#These ornaments will suit Asmodeus.

[ketybumol]

YEEEPY new decoration for Gnome!

[Yeepy yeeeypyy yeeypyyy Booster's ring]

[another-lost-mc]

Got any thots/ideas in wing kink for Luci, Simeon, or anyone with wings?

a/n: there's a few different types of wings among the cast, but I think they're all unique and worth talking about!

wing headcanons

featuring: lucifer, mammon, asmodeus, beelzebub, diavolo, simeon, raphael, michael (and any oc with wings)

0.7k words | nsfw | suggestive

cw: wing kink implied. sexual situations and predator/prey kink mentioned. the predator/prey kink section is after the divider if you prefer not to read that part.

One of the first signs of trust is the casual affection he shows you when his wings are revealed. He might not always reach for your hand in public, especially if he's a bit more reserved by nature. However, what you do feel is the soft sensation of his wing brushing against your side when you walk beside him. He doesn't even mean to do it at first. It's like his wing naturally extends itself to curl around your back or glide against your arm. It's an unconscious gesture motivated by his feelings for you.

He might ask you to help with his wing care next. If he has wings made of feathers, he sits patiently while you preen them. You're especially careful when you straighten the feathers that look stuck out of place. Your hands are coated with a special oil that keeps his wings soft and protected from harsh wind and cool rain. It's a ritual for both of you now, one that often leads to grateful kisses and quickly descends into passionate lovemaking. Preening his wings was something he didn't enjoy doing by himself, or he reluctantly asked others to help him. Now that he has you, he craves the intimacy of it.

Leathery wings don't require the same level of care, but your lover is still grateful when you try to make him feel pampered and cared for. Sometimes stroking the edge of his wings feels ticklish. Sometimes it sends little bolts of desire shooting through his body straight to his cock. You never know whether he's going to laugh and squirm away from your hands, or if he's going to spin around and pin you underneath him.

Beelzebub's wings are thin and extremely sensitive, and he doesn't like it when they're touched. You are a rare exception. He trusts that you won't hurt the delicate wings that sit against his back. It feels nice when you gently run your fingers along the very edges. He rewards your gentleness and understanding with hungry kisses and greedy hands that rid you of all your annoying clothes.

As the crown prince, Diavolo's wings are particularly impressive and adorned with precious gold ornaments. He secretly likes it when you tease him about keeping the gilded gold pieces clean while you polish them to a glimmering shine. For special occasions, he'll even change them to a different metal that suits your preferences better—he wants to look his best for you. Don't be surprised when he offers you gifts of jewelry made with the same precious metals and jewels that match his own. He would love to see you wear them—and only them—the next time he invites you to spend the night.

Most of the time, fucking someone in his true form can be clumsy or awkward. He doesn't just let anyone touch their wings so intimately either. When you're intimate, he might purposefully reveal his wings. His wings wrap around your body and draw you close while he shields you from the world, protecting you when you're naked and vulnerable. (It also hides you from unworthy eyes that don't deserve to see you that way.) Sometimes his wings randomly appear in the height of passion, unfurling at his back when pleasure drives away all thought and reason except the singular desire to touch you. When his mind isn't clouded with lust, he looks a bit bashful that he lost control like that to begin with—it only happens when he's with you.

Another possibility is a little bit of predator/prey roleplay. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be hunted? Your winged lover is more than happy to indulge in this kink should you ask. The forests of the Devildom (or the human world) are perfect for this. He leads you there and urges you towards the tree line in front of you. He'll even give you a head start.

(You're going to need it.)

It begins when you finally run into the darkened woods with only glimpses of moonlight to illuminate your path. The smallest sounds are impossibly loud, echoing off the trees around you: a snapping twig, the crunch of fallen leaves under your feet, your own ragged, panted breaths. Sometimes you see movement from the corner of your eye and when you turn around, there's nothing there. What you do notice is the tree branch high above you shaking slightly, as if someone was just there and then launched himself back into the sky.

(He's toying with you.)

Adrenaline gives you one last burst of energy that propels your feet forward, and you keep running despite the burning in your lungs. The blood in your veins is laced with lust and fear in equal measure. It's not long before you finally hear it: the sound of wings slicing through the air and growing louder as he draws near. Do you hear the soft swish of feathers? The taut snap of leathery wings billowing against the wind? Or perhaps it's the bzzzt of wings fluttering rapidly at his back that quickens your pulse? Suddenly, his familiar silhouette looms above you and blocks the moon from view. You're pinned against his chest before you realize what's happening, and his arms (and sometimes wings) curl around your body. Greedy hands start to pull at your clothes as he crushes his lips against yours. The game is over, and you're finally his to claim.

read more: obey me masterlist

[derpy-dogs-n-cats]

Christmas Wish.

Main Masterlist

Obey Me Masterlist

Simeon x Fem! Reader/MC.

Warnings: Sexual themes, smut, dry humping, clothed grinding, teasing, orgasm denial, cumming in pants.

Summary: After pining for each other for so long, Simeon's Santa outfit on Christmas sets in motion something to finally happen.

W/C: 1.8k+

A/N: Tried to get this done DURING Christmas, but here it is.

Loud voices fill the dining room of the house of lamentation with pairs of footsteps being heard back and forth, some slow, others as loud as the banter in the room with the steps being heard rushing into the kitchen in attempt to prevent the need for damage control. “Solomon no! I can handle decorating the desserts!” You hear Luke’s voice fade into the kitchen followed by a muffled chuckle and small protests of how Solomon doesn’t mind ‘helping’.

“I’m hungry…” Beel whines as Belphie yawns. “Don’t worry Beel, Simeon’s almost here.” You comfort him. All seven brothers and everybody from purgatory hall were already at the house of lamentation, except for Simeon who’d gone to pick up Diavolo and Barbatos for christmas dinner, having insisted on accompanying over. “No one’s touching any food until Diavolo and Barbatos show up.” Lucifer informs to which Beel whines again.

“But what about Luke?” He complains with a frown which causes Lucifer to give him a stern ‘you know what I mean’ look. “Hello.” A familiar voice says that has you and the brothers looking over to see Simeon walking in the dining room with Diavolo and Barbatos beside him. Everyone greets each other as they approach one another for a warmer welcome in a hug or small talk to fill the gap of dinner getting finished but none of it is registered in your head, to entranced in Simeon.

He’d always looked breathtaking in his usual attire- any attire, but tonight was even more so than usual, dressed in a beautiful white suit with baby blue patterns topped with small golden colored designs pairing with the golden ornaments adorning the wool at the end of his sleeves and edges of his snow white hooded cloak matching with a Santa hat of the same design. “Sorry we’re so late.” His gentle voice apologizes before he calls your name in a questioning tone, opening his arms for you with a smile after a small pause.

