mammon. Mammon never… but he did. He left you for dead, time and time again in the beginning. He was told to watch you, to guard you, and he left you in the clutches of demons. Again and again. 

And you were so focused on the contestants in front of you, the ones already at your throat, that you didn’t think to look out for the knife behind you. The hands at your neck, the bind around your trachea, the arms around your chest. The sight of your own body, limp and lifeless. 

Belphegor. 

Where was Lucifer? You reach into the pocket of your pajama pants, scrambling for your D.D.D. 

Your shaking fingers manage to navigate to Lucifer’s contact, and you find you can’t do more than hit the call button. The dial tone is lost in the cacophony of your room, and you find you can no longer see Beel or Levi past how hazy Belphie’s power is making you. 

Your D.D.D falls from your limp fingers, and you find your eyes getting heavy.

Well… well shit.

#obey me angst #the absolute lack of confrontation after the ENTIRE debacle of season 1 is SO frustrating #there was so much going on and yet… nothing #i barely even give a fuck about apologies #I want real and JUICY actions and dialogue #but I got NOTHING #anyway… #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me Beelzebub #obey me brothers

[the-auguer]

Character idea that I had at some point: A dance teacher who had to give up his own highly promising career as a performer after an injury, and now makes his living giving lessons to children. He comes off as stern, serious, and frighteningly strict, and even some of the parents have a hard time believing that the kids genuinely like him and enjoy the lessons. Which, to be fair, are frightening to watch with no context of what this is about.

The children go through their practices with downright eerie, automation-like, coordinated synchrony, with stern and focused looks on their faces, while the teacher circles them, observing and correcting, brandishing his cane like a weapon and every once in a while dramatically lamenting about how "you little vermin can't do anything right", and occasionally the music stops and the only sounds coming from the studio are of kids running and screaming while their teacher bellows about teaching them a lesson.

This, however, is all just method. He started the first lesson with the children by proposing a game: How about they play flea circus, where he is the cruel evil ringmaster and they are all his poor suffering little fleas. One of the girls starts crying, protesting that she doesn't want to be a flea. Well, how about mice? Mice are cute. The children accept these terms, and ever since they've spent dance lessons playing Evil Circus.

For reasons beyond adult comprehension, children of a certain age really love playing pretend in a setting where everything is Dark And Horrible And The Worst, and Evil Mouse Circus is exactly that. And whenever he picks up that the kids are starting to get too genuinely nervous or agitated, that's when he goes "that's it I'm going to beat all of you" which is their cue to take a break to run around screaming, while he chases them. He won't catch them and isn't even trying to, the kids just need to let the nervous energy out.

It looks horrible to an outside observer, but the kids are having an excellent time playing circus mice.

#i literally did torture scenarios with my cousin when we were little #the dark and macabre REALLY appealed to us #i also briefly took ballet classes and would have LOVED this #fave

[the-auguer]

There's something so funny to me about the fact that at least one of the sins is misinterpreted every single time that people write about them. Usually Lust or Gluttony.

Anyway, a short guide, for people who want to be more accurate. Or want to assign sins to themselves, I guess.

Pride isn't just confidence. It's putting yourself before others, believing you genuinely deserve more than them. Pride is Main Character Syndrome in its purest form.

Greed isn't just liking money - it's loving money, enough to hurt those around you without hesitation just to have more. Enough to even hurt yourself, if it's worth enough. Greed is the .01%.

Envy isn't just wanting what others have. It's hating others for having what you want, it's despair at the joy of others, it's wanting someone else's car even though yours is perfectly fine. Envy is stalking an influencer's pages, spitefully complaining that they don't deserve what they have. That it should be you.

Wrath isn't just anger. It's anger that canot be contained, it's hatred with no boundaries, it's an eye for an eye. Wrath is your local Karen screaming at a teenage cashier.

Lust isn't vanity - NOR is it inherently sexual! Lust is about desire. Lust is taking what you want (or, well, what you think you want) with no regard for the consequences of your actions. This one is gotten wrong by most churches, too, but that's because it's been repeatedly translated wrong. It is literally just about unchecked desire. Lust is that spoiled kid who throws a tantrum when they hear "no" for the first time.

Gluttony isn't just eating. It's overconsumption, to the detriment of yourself and others. It's drink, and drugs, and shopping, and gambling - it is the very thing that Greed most often targets to build itself up. Gluttony is the idea that, maybe, this cute new jacket will fill that void in your heart.

Sloth isn't laziness. Sloth is weaponized incompetence, it's manipulation, it's reaping what you did not sow. Sloth is that one kid in group projects who just signs their name.

#THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING #like ngl Mammon is done pretty well for greed #I personally think greed is hoarding and having more than u should— not just spending to your own detriment #but I can see the angle #how his greed for more than just money leads him to terrible situations and his own losses but he just keeps doing it anyway #and besides— it’s practically an event plot point for Mams to basically sell his family #but THE GLUTTONY THING!!! #ur so right and so real for that #solmare could have given us the most wet and pathetic cat of a man that is constantly fucking plastered #but they wimped out. not complaining about beel tho. he kinda cute #but the hunger is really just a plot device at this point and it’s low key annoying as hell #instead of making a statement about sin and how beings that sin so completely are still capable of love and being loved #solmare gave us two bit archetypes and simplified it #which is fine ig— it’s a pseudo otome game #I just think too deeply sometimes #anyway… #obey me shall we date

[the-auguer]

pov its 3 am on a thursday morning and theres a knock on ur door

#…I… I can’t… 🥺 #I would like to think I would kiss them gently on the foreheads #but I’m a bitch when I’m sleepy so— #adorbs tho #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #trio: the ogs

[the-auguer]

I just read The Forbidden Book of Forbidden-ness and HOLY SHIT IT WAS INCREDIBLE. like everyone was so in character, that moment where Asmo's emotional intelligence comes through and he knows exactly what Mammon is dreaming of, and Mammon, our wonderful first man, figuring out that it's not real because he doesn't feel overwhelmingly in love with mc before anything else tips him off, because Mammon may get tricked when it comes to grimm but his feelings towards mc can't be faked or imitated in a dream?? I am in LOVE with your writing

it made me curious what all the other brothers would experience if they were cursed by the book and how they'd wake up, or who would have the hardest time waking up. Levi would definitely be in an rpg game or the tsl universe with mc, he's the easiest one to imagine, but I wonder if Belphie would end up in a dream universe where he never tried to kill mc, like if he had been reminded of ch16 by somethingjust before opening the book and thought to himself that he wished he'd never hurt them

Thanks so much!! That was awesome to hear! I’ve alway been lowkey obsessed with perfect dream worlds and the willpower to reject everything you’ve ever wanted just for the harshness of reality. ig Gravity Falls ruined me.

