Trixie Is Canonically Chinese-coded!

Ok so:

Where is our main man Diaval??? Why hasn't he come back after one year of the exchange program? Poor demon went off to the human world all by himself and???

I need a spinoff of Diaval's misadventures (you cannot tell me he didn't accidentally try eating a poor high schooler's soul at least once during his time there) in the human world.

I need to see him discover tiktok and pumpkin spice and parades and just have wholesome moments with his human friends at some random public high school.

Imagine he comes back and him and MC see each other and the two of them are just:

They'd click instantly, I tell you. Imagine Diaval having his own harem; parallels, parallels, parallels.

Diaval: Humans are so fragile...I punched one and they died, and you're telling me you survived an entire YEAR here??? Damn, you gotta be one tough cookie!

MC: Sorry, you WHAT-

Diaval:

Don't tell me they WOULDN'T bond over their experiences in different realms. MC helping Diaval with human customs and traditions and Diaval helping MC with some of the weirder aspects of the Devildom that they missed. They'd hype each other up like:

I NEED DIAVAL AND MC INTERACTION AAAAAA

(Extra: the brothers hanging out with Diaval, because he's picked up a lot of human behaviors and he reminds them of MC)

cmyk test pages r like angels to me

watching gen z and millennials make fun of gen alpha has been torturous. "But they're actually stupid" 1. theyre middle schoolers 2. isn't that what older gens said about us? don't you remember being 11?

it truly is just "impulse reaction to cringe <- has not yet unlearned shame"

the cycle continues let me out of here

guys. guys I think we should kill cringe culture

List of character flaws that could make a funny original character (OC) even more entertaining

Chronic clumsiness: Tripping, stumbling, and knocking things over with comedic regularity.

Absurdly bad luck: Experiencing a series of comically unfortunate events.

Exaggerated laziness: Finding increasingly creative ways to avoid doing any work.

Uncontrollable laughter: Breaking into fits of giggles at the most inappropriate moments.

Inability to keep a secret: Accidentally blurting out confidential information or gossip.

Extreme forgetfulness: Frequently losing belongings or forgetting important appointments.

Obsessive-compulsive quirks: Engaging in peculiar rituals or behaviors for no apparent reason.

Social awkwardness: Saying and doing the most cringeworthy things in social situations.

Over-the-top dramatics: Reacting melodramatically to even the smallest of inconveniences.

Excessive talkativeness: Rambling on endlessly without realizing they've lost their audience.

Compulsive lying: Fabricating outlandish stories to impress others or get out of trouble.

Food obsession: Constantly eating or talking about food, even in inappropriate contexts.

Nervous tics: Displaying quirky mannerisms or habits when feeling anxious.

Paranoid tendencies: Jumping to wild conclusions and imagining elaborate conspiracy theories.

Uncontrollable curiosity: Snooping around and getting into trouble due to a relentless need to know.

Over-the-top superstitions: Believing in absurd lucky charms or rituals.

Excessive hypochondria: Constantly diagnosing themselves with imaginary illnesses.

Silly phobias: Fearing utterly ridiculous things, like rubber ducks or clowns.

Inability to tell time: Consistently running late or showing up at bizarre hours.

Ridiculous fashion sense: Sporting outrageous outfits or hairstyles that defy all logic.

These flaws can turn your funny OC into a lovably eccentric character, bringing humor and charm to any story or situation they find themselves in.

People have written a lot of touchy-feely pieces on this subject but I thought I’d get right to the heart of the matter

Tumblr Tuesday: An Eclipse for The Ages

Well, wow. Who knew one thing moving in front of the other could elicit in us such childlike wonder? Turns out, pretty much everyone, actually. The untimely darkness! The crescent dapples! That bright corona! You've all enjoyed them immensely. Here's an eclipse collection for the annals.