You finally react and walk over to him and wrap your arms around his torso with his falling to your upper back and holding you close to him, embracing you in his warmth and letting you feel the soft fabric of his clothes. “How do I look?” He asks when he finally pulls away, still somewhat holding you in his arms by keeping his hands on your arms. You open your mouth to answer him only for nothing to come out, still at loss of words at the sight before you, though there’s someone who was never at loss for words.

“Oh Simeon!” Asmodeus practically moans and steps in front of you, breaking Simeon’s hold on you. “Well aren’t you a cute little Santa, darling. Tell me, am I on your naughty list tonight? Do you think you should punish me? Or have I been good this year? Do I deserve some reward?” Asmo tries to seduce him, his arms placing themselves around his neck. “Um…” Simeon looks away without knowing how to answer. “Something tells me Santa has you on a list all by your self.” You resist the urge to cross your arms at him.

“No need to be jealous dear,” He smiles at you. “You can help Santa give me my reward for being such a good boy this year.” His voice trails off to the same seductive tone while he looks back to Simeon. “Maybe not.” Simeon pulls Asmo’s arms off of him while looking away with an almost annoyed expression. “Simeon!” Luke yells and rushes over to hug him despite having been apart for only a few hours.

“You were so late I thought these demons had done away with you.” He exaggerates. “I’m alright Luke.” Simeon smiles as plates lightly clink in the background at the table being set. “What do you say if while Barbatos serves dinner, you tell Santa what you want?” He sits on the closest chair. “To make up for being late.” He adds and pats on his lap. “B- Wh- what? I’m not a child anymore! I know how Santa really works!” He points an accusatory finger at Diavolo and the brothers starting to take their own seats as well.

“Come on, just tell me what you want.” Simeon insists with Luke staying put, and despite him being older than you, seeing a child be so against asking Santa for a christmas present felt saddening, even if it’s a job that’s actually taken upon demons. “Well I want to ask Santa for a christmas present.” You state as you sit on Simeon’s lap, missing the way his eyes widen. “Stop treating me like child!” Luke insists, obvious to how Simeon’s eyes nearly pop from their sockets at how wide they are.

“It’s okay, I didn’t know about Santa until I was your age.” You assure him. “I’m over a millennium years old.” He says in a deadpan expression. “But you’re also sort of 10.” You say. “Hmph” He squints his eyes at you and leaves to take his own seat. “So… what does the pretty girl want from Santa?” Simeon nervously runs a hand through his hair with warm cheeks. “The… what?” You quietly turn around to face him, slightly moving in his lap which has him clearing his throat.

“The… pretty girl said she wanted to ask Santa for a present?” He repeats with a bashful smile. “Well… you see, I might actually need to think about it for a bit.” You subconsciously press yourself further into his lap, and though the action goes unnoticed by you, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Simeon who nearly chokes on thin air, swallowing thickly and reluctantly placing his left hand on your waist while the other one goes for the side of the chair, gripping it tightly.

“Maybe sit on Santa’s lap until you know what you want?” He suggests, struggling to steady his left hand enough to gently pull you closer to him, slightly spreading open his legs enough to slowly lodge you in between them. He’d never felt something like this and never really felt actual interest in these type of acts before, until he met you, and now that he finally has you so close to him, to where an unknown warmth was starting to blossom, he wasn’t going to let you go.

“Dinner is served.” Barbatos’s voice interrupts, both of you lightly jumping in your seats and staring straight ahead wide eyed at being caught red handed, expecting a scolding. But when you look over at him, he’s instead giving you a knowing look with a smirk on his face before leaving to his own seat beside Diavolo. You both stay sat in place quietly with both of you looking around nervously, seeing everyone else immersed in conversations along with small spats starting to form distracting from you and Simeon.

You look back to Barbatos again to see him silently eating his food with his eyes glued to the wall ahead of him and simply tuning out, but despite him minding his own business, it felt odd knowing that he knows what was happening. A small whisper of your name comes from behind you and you take in the noticeable difference with your seat form just a few seconds ago. “Please.” Simeon whispers again, his legs overly tense under you with his left hand gripping at your waist tightly, erection pressing into your ass.

You give a last quick glance around the table and look at him over your shoulder, squeezing the sides of his thighs nervously and finally give in. You move your hands to his knees and spread his legs apart just a bit further, moving to wedge yourself deeper in between them, unaware of the show you give him of swaying your hips side to side against his groin followed by you arching your back and leaning forward just slightly, enough to press your clothed cunt onto his hardness.

You open your legs as well to better welcome him against you and proceed to slowly grind back and forth on him, gently moving along the tent of his pants but pressing deep into his hardness. With his hands pulling your back and forth into him, you feel a wetness starting to seep from within you and soak your underwear, wondering if he would be able to feel you through the material of his pants keeping him away from you as your own do the same.

You give a small glance over your shoulder and see him struggling to keep his eyes from fluttering shut with his jaw visibly clenched tight, trying to not draw any attention with his length growing harder by the second starting to feel painful. His grip on your waist gradually tightens while he grinds you harder onto him, starting to hump back into you with his hips lifting in tune with your own, making sure to keep the movements slow so that no one notices.

By the time his hold on you starts to get painful, you manage to hear a small muffled noise from him with a small twitch from his length warning you of his impending orgasm with his teeth clenched tightly. Your own hands grasp harder on his thighs as well, biting back a plead that desperately wanted to escape you, wanting to bend over further over the table to grind your clit onto him rather than your clothed entrance drenched in your wetness, begging to reach it’s own release and clenching on nothing.

Having enough of what felt like teasing, you switch from your back and forth motions and move your hips side to side against him, hoping to finish him off to stop what almost feels like torture for your empty cunt. “Ngh.” A noise finally escapes him with his hips raising from the chair and holding you as tight against him as possible, stilling against you with his nails digging into your sides with his cock twitching beneath you, emptying his balls with you pressed onto him.

His hold on your waist slowly loosens until it goes limp, his hips settling back down slowly as well, cock softening with a quiet sigh leaving past his lips and eyes finally falling shut. You swallow a small whimper when you feel his release start to soak through your pants and bite your lip in frustration and despite having wanted something to happen between you after so long, you find yourself wishing for it to have happened in a better location.

Maybe next time you’ll be able to feel him inside you, or at least be able to play with your clit, maybe he’ll be the one to play with yours instead and you’ll actually be able to cum with him, but for now, you’re forced to take what you can get and enjoy simply having his cum soak through his pants and onto yours, leaving a dark patch on both your clothes and hoping to feel his warm cum reach your drenched pussy.

[hanakoofthejungle]

Another HuskerDust Hazbin Hotel fanart because I am obsessed with these two.

Speedpaint process below:

This piece is based on the fanfiction, Wicked Old Soul by BunnyBight. It is also a Overlord Husk AU fic but has its own distinct and captivating plot. I highly recommend.