I never really thought about the other brother’s dream world, other than Levi’s idea of what it would be, tbh.

I kind of really wanted to add them to Mammon’s dream so that it would be harder for him to leave. I played around with the idea of Mammon like, rushing home to tell Lucifer that something is up, and Lucifer pats his head and says he’s so proud of his cute little brother, and did you win big at the casino baby 🥹? Are you hungry? And Mammon obvs flips out. And Lilith is there and alive and everyone’s happy and also him and MC are engaged and gonna be married soon.

I feel like that would have been Mammon’s REAL ideal universe. But hey, I wanted it be a one shot that I could just play with and not a ten chapter, meticulously thought out story the way that would be, so it was scrapped. And I imagine that the other’s ultimate dreams would be much of the same, with Levi’s probably taking place in an RPG like you said, and MC is Henry and they are eternal best friends only, wait, MC just kissed me!!! 🤯❤️❤️

Again, thanks a lot!!!

#augury speaks #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me

[the-auguer]

[mc is in the human world] beel: hey, mammon mammon: mc calls me mammon... belphie: that's because it's your fucking name

#i love my pathetic man <3 #obey me mammon #my… my beloved… #mammon x reader

[the-auguer]

Rapid-Fire Older Brothers Headcanons

Mammon and Leviathan have an ongoing bet regarding which one of them has given Lucifer the most grey hairs. Neither of them dare to actually ask Lucifer, though, so it's mostly hypothetical.

Lucifer, as we all know, likes classical music. Sometimes, Levi will try to see how many classical or orchestral versions of random meme songs or game tracks he can play in a row before Lucifer notices what they're listening to. How long he can keep the bit going for varies wildly depending on how familiar Lucifer is with the original songs, but generally, he gets at least a solid five minutes of Lucifer, completely oblivious, listening to the wildest stuff. Mammon usually ends up filming this. A gif they made of Lucifer dancing along to Rush E has become a reaction image in every single group chat he isn't in.

Leviathan will ALSO often play those "[song] but terrible" or "[song] but I got distracted" videos to see how long it takes Lucifer to notice. Those ones tend to get noticed far quicker, though.

Mammon is really into found object art and scavenging for craft supplies. Somewhere, in a desk drawer, Lucifer has a necklace made out of can pull tabs and pretty rocks that he looks at whenever he's mad. Leviathan's favourite coaster is made out of bottlecaps with words and flowers and game logos painted on them. Most of the "mess" in Mammon's room is actually just stuff he hasn't gotten around to actually making into art yet.

Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan have a Minecraft server. It wasm originally just Levi trying to suggest a way for Lucifer to destress, but now it's just them goofing off. Levi built a squid cannon outside of Mammon's base. Lucifer will regularly leave signs in Levi's base, reminding him to drink water and eat something if he's been online for too long. Mammon once lured the Warden all the way to Lucifer's base, named it "Stess," and just... Logged out. Lucifer still hasn't forgiven him.

Sometimes, Leviathan will just walk into Mammon's room, throw something at him, and run for his life. Mammon always catches him. This is always completely unprompted, and nobody knows why he does this. It's just funny to him.

Lucifer has a habit of just staring at people, silently, with no discernible expression. His brothers tend to assume that this means he's angry at them. In reality, it's just because his brain is stuck in a loop of "Baby. Little brother. Tiny. Precious. Little tiny baby. Fragile. Baby. Small." He can't help it. Sometimes, he just randomly remembers how young and fragile his brothers are in comparison to him, and just... Short-circuits. Just full-on bluescreens. He also occasionally does this with Cerberus, but - due to Cerberus being a dog - he'll typically just start actually baby-talking the Goodest Three-Headed Boy. Mammon has caught him doing this a few times.

Levi and Mammon both journal to help them organize their thoughts. Levi's journal is more like a mix of a scrapbook and a diary, full of polaroid photographs and long, poetic accounts of his experiences and emotions. Mammon's journal is more practical, mostly being used to keep track of upcoming events, important things that happened that day, to-do lists, and notes from class or meetings.

Mammon keeps a list of every single person who Leviathan is mad at, and actively refuses to do business with any of them.

Lucifer can drink an entire pot of coffee in less than five minutes. And often does.

Levi & Mammon used to show up to Lucifer's room in the middle of the night back in the Celestial Realm whenever they had nightmares, and bully him into tucking them in and singing them lullabies until they were ready to go back to sleep. They don't do that anymore because they consider themselves too grown up, but there have been a few times that they've seriously considered it. Levi occasionally goes as far as Lucifer's door before changing his mind. If he didn't change his mind, Lucifer would still gladly sing him to sleep - because no matter how big they get, they're still his baby brothers, and he still loves them dearly. But he'd also absolutely hold it over his head for weeks.

Mammon's immune system is near Olympian, and Lucifer's is pretty damn good, too. Leviathan, however, gets sick every single time that someone so much as breathes in his general direction wrong. Whether this is why he never leaves his room or because he never leaves his room is up to interpretation.

One time, one of Mammon's crows got hurt - and for literal months, the entire house was flooded with them while the little guy recovered. There were at least a hundred. They were everywhere. Thanks to this, they're now very familiar with the rest of brothers, too - and can occasionally be found following them around.

Leviathan doesn't just sew his own cosplays - he also sews the vast majority of his clothes. He's also usually the person who fixes the rest of the family's clothes whenever they get damaged, since only him and Asmo have any sewing knowledge whatsoever. One time, Levi made matching plushies for the twins on their birthday.

@leviathanshusband

#duo: mom said it’s my turn on the xbox #duo: eldest daughter squared #duo: are you winning son? #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #actually gave me so much serotonin #trio: big bros

[the-auguer]

The Forbidden Book of… Uh, Forbiddeness

Normal forbidden book mishaps lead to Mammon getting hallucination whammied into his ultimate dream world.

cw: suggestive

Dull, throbbing pain laced up Mammon’s leg, his body jerking back in an attempt to counterbalance its precarious tip forward. 