@endcant

@quanajean:

@geopsych:

@ryucreates:

@xtahse:

@marlowe-art:

@camping-with-monsters:

@floweroflaurelin:

@thestrangeforest:

@animusrox:

@rosechata:

@bearlyfunctioning:

@rootlessly:

@flippantsmeagol:

@shagaf:

@marissasketch:

@aubstacle-of-course:

@brokenmusicboxwolfe:

Vicious

a/n: This ended up being so much longer than I expected?? Geez I hope it's actually good. This is 100% the first ever fanfic I've written and actually posted somewhere please be gentle. I've gone over this so many times to make sure it's decent that it now seems dumb to me lmao anywaaay I hope y'all enjoy! I might do a second part to this if people actually enjoy it? I also had a lot of inspiration listening to this while writing: Ripping Me Apart

Summary: MC lashes out at dinner one night over what happened in the attic; later has a confrontation with Belphegor himself.

Warnings/Tags: spoilers for lesson 16, mentions of death, murder, suffocation, cussing, mentions of dead body, pissed off MC, angst I guess? if i forgot anything let me know!

Word Count: 5.1k Those who asked to be tagged in this monstrosity: @yaboihack @hornehlittleweeblet2 @talesfrom0pheliaa @dee-zbignuts The Apologies: Beelzebub, Satan, Mammon Asmodeus, Leviathan

"What doesn't kill me makes me Vicious" ~Halestorm

Seven months had passed since your arrival to the Devildom, in that time you had learned to live with the demons around you and started to become friends with them even. It helped to have another human around, if that’s what you could call him, even if he was a little sketchy at times. The angels were also a nice addition, they helped you remember that not everyone was trying to eat you. However, in your short time here, you had tempted fate and escaped death more times than you would have liked but somehow you were still alive and managing to keep up with your class work. The one thing you seemed to have messed up was trying to reunite a family of demons. Saying it out loud you realized how dumb it sounded, but at the time you thought it was a good idea. You knew what it was like to have a family torn apart over something stupid, maybe that’s why you felt so bad when Beelzebub had told you about his twin. Maybe you were trying to fix their family the way you wished you could fix yours…or maybe you were just bored. Either way you had gone to the attic and opened Pandora’s box it seemed, and in the end you suffered more than you ever imagined you would.

It had been three weeks since Belphegor had been freed from his attic prison. Three weeks since he had rejoined his brothers in the house and at RAD. Three weeks since your death… you try not to think about that part too much. You keep your mind occupied during the day by focusing on your work, making sure you get to dinner on time, you even got a job just to keep busy. At night though it was difficult to keep the memories away, you do your best to distract yourself so you can fall asleep, putting headphones in and listening to music or leaving the TV on just to fill the silence. It wouldn’t be as bad if the six demons that you spent so much time with weren’t acting as if nothing happened. The brothers all seem to have moved on, they go about their days like normal, like they never gathered around your limp body and as if Mammon hadn’t held you in his arms while you took your last breath. You're not about to start a fight with seven demons, considering how the fight with one had gone, but you also are not about to forgive so quickly. Belphie has tried to cozy up to you as if he didn’t strangle you with his own hands, like he didn’t laugh at you while you gasped for air. You don’t want to upset the others by drastically rejecting him (you’re the one who freed him after all) so you gently brush him off, removing yourself from situations that would leave you two alone. You had walked him to class that first day when his brothers all ditched him but once you arrived at RAD you had darted off to your classroom. You want to forgive him, you really do, that’s just who you are as a person. You consider seeing a therapist because you're pretty sure this counts as some kind of horrible trauma disorder but regardless, part of you wants to try and see the good in him. Nothing about the other six brothers behavior sits well with you though. Why are they all so casually ignoring the fact that the youngest had killed you only weeks prior?? Three of them had become very close friends to you, you spent most of your free time with them goofing off and getting into trouble. The other three you weren’t as close with but two had liked you enough to make pacts with you so why were they all so quick to forget the murder that happened?

You try to ignore it, to suck it up and keep your thoughts to yourself. “Only a few months left and then I go home” you try to tell yourself. But then it happened. The dinner where everything came to a head. It had been a pretty normal day, you were a little annoyed at the grade you received on a pop quiz but other than that everything was okay. The brothers were all happily discussing their days and that was fine, but then one of them made a mistake.

“Look at how well we’re all getting along! And it’s all thanks to MC!” and another had responded

“Yeah, we used to try and kill each other at every meal!”

