General POV
Whis's room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made his antennae twitch every so often, straining for some noise that wasn't there. Normally, he'd already have heard the steady click of the door, followed by Archie's dry voice nudging him out of bed, patient in a way that made the silence feel bearable. Instead, all he had was the low hum of his Bub glowing beneath him, bright yellow light leaking against the walls in slow, syrup-thick waves.
The mansion was massive, but Whis's world stayed small. His room, the halls he only walked when he had to, the faint taste of last night's lingering Gluttony clinging to the air like smoke. He pulled the blanket tighter over his chest, rolling onto his side, arms folding and unfolding like restless machinery. One upper hand scratched at his head while the other tugged the blanket higher. His lower hands fidgeted at once - one rubbing at the sharp bend of his elbow, the other twisting the edge of the sheet until it threatened to tear. He never sat still. Couldn't. His wings buzzed once against the bed before folding flat again, like they'd betrayed his need for calm.
This was supposed to be Archie's job. Archie would wake him with that usual tone - respectful, never loud, never pushy. The routine mattered. Predictable. Reliable. Today, it was missing.
He hated that he noticed.
Whis pressed the side of his face into the pillow, staring at the faint honey-gold glow seeping out from under him. His Bub pulsed slow and steady, the same yellow as always, humming with the faint aftertaste of Gluttony left behind by the house itself. That energy never really went away. The mansion breathed it, and he had no choice but to taste it every time he opened his mouth. Sweet, sticky, cloying. He never asked for it, but his Bub always pulled it in, even against his will.
He sighed, all four arms collapsing flat against the bed for just a second before twitching back into motion.
Then the knock came.
Not Archie's knock. Archie's was polite, deliberate - three quick taps, just enough to be heard. This one was a booming thud, followed by the door creaking open without waiting for a reply.
Her voice hit him before she even stepped inside.
Beelzebub: Morning, sunshine!
Every muscle in Whis's body went rigid. His Bub spiked in surprise, a whip of golden light cracking against the far wall before settling back into its nervous glow. His wings gave a harsh buzz, and all four arms scrambled at once - one clutching the blanket, one pulling it higher, one covering his chest, and one gripping the mattress like he could sink through it.
He didn't need to see her to know who it was. That voice was too big, too loud, too familiar in a way he wished it wasn't.
Beelzebub swept in like the whole mansion belonged to her - which it did, but she didn't need to act like it. The door slammed open the rest of the way, and she sauntered in, glowing brighter than the room itself, wings fanned out behind her like stained glass catching firelight.
Beelzebub: Don't just lie there all day, babe! Life's buzzing! Let's get you moving!
Whis sat up halfway, blanket clutched to his chest, every one of his arms locked around it in some awkward mess of defense. His antennae twitched fast, betraying the crack in his practiced stoicism.
Whis: ...Where's Archie?
Beelzebub waved a hand like she was brushing away smoke.
Beelzebub: Pfft, sent your usual butler guy off. Figured it's about time I get a little mom-and-son bonding going. You know - just you and me, baby bee. Quality time.
The words made his stomach twist. His Bub rippled, yellow light flashing sharper, spilling against the edges of the room. Bonding. From her. He gripped the blanket tighter, lower arms knotting the sheet around his waist while the upper pair pulled it against his shoulders.
Whis: You don't... do that.
Beelzebub: Well, I'm doing it now!
She grinned wide, chaotic, too many teeth in a smile that was supposed to be warm but burned hot instead.
Beelzebub: Don't act all shocked. Moms can change, right? I mean, yeah, I'm late to the party - literally, my bad - but hey, better fashionably late than never.
Whis looked away, jaw tightening. His wings gave another sharp buzz, short and uneven. His Bub flicked yellow against the walls, twitching like a nervous flame.
She didn't stop there. Of course she didn't.
Beelzebub: And look at you, still hiding under those covers like a shy little larva. Come on, babe, don't tell me you're sleeping in the buff. You didn't get that from me - I'm a lingerie girl through and through.
Before he could react, before he could even lock his arms tighter, she moved. One tug - fast, thoughtless, merciless.
The blanket flew free.