The scene comes from Chapter 24 where Husk and Angel host an engagement party for Asmodeus and Fizzarolli, and of course they have to dress the part :))) in other words, excuse for me to draw Husk in a fancy suit and Angel in a beautiful dress.

I took a lot of leeway in interpreting the clothes.

BunnyBight describes Angel's dress as "made of a black shimmery material. Not sparkly, it was too subtle to be called that. The top of the dress wrapped over one shoulder and under the other. It fit snug to his body until it hit his hips where it then draped straight to the floor. The front of the dress had a large opening. The left side of the skirt fell straight down but then another layer started at that hip and crossed in front to end at his right ankle. His entire left leg was bare as was the bottom of his right leg." So I was thinking of silk chiffon as the material for the blouse/bust and first layer of the skirt and taffeta silk for the bodice and second dress layer. As both fabrics has shiny property, they would look a bit more grey than black as opposed to Husk's wool suit. I added a layer of pearlescent watercolor on top to make the dress shimmery but it doesn't show after scanning. Check out my speedpaint Youtube short to see how it shines under the light. The dress is also supposed to have gold and red playing cards embroidery, but I was lazy.

Angel's necklace is the centerpiece of the outfit, '[t]he necklace was an intricate design of many small black diamonds and seven large rubies, all set in gold [...] It looked like something royalty would wear." So I went ahead and based the necklace on Empress Elisabeth of Austria's ruby parure. I saw the necklace in her portrait by Georg Martin Ignaz Raab while visiting the Schönbrunn Palace some years ago. There are exactly 7 rubies in this fanart and some small black diamonds. The details do not look good up close since I was drawing on a small A5 size paper and this is the best I can manage with tiny tiny jewelry. BunnyBight also mentions a pair of earrings that go with the set, but I don't know where the ears of a spider locate so I replaced those with a matching hair ornament.

"Husk was wearing another three piece black suit with gold pinstripes and buttons. His gold bowtie looked fabulous over the red shirt he wore with it." I found that when executing all these details on paper, the suit would look very busy and lack an emphasis. Hence, I instead put Husk in a pure black double breasted suit, kept the red shirt and placed all the red, gold and black color in the tie as the highlight of his outfit. I couldn't draw the tiny "little gold and red playing card cufflinks at his wrist" (again the limitation of traditional art on small paper) so I replaced the with heart shaped gold cufflinks. A nice allusion to Husk's wearing his heart on his sleeve just for Angel, which was definitely my plan all along and not just mere coincidence. I skipped Husk's fancy top hat and cane because I was lazy. One very wrong detail in this whole outfit is Husk's ring which he doesn't get until Chapter 36 :((.

The background is just me freehand drawing that tapestry with card symbols and other motifs appear in Loser, Baby and the marble column.

[evilasiangenius]

The Great House

“So.” Aziraphale said, appearing behind her. “What brings you to Memphis this time, Crowley? On assignment?”

Crowley startled at the Prince of Hell’s sudden appearance, flinching back, not immediately recognizing Aziraphale. She had never seen the Prince of Hell like this before, attired like a human being. Aziraphale wore a long plaited flaxen wig, hung with golden ornaments and crowned with dark blue lotuses. Blue eyes were limned with kohl and the voluptuous curves of her body were hugged tightly by a long sheath dress of grayish linen that was woven through with zigzagging lines of dark blue, crimson, and gold. Around her neck was a heavy collar necklace of beads of silver and lapis lazuli of a shade that was the color of the sea at dusk, a luminous blue that verged on charred black.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s hand and there was that iron octopus ring, the symbol of a Prince of Hell, gleaming obsidian.

“My apologies. How do you do? I hope you are well, as I am,” Aziraphale smiled charmingly, and Crowley looked away.

“Eh, you know. Court musician,” Crowley said with a shrug, quickly getting over the surprise. After all, it was not the first time that the other side’s Representative had appeared before her like this. As time passed, it seemed that the surprise was wearing out and the pressing need for a flaming sword was slowly diminishing.

A human walked by, and Aziraphale’s head turned to follow. A moment later the demon’s skin color shifted, becoming a dark umber.

“What-” Crowley blinked.

“Camouflage,” Aziraphale winked.

A pleasant breeze blew through the courtyard, damp and cool as if the wind preceding rain, and the hem of her plain linen dress fluttered in the wind.

“White suits you well,” Aziraphale smiled, her eyes lingering on Crowley. “Makes the crimson of your hair even more striking. Is this sheer linen the style of the court? I should adjust mine to match...”

“White...looks good on you too. Except it looks a bit more, well, gray?”

“Rather. Couldn’t look out of place here where everyone likes their white linens but of course a demon of my stature can’t go around looking like the Opposition.”

“It looks very striking and almost white.”

“Never white, not anymore.” Aziraphale smiled a brittle smile, and then pointed to the pendant that hung from a delicate cord tied around Crowley’s neck. “I see you’re wearing a new necklace yourself. Nice pendant. But don’t humans usually wear such pendants in their hair? Protection from drowning or some such belief?”

“Oh yes,” Crowley tried to suppress a shy smile, touching the cool stone with her fingertips but feeling the heat of its creation inherent in the curves of stone. “But I want to keep it safe. It’s a gift from a friend.”

“A friend? I didn’t know angels were allowed to have friends, much less human friends.” A strangely familiar voice, and Crowley turned, only to feel her heart sink. It was Asmodeus, the Second Prince of Hell, and like Aziraphale, the Second Prince had taken on a female form.

Taller than both Crowley and Aziraphale, the Second Prince was dressed in plain gray linen but with a striking collar of silver and malachite beads. Asmodeus too wore a ring of black meteoric iron, but hers was in the form of a serpent, curled around her finger. Something about Asmodeus wearing kohl around her bright green eyes made her seem particularly nefarious, and Crowley found herself shrinking away before this newcomer.

“Uh...” And Crowley could not speak for a moment, realizing that she did not know how to address Asmodeus.

“You may address me as Asmodeus, darling angel. We’re rather casual here on Earth. It’s not as though this is a formal meeting by any means,” Asmodeus said lightly, tossing back a thick blonde mane that had been braided into long thin plaits, hung with twisted golden ornaments that upon closer inspection were little serpents twined through her hair. “I see you’re here for the ceremony too. Have you come as Representative on Earth?”

“Ceremony?”

“Did you not hear?” Asmodeus said, with a subtle hint of venom in her voice. “Oh, but you’re here for something else, aren’t you?”

“Court musician,” Crowley said, in a small voice.

“Where’s your harp then, little angel?” Asmodeus smirked.

“Not playing the harp? Playing the double pipes. Just made a new set of reeds too...and...” Crowley made an exaggerated gesture of dismay. “Oh no, I really ought to go, I need to replace the reed water and clean out the condensation and-”

“Strange,” Asmodeus said with feigned casualness. “I had it on good authority that you played the harp.”