That was it, the last straw. Maybe that quiz pissed you off more than you thought, or maybe you had just been holding back this anger for too long. Before you knew it you were laughing hysterically, eyes starting to water, face turning red. The room was silent aside from your laughter and all eyes were on you now, while you wanted to feel embarrassed by your own sudden outburst, the rage you felt was far stronger. You kept your eyes on your plate and could feel your fists clenching, your laughter dying off but the tears still trying to form in your eyes, you always hated being an angry crier.

“MC…. a-are you alright?”

Your head was spinning at this point, unaware of which brother was asking that absurd question, it could’ve been Levi or it could’ve been Asmo. At this point you didn’t care, the fire inside you was now blazing through your lungs and down into your stomach. You’d done so well to keep your composure down here, trying to not upset Lucifer by “disgracing him or Diavolo”, trying to behave and be the good and well put together human they thought you were. Fuck that.

“Alright? Am I alright?” You raised your head to finally meet the seven sets of eyes all watching you. “Did you seriously just ask…IF I WAS ALRIGHT??” Your voice was much higher pitched than you had anticipated at the end but at this point that was the least of your concerns.

“MC, darling- “

“Don’t ‘darling’ me!” They want to know how you feel? Fine, here comes seven months of built-up rage. “I was literally KILLED three weeks ago! And you wanna know if I’m alright think about that for a minute!” You felt the air in the room change, five demons now looking anywhere except at you. “I’ve been trying my best to keep up with my studies down here so I don’t disappoint Lord Diavolo or the exchange program while simultaneously playing family therapist for seven demons! AND YOU WANT TO KNOW IF I’M ALRIGHT!” You were standing now; your chair had flown back without you noticing.

“MC there’s no need to raise your voice nor is there need for this discussion during din-”

“YES THERE IS!” You snapped your head to stare down the first born. The fear you had felt that night in the catacombs when you shielded Luke and Beel was gone. The catacombs… that was the first time Lucifer had nearly killed you. You were protecting his younger brother and yet he had rushed you in his demon form and accused you of trying to bring harm to his family. You saw the shock in his face, not only had you dared to talk back, but you had also yelled at him. You could tell he was about to start arguing with you again. That’s not happening, not tonight.

“Since my first day here you’ve drilled into my head that if I ever brought harm to your brothers, if I ever went against you or Diavolo, or if I ever brought shame to the exchange program, you’d show me no mercy! So I’ve busted my ass to do well in my classes! I’ve attended every little event Diavolo has thrown, I’ve jumped through every hoop you and Diavolo have held up to me! I did my best to get along with your brothers and help them with their problems! Yet I guess that wasn’t good enough since you tried to kill me yourself three different times! You claim to be such a powerful demon and you act like the three worlds revolve around this exchange program SO WHERE WERE YOU WHEN BELPHEGOR HAD HIS HANDS AROUND YOUR PRECIOUS EXCHANGE STUDENTS THROAT AND THEY WERE LOSING AIR?!”

Lucifer winced at your words. How dare you speak to him like that, who did you think you were acting like this in front of his brothers? He wanted to retaliate, to put you in your place and make you remember who were talking to. But you were right, he had done all those things and more. Just when he thought you had shattered his pride as much as a human could, you started in again.