“What the hell, Satan!” Mammon barks, kicking vengefully at the book stack that had violated him so carelessly. It toppled so very satisfyingly. Stupid Satan and his stupid room with his stupid book stacks that are just lying around, waiting to be tripped over. 

“Do not,” Satan intones in that dangerous way he’s perfected over the centuries, “kick my books.”

Mammon scowls back at him. Wrathful or not, Mammon is the second born, Mammon is the big brother, and Mammon is the one helping Satan out of the kindness of his heart. 

You stumble over your own deadly pile of books, kicking a few over as you reorient yourself. You crouch to stack them, glancing over your shoulder sheepishly. “My bad, Satan.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly out of the kindness of Mammon’s heart that he’s here. But he couldn’t just leave you alone in the damn snake’s den!

Satan grunts, waving his hand at you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey! Why do they get a pass and I don’t?” Mammon yells across Satan’s room. “Here I am, helpin’ you like you asked—”

“You’re only helping because they are,” Satan cuts Mammon off, dry and slightly amused. Like the bastard knows something Mammon doesn’t. Ugh.

Mammon’s mouth gapes open in offense. “What! You don’t know a damn thing, you… you…!”

“‘You’ what?” Satan asks, creeping closer to Mammon.

Mammon rears up, ready, but you call out from the distant side of the room.

“Do you think it’ll be in this section?”

Satan’s leer melts right off, turning contemplative. “That depends. Are you in the history or the practical leather work section?”

“Uhhh, neither?” You duck further into the dusty shelves from your crouch. “This looks like… demonic industrial psychology?”

Satan snaps his fingers and begins to walk over. “Yes, actually, it should be a shelf over from there.”

“Okay.” You lift yourself up off the floor, brushing the dust out of your hair. “Ick. Will it be to the right or left?”

Satan’s confident stride to the shelf falters. 

Mammon cackles. “Lookit you! You don’t even know where it is.”

Satan’s brows draw back down his face immediately.

“It would be a lot easier to find anything if someone hadn’t wrecked my room like a moron!” 

“I dunno why you’re yellin’ at me!” Mammon shouts back. “I didn’t do anythin’!”

“You ate Beel’s sandwich.” Satan says. “Again.”

“I dunno why you’re bringing that back up,” Mammon sulks. “It’s not my fault he went on a rampage over a stupid sandwich. Besides, that happened months ago.”

“It’s been two weeks and my room is still a mess.”

“I don’t see any difference.”

“Why you—“

Satan steps towards Mammon.

“Satan,” you call. “Still needing those directions.”

You’ve leaned yourself against a wall, like you don’t really care about all the shouting Mammon and Satan are doing. Hell, maybe you really don’t. Mammon knows that he himself does a lot of the shouting. Maybe you’re used to it. 

Maybe you like it. 

“Ah,” Satan says. “Yes.”

He stares at the wall, considering. 

“Maybe to the right?” He does not sound sure. 

You laugh. Just a little. Mammon finds himself leaning towards you, even though you’re ten feet away. 

“I’ll take left and you take right?” You suggest to Satan.

Mammon nods. “I’ll go left with ya!”

Satan sighs. “Sure.”

Mammon bounds over to stand next to you. You quirk a smile at him. A nice, small one. Like there’s still a bit of a laugh caught in your mouth. Mammon wants… he wants…

“I’ll look low if you’ll look high.”

Mammon startles, but recovers just as quickly. “Leave it to the Great Mammon!”

He cranes his neck, squinting at the ceiling height shelves that make up Satan’s walls, only just able to read the titles embossed on the spines of the books. 

“Hey,” Mammon says, “what’re we looking for again?”

That half of a laugh falls from your mouth again. “Only you, Mammon, I swear.” 

“There is only one Mammon,” Mammon says seriously. It makes you huff again. 

“We’re looking for Satan’s cursed cookbook.”

“Oh yeah! Hey, Satan, what’re you making for dinner?”

“Nothing if I can’t find my cookbook,” Satan says tersely.

“Eh? Just use your D.D.D. for recipes like everyone else.”

“No.” Satan replies, rifling through a mid-level shelf. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right. My Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook has every recipe a demon could need, and it already has my adjustments written in it. It’s irreplaceable. I will never cook without it.”

“Yeesh, alright.”

Mammon squints at the shelves again. Something something Demonic Animal Acupuncture , some fancy cursive that Mammon doesn’t care to make horns or tails of, Forbidden Fruits of the Demonic Realm , something something Skewering Techniques , something Demon Cuisine something, some book without a title, Practical Woodwork in Relation to Leather Work , and Demonic Tree Species and their Habitats . 

Damn, Satan really had a line up of bores in his room. Nothing interesting, like mechanic books or something. How to Win Big Fast , that’s Mammon’s kind of book.

Nothing like… hmm. 

“What’d you say the book title was?”

Satan snorts dismissively. His search has been completely halted, as he has immersed himself into hunching over a different book.

You glance up, raking your hair out of your face with your hand as you do so. You need a haircut, something Asmo has been bemoaning all week. Mammon’s mouth is dry. 

“ Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook , I think.”

Mammon whips his head up. “I think I found it.”

You draw yourself up from the floor. “Really? Where?”

Mammon points. “Fourth shelf down, kinda on the right.”

You hum, eyes nearly in slits from how hard you’re having to squint to see that far. Your nose is scrunched. Your brows too. You’re really… you look so… Mammon wants to poke your nose. 

“Oh, I think that is it!”

Mammon’s chest puffs. 

“What’d I tell ya? Leave it to the Great Mammon, the best of the best.”

You pat his chest. “You did great Mammon.”

Cheeks suddenly hot, Mammon looks back up the shelf. “O-of cou-course. Let me… I’ll get it down!”

“How?” You ask. “It’s pretty high up there.”

“Oh, sad little human. I can get that book down with my eyes closed.” Mammon replies, shaking out his hands and then his legs. “Never underestimate Mammon!”

“Right… and you’re going to…”

Mammon jumps, his eyes truly closed. 

“Mammon!”

Laughing, Mammon stretches out his hand. At the peak of his jump, he brushes against the spine of a book. He snatches it, certain he’s correctly judged how high he’d needed to jump. 

As gravity begins to pull at his body, Mammon grins. You’ll be so impressed with him, once he lands. He’ll be perfectly balanced, practically bouncing on his toes, with the book in his hands in one fell swoop. You’ll tell him how great he is. How powerful and cool. And you’ll… You’ll. 

You’ll what?