Whis shot upright in panic, wings slamming open with a harsh buzz that rattled the window. All four arms scrambled for the blanket at once, twisting it back around himself, knotting it unevenly across his chest and waist. His antennae flailed, twitching so fast they blurred.
His Bub lashed in shock - a whip of yellow light snapping across the air, cracking the silence before shuddering back into its glow.
Whis: Lucifer-what the fuck?!
Beelzebub threw her head back and laughed, voice ricocheting off the walls.
Beelzebub: Oh, don't be such a prude! You're gorgeous, baby, own it! You think I care about a little skin? Please. I practically invented shameless.
Whis sat there, tangled in his own blanket, face burning, wings buzzing unevenly, every one of his arms clutching fabric like a shield. His Bub pulsed weakly in gold, jittering with every shallow breath he took.
And Beelzebub just grinned wider, oblivious - or pretending to be.
Whis: Just, please let me change.
Beelzebub: Yeah, yeah, sure, my fault, my bad. Totally not tryna scar you for life or whatever.
She spins around, dramatic even when it isn't needed, wings buzzing like cymbals before she halts in the middle of the room. For a heartbeat she's still. Then she tilts her head, ears twitching, her tail flicking like she just remembered something important and stupid at the same time.
Beelzebub: Oh my Lucifer-forgot he was a boy. How do I even forget that? Hah, wow. Anything I CAN remember about you?
Her voice is too bright, too casual, too loud. Whis's Bub flares yellow at the sound, whipping like it wants to wrap around him in protest. His stomach glows faintly, betraying him. He fumbles with his hands - two crossed in front of him, one tugging at his antenna, the last scratching the back of his arm. His body refuses to settle.
Whis: OUT!
It bursts sharper than he wanted, cracking through the room like glass.
Beelzebub: Okay, okay, okay! Leaving! Geez, sour-patch prince. No need to go full banshee on your dear ol' mom.
She finally ducks out of the room, though not before flashing him a toothy grin that makes his ears flatten. The door closes, muffling her humming, and Whis exhales like he'd been holding the breath his whole life.
He drags his blanket over his lap and sits there, staring down at the glowing yellow bubbling in his stomach like it betrayed him. Which it had. Of course it had. It always did when she was around.
After a moment of hesitation, he forces himself up, yanking open a drawer. Clothes spill out like strangers. Half of them are things Archie shoved in there to make sure Whis had at least something to wear. The rest? Random gifts Beelzebub tossed in without ever noticing if they fit, matched, or even made sense.
He stares at the mess. His arms cross, uncross, fold, rub, tug. His chest feels hot. Not in a good way.
Whis: ...Fine.
He grabs whatever's closest. A seafoam-green shirt too loose at the shoulders, hanging off like it was made for someone broader. Pants in a pale tan that clash so violently with his golden Bub glow they almost hurt to look at. A belt too tight, biting at his waist because it was clearly sized wrong.
He yanks it all on anyway, every motion stiff, clumsy, wrong. His antennae twitch the entire time like they're trying to crawl off his head.
The Bub at his stomach flickers again when he catches his reflection in the mirror. It looks like he raided three different closets and gave up halfway. His ears burn. He hates it. He hates that he doesn't even know how to care.
Before he can retreat back under the blanket, the door bangs open.
Beelzebub: Time's up! Showtime, sugarbug, lemme see what you picked-
She stops mid-stride, takes one look at him, and her grin breaks into a wheeze of laughter.
Beelzebub: Oh, Lucifer above, what the hell are you wearing? You look like a fruit salad that lost a bar fight!
Whis: ...
He stares at her, ears twitching down. Four hands fold in every direction - two clutching his shirt hem, one tugging at his belt, the last gripping his own elbow like he's trying to hold himself together. His Bub flares yellow-orange for a second, then collapses back into gold, flicking like a whip embarrassed for him.
Beelzebub: No, no, no, don't pout, it's-okay, it's terrible, but it's a cute terrible. Like, "aw, my son doesn't know fashion because he was raised in a cave," terrible.
Whis: ...I wasn't-
Beelzebub: Yeah, yeah, don't explain it, it's funnier if you don't. Look, you got this whole "four-arm fidget" thing going on, it's adorable. You scratch your ear, you tug your shirt, you cross your arms like twelve times in one second, and boom-you're a fashion statement already. A nervous one, but still.