“WHERE WERE ANY OF YOU?” You whipped your head around to look at the rest, all of them avoiding your gaze. “You expect me to believe NONE of you heard the noise coming from the attic? That none of you HEARD ME SCREAMING?” you watched Beel tense up as your voice got louder. You had never yelled like this before; you’d never been angry like this with them. Part of you felt bad for Beelzebub, all he wanted was for his family to be whole again and for you to be a part of it…then you remembered how he almost killed you over a pudding and destroyed your bedroom in the process. You looked over at Asmo, Levi and Satan, all three looking at the floor trying their best to not make eye contact. Leviathan was on the verge of tears, his face a deep red and he started to sink lower into his chair, Asmodeus was picking at the sleeve of his sweater and biting his lip, Satan looked the most uncomfortable out of all the brothers, most likely trying his best to not turn into his demon form thanks to the rage you were giving off. You hadn’t noticed until now but you could feel his pact on you burning, the heat from it only made you angrier. You had made pacts with all but one by this point, five of them when the incident happened, yet none of them had been there to protect you. Protect you. You looked over to Mammon and quickly wished you hadn’t. The second born had one hand wrapped around his stomach and the other covering his mouth to muffle his sobs. His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, you could see him lightly shaking. You wanted so desperately to be angry with him as well but the best you could come up with was how rude he had been your first few weeks here and the fact that he too had dismissed Belphie’s actions. In all honesty he had been the nicest to you during your stay, you’d spent so much time together, he always made sure to include you in anything going on in the house. So why had he been so quick to forgive Belphie? That’s when the image came back to you, the one you had tried so desperately to forget, the one with your dying body. Walking in and seeing yourself beaten and bruised, laying in his arms. Oh god his arms! Mammon had been the one holding your broken body, tears running down his face as he caressed yours, trying so desperately to get you to stay with him. He had been the one to hold you as you took your final breath. That was why Mammon had dismissed it, he was trying to forget just like you were. The rage was growing again, this time with more ammo.

“You know what else pisses me off? The fact that all of you talk down and belittle Mammon and yet HE WAS THE ONE TO HOLD MY DYING BODY! You all act like he’s some heartless scumbag but he was the one who had to feel me actually die! I don’t want to hear any of you call him a scumbag ever again do you understand?” You knew you were getting off track, this was a speech for a different time and yet you received nods from all five brothers in your line of sight. At least they were listening, and all seemed ashamed, well…all but one. You could see him from the corner of your eye, you’d been avoiding him up until this point simply because that was how you’d spent the last three weeks, but now you could see him with that stupid smirk on his face. Was he enjoying his brothers misery? Or was he proud of what he had put you through? It didn’t matter, you had enough anger built up and you were ready to let it explode.

“You think this is funny? Is this all just some sick joke to you? Do you know how hurt Beelzebub was thinking you were off in the human world unhappy and against your will? You think you have all humans figured out, don’t you? We’re all just dumb little play toys for you, aren’t we? You don’t know a damn thing about me. I spent seven months getting to know your brothers and helping them reconnect and solve their problems! I felt bad for you being locked up there away from your family! I thought it was unfair that Lucifer would lock you away and then lie to your brothers! I wanted to help you! I TRUSTED YOU!” The smirk on Belphie’s face disappeared the moment you started in on him, replaced by a look of discomfort and embarrassment. Good, you wanted him to be hurt.

“And as a thank you for all that I did,” you put your hands on the table and leaned in towards him “you decided to put your hands around my throat and suffocate me until I blacked out. You dragged my body down from the attic and presented your kill like a proud hunting dog to your brothers that I’d spent months helping.” Your eyes narrowed and you clenched your fists once more, “Then you gave me the saddest excuse for an apology I’ve ever heard and immediately expected me to forgive you and suddenly act like we’ve been friends for years? No, absolutely not. Do you know why I made a pact with you so quickly after what happened? It wasn’t because I forgave you, it was so I could stop you if you ever tried to KILL ME AGAIN!” Belphie jumped at that last part, any joy he got from listening to you rip into his brothers had been smashed as you made him face the truth of his actions. You felt yourself shaking, the hot wet tears on your cheeks, your jaw clenched shut. You wanted to throw something, to break everything in the room, to scream at the top of your lungs in frustration. But you knew you had said enough, you were sure you’d be lectured by Lucifer later when he found the nerve, so you straightened up and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath and prepared to swallow your pride, something Lucifer could learn to do himself.

“If you’ll excuse me.” You turned sharply and headed straight to your room; you had considered saying sorry but quickly got over it. As soon as they heard your bedroom door shut, the brothers all took off to their own rooms, all but Lucifer who stayed at the table reviewing what had just happened in his mind. He let out a deep sigh and then placed his head in his hands, elbows propped up on the table, so much for the nice family dinner.