Mammon hits the ground, his knees stock straight and unprepared. He stumbles, arms pinwheeling, before finally regaining his balance. That was close. 

He holds the book over his head. “A-HA! Victory is Mammon’s!”

Satan has finally pulled his nose out of his book and made his way to stand next to you. Mammon lowers the book to show it to him. 

Satan sighs. “Mammon, that’s not my cookbook.”

“Whaddaya mean it’s not your cookbook? We saw it for sure—” Mammon glances down. “Damn it!”

It was the stupid no title book that was right next to the cookbook. Mammon had been so close. His jump was perfect, even if his landing wasn’t. If he had only been a little to the left he would have gotten the right book!

“Don’t worry Mammon,” you say. “You still found it. All we have to do is get it down.”

Mammon grumbles. “Stupid no-title book.”

“Did you say no title?” Satan’s voice is sharp. 

“Yeah,” Mammon replies. What’s all the fuss about leather bound, unmarked books anyway? Mammon has a few paperbacks in his room, and they don’t look nearly as namby-pamby as this stupid thing. Mammon cracks the book open. 

“Mammon,” Satan warns. “Do not open that.”

Oh-ho? Is it Satan’s diary? Mammon bets it is. Well, it’s not like Satan should have anything too embarrassing in here. It’s probably all just ranting about how much he hates Lucifer. It wouldn’t hurt if Mammon had a little peek. 

Maybe he can tell you about it later. If it’s funny, of course. You might not laugh, though. Oh well. 

Mammon pulls it the rest of the way open. 

“Mammon!”

The only thing Mammon really remembered with any clarity was how strange it felt to have his knees buckle underneath him. 

“Mammon!” His face isn’t pale, or even really stricken with pain, but your hands hesitate over him all the same. What if you make whatever this is worse? What if you hurt him?

Satan sighs. “Idiot. I told him not to open that book.”

You turn to Satan. He seems twice as tall from where you kneel next to Mammon, but you’re not phased. 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He opened the Forbidden Book of…” Satan delicately flips the fallen book closed with his shoe. It has no title, just a symbol you can’t decipher. “The Forbidden Book of Dreams.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Aren’t your forbidden book titles usually a little more on the nose than that?”

Satan shivered, likely reminded of the body-switching debacle. “Yes, you are right. However, I have acquired some forbidden books that follow different rules. I never really got around to experimenting with this one. Maybe it activated because—”

“Stop,” you say. “We can talk about that later. Right now…” 

Mammon looks strange, lying limp on the floor. Even in sleep, he should be restless. Muttering and rolling and kicking. Instead his only movement is the rise and fall of his chest. 

You feel wretched just looking at him. 

“We need to get him somewhere more comfortable.”

Mammon blinks out of his haze, rather confused. It’s not often he can’t remember when he walked into a casino. 

This casino seems different, too. At least, Mammon hasn’t been in it before. The walls are covered in a golden sheen, with high arcing ceilings where gleaming demonic crystal chandlers hang. The carpet is a warm, lush red, with dozens of gambling tables full of patrons scatter across the room. The dealer at his table is one of those four armed demons that Mammon loves and hates. Loves because of how quick the next hand is shuffled passed out. Hates because the extra hands make it much harder to identify the cards Mammon’s opponents receive. Glancing down at his hand of cards, Mammon conceals a devilish grin. Poker. Mammon is awesome at poker. And his cards… his cards are good. Really good. 

And he has a lot of chips. Mammon’s neck cranes with how much his head has to tip in order to see the end of his chips. 

Mammon hasn’t had good prospects like this is a while. Ever since that whole thing with the witches and Lucifer cutting him off, Mammon hasn’t had enough money to bet to win big like this. He can feel his mouth watering.

“Hey, Mammon? Where are you looking?”

The chips, as numerous and shiny as they are, quickly loose all meaning to Mammon.

It’s you. Sitting in the chair next to him. You’re glittering, draped in all sorts of gold accessories and jewels. If Mammon dips his eyes, he can see a discarded pile of tributes at your feet. Defective. Not nearly pretty enough to grace your body. 

You’re wearing yellow. It’s not a color Mammon usually sees you in. It’s lovely. You look… you look so…

A hand feathers through Mammon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It makes Mammon shiver all the way down to his toes. 

“Much better.” Your smile brings heat to Mammon’s chest. “I like it when you look at me like that.”

“Li-like what, st-stupid human?” Mammon splutters. 

The hand in his hair tugs. Not enough to hurt but just enough to reprimand.

“I don’t like being called that.” You’re… you’re frowning at him. A little bit. Mammon’s mouth is dry. 

“S-sor-sorry.” Mammon replies lamely, his tongue sluggish in his mouth. 

“Hmm,” you release his head and Mammon does his best to not chase after your hand. “Good enough, I guess. Your turn, then.”

Mammon turns to the table. His opponents’ piles of chips look pitiful next to his own. They watch him apprehensively. 

You’re watching him too, a half smile lazily curling about your face. “Go on. Win me a bracelet this time.” You show your wrists, both already heavy with bangles of all sorts, of diamond and gold and ruby. Your left wrist looks a bit more full than your right. Mammon finds his mouth is no longer dry anymore. He has a little too much saliva, now. “I don’t want an uneven amount. I’m sure the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, can fix that for me.”

“Yea-yeah! You bet!”

Mammon turns his head back to the table. The demon in green is looking pretty poor on chips and he has a very, very nice gold watch on his arm. Unbidden, a smirk crawls up Mammon’s cheeks. 

You huff out a quiet laugh. 

“I’m all in!”

There seems to be an unbearable pain in Lucifer’s head, what with how hard he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel a bit embarrassed, because, yes, Lucifer only left the house for a few hours and there’s another crisis. Satan, Belphegor, and you stand in a semi-circle around Mammon’s bed. 

“Belphie, what does he look like?” Lucifer rasps, only just holding onto his sanity. 

Belphegor leans over Mammon, a discerning look in his eyes. He sighs. 

“He’s in there. Just dreaming.”

All of the air that was stuck in your lungs releases. Breathing is so much easier now. 

“Can you get him out,” you ask. Your hands flex, aching to clamp around Mammon’s hand. His hands are always warm, though. You’re a little afraid that they’ll be cold. 

Belphegor see-saws his hand. “Yes and no. I can go in and try, but the Forbidden Book will have its own conditions for Mammon to wake up.”