Whis: ...
Beelzebub: Don't gimme that murder glare. You'll thank me someday. Or you'll burn all your clothes in a bonfire and I'll laugh my ass off. Either way, quality content.
Whis: ...Why are you even here?
The words slip out before he can stop them, quiet, cracked. His Bub glows brighter for a second, buzzing like it wants to drown him.
Beelzebub freezes for a beat. Her grin flickers. Then she throws her arms out like she's on a stage.
Beelzebub: Why am I here? To wake up my kid! What, you think I'm gonna just keep outsourcing you to Archie like a bad sitcom dad forever? Nah, baby, today's special.
Whis feels his throat tighten. He scratches harder at his antennae, claws catching faintly. His chest feels too small.
Whis: ...
Beelzebub: Don't look at me like that, sugar. You'll make me think I messed up.
Whis: ...You did.
His voice trembles. His Bub pulses gold, flickering like it can't decide if it should hide or explode.
The silence that follows makes his ears ring.
Beelzebub only laughs again, but softer this time, a little less sharp around the edges.
Beelzebub: Yeah, well. Get in line, kiddo.
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13 minutes later
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Whis stepped out of his room dressed in a clumsy imitation of Beelzebub's style after she unintentionally made him more self conscious, though the palette had fallen victim to his poor sense of coordination. Where Beelzebub's chaos somehow always landed on the edge of chic, his skewed toward mismatched browns and creams that clashed with the glow in his gut. He tugged at his sleeve, grimacing, before muttering flatly.
Whis: This never happened.
Beelzebub was already bouncing on her toes in the hallway, tail wagging like a firework fuse about to blow.
Beelzebub: Oh, honey, it happened. You look like you got dressed by a drunk raccoon and I LOVE it. Now c'mon! Big day, big plans, mama's actually scheduled things this time.
Whis blinked at her, slow and disbelieving.
Whis: ...What?
Beelzebub: I. Planned. Things. For today.
Her hands flew around like she was announcing the latest party lineup, eyes sparkling as if the word "planned" didn't sound like alien language coming out of her mouth.
Whis: But you-
Beelzebub: No "buts," no whining, no sulking in your cave, mister. Let's gooo.
Before he could retreat, she looped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him down the hall. Whis dug his claws into the polished floor, the screech echoing sharp as he resisted. His wings twitched like he was ready to bolt.
Whis: Vortex told you to do this, didn't he.
Beelzebub: Shhh, hush, Whisky. Don't ruin the magic. We are DOING this.
Arriving at the dining room
The hallways were wide enough for whole marching bands, echoing with the faint buzz of servants moving somewhere distant. Whis glared daggers the whole way, dragged like an unwilling kite behind her bright enthusiasm. His Bub sloshed uneasily in his gut, flickering yellow but laced with a faint sour green.
The double doors of the dining room opened with a creak, revealing a long polished table already set. Food shimmered along it in excess-stacks of syrup-dripping pancakes, towers of honey-soaked waffles, roasted meats glistening with glaze, and bowls of fruit that looked too glossy to be real. Demons always overdid breakfast, and Beelzebub was no exception.
Beelzebub clapped her hands.
Beelzebub: Tadaaa! First we have breakfast, THEN we get our hair done-done-and-then-we-go-with-Vortex-to-go-and-
She launched into a mile-a-minute itinerary, words blurring together as she ping-ponged from idea to idea.
Beelzebub: -AND maybe shopping because you, sweetie, you look like an autumn couch, and THEN maybe a flight around the Rings, and THEN drinks-no wait, no drinks, you're underage but ALSO you're not, but like technically you ARE, oh whatever, and THEN-
Whis snapped.
Whis: STOP!
The single word ricocheted off the tall ceiling. Even the servants paused. Beelzebub froze mid-gesture, claw hovering in the air, mouth still half-open.
She blinked at him like she'd just been sprayed with cold water. Nobody yelled at her to stop. Not here. Not ever.
Beelzebub: ...What?
Whis's glare sharpened, his voice cracking with frustration he'd been swallowing all morning.