************************************************************************

While the others had all returned to their respective rooms, Belphegor had retreated to the attic, too ashamed to face his twin right now. He felt some comfort up there, away from the others and alone with his thoughts. Then his thoughts turned against him. He tried desperately to ignore them, tossing and turning on the bed, trying to just fall asleep and forget the entire evening but your words were echoing in his head “as thanks for all that I did” he squeezed his eyes shut. No, don’t do it. “You put your hands around my throat!” an image flashed in Belphie’s mind. Stop, please just let it go away. Belphie opened his eyes in hopes to make it all stop but instead it only intensified. In some cruel irony he had opened his eyes to face the exact spot it happened, and he could remember it all so vividly. You had begged and pleaded for him to stop but he kept going, taking every last ounce of oxygen you had. He remembered how it felt as you fought against his grip, you had kicked and clawed at him; he still had scratch marks on his arms that he kept covered. You had used all the strength you had left to fight back. And then you had gone limp.

“STOP IT!” Shocked by his own voice, Belphie covered his mouth. What had he done? You had been so genuine in your quest to free him, you had been nice to him from the very beginning, and he went and did that to you. He suddenly felt sick. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and gripping the sheets as if they’d save him from the guilt that was consuming him, Belphie now faced the door to his room. He remembered your first encounter, how you had seemed so concerned about his state of being and when you asked about his identity he lied. He remembered how you had come back after putting the pieces together and asked him why he had lied, and he told you about his fall out with Lucifer, and then lied some more to you. You put yourself through so much for him, for his brothers, for a bunch of demons who couldn’t solve their own problems, and all he had done up until now was lie to you. He had wanted to hate you so badly for no reason other than being human, he could remember the minute he had started putting his plan together and how he had felt knowing you would never be the wiser. But you kept coming back and it started getting harder to hate you. Every visit you would talk to him like he was an equal, unlike when Lucifer came by and spoke to him like a caged animal, and with every visit he became more frustrated and confused. You were just some human, part of the reason that they had lost Lilith, so why was it becoming harder to hate you? He could remember laying in bed staring at the attic ceiling, wondering what you were doing and what it was like to hang out with you. Did his brothers feel this way? Is that why three of them had formed pacts with you so easily? By the time he was freed his mind was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions, he hated the fact that it was no longer easy to be angry at you, he hated that you were so trusting, he hated Lucifer for putting him in that musty old room to start with. Before he knew it his hands were around your throat, everything during the moment felt like a blur, but now after being three weeks free and after watching you viciously tear into him and his brothers, remembering that moment happened in slow motion. Every noise you made seemed deafening and it was like he could feel your pulse dropping in his hands again. Then even after all of that, you had been the one to wait around and walk him to RAD his first day back and had been helping him repair his relationships with his brothers. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew his brothers had been avoiding him for good reason, he knew he fucked up, but he never expected you to be the only one to show him a sliver of kindness after what he did. At some point Belphie had slid off the bed, now he was kneeling on the floor fighting back tears, his throat felt tight and his body was starting to tremble. He had to fix this. ************************************************************************

Four hours had passed since your little outburst, yet you found yourself still riding the adrenaline high. Sleeping was pointless while you were this wound up so you had started reorganizing your room, not that it was helping you clear your mind. You were thrilled you had finally given them a piece of your mind, but you also knew now began the hardest part. You didn’t want to sever your ties with them, you enjoyed laughing and hanging out with the brothers, but you needed them to understand that dismissing what happened was NOT going to work. You started to wonder who the first to approach you would be, how long would it take before they looked at you without guilt covering their faces? You’d probably have to bully your way into Levi’s room in order to repair things with him. That was fine, he could wait, after all he also made an attempt on your life over a stupid contest. You were lost in your own thoughts but suddenly pulled back to reality when you heard a small noise outside your door. Walking closer you could make out the sound of someone quietly crying, you felt a sting in your chest and checked the time. Midnight, that meant it was either Beelzebub who had wandered over after getting his late-night snack or Mammon who would probably stay outside your room all night and then pretend he had just showed up when you came out for breakfast the next morning. You weighed your options and then decided, might as well start fixing things now since sleep was still evading you. You opened the door and prepared yourself for the sad puppy eyes of the second or sixth born but felt anxious when you discovered it was neither. Instead, standing outside your door with his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants, was Belphie. He kept his head low and turned away from you, but you could still see his bloodshot eyes and the semi dried tear stains on his cheek, it was painfully obvious he had been crying much harder than he was now at some point.