Speechless, Crowley wondered how Asmodeus would know, and without meaning to he looked over at Aziraphale.

“Well darling,” Asmodeus smiled coldly, “it seems like you’re an angel of many talents. Perhaps we’ll see more of your abilities soon.” With that, Asmodeus strode off, disappearing into the palace complex.

“...wait! Hey!” Crowley startled, realizing that she was supposed to be thwarting any evil that might be coming from a Prince of Hell. But just then, Aziraphale decided to go the other direction.

“Wait!” Crowley cried out, unsure of who to follow.

x

[saligiare]

Indeed, he was. Asmodeus could sense him even before the telltale sound, silent as it was. But even that demanded more of him than any regular old human would have ever dared to, which was yet another reason for him to dislike Hassan. Whatever fabric that man's flesh had been crafted of, it was as unassuming and elusive as the shadows he used to cover his tracks. At times the demon prince seriously doubted he even possessed a soul at all, and perhaps that was the most unsettling part. It left even an archdemon with very little to threaten.

Addhir turned in his seat, a lazy blink following Gaara's announcement, and there he was. Their guide for the night. Hassan, while his head and shoulders were covered by a black scarf, once again ruined any and all sense of modesty by showing off the intricate tattoos wrapping across his chest, arms, and all the way down his back. Sitting on the edge of the balcony, he flung a small bag of clothes over his shoulder and onto the tiled floor.

"Cute costume, but those garms haven't seen a day of work in their life. People are gonna smell your perfume before they even see ya", he sneered, before faltering under Addhir's smoldering gaze.

"Show some respect, you wretched street rat."

"Sure, sure, sure." Hassan raised his hands and went to pick up the bag again, though Asmodeus could not help but notice the small tilt in the corner of his mouth. With a theatrical bow, Hassan presented the bag to Gaara.

"My deepest apologies, your highness. But I really think you should get changed. Your dear pet, too. I'll wait by the balcony. Hope your highness isn't afraid of heights?"

~*~

The plan, that much Asmodeus quickly figured, was as risky as it was impossible for anybody prone to what Luzifer had once called the human condition. Luckily, it was aided by the fact that more than half of their little group of escapees did not succumb to it beyond surface level. Their biggest challenge consisted of getting the prince safely to the floor, back up a high wall and down again, while making it all seem as mundane a feat as possible. A long line of rope that Hassan attached to one foot of the heavy gigantic bed, a series of skilled knots and impeccable timing triumphed over the first part of their arduous journey. Asmodeus quietly thanked whomever that the prince, for all his youth and naivety, was far from a coward.

Addhir and Gaara both watched from the gardens as Hassan scaled the rope once more to remove any evidence from the bed, only to climb down the ornamented palace wall freestyle like an overgrown monkey. The next part would prove to be a lot trickier. After slinking through the shadows of a couple of cedar trees, avoiding two patrolling guards who seemed more than a little distracted by their own conversation, and carefully treading along the smooth sandstone wall encircling the gardens, the trio came to stop at the edge of an almost forgotten flower bed, as far away from the golden prison behind them as possible.

How on earth, in heaven, hell and below Hassan managed to cross the wall, which measured a good nine metres in height and provided a lot less stepping stones than the palace, would likely remain a mystery to Gaara. Asmodeus could only come up with a careful guess. Still. About ten agonizingly long minutes after Hassan had told them to wait here and disappeared within the shadows, the same rope as before came flying down the edge of the wall. Now was the time for Gaara to put his daily physical training to some practical use. Addhir followed suit, though he made sure to pant and shake appropriately once they reached the top. The view of the city, a sea of hundreds of bright sandstone houses and streets winding between them like veins on the back of a hand, was breathtaking.

"Quickly now", Hassan whispered. "I slipped the guard something to make him sleep. Don't know how long it'll stick though. Pretty boy, you're gonna go first. Our dear prince will come right after. Wait for me at the bottom and stick to the shadow."

"You'll refer to me as Baki." Addhir would be familiar with the name of the martial arts instructor. With a body like whipped stone and a demeanor to match, he and Gaara were alike mainly in their tendency towards perfectionism and a silent ambivalence for the unyielding rule beneath which they were both governed. He was easily the tutor Gaara disliked the least. "As for you - neither your face nor name are known to the general public. Addhir will suit you well enough."

Checkmate took a dozen moves. Gaara glided from the table as if the game had already been forgotten. In his room he dressed himself in plain pants and tunic; gone were the delicate gold bands around his fingers and wrists. His hair he left unoiled and unsmoothed, and it flicked in short wild tufts about his face. He stepped back from his mirror to examine the reflection of a stranger. Aside from the parts he could not strip - the unworked hands, the lean muscle, the practiced poise foreign to working men - he looked every inch the average commoner.

Yet he knew his eyes were untrained. Addhir's instruction branded themselves into his mind as law. In the palace Gaara was nothing short of the son of a god, but Addhir ruled the streets beyond.

Then he stilled. His ear twitched towards the balcony. The veneer of calm did not crack, yet the tension below it heightened, the frenzy of lightning across a sky without once striking the earth.

"He's here."

[totoshka-kartoshka]

What would I crochet for Obey Me bois pt.1

✨️With pictures✨️

None of the pictures are made by me, all of them found in internet

Lucifer

We all agree that he needs a plushie unicorn to hug at night

Mammon

Clucking Chicken Purse. This is new peak of fashion, you don't understand.

Leviathan

Half-finger gloves for endless gaming nights

Satan

Cat bookmark. Any questions?

Asmodeus

Everything fansy for mah favorite boy. It would suit him too

Beelzebub

Maybe?? There were some scarfs with food ornaments but he would eat them soo big and warm scarf in case it gets cold

Belfegor

I know this is knitting but i have a blanket like this and this is SOOO SOFT

Diavolo

Do not ask any questions. DO. NOT. ASK. ANY. QUESTIONS.

Barbatos

Froggy coasters.

[asheewrites]

(Un-)Holy Fishy Encounters

Asmodeus smirked as he sauntered uphill towards the lavish temple. It promised to be an interesting visit to Earth. Another traveller had arrived. Another dimension had gotten around to opening a portal to his own.

This time, another version of ‘Leviathan’ had misplaced themselves. And apparently taken up residence in this temple for a good half year. Without any attempt to contact hell.

It was certainly a curious case.

But he had to be honest with himself and admit, that these flowing Chinese robes with their intricate dragon patterns were something he certainly enjoyed. Especially in blue. It did suit him. The temple maidens dressing him and blushing the whole time were not unappreciated either.

Why not combine business and pleasure.

It was quite a way up on the sandy floor, framed by trees and, behind them, several ponds, each containing Kois that… should not be that big.

The first somewhat discerning thing was the smell of grilled fish wafting over from the temple. They  had advertised it. Yet seeing and smelling this ‘meal’ was a different matter entirely.