Whis: WHY are you doing this.
Beelzebub: Well-well, I thought we could go have some fun together! You know, like-bonding! Mother-son day, cute matching vibes, all that glitter.
Whis: Why.
Beelzebub's tail twitched. She stammered, caught off-guard.
Beelzebub: Well, you're my son, so we shou-
Whis: You have NEVER done this. SO WHY.
His tone rose sharp, slicing through the air. Even his Bub whipped in his stomach like it wanted to leap out.
Beelzebub let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of her head like she could dig an answer out of her skull.
Beelzebub: O-oh c'mon, I must've taken you out once! Right? Like, uh-what about that one-nope. Okay but there was definitely a-wait, nope. Hold up, hold up, give me a sec, it's in here somewhere-
She tapped her temple rapidly, eyes darting around like maybe the chandelier would whisper a memory back to her.
Whis: Then WHY is that a question from you.
His voice was heavy now, venom lacing each syllable.
Beelzebub: I-umm.
She actually sweat-dropped. The Queen of Gluttony, who could brag circles around anyone in Hell, stood cornered by the one person who could look through her glitter.
Whis: You have never been there for me.
The words dropped like stones, the echo clattering around the too-large dining hall. Whis's wings sagged, his claws curling against the table edge as he forced his gaze down. Then he dragged his eyes back up at her, heavy with years of unsaid venom.
Whis: If you want to do something for me now... then continue leaving me alone.
Beelzebub: B-but, I can change that.
Whis bristled, wings snapping open with a loud, restless buzz. His bottom arms stayed crushed against his middle, claws squeezing like he could hold himself in place, while his top hands pressed hard on his hips, impatient, twitching.
Beelzebub: We can do things together again.
Whis let out a scoff so sharp it scraped his throat raw. He spun half away from her, antennae twitching wildly, before snapping back with a hiss of breath.
Whis: Again? Oh yes, again. What a lovely fairytale. Please, enlighten me, Mother - when exactly WAS "then"?
Beelzebub: W-what?
Whis: You must know, right? Mom. Go ahead, list one. Just one. When was the magical Bee-and-Whis bonding hour? Because it sure as hell wasn't when I was learning how to fly alone in the backyard until my wings bled, or when I drank myself sick on my own Bub trying to copy you. No, I must've missed the day you remembered you had a son in the first place. So please, humor me, tell me when "again" happened, because maybe I've been living in a different Hell entirely.
His Bub swirled violently, yellow fizzing too fast, splitting with streaks of violet Envy like bruised honey. It whipped up around him like steam, snapping at the air with each ragged breath he took. His claws scratched through his fur, antennae bent from his own hand tugging too hard, his chest rising and falling like he couldn't catch enough air in the room.
Beelzebub: I-I get it. Just... stop, please.
Whis barked a bitter laugh, sharp and ugly, shoulders hunched forward like he might snap in half.
Whis: Do you really? Do you really "get it"? Or is the flavor just too dry for your taste, Beelzebub? Because I can taste it-your discomfort. Sweet as rot, bitter as every time you looked away.
She growled in frustration, the sound raw, buzzing like a hornet caught in a blender. She had never had this attitude thrown at her before. Never had this flavor of wrath stung her, least of all from her own son. For once, Queen Bee didn't know the steps to the dance.
Beelzebub: Pipe down! I am trying to fix things!
She slams her fist on the ground, the sound cracking like a thunderclap through the room. Whis bounces with the jolt but hovers easily in the air, wings buzzing violently, the glow of Gluttony in the walls shifting toward a harsh golden glare as her eyes split into compound rage.
Beelzebub: I birthed you! Least you can do is show some respect, you unfermented hornet!
Whis glares, his body swelling, wings stretching wider, his form edging monstrous - mandibles sliding over his maw, his silhouette more insect than hound now.
Whis: Oh, so NOW you pull the "I birthed you" card? That's all you've got? You think respect just comes stapled to the umbilical cord? Respect is EARNED, Beelzebub. And all you've ever earned from me is silence! You call that parenting? What happens if I don't respect you, huh? Gonna kick me out of the Hive? Go ahead. That'd be a better gift than you ever gave me. You think a couple of sugar-coated outings will make up for years of neglect? You don't get to play the "mother" card when you've never BEEN one.