You turn to Satan, who is very carefully leafing through the book with oven mitts on. 

Satan grunts, turning a page. “Still looking. I found the activation requirements, though. It says in this passage that for the curse to work, a demon must be a ‘warrior at heart’ and ‘dreaming of something dear to their heart’ so that the dream world can be constructed accordingly.”

In your mind’s eye, you see Mammon’s wide grin as he opens the book.

”A warrior?” Belphie scoffs. “Mammon hasn’t done anything special in centuries.”

Lucifer makes a skeptical noise. “Inaction does not invalidate the claim to the title. Mammon… has always been one of a kind.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose. What do you mean ‘constructed’?” Belphegor asks, one hand placed carefully on Mammon’s forehead. 

“Just that,” Satan replies. “It takes the dreams of the demon and makes a world that they’ll never want to leave. Quite fascinating, really. This was crafted to be a trial for warriors, to test if they would truly be able to turn from their inherent sin and serve their greater demon lord. When I saw it up for auction on Akuzon, I had to have it. Shame about the situation, though.”

Satan did not sound too disappointed. 

“You mean he can wake up on his own?” Lucifer says. 

Satan shrugs. “I still haven’t found the actual chapter for it, but in theory, yes. He just has to have the willpower to turn away from his own sin.”

An uneasy feeling roils in your stomach. Turning away from your sin might be hard for regular, low-level demons, but an Avatar of Sin like Mammon…

The others seem to feel similarly. 

Lucifer turns to Belphegor. “How likely is it that you can get him out, Belphie?” 

“Pretty likely.” Belphegor replies, hand smoothing over Mammon’s cheek to his pulse. “Sleep is in my domain, so dreams also fall in by association, and I’m not sensing any kind of power that would overrule my own. The thing is, I don’t know if the curse will retaliate if I interfere. Could be that Mammon can never go a night without a nightmare or something equally awful. That sort of thing would take a lot of time to reverse.”

“Wouldn’t there be a failsafe if it was a warriors’ trial?” You ask. 

Satan shakes his head. “This particular demon tribe did not believe in failsafes. If you didn’t have the discipline to resurface on your own, you didn’t resurface at all.”

“Will he die? If he doesn’t resurface?”

“No,” Lucifer assures, his voice firm in a way that gives you a little bit of relief. “Mammon is an Avatar, so he won’t die. Besides, Belphie will get him out, if he can’t on his own. We’ll deal with whatever comes after.”

“How long will we wait, then?”

Lucifer looks to Belphegor. 

Belphegor yawns, likely exhausted by the serious atmosphere. “Two days or so, maybe?”

“The longest recorded coma was seven months, sixteen days, and eleven hours.” Satan pipes up.

“A week, then.” Belphie amends.

Lucifer nods. “In the meantime, I expect everyone to attend their classes as they usually would. I will talk to Diavolo.”

You nod, your eyes fixed on Mammon. 

Hopefully it won’t take more than a week. 

“ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE BOW DOWN TO THE GREAT MAMMON!”

All demons of all sins could only oblige, as Mammon had taken every valuable on the table. And a few off of it, too.

You laugh. It’s not that soft breath but an honest guffaw that has you shaking in your seat. You’re dripping in luxury, your ornaments doubled in number and rarity, a bigger heap of offerings at your slippered feet. It’s still not enough. Mammon wants… Mammon wants to see you in a crown. Maybe a crown of ruby, to compliment the yellow you’re wearing. Maybe one of emeralds. A mighty, tall crown worth more than the entire casino they sit in. 

Fingers whisper under Mammon’s chin as you tip his head towards you. So many necklaces of different kinds dangle from your neck, but not a choker. Mammon wonders why. He likes the look of them, how they emphasize the muscles or the graceful column or the lovely plump of a demon’s neck. 

You smile like you know what he’s thinking. “I saved something for you.” 

It’s leather or something like it, which isn’t strange for the demon world. It has a huge sapphire embedded in gold hanging from the middle. You turn his chair to face yours, your knees touching his, and fasten it around his throat. It’s tight, tight enough that he feels it constrict slightly as he swallows. 

“There we are. It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Of co-course it do-does. Everythin’ looks better on me.”

“Careful.” You say. You take hold of his chin again. Mammon’s world narrows down to your fingers and your eyes. “I might get upset if you keep being mean to me.”

The world is dizzy. Was he… was he really being mean? He always talks to you a bit like that, but he never thought that you would… that he would upset you. 

Your brows ease from their furrow. “Don’t worry, Mammon. You didn’t upset me. I was playing.”

Your fingers begin to withdraw. Mammon clutches your wrist. 

“Don’t stop.” Mammon nearly whines. “I didn’t say ya should stop.”

You smile at him. Mammon feels the choker against his throat as he swallows. 

“I won’t, Mammon, don’t worry.” You lean in, the hand Mammon’s holding moving to cup his jaw and the other going to the poker table behind him. Every demon’s eyes are on you. On your wealth, on your magnificence, on your daring. On your lips, skimming across Mammon’s cheek to his  earlobe. 

The the back of the chair that Mammon sits in is the only thing keeping him upright. He feels like he’s trembling apart at the seams, lightheaded with how close you are.

“Hey,” you whisper to him, your lips brushing his ear. Mammon is about to morph into his demon form, if only to loose some of the excess heat that is blazing across every inch of his skin. 

“Yeah?” Mammon rasps back. 

You stand between his splayed open legs, so close you’re practically in his lap. You lean away from his ear, both a relief and a loss. He feels set aflame by your very breath. 

“Let’s go play something else.”

Mammon glances over. Other demons are beginning to crowd the table, raring to play a game of poker, but wary of the Avatar of Greed and his winning streak. 

“What should we play?” Mammon asks. He knows a bit of what he wants, but you could want something else. And if it makes you keep smiling at him like that…

“Anything,” you murmur. “As long as you take everything they’ve got. I want to walk out tripping over money.”

Shit. Shit.  

Mammon feels heat suffuse his body with vengeance. His head lolls back to rest at the top of his chair. 

You huff— Mammon can feel your breath ghost along his cheek— and run a finger down Mammon’s throat, gliding across the choker and ending at his collar bone. 

Mammon’s back quivers, curling up off of the plush cushion of his seat. His breath is leaving him fast, and he can barely inhale enough to keep up with the demand for oxygen. 

You straighten, the heat of your body retreating with you, leaving Mammon all but limp in his chair. 