“Do you need something?” your voice flat as you looked him up and down. He was in pajamas so he clearly had not planned on showing up here to pull something, but you kept your guard up.

“Can we talk?” his voice was barely audible and gave hints that he was on the verge of breaking. You shifted your weight as you stood in the doorway and thought about the question. While it sounded like some cheesy line from a bad sitcom and you thought about how fun it would be to slam the door in his face while he looked like a kicked puppy, you also considered how entertaining this might become. He came to your room to talk about something, and you wanted to find out what, but more importantly you wanted to see just how far you could push him in this state.

“Fine.” You moved out of the doorway and waited for him to enter; you could see him hesitate before doing so. It wasn’t until he stopped between your bed and the couch you had bought recently that you realized this was the first time he had actually been inside your room, he had stood out in the hall with Beel a few times when collecting you for dinner, but you had never invited him in. You watched as his eyes scanned your room and then landed on you, his form stiffening as he made eye contact.

“What do you want Belphie.” He shifted his gaze and whispered something in response.

“You’ll have to speak at a real volume, us humans don’t have the superior hearing you demon have I’m sure.” You were getting agitated again, it was late and he was wasting your time.

“I-I wanted to say…”

“Say what?”

“I’m trying to say…”

“Not trying very hard apparently!”

“Please just let me-“

“Let you what? Come up with some half assed apology again? Tell me another lie? Fool me enough to let my guard down so you can try and kill me again?? What do you want Belphegor? I’m not standing here all night while you waste my time SPIT IT OUT!”

“I’M SORRY ALRIGHT! I KNOW YOU DON’T CARE BUT I’M SORRY!”

You did it, without even trying you had pushed him over the edge. You watched him begin to fall apart, fat tears pouring from his eyes, his body starting to shake violently as he sobbed, you let him have his little breakdown.

“You didn’t d-deserve what I did! Y-you only wanted to h-help me and my brothers! I’m sorry! For every horrible thing I said and for putting you through that!”

You had to admit he was putting on one hell of a performance, you almost felt pity for him…almost.

“Can you ever forgive me for what I did?” his voice cracked this time.

Oh? So that’s his little goal, he came down here seeking forgiveness? He wants to put on a show in hopes that you’ll forgive him for his actions. At least this performance was better than that sorry excuse of an apology he had given you in front of the others. But why now? He had literally murdered you three weeks ago and was furious when you appeared before his brothers as they gathered around your corpse, it wasn’t until Diavolo had told them about…Lilith… that’s what this was about.

“Why should I? So you can feel better about yourself? So your dead sister won’t hate you? That’s what this is all for right? So you won’t look bad in Lilith’s eyes?”

“N-no it has nothing to do with- “

“LIAR! You couldn’t care less about what I think, you said it yourself, I’m just some stupid human! This little show is all for HER! Well guess what? I’m. Not. LILITH!” You felt your anger come flooding back to you, your dead ancestor or whatever she was to you was the whole reason any of this was happening in the first place. The more you thought about her, about your entire situation down here, the more you could feel the fire inside you growing. Satan’s pact burning on your skin once more, the fear you once had was long dead, all you felt was a burning rage. You thought that by now, after all you had been through, your fight or flight instinct would autopilot to flight in the face of conflict, but in this moment your entire body was choosing fight. You had lost the first fight against Belphegor because he caught you off guard, but this time you were ready and even if he killed you again you were gonna make sure you left your mark. As mad as you were you also knew better than to start screaming again, that would only bring more of them to your room and right now you had the only demon you needed in your sights. Maybe you were just a little plaything to them, nothing more than an amusing pet, but they screwed up. Six of them made pacts with you, and the human with their pact mark controls said demon, right? You planned to find out soon enough. You started ripping into Belphie again, telling him off once more, reminding him exactly how it felt to die and then to see your dead body, without thinking you had started taking steps towards him and for every step you took forward he took one back. You could see the fear behind his eyes, tears still rolling down his cheeks and body continuing to shake. All these things were feeding something inside you, the arrogant demon who had stolen a part of you was now trembling in front of you for whatever reason. Before you knew it you had him trapped, his back pressed against the wall, Belphie was out of steps to take but you continued forward leaving a very small space between you.