His voice echoes, venom in every word. Beelzebub staggers, but instead of crumbling she bursts forward, arms wide, wings twitching erratically, her voice laced with desperation.
Beelzebub: You think it's EASY?! You think I wanted this life? I didn't even get to grow up - I came outta the ether already full-sized, already a Queen, already with everyone crawling at me, wanting a piece! I've had millennia of demons draining me dry, every second of every day someone clawing at me for something, anything! You think I could just turn it off to play house? I never had the chance to just sit down and be "Mom."
Whis snarls, his Bub flickering with splotches of violet Envy amid the honey-gold.
Whis: Chance? Don't you dare. You had YEARS, Beelzebub. Eighteen of them. I didn't need a millennium. I didn't need a Queen. I needed you - and you weren't there.
Beelzebub stammers, wings buzzing nervously.
Beelzebub: I... I kept Hell buzzing. I kept the Hive alive. Without me, the parties fall flat, the Sins fracture-
Whis cuts her off with a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless.
Whis: Oh, so it's Hell that needed you more? Your Hive? Your throne? Your sweet cocktails and never-ending party? Tell me, did the Hive need you more than your own son? Did the crowd need you more than the child you left rotting in your own mansion?
His wings hum like blades cutting air, his compound eyes glowing.
Whis: You didn't lose me to your duty. You abandoned me for your indulgence. And now you wanna stand here, crying Queen Bee tears, telling me how HARD it was for you? You're not the victim, Beelzebub. You're the one who left.
Beelzebub falters, her shoulders dropping, her voice breaking in half-hearted protest.
Beelzebub: I... I tried.
Whis: When? Name ONE time. Go on, tell me when you ever showed up. One birthday. One breakfast. One moment where I wasn't just background noise in your Hive.
Beelzebub opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She stares, jaw trembling, the weight of silence hanging heavy.
Whis leans forward, voice dropping cold.
Whis: Exactly. You can't. Because there IS nothing.
His Bub pulses, the colors muddied and bitter, envy swallowing the gold. Beelzebub shrinks down, her bravado collapsing in on itself, guilt pressing heavy in her chest. She looks at him now, not as her reflection, not as a project to fix, but as the child she never knew - and the silence between them roars louder than any music her Hive could ever play.
His words poured out fast, ragged, venom mixing with desperation, each sentence snapping like broken glass.
Whis: And respect? Respect's not some sugar-rush high you get from the crowd. It doesn't come in shot glasses or in applause-it's the daily grind, the late nights, the boring shit you never showed up for. What are you even gonna do if I don't respect you, huh? Kick me out? Please, Lucifer, that would be a better gift than being "birthed" into this.
His mandibles clicked as his Bub pulsed violently, Wrath bleeding thick into the air.
Whis: You think a couple awkward, pity-laced outings are going to glue together eighteen years of neglect? No. You don't get to throw "I'm your mother" into the pot like it cancels the bill. After everything? It's all NOTHING.
The fire in Beelzebub's body cracked, shrinking down. For the first time, the Queen Bee looked stunned, small against her own light show.
Beelzebub: Y-you... you know how to do that?
Her voice shook like she'd glimpsed a stranger wearing her son's skin.
Whis: Not very hard when you're desperate to impress someone.
Beelzebub: Impress who? A girl?
She smirked, trying to stitch her confidence back together, voice wobbling with forced playfulness.
Whis scoffed, wings sagging, the Bub's golden glow clouding with dull, bitter shades of Envy.
Whis: No one important to me. Not anymore.
His claws dragged across his compound eyes as his body shrank back down. His voice cracked in exhaustion.
Whis: Just... leave me alone.
Beelzebub's hand darted forward, reckless, desperate, her chaotic confidence crumbling into a trembling plea.
Beelzebub: Hey-hey, no, don't buzz off yet! We can give it a try! C'mon, mama and baby, fresh start, clean slate, wipe the board-hell, we'll grab brunch! I'll even do sober brunch, the worst kind! You and me, honey-drizzled bonding sessions. Just give me one more shot, sweetie.