At least it was a bit of a chore to walk past it. Enough to ignore the architecture in favour of getting in. A strange day that he welcomed the smell of incense.

But welcome it he did. And adjusted his walk to the solemn pace of the people surrounding him. They strode through the hall, full steps, legs hidden under their robes. All predominantly blues and greens. Iridescent in places, leaving a rich and glamorous impression.

Of course, there were also more Koi in the basins at the walls, constantly swimming in large circles, giving their own ‘prayer’, so to say.

In the middle of the room stood altar, candles lit, but no sacrifices to be seen yet. It was elevated, with a seat for the priest behind it. And, apparently, it was occupied.

Slightly more curious, he stepped closer. Until a Gong vibrated through the room.

It made Asmodeus stop in his tracks. And as he saw that everyone – acolyte to visitor – turned on their heels and left the room, he tried to join them.

Until two men crossed their tridents in front of him and forced him to stop.

They were, naturally, not a real threat, but he could humour them, for now. He was rather curious about this whole thing.

This ‘thing’ apparently involved everyone leaving, almost soundlessly. No one spoke, only careful steps could be heard. It felt wrong to speak. So no one did. When the last note of the vibration ebbed, even the two men keeping him there simply turned around and left, closing the door behind them.

Huh.

Step. Step. Step.

Could be heard from the direction of the altar. The carpeted walkway there was occupied now, a lady walking on it. Her robes long and flowing, iridescent green and a few blue hues, her long black hair held up by golden needles, tiny ornaments on them swung with each step and giving her a feeling of always flowing through the room. The cut of her robes doing the rest.

She walked towards him, every inch the unquestionable owner of this establishment.

“Greetings.” She said, still one step elevated above him, “I am the high priestess of Ao Gang in this temple. You shall be blessed for your sacrifices. Mr. King, I presume?”

…

Asmodeus was somewhat speechless for a moment. This was, undoubtedly, the ‘Leviathan’. And she chose to be alone with him.

Mh.

This truly was an interesting day.

[evilasiangenius]

The Fish Pendant (adapted from the Westcar Papyrus)

Drowsy with the afternoon heat, Crowley leaned against the limestone wall. Feeling the rough stone beneath her palm, she wondered when the humans might call for her to come inside and play. It was cooler here in the shaded colonnade just inside the courtyard than it was inside, but it was also close enough to hear any calls for musicians. From where she stood she could hear something of a ruckus going on in the main hall of the court as the pharaoh moved about his great house, and she wondered what kind of mischief the man was up to. She hadn’t been at court that long, only a few days, but it seemed that the human caused a commotion wherever he went.

Perhaps this would be a good time to take a little nap, she thought, to sneak away and hide out from all the human silliness. But just before she decided to move, she felt the air itself shift, turning a little cooler and damper, and when she turned around, she was no longer alone.

“So.” Aziraphale said, appearing behind her. “What brings you to Memphis this time, Crowley? On assignment?”

Crowley startled at the Prince of Hell’s sudden appearance, flinching back, not immediately recognizing Aziraphale. She had never seen the Prince of Hell like this before, attired like a human being. Aziraphale wore a long plaited flaxen wig, hung with golden ornaments and crowned with dark blue lotuses. Blue eyes were limned with kohl and the voluptuous curves of her body was hugged tightly by a long sheath dress of grayish linen that was woven through with zigzagging lines of dark blue, crimson, and gold. Around her neck was a heavy collar necklace of beads of silver and lapis lazuli of a shade that was the color of the sea at dusk, a luminous blue that verged on charred black.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s hand and there was that iron octopus ring, the symbol of a Prince of Hell, gleaming obsidian.

“My apologies. How do you do? I hope you are well, as I am,” Aziraphale smiled charmingly, and Crowley looked away.

“Eh, you know. Court musician,” Crowley said with a shrug, quickly getting over the surprise. After all, it was not the first time that the other side’s Representative had appeared before her like this. As time passed, it seemed that the surprise was wearing out and the pressing need for a flaming sword was slowly diminishing.

A human walked by, and Aziraphale’s head turned to follow. A moment later the demon’s skin color shifted, becoming a dark umber.

“What-” Crowley blinked.

“Camouflage,” Aziraphale winked.

A pleasant breeze blew through the courtyard, damp and cool as if the wind preceding rain, and the hem of her plain linen dress fluttered in the wind.

“White suits you well,” Aziraphale smiled, her eyes lingering on Crowley. “Makes the crimson of your hair even more striking. Is this sheer linen the style of the court? I should adjust mine to match...”

“White...looks good on you too. Except it looks a bit more, well, gray?”

“Rather. Couldn’t look out of place here where everyone likes their white linens but of course a demon of my stature can’t go around looking like the Opposition.”

“It looks very striking and almost white.”

“Never white, not anymore.” Aziraphale smiled a brittle smile, and then pointed to the pendant that hung from a delicate cord tied around Crowley’s neck. “I see you’re wearing a new necklace yourself. Nice pendant. But don’t humans usually wear such pendants in their hair? Protection from drowning or some such belief?”

“Oh yes,” Crowley tried to suppress a shy smile, touching the cool stone with her fingertips but feeling the heat of its creation inherent in the curves of stone. “But I want to keep it safe. It’s a gift from a friend.”

“A friend? I didn’t know angels were allowed to have friends, much less human friends.” A strangely familiar voice, and Crowley turned, only to feel her heart sink. It was Asmodeus, the Second Prince of Hell, and like Aziraphale, the Second Prince had taken on a female form.

Taller than both Crowley and Aziraphale, the Second Prince was dressed in plain gray linen but with a striking collar of silver and malachite beads. Asmodeus too wore a ring of black meteoric iron, but hers was in the form of a serpent, curled around her finger. Something about Asmodeus wearing kohl around her bright green eyes made her seem particularly nefarious, and Crowley found herself shrinking away before this newcomer.

“Uh...” And Crowley could not speak for a moment, realizing that she did not know how to address Asmodeus.

“You may address me as Asmodeus, darling angel. We’re rather casual here on Earth. It’s not as though this is a formal meeting by any means,” Asmodeus said lightly, tossing back a thick blonde mane that had been braided into long thin plaits, hung with twisted golden ornaments that upon closer inspection were little serpents twined through her hair. “I see you’re here for the ceremony too. Have you come as Representative on Earth?”

“Ceremony?”

“Did you not hear?” Asmodeus said, with a subtle hint of venom in her voice. “Oh, but you’re here for something else, aren’t you?”

“Court musician,” Crowley said, in a small voice.

“Where’s your harp then, little angel?” Asmodeus smirked.

“Not playing the harp? Playing the double pipes. Just made a new set of reeds too...and...” Crowley made an exaggerated gesture of dismay. “Oh no, I really ought to go, I need to replace the reed water and clean out the condensation and-”

“Strange,” Asmodeus said with feigned casualness. “I had it on good authority that you played the harp.”