The ceiling is nice. Has Mammon mentioned how nice the ceiling is? Very high, very pretty. Gold and red, just like everything else in the casino. 

“Where are we going, Mammon?”

Mammon exhales. You want everything off of every demon. All of it. Mammon wants to give it to you. Wants to so very bad. 

He stands. “Let’s go play some craps.” 

Asmodeus drapes his torso dramatically over the table. 

“It’s not fair. Why does Mammon get to sleep through school with his deepest desires?”

“Careful,” you mutter ruefully, picking at your breakfast. You can’t really help how bitter your voice is. Someone has brought up this same topic at every meal. “You sound like Levi right now.”

“It’s true,” Levi bemoans, crossing his arms, “why does he get to live out his ultimate dream and I don’t? Mammon is probably wasting this opportunity on counting Grimm when I could be saving the world with my precious Ruri-chan! Shaking hands with Henry! Playing a real life RPG! How could Lucifer lock away my golden ticket to paradise? I would give anything, even my limited edition Double Bubble Ruri-chan: Disco Era Funtime doll!”

You put down your fork, frustration killing your appetite. You haven’t talked to Mammon in two days. By the time school is over, it’ll be three days. He’ll be in the same realm, in the same house even, and you still won’t be able to talk to him. It makes you nauseous. 

You don’t blame the others. To them, this is a temporary situation that Mammon will awaken from anyway, so why not be jealous of it? But to you… 

You miss Mammon. That’s all there is to it. 

Beel stares at your plate. You push it towards him. He drools over it, but turns away. 

“You should eat more,” Beel grits out with difficulty. “Eating is good for you.”

You reach down for the backpack at your feet. “Don’t worry, Beel. I’m not hungry, so I’m going to start heading to RAD.”

Beel does not wait for a second confirmation. He digs into your plate dutifully. He’s been eating a bit more than usual, you think. He’s probably anxious. You make sure to pat him on the shoulder on your way out. 

As you walk out the door, you hear Asmodeus’s voice, loud in his laughter. 

“Counting Grimm, Levi? Oh please. Mammon is probably in some casino with them blowing on his dice for luck. Maybe blowing something else, too, the lucky bastard.”

Hot breath fans gently over Mammon’s knuckles, and Mammon feels his cheeks heat at your dipped head. You rise, and Mammon rolls his dice. Eleven. Just what he needed.

Your arm winds around his shoulders as he cackles and collects his winnings of this round. Mammon is on a winning streak a mile wide, with his opponents in tears. 

“You’re lucky,” Mammon announces to you, to the casino, to the world. “I’ll take ya to any casino, anywhere.”

“Really?” You ask, your arm a band around Mammon’s chest. 

“Hell yeah, baby! Did ya see me? I won every game!”

You still, and Mammon stills with you. 

His face flushes. He considers backpedaling. Calling you a stupid human, saying that you should be grateful he wants to take you anywhere. But… you said it could make you upset. 

“Mammon. Mammon, look at me.”

Reluctantly he turns to look at you. 

Your cheeks are pink and your smile is kind. You lean your forehead against his. 

“I like that,” you tell him tenderly. “Say it again?”

Mammon murmurs something or another that he himself did not hear. 

“Please Mammon?” Your hands smooth over his shoulders. “Mammon?”

“Baby,” Mammon whispers, unsure. 

He has only a second to doubt himself before your lips drag across his collarbone. Mammon’s hands rise to brush against your waist, uncertain. Then your lips move just a little and bite down and all Mammon can do is hold onto you like a lifeline. He would shout, but something about the way that your teeth felt… it was… weird. Dry and not at all tingly. Maybe Mammon didn’t like biting? But…

“Hey, Mammon?” Your voice is breathy, like you ran a mile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Wanna get out of here?”

More than anything. “Sure, baby.”

Mammon gets a Little D to cash out all his chips and another to carry the excess wealth to the car. He wasn’t sure if he actually had a car here, but he could improvise. Maybe trade a few hundred thousand Grimm for a real nice car. 

But he takes you to the parking lot and there it is. His red convertible, top already down. The one he he’s been wanting to take you on joy rides in. You climb in like it’s no big deal. 

Swallowing, Mammon climbs in the drivers’ side. 

“Where to?” Mammon asks, unsure himself. If they go back to the House of Lamentation, Lucifer is sure to ream him out about gambling again. Mammon is in too good of a mood for it to be spoiled by Lucifer’s endless nagging. 

You tip your head back to rest on the shoulder of the headrest. 

“Anywhere. As long as you’re driving.”

Mammon laughs nervously, and puts the car in reverse. Anywhere. Anywhere at all. 

Mammon drives to the edge of the sea. On the beach. 

You sigh as the beach breeze moves through the car. Then you sit up to look at him. 

“Is there anyone around?”

“I, uh,” Mammon swivels his head, searching. Strangely enough, there’s no sign of any other demons on this beach. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Mammon’s about to ask what’s good about being alone of a huge beach like two teens in a horror movie when you amble over the center console and sit yourself on his lap. All that can leave Mammon’s mouth is a strangled wheeze. 

You sparkle even more in the sunlight. You’re literally blinding. 

You tuck your head into Mammon’s neck and he awkwardly touches your waist with his fingertips. There’s a click, and Mammon is falling backwards as his seat reclines, yelping. Your breath puffs against the skin of his throat. Then your lips replace your breath. 

Mammon’s body jolts, jostling you from where you lay on top of him. You only laugh and feather another kiss under Mammon’s jaw, then against his cheek. 

“Mammon,” you breathe, your eyes bearing into his. Slowly, you inch forward, and all Mammon can do is meet your lips with his. 

You let your pencil clatter uselessly against the fine wood of your desk. There would be no more productivity tonight, and you pack up the remainder of your homework. Hopefully you’ll be able to wake up early tomorrow and work on it after breakfast. Maybe curling up with a book will distract you more that homework.

Day four of Mammon’s coma has trickled away, leaving you on the cusp of the fifth day and all the more bitter for it. Satan said that there was no way to reverse the coma using the Forbidden book, and had left it completely at that. Now you either had to wait three more days or hope that Mammon gave up on the pool of Grimm he was probably swimming in at the very moment. 

As much as you believe in Mammon, you know that’s not very likely. 