Whis recoiled like her words were fire. The Bub quivered with bitter, curdled envy, blotches pulsing green-violet against the gold. His jaw clenched, sarcasm bubbling but unable to escape, his voice sinking low instead.
Whis: No, we can't. We both know it.
Beelzebub: B-but I can make time.
She isn't used to this. It's falling apart too fast for her.
She reaches for him, words tumbling fast, defensive, erratic.
Beelzebub: Hey, hey-don't ice me out, we can try! Yeah? Do a little mother-son thing. Like-like what do kids do, uh-oh Lucifer-board games? I could buy out Milton Bradley, "Bee-opoly" it up! Or bedtime stories? Nah, that's creepy at eighteen... sweets! We'll binge a sugar mountain together, I am Gluttony, babe!
Whis: But I can't.
Beelzebub: You... can't?
Her swagger faltered, antennae twitching.
Whis: I have jobs, Mo-Beelzebub. Outside of home.
Her pupils shrank. That word, "home," stabbed harder than his tone. She knew she was a jackass, but this ache was something different.
Beelzebub: Listen, 'Hon... I know I haven't been there. But I swear, I am willing to try.
Whis: What, now that I'm an adult?
Beelzebub blinked, startled.
Beelzebub: You're 18 now?!
Whis laughed, bitter, wings buzzing sharp.
Whis: Yes. Eighteen. And I get it-Vortex asked you to do this. Maybe as a birthday favor. But you're years too late.
He turned, wings drooping, his claws tapping cold against the ceramic floor as he walked away. His voice sliced like venom without looking back.
Whis: You haven't even told me happy birthday once. And yes... I've counted since I was two.
Each step echoed in the cavernous dining hall, his Bub dimming to a hollow, faded yellow. His wings sagged heavy, weighed down by something thicker than gravity.
Whis: It's easier this way. It's always been this way. Goodbye, Beelzebub.
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her bathed in silence.
Beelzebub: ...
She exhaled a weak sigh, her body sinking against her own emptiness.
Beelzebub: Happy birthday.
The words felt foreign in her mouth, too small and too late. She let herself slump back against the table, running her claws over the polished surface. Her compound eyes dimmed, reflecting the glow of the feast hall's lamps.
She whispered to herself.
Beelzebub: I was never built for this... I was born full-grown, already crowned, already a Queen. Nobody told me how to be a mother. Nobody showed me what that meant. I only knew how to lead, how to party, how to feed the hive. And him-he was never supposed to be a hive. Just one. Just... mine.
Her throat tightened, guilt crawling up her chest like honey left too long to crystallize. She could call it unfair. She could tell herself she didn't know better. But every excuse felt sour now that Whis had said it out loud, every drop tasting like rot.
The door creaked open again. Small claws clicked on the floor, almost too soft to hear after all that shouting. A shadow crossed the threshold - not Whis, not the looming figure she expected to come storming back in.
???: Whis, you in here? I got you-
He pauses mid-step, his gaze flicking instantly to Beelzebub. The bright tone dies in his throat, and in a single subtle motion, he tucks the gift behind his back. His small frame straightens, posture oddly disciplined for someone his size.
???: ...Oh. My apologies, miss Beelzebub. Didn't realize you were still here.
Beelzebub blinks down at him, brows furrowed faintly. She can't place his face, can't summon his name. Just another one of her countless hires scurrying around the estate. Disposable. Replaceable. Not worth the bandwidth in her memory.
Beelzebub: Hnh. Right. Don't worry about it, little bug.
The Imp gives the barest nod, eyes shifting toward the door Whis had stormed out of. There's something guarded there, something she doesn't bother to read.
Beelzebub rubbed her face with one paw, forcing a laugh that sounded nothing like her usual buzz.
Beelzebub: Yeah, yeah... I deserve it.
The grin fades almost as fast as it comes, leaving her standing in a silence that feels heavier than any Wrath she could conjure. The Imp says nothing, clutching the hidden gift tighter.
Beelzebub's claws flexed against her thighs. The floor still hummed faintly from her Wrath earlier, but now it only mocked her with the memory of what Whis had said.
The Imp finally cleared his throat, voice small.
???: He... left?
Beelzebub: Yeah. He left.