Speechless, Crowley wondered how Asmodeus would know, and without meaning to he looked over at Aziraphale.

“Well darling,” Asmodeus smiled coldly, “it seems like you’re an angel of many talents. Perhaps we’ll see more of your abilities soon.” With that, Asmodeus strode off, disappearing into the palace complex.

“...wait! Hey!�� Crowley startled, realizing that she was supposed to be thwarting any evil that might be coming from a Prince of Hell. But just then, Aziraphale decided to go the other direction.

“Wait!” Crowley cried out, unsure of who to follow.

“Finally, the last one,” a leering court official said as Crowley turned the corner. She had been certain that she was following...well, one of the Princes of Hell, but now she realized she had other more pressing problems. The official was a handsome man of heroic stature in the prime of his life, which meant that he was still a bit shorter than Crowley but it made him nearly a giant among men. Attired like a priest, his freshly shaved head gleaming and the ceremonial leopard skin draped over his right shoulder, the man looked Crowley over with greedy, lascivious eyes. “Young woman, you have a beautiful body and a well-developed bosom. But your hair is not braided. Never mind, someone will do it. Have you been opened by childbirth?”

“Excuse me? I beg your pardon,” Crowley hissed. “You can’t just go around asking people that. It’s...rude. No, of course not, I-”

“Perfect. In you go!” The man gave Crowley a shove and closed the door behind her. As Crowley got her feet under herself, she could hear the click of the door being locked.

“But I’m a court...musician?” Crowley said lamely, to the closed door.

She turned around. Besides herself and two Prince of Hell, there were seventeen other young women who were quickly undressing and putting on beaded net dresses...with nothing on underneath.

“Who was that?”

“The chief lector priest and book-scribe, Djadjaemankh,” a young woman said as she walked past, her voice full of disdain. Crowley blinked; even by Egyptian standards her clothes were particularly revealing.

“He didn’t look much like a book-scribe or a lector-priest,” Crowley said.

“Well, he’s not much of one,” another young woman muttered as she struggled with her clothes.

“Here,” Aziraphale said, waving Crowley over. “Put this on.”

“What’s going on?” Crowley blinked, relieved to see a familiar face. Aziraphale handed her the bead-net dress, long thin blue-green faience beads slithering with a clink in her hands.

“A ceremony,” Asmodeus said, tossing off her form-hugging sheath dress to reveal a body proportioned perfectly to the Egyptian canon of measure, whose smooth lustrous skin and thick braided hair made other human women stare at her with no small amount of envy. She slipped on the bead-net dress with ease, which was not so much a dress as a dress ornament, made in the form of a dress but without any cloth or fabric backing for modesty or comfort.

“They call it a ceremony, but it’s really no more than a diversion for a bored lech,” Aziraphale said with a scowl. “The pharaoh likes to have young women row about his private lake on a boat, before picking one for later.”

Horrified, Crowley nearly dropped the dress. “What do you mean, one for later?”

“I meant exactly what I said. Don’t worry, the odds of getting picked are 1 in 20.”

“Not bad odds, but not good odds either,” Asmodeus smirked. “Though of course, a little demonic intervention means that we won’t be picked.”

“...oh no...” Crowley murmured.

“Oh no?” Aziraphale asked, solicitous.

“I’m allotted only a certain amount of miracles every turn of the moon. And...I might have used them up already?” Crowley said, embarrassed.

“It’s hardly the first few days after the full moon. What did you use them up on? Snacks? Wine? Travel?” Aziraphale teased.

“Healing the sick,” Crowley said. “Kids, mostly. Would have been an epidemic otherwise.”

“Can’t you apply for more?” Aziraphale asked.

“Of course, but I can’t if I’m here. I’d have to report to Heaven, ask the proper authority for permission, then fill out the correct documentation, and wait for it to be processed. Which...usually takes about a year or three. If I need it sooner, I can apply for an emergency waiver, but that usually takes at least five to seven business days to process...and they’ve been very clear what would happen if I go over.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine little angel. As long as you don’t stand out in any way,” Asmodeus’ smile was all teeth. Sharp teeth. “Just keep a low profile and I’m sure you won’t be noticed.”

“Good point. I can do that.”

“Now, you’ll need someone to braid your hair. All those gorgeous curling tresses. Mmm. Unless you’d like to dip into your reserve of miracles...of, which you don’t have,” Asmodeus said, reaching out to touch Crowley’s dark hair.

Crowley’s breath caught, but just before Asmodeus could touch her, Aziraphale batted the Second Prince of Hell’s hand away.

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll manage this menial task, my infernal brother. You needn’t lower yourself to doing something so beneath your station. Besides, I have quite a few more hands.”

“But you’re a Prince of Hell too...” Crowley protested.

Aziraphale stretched out his hands, wiggling his fingers in anticipation. “Oh yes, but unlike Asmodeus, I’m quite fond of working with my hands.”

Aziraphale’s hands moved gently through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley looked down at her feet, at the plaited leather sandals that she wore, smudged faintly with dust that did not touch her skin. The touch of Aziraphale’s fingers combing through her hair left strange shivering sensations that ran up and down her spine and inadvertently she made a little sound in her throat that surprised herself; as far as she knew she had never made a sound like this before.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Aziraphale murmured, as fingers and many of them worked through her hair, some of them combing through long strands, others deftly plaiting her hair into braids.

“No, I’m fine, really,” Crowley gulped. “It feels...er...” And she noticed that Asmodeus was watching with a sharp eye, so she looked down, face hot with embarrassment.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Fine. I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Crowley muttered.

“He’s rich all right,” Aziraphale said as they pulled the oars of the light skiff, sailing slowly past the pharaoh’s lavish pavilion set up on shore. Crowley turned her head to look toward the pharaoh’s entourage as they passed. Below shaded canopies of fine linen that fluttered in the hot desert breeze the pharaoh sat with the great priests and lords of the land, the men entertaining themselves with drinking and watching the women row the narrow vessel about the lake. Musicians played for their enjoyment on harps, rattles, and double pipes, and servants moved through the jovial crowd, ensuring that the cups were full of beer.

“Ebony oars plated with gold, and the handles made of this expensive sqb wood, plated with electrum.”

“A waste of perfectly good wood,” Crowley agreed. “Wood this fine shouldn’t be immersed in water.” She looked to Aziraphale who sat to her left.

“The two of you should keep it down,” Asmodeus said from her seat ahead of Aziraphale at the front of the boat, pulling at the oars in time with the other young women.

“It’s not like he can hear us. No one can-” Crowley began, but Asmodeus turned back to give her an unpleasant smile.

“No, darling angel, but if he notices you not rowing your odds might go from 1 in 20 to something a lot more unpleasant.“

“Actually, because of demonic interference, the odds are 1 in 18 now,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Which are better odds if you’re gambling and want to be that 1 in 18, as the smaller that second number is, the more likely it will happen. But in your particular case, I don’t think you want to be selected.”