You toss your book aside, bored of it within seconds. Much like everything else lately. Walking with Beelzebub or Asmodeus to school is nice, but it would be much nicer if Mammon were there. Eating lunch with Simeon, Luke, and Solomon was relaxing, but it would be so much more exciting if Mammon were there. Gaming with Leviathan and reading with Satan was fun, but you miss Mammon’s ridiculous schemes and raucous laughter. 

It’s strange. You always enjoyed all of those things normally when Mammon wasn’t in a coma, but you can’t now that he is. 

He’s down the hall from you right now and you miss him more than you did when you returned to the human world for all those months. 

Tired, but unlikely to fall asleep anytime soon, you tuck yourself under your bed covers and close your eyes. 

There’s nothing. 

Mammon’s eyes are wide open. Shocked. Terrified. 

There’s no warmth at all from your lips. 

There is no fluttery feeling. No giddiness. There’s not even the heat that Mammon was boiling with back at the casino. All of the warmth from then and now seems to have leached right out of him. 

You pull back, smile bright.

“Mammon. Mammon.” 

Your hips move just a little, and you move back in to kiss him. Mammon flails, rolls you off of him, and fumbles to open the driver’s side door. When it finally opens, Mammon stumbles out, lands flat on his face in the sand, and scrambles to his feet. 

You sit up in the car. You’re still deck out in shimmering jewels, and you look just the slightest bit rumpled. And hurt. You look so hurt. 

It’s nearly enough to make Mammon trip over himself to climb back in the car, but he can't forget the feeling of your lips on his, or lack thereof. 

Maybe he just built it up too much in his own mind? Maybe he did both you and him a disservice by raising you on a pedestal, and the real deal can’t hold a candle to it?

But no. Mammon remembers. 

Mammon remembers a late movie night, you asleep with your head on his shoulder. Your head lolled and your nose ended up in the crook of Mammon’s neck. Your breath took up Mammon’s every thought, and your proximity made his heart speed. Most of all, he remembers the touch of your sleeping lips to his skin, and how electrified he felt. Like he could punch straight through Cerberus and a hungry Beelzebub all in one go. 

Everything else felt so real, so why did your kiss make Mammon feel so…

Why did it feel so fake?

“Mammon, what’s going on?” You venture, stepping out of the still ajar car door. “Are you okay?” 

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’s going on’?” Mammon yells, hurt and terrified and unsure. “What the hell was that?”

“That was—,” you stutter, “I thought that you—”

“No! No, no, no, no.” Mammon grabs fistfuls of his hair. “Don’t look at me like that! Don’t do it.”

You’re teary eyed. Which is ridiculous, because Mammon should be the one crying. Why did it feel that way? Why does he not feel horror at the thought of you crying?

“Something’s wrong.” Mammon says to himself, to the empty beach, to you. 

“What’s wrong? Mammon, tell me what it is and we can fix it!”

Mammon whips his head around. It all started with this damn abandoned beach, that feeling of wrongness. No lovely beach this side of Devildom is ever without demons. Or was it the casino? He should go back there. Right now! Only…

Where was the casino again?

Mammon’s head spun. Which way was it? He drove here, so he should be able to go back, right? Since when does Mammon, Avatar of Greed, not know where any casino is?

Never. Mammon has never forgotten where a casino is in his life. 

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate. You’re crying, and your hands are trembling. 

“Talk to me! What’s going on?”

Mammon’s only gotten that many wins in a row a few times in his long, long life. And there’s no way Lucifer would ever let him bet enough money to play the type of high-stakes game that would result in that much money. He’s never seen that casino before, and doesn’t know where it is. Even if he concentrates, he can’t remember a single face from that casino. 

Which means that there’s no way that that was a casino. Which means the casino wasn’t real. 

“Mammon, you’re scaring me.”

Mammon looks down at you. You’re in yellow, his favorite color. You were in that fake casino with him, despite him never taking you to any demon casino anywhere in Devildom. You climbed right into the car he’s never shown you anywhere but his dreams. 

Dreams. 

Mammon takes in how hazy the horizon is. He spent several hours in that casino but the sun hasn’t budged from its half-mast in the sky, just before sunset. His favorite time of day. But there’s no day in the Devildom. And this isn’t one of Prince Diavolo’s special beaches.

“You’re not real,” he whispers. 

“What are you talking about, of course I’m real,” you cry, gripping his shoulders harder. 

“No,” Mammon says, “all of this isn’t real.”

He shoves fake-you away, skin burning with home close to him they were. How close he let them be. With one absent-minded hand, he rips off the leather choker and tosses it away carelessly. 

How was he supposed to get out of here? Was there some sort of spell? Was he supposed to fly out?

“It could be real,” fake-you says from the sand. They sit up, face contorted into a beatific smile. “You could stay here, forever. You could win every day. All the wealth you could ever imagine, gifted to you.” Mountains of gold pile up, tumbling over themselves as they stack high, high, high. “Nothing to slow you down. And then at night, you can take me home.” Fake-you rises and steps forward. Mammon retreats further away. “Think of all the fun we could have. You could do anything.”

Fake-you reclines in a pile, sliding a hand down their body, and it takes everything Mammon has not to throw up. 

The Grimm, skulls emblazoned and golden, are tempting. Mammon wants money, wants so much money that he’ll drown in it. But that… that isn’t real money, is it? What the fuck is Mammon supposed to buy with fake money?

“No! I don’t want fake money! I want real money!” Mammon kicks down a pile, feeling his fangs prickle his lower lip. What was the use of money that Mammon could never have in real life? What was the use of time spent with you when you weren’t really here? “I don’t want fake-you! I want the real you!”

“Why?” Fake-you asks, cupping a handful of gold and letting it pour from their hand. It makes musical clanks as it hits the rest of the coins and slides down the pile. “It’s as real as you believe it is, and so am I.” Fake-you grins. “Come on, Mammon. It’s not like you’ll ever get this chance anywhere else.”

Reeling with hurt and outrage, Mammon lets his demon form rise to the surface, feeling his power distort the very air. 

“I. Want. Out.”

The beach and fake-you are ripped to shreds by his claws. 

Belphegor crashed into the dinning room, looking more disheveled than usual. 

“Mammon’s waking up!”

Despite your human nature, you’re the fastest to react. You stumble to Mammon’s room, where he’s thrashing so violently you balk at the door. The blankets twist around him where his claws haven’t shredded them, and he’s growling. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Lucifer demands, pushing past his curious brothers, dragging Belphegor with him. 

Belphegor shrugs. “He’s waking up, but he’s forcing it. The Book’s fighting him.”