The words fell flat, dull in the vast hall. She tried to tack on her usual swagger - a grin, a wink, a "you know how kids are" - but nothing came.
The Imp adjusted the little box behind his back. She caught a glimpse of the ribbon again, dangling loose like a broken thought.
Beelzebub: ...That for him?
???: ...Yes.
Beelzebub let out a laugh, too sharp, breaking on the edges.
Beelzebub: At least someone remembered.
The Imp shifted, ears twitching downward.
???: I always remember.
The words cut sharper than any venom Whis had spit at her. She felt her throat lock, wings twitching uneasily behind her.
Beelzebub: Right. Of course you do. That's... that's your job, huh? Keep him in line, keep him cared for. Babysit the son his own mother forgot she had.
She meant it as a joke. Meant it to land easy, light, like every other careless thing she said. But the Imp didn't laugh. Didn't even smile. He only looked at her, small but steady, like he was weighing her on some scale she'd never win.
The silence stretched again, swallowing the both of them. She hated silence. It was too loud. Too real.
Beelzebub: ...Go on, then. Go give him your gift. Tell him it's from you. Tell him at least one person in this hive knows how to care.
She waved a hand, trying to shoo him, but it lacked any real sting.
The Imp didn't move.
???: ...You're his mother.
The words were soft, but they struck like lightning. Beelzebub flinched, actually flinched, as if the Imp had raised a blade instead of his voice. Her mandibles ached with the urge to snap, to deflect, to fire back with something bigger, louder, meaner. But she didn't. Couldn't.
Her antennae curled inward. She looked down, suddenly aware of the cracks in the floor, the way the light from the chandeliers made them glow like wounds.
Beelzebub: ...Yeah. Funny, huh?
Her grin twitched, failed.
Beelzebub: Not exactly winning Mom of the Millennium here.
The Imp blinked up at her. No laughter, no scorn - just a look that made her feel smaller than she had in centuries.
He shifted the box in his hands, brought it out from behind his back, and set it gently on the edge of the long table. It looked ridiculous there, a tiny, clumsily wrapped thing on a table piled high with untouched food. The feast gleamed under golden lights, decadent and wasteful. The gift was crooked and simple, and it outshone everything.
???: He'll want it later. I'll leave it here.
Beelzebub's throat tightened. She wanted to say something - anything. A joke, a dismissal, a "don't worry about it." But all that came out was a thin, cracked whisper.
Beelzebub: ...Thanks.
The Imp nodded once, then turned and left, tail swishing behind him. The door clicked shut softly, so soft it barely echoed at all.
And Beelzebub was alone again.
She stared at the gift on the table. For once, the feast around it didn't tempt her. The waffles glistening with honey, the roasts dripping glaze, the fruit stacked like jewels - none of it pulled at her hunger. Not even her Bub stirred.
Her eyes locked on the box instead. Small. Crooked. Remembered.
The cracks in the floor hummed faintly beneath her feet.
Beelzebub: ...What the hell am I doing?
Her voice was too small for the hall, swallowed before it even reached the walls.
The Queen of Gluttony, who once fed armies, who once threw parties that shook the Rings themselves, stood frozen in front of a gift she hadn't bought, for a son she hadn't raised.
And for the first time in a long, long time - she didn't feel hungry.
Beelzebub stood frozen, staring at the cracks in the floor where her fist had landed. Her claws twitched, wings flickering with nervous energy.
Beelzebub: ...Alright. Sure. Respect. Earned. Guess I missed that class.
She laughed once, sharp and thin, before pacing a short line, antennae twitching like static.
Beelzebub: I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do? I was born a queen, not a kid. Straight to the party floor. No bedtime stories. No "first steps." Just... wings. And noise. Always noise.
Her words trailed off, bouncing hollowly off the marble. She rubbed her face with both hands, muttering low.
Beelzebub: Maybe I... maybe I really did give him nothing.
Her compound eyes flicked toward the crooked little box left behind. She didn't touch it. Didn't move. Just stood there, buzzing faint, like she might say something else-then stopped.
Beelzebub: ...Happy birthday.
The words slipped out, soft and uncertain, before dissolving into the empty grand-dining room.