“Surely you wouldn’t want to make it any worse,” Asmodeus added.

“Oh. No, you’re right.” Crowley shut her mouth. Shoulders hunched, she put herself to work, diligently pulling the oars of the light skiff in time with the other women. The sun beat down fierce, and Crowley wondered how many people today would be left with the marks of the bead-net dress as pale shadow lines writ across sun-darkened skin.

Some of the women began to lean over and dip their hands into the water of the private lake, splashing themselves to cool off and it seemed like the right thing to do, to appear as the mortals did.

She leaned over the dark water, and by habit, briefly let go of the oar and pressed the fish pendant against her breast as she leaned out, keeping it safe. When she turned back, she noticed that Asmodeus was watching her. Quickly, she grabbed the oar and continued to paddle without missing a beat.

“A gift from a friend,” Asmodeus murmured to herself under her breath, a sly smile crossing her lascivious lips.

Seven, eight...nine times around the lake and it didn’t seem as if the pharaoh was tired yet of their labors as he directed them from his shaded pavilion on the shore. Crowley felt herself wilting in the heat. She was stronger than the humans, more resistant to heat than cold than any normal human but she was not impervious. A higher-ranked angel might have been given the means to stay almost entirely untouched by the effects of the material world but Crowley was not among those lofty beings.

Again, she leaned over the water, but this time as she let go of the pendant, there was a little sound like a snip, the thin cord snapped, and the pendant went flying toward the dark waters of the lake.

“Oh!” Crowley find herself crying out, trying to grab the turquoise before it fell into the water, but it was too late. With a splash, the stone was gone and Crowley dropped the oar, uncertain of whether or not to follow it in before realizing there was no way she could retrieve it. Once it was underwater, it might as well have been in Hell; there was no way for Crowley to bodily enter the water.

“Are you all right?” Asmodeus asked with false earnestness, and Crowley glanced back to see malicious amusement gleaming in the demon’s green eyes.

“I can’t, I’m...” Crowley stared at the water, at the swaying rushes that edged the lake, at a rising flock of birds in the distance as they took to the sky, as if all these things could yield an answer to a question she dared not ask.

“Can’t?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper. “Can’t retrieve things from the water. I’m an angel.” Crowley said, dazed. “We don’t sink.”

“A shame,” Asmodeus said lightly. “It was quite a fine pendant. A fish of some sort?”

“An upside-down catfish...always looking up at the world above from below...”

“Can’t you row?” A harsh voice interrupted, and Crowley jumped, realizing the boat had stopped right in front of the pharaoh’s pavilion, and the pharoah had stood up from his chair to shout at the women.

“Our stroke has become still, without rowing,” explained the one of the rowers.

“I can see that! Girl! Yes, you! The one who stopped rowing first! Why aren’t you rowing?”

Crowley blinked as everyone turned to look at her, the girls on the skiff, the officials and attendants of the pharaoh, the priests, the servants, the great lords. Even the birds seem to pause in their chatter.

“Er...that is...lost something valuable?”

“Speak up!” The pharaoh commanded.

“This...fish pendant? Bout this big? Turquoise? On a string? Er...” Crowley blinked, flinching slightly at the many eyes staring at her. “Uh, erm, I uh, lost. A fish pendant of new turquoise. The cord broke and it fell in the water.”

The pharaoh brushed the fine fabric of his klaft headdress back, the simple plain one he wore when he was at leisure, not like the stiff formal nemes. “All this fuss for a hair pendant? Here. You may take one of mine from the treasury.” He pointed to one of his close attendants, a woman who was wearing a fine pendant of gold inlaid with glimmering stripes of lapis lazuli, carnelian, and chalcedony that hung from a twisted braid. The young woman looked down demurely and began to untie it from her hair.

“Sorry Majesty, but no thank you.”

“What do you mean, no thank you?” The pharaoh sounded peeved.

“I...prefer my own pendant, Majesty. That one is important to me. I’d rather not have a substitute.”

Aziraphale turned and gave Crowley a look of amazement, and Crowley shrugged.

“What, it’s the truth,” Crowley said to Aziraphale.

“That golden pendant is worth ten of the one you lost, at least,” Aziraphale said tartly. “Besides the fact that it belongs to the most powerful man in this part of the world. If you don’t like the one he’s offering, at least take it and sell it to buy a dozen or more pendants of your preference.”

“I’d rather have my own thing.”

“And you won’t continue to row until you get it back?” The pharaoh’s expression changed from irritation to curiosity.

Crowley looked up; she hadn’t realized that pharaoh had been listening in to her conversation with Aziraphale. When she glanced over at Aziraphale, the Prince of Hell was looking a little embarrassed, as the demon had forgotten to mask their conversation from the humans.

“Well, if you really want-” And then Crowley looked around at the other young women. Unlike the Prince of Hell who looked as cool and collected as ever, the young women looked rather bedraggled. Sticky with sweat and splashed with lake water, they were stuck all over with dried bits of algae and duckweed that clung to sun-burnished skin, the kohl around their eyes smeared and runny from rivulets of perspiration. The flowers that some wore in their hair were wilted and dying, wigs were sliding off of lovely heads, and braided hair grew frazzled. Many were starting to sunburn, dark skin growing tender and irritated as the skimpy net dresses provided no protection from the harsh sun. “Actually? Actually, I refuse to row. I won’t continue unless I get my pendant back.”

There was a collective sigh of relief that went through the young women, and they all drew their oars in so that the boat could go no further.

The pharaoh chuckled and waved one of his officials over. “Go and bring me the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh,” he commanded.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look.

“It seems as though you recognize that name,” Aziraphale said, more of a question than a statement.

“Well. He asked me some rather...personal questions. And shoved me.” Crowley scowled.

“Really now. He laid hands on you?” Aziraphale’s eyes grew cold.

“I think he did for all the young women.”

“He did more than push me,” the woman sitting ahead of Crowley said. “He’s disgusting.”

“Terrible.”

“Incredibly wealthy.”

“Powerful.”

“The pharaoh listens to him more than anyone else.”

“We have no say. I don’t even work for the Great House. I was just trying to run errands for my mother in the marketplace and the priests grabbed me and brought me here,” a particularly young girl said, kohled eyes full of tears.

“I wish there was more I could do to help you,” Crowley began, but just then the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh arrived, beckoned over to the pharaoh’s side.

“My dear Asmodeus, I have a suggestion for you...” Aziraphale said, leaning closer to the other Prince of Hell and Crowley startled; this meant that demonic doings were afoot and he needed to be ready to thwart the work of the Adversary.

But instead of overhearing what the two Princes had to say, Crowley was distracted by the pharaoh and the chief lector priest who were both pointing to and looking at her, discussing something that she couldn’t hear. Aziraphale, in the meantime, had finished her discussion with Asmodeus.