“Can you help him?” You ask. 

“I could,” Belphegor says, “but he doesn’t need it. Look.”

You turn back in enough time to see Mammon’s eyes fly right open, snarling in rage. Rising, he claws off the remaining blankets, and moves towards the crowed at the door, horns out and wings flared.

“Mammon,” you say, excited, shouldering past Lucifer. He doesn’t break his stride in his path to you, and when you reach out to hug him, he snatches you close to him. 

“You woke up,” you exclaim, squeezing him. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for two days! I took school notes, you can use them if you want.”

Mammon tilts up your head, the claws that tore up fabric in seconds gentle. “Mind if I check that this is real?”

“Yeah?” You reply. “How are you—”

He kisses you. Right there, in front of all six of his brothers. It’s soft, barely a brush of his lips on yours for a chaste second, but your heart nearly bursts in your chest with free fall sensation. Your head swims a little, and the words of the demons behind you fly right over your head. 

“Yeah,” Mammon sighs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, dopey smile growing on his face. “This is real all right.”

You have a million questions. How does your kiss make everything real? What was Mammon dreaming about? Did he miss you, too? 

As you open your mouth to ask any of these questions, Mammon collapses on you in a dead faint, taking you to the ground with him. 

Winded, you stare at the minuscule amount of ceiling that you can see through stark white hair. 

“Oh,” Satan says calmly. “The book did say to expect some disorientation upon awakening.”

#obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer

[the-auguer]

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I received your Lilith ask! Sorry it’s taking me so long to respond, but I’m definitely getting to it >.<

Have a great week ahead!

no problem!! Take your time!

#I would literally wait a thousand years for you to answer my ask #it’s no problem lovely <3

[the-auguer]

He’s the ✨worst✨

#like— what the hell babe? #i just met this guy (as an angel) and he’s already firing the most ATROCIOUS shots at me #like— like dude!!! #would still kiss him though #so maybe that’s my own issue #obey me mammon #obey me

[the-auguer]

I thought I’d share this head canon with you and see your thoughts on it. Food in the devildom is made the same as the human realm, but as it is told by Lucifer that purer souls taste better. It is also mentioned that hells coffee becomes more bitter the more you love the person. It seems like food is less of its contents and more of the intention of the cook. Perhaps, not saying he is though, Solomon can actually cook well but because his intention is sinful or all for his personal gain it therefore tastes bad. MCs cooking is good regardless of your character for them because their intentions are good. They love the brothers and thus the food is delicious. Same with Barbados giving to Diavolo without desire for a personal gain makes his cooking great. Characters may cook with mixed emotions. Mammon might love his brothers but if his intention changes from “let me do something nice for ya” to “maybe they’ll pay me for my hard work!” It adds that extra bit that makes it taste off.

the 👏 secret 👏 ingredient 👏 is 👏 love

Ok but that makes a huge amount of sense!! It's less about the physical food itself and more about the emotions attached to it - the process as a means of becoming

If we think about a demon's regular diet (i.e: souls), they're used to consuming what amounts to a person's being - their memories, their dreams, their thoughts, their feelings. But souls are a finite resource and so there has to be a way to make it stretch. Thus - what can they consume that is a) formed and created over time, b) influenced by emotion and desire, and c) often has sentimental meaning - memory, if you will?

To physically make food from scratch, no matter if you're a line chef or at home baking, there is intent. You're cracking eggs like your guardian showed you once. You're mixing in this brand of flour because an older respected relative used to use it all the time. You're making this meal because you know it will make your friend smile - these are all things that influence the way a dish tastes. And it's just enough to give the food you make a soul of its own.

However, if you're making food with purely selfish intentions at heart, or maybe even feeling particularly negative about what you're doing, then that's the opposite of what can sate a demon. Demons have a surplus of sin - they need food with other 'nutrients' like love and joy.

I really, really love this hc bc it's honestly very sweet in a way 💛 thank you for sharing it!

#love this #storing this away for a later date because it’s so very important to me #brings about thoughts of nutrient deficiency #where a demon has a surplus of sin and nothing to counteract it #and gets sick or weak or something #thinking thoughts #obey me

[the-auguer]

mammon is the type of man to turn the light off and sprint to his bed. he also can’t sleep with his legs out from under his covers bc he thinks he’ll get grabbed

#no but i literally would #i wouldn’t be able to stop myself after the first time he screamed like a freefalling five year old #obey me mammon #my… my beloved…

[the-auguer]

do you have any more instances of Mammon dropping lines like "Get bent" or "... got some truth for you haters"? he's like Shakespeare to me

sure thing!

everything that leaves his mouth is pure gold you are so right anon

#electing mammon for the funniest hoe alive #just to throw it out there: #this guy sold pigeon feathers to other angels while claiming they were Raphael’s feathers #he’s peak comedy #obey me mammon

[the-auguer]

You can never tell Mammon you’re cold because he can’t act fucking normal for five minutes- rather then giving you his jacket he tries to zip you in with him, telling you to put your arms in the sleeves with his and that his body heat will keep you warmer anyway :)

#oh to be zipped into a jacket with mammon <3 #he’s so stupid. he makes me stupider for yearning to be associated with him #obey me mammon #my… my beloved… #obey me mammon x reader

[the-auguer]

200 words of mammon love i haven’t written for obey me in like a month so i have come to feed the pigeons (you).

brain rotting about mammon, who doesn’t let mc forget things.

no, no not like dates and times, but items. any of their possessions. no losing a jacket or forgetting your notes , because mammon will be handing them to you right before you realize they’re gone.

he’s always aware of where your items are, it’s fallen in line with the way he keeps track of money and wallets in public. he’s greedy, his eyes always following when a businessman pulls out a shiny black card, tapping it on the scanner and slipping it back into his pocket. mammon has to look for valuables when he’s out and about, it’s practically hardwired into his brain.

and the moment he fell for you (instantly) you became a valuable in his eyes, err subconscious?

everything you touch, look at, breathe near becomes part of what he tracks, which is why he can’t help but snatch up what you forget, keeping it to himself, just giving it back when you realize it was lost with an eye roll and scolding you to be more cognizant of your possessions.

but, ah, let’s not get into what you didn’t ask for back, especially not what you’ve purposefully discarded. he’s hit some low points, okay?

#all up in my feelings about this one #esp as someone who’s super forgetful #mammon my love pls come here #obey me mammon #mammon x reader