“Then we’re in agreement,” Aziraphale said.

“Of course. After all, aren’t we here to sow dissent?” Asmodeus hissed, pleased.

“What are you two-”

And before Crowley could speak, the chief lector priest came to the edge of the water, his hand holding tight to his leopard skin. As he drew closer to the skiff, Crowley noticed that as the priest looked over the inhabitants of the skiff, his eyes became fixed upon Asmodeus, who hissed in a serpent’s voice:

“You will do magic and perform a miracle before all who will witness it.”

Without taking his eyes off of Asmodeus, the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh raised his hands in an attitude of prayer and began to speak, proclaiming that he would perform a miracle in order to retrieve the fish pendant.

A hush fell through the crowd. The pharaoh watched intently, with a child-like curiosity.

The chief lector priest spoke the words of a magic spell, and nothing happened, though the water burbled just a little.

“Watch,” Aziraphale winked.

The chief lector priest spoke the words, again, and the water began to tremble. The girls clung to their oars and each other, and Crowley found herself clinging to the side of the skiff as the water became unsteady.

And for the third time, the chief lector priest spoke the words in a loud, commanding voice, but Crowley didn’t look at him; she looked to Aziraphale and saw Aziraphale’s hand move in a gesture as if drawing something up from below. Suddenly the entirety of water on the other side of the lake lifted up and stacked on top of the side they were on, as if a thick piece of fabric folded in half, though it seemed an invisible dome surrounded the boat and protected its occupants from getting wet. Alarmed, Crowley looked up and around herself. Fish and frogs, insects of all sorts, a diving bird, lily pads and rushes, and even a small crocodile that glided along blithely, not noticing the humans below it. The young women marveled at the sight, crying out to the gods in their surprise.

Crowley’s eyes were bright with amazement. So it was true, she thought, that Aziraphale could make it so that she could see the place where the fish lived herself, without having to go into the water. A warm feeling welled up within her and Crowley found her hand pressed against her breast, in the empty spot where the pendant would have hung.

“Look! I have found the fish-pendant! It lies upon a shard!” The chief lector priest Djadjaemankh shouted, wading into the muck to retrieve it, gleefully snatching it up from the bottom of the lake before wading out again, his entire body splattered with mud, sludge squelching through his bare toes. He ran over and tossed the pendant to Crowley, who caught it despite herself. Later she would wonder; had it been a demonic intervention that landed the pendant so neatly in her hands? Or was it just a good throw? But at the time she was merely grateful for the heat of the love that she could feel within the cold, damp turquoise, the round eyes of the upside-down catfish staring back at her with a curious detached calm.

Djadjaemankh then raised his hands again and said the magic spell, and the water lifted again, unfolding to return its normal place in the lake.

A great clamor went up, and the ceremonial boating was forgotten as attendants and officials alike swarmed the chief lector priest. Asmodeus gave the command to the other girls; they rowed to the dock immediately and disembarked.

“Go quietly home everyone. The pharaoh won’t need your presence anymore,” Aziraphale said. “And keep the dresses, no one’s going to remember that you’ve been given a fortune in faience and leather cord. Though if I were you, I’d be smart about it and take it apart to hock. All right? Good.”

The young women were too smart to cheer, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Instead, they smiled and waved, saying their thanks before disappearing into the crowds unnoticed and unmolested. As they left so did Asmodeus, who wandered off into the crowd, appearing briefly by the pharaoh’s side before disappearing altogether.

“Just like that,” Crowley said. She was the last one off the skiff, and she held the pendant tight in her left hand as she stepped lightly onto the dock.

Aziraphale grinned. “Just like that.”

Crowley watched as the chief lector priest was feted by the court, the pharaoh calling for him to be heaped with lavish gifts, and she scowled. “Men like him always seem to prosper, don’t they? Shouldn’t have been grabbing girls from the marketplace for the pharaoh’s entertainment. Makes you wonder what other mischief he gets up to. Pervert. Creep. Bast-” She shut her mouth. Walking, no more like stalking down the dock and back, she stopped before the Prince of Hell.

“Aziraphale. You know, I never asked what you were here for.”

“Oh, I can’t tell you why I’m here, Crowley. You know that. Just as you won’t tell me why you’re here.”

“Right.”

“But...” A smug, amused look came over Aziraphale’s face. “Let’s just say that once a man can perform a miracle for a trivial matter, they’ll be expecting him to perform another one when there is a very serious matter. And if he can’t...well, there’s no telling what the other humans will do to such a man.”

“How very diabolical of you,” Crowley said, impressed. “Serves him right.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale smiled. “Say, I think we’re both done for the day now…?”

“About time for supper, maybe?”

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale said, pleased to see Crowley brightening up. “How about a crisp roasted duck with nabk berry sauce? Oooh, and a good resinated wine.”

“And maybe...” Embarrassed to be caught wanting something for herself, Crowley looked away, busying herself by threading the pendant back onto the cord, and tying the cord about her neck, felt the comfortable weight of the pendant around her neck, the stone warm against her bare skin.

Her hands brushed against her as she finished. Crowley paused, feeling the tightly wound plaits, thinking to take them out, but then with a little shiver, remembered who had braided her hair.

“Maybe?” Aziraphale was gentle, giving the angel time, but then noticed that Crowley would not say what it was that she wanted. “It’s all right, my dear, you know you needn’t fear asking me for anything. I won’t get mad at you, I promise. After all, the worst I could say is no. But is it soup? Like that soup we had last time that you liked so much, the one with the fish?”

Crowley blushed, wondering how the Prince of Hell had learned her tastes so well. “Yeah, I guess, maybe soup?”

“Oh of course! Of course we can have soup. We can have whatever you want. I always like a good soup. Have you ever tried one with barley…but is something wrong?”

“We can’t go to supper dressed like this,” Crowley said, gesturing to the bead-net dress that barely covered her nudity. “It’ll be a scandal. And I’m not going back to the palace. I’m losing out on a good set of double pipes as it is but I don’t care-”

“Oh right,” Aziraphale laughed. “Almost forgot.” And with a gesture, both were clothed in plain linen sheath gowns, though Aziraphale’s was of a shade far grayer than the one that Crowley wore.

“Am...am I going to get in trouble?” Crowley could hardly breathe, feeling the power of the miracle forming around her.

“My dear, this hardly counts as a miracle,” Aziraphale said, adorning her own hair with dark blue lotuses, handing Crowley a big white lotus that somehow appeared as the Prince of Hell plucked the flowers miraculously out of the air. “These are just the clothes you were wearing earlier.”

And at that Crowley had nothing to say, but she pressed the flower to her nose, taking in the sweet heady dizzying scent of the lotus as she followed Aziraphale out of the palace grounds and into the vibrant, bustling marketplace just beyond the gates.

x