“Admit that this is all for her. Admit that you don’t care about what I think of you!”

“It isn’t! Why won’t you believe me?”

He didn’t need an answer to that, and you knew it, so instead you decided to give into his little act.

“You want my forgiveness?”, you leaned in and your voice deepened “Then beg for it!”

You were almost positive you hadn’t used your pact on him, but you had to think hard on it with how quickly Belphegor dropped to his knees and began sobbing in desperation. He was begging and pleading for your forgiveness, his crying became more violent, the tears fell quickly off his face with a few trailing down his neck occasionally, his voice cracking with every plea. You knew this kind of crying all too well, the kind of cry you let out after a major heartbreak or betrayal; after all you had been in this same position yourself after the incident, the only difference being your face had been pressed into a pillow to quiet the screams and sobs. Nobody would fake this kind of crying, why would they want to? It was far too draining and always left you with a headache afterwards, which meant Belphie actually was trying to apologize. This time you did feel sorry for him, sorry that he had exposed this side of him to you. Now you knew he could be broken, you knew you had the power to bring him to his knees even without the pact. He had called you a ‘weak and pathetic human’ back then but who was the weak, pathetic bitch now?

“I-I’ll do whatever i-it takes to make this up to y-you, I-I’ll do anythi-ing!” He was gasping for air with every word it seemed, truly a pitiful thing to watch. You suddenly got an awful and twisted idea as you tilted your head slightly, you felt a small smile crawl onto your face and you softened your eyes.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I know you will”, you leaned down so that your upper half was looming over his still trembling body. You took his face in your right hand, thumb wiping away tears on one cheek and your fingers pressing gently into the other, you made sure his eyes were locked on yours. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He wanted to make it up to you so badly? He wanted to be your friend? To be as close to you as his brothers were? Fine. But you were going to make him work for it and you’d make sure he worked hard for it too. He’d soon learn who he belonged to. After all, he had wanted the pact between you two, he had asked you to make him yours, so that's exactly what you would do.

“Do you understand?” Your voice was stern and your gaze showed no mercy. Belphie’s voice was shaky and his bottom lip started to quiver but he nodded quickly.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” you tightened your grip on his face slightly.

“Yes, M-master.”

The fic about switching stomachs inspired this idea:

What if the brothers all get into a major fight or something and MC decided to teach them a lesson in how to “walk a mile in each other’s shoes” by switching ALL their sins around (e.g. Satan gets Luci’s pride, Luci gets Belphegor’s sloth, Belphie get’s Asmo’s lust etc etc)

Ooooooh this was so much fun, it took me all day but it was so good to just sit down and write. Thank you for this delicious idea. Song inspiration: Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me The Horizon

Shifting Sins

The House of Lamentation was rarely quiet, but tonight's uproar was something out of the ordinary. It started with Mammon's usual antics—he had "misplaced" another one of Lucifer's prized possessions. Normally, this would have led to a stern lecture and perhaps a mild punishment, but today, something was different. The air was thick with unresolved tension, and the brothers were all on edge. Beelzebub, already irritable from hunger, had emptied the fridge yet again, leaving nothing for anyone else. Leviathan, reeling from a bitter loss in an online game, seethed in resentment.

As Lucifer berated Mammon for his irresponsibility, Mammon’s retorts were sharper than usual, laced with an anger that felt almost foreign. Satan, who had been brooding over an unresolved issue from earlier in the day, couldn’t hold back his own scathing remarks, aimed not just at Mammon but at Lucifer as well. The argument quickly escalated, drawing in the other brothers. Asmodeus, feeling overlooked, snapped at everyone, demanding the attention he believed he deserved. Beel, driven by his constant hunger, joined in with uncharacteristic harshness, while even Belphegor, usually content to stay out of conflicts, threw in his own barbs.

The cacophony of voices echoed through the halls, a tumultuous mix of accusations and grievances. MC, who had been quietly reading in the corner of the common room, watched as the brothers tore into each other, their usual banter turning into something darker and more vicious. It was clear that this was no ordinary argument—this was years of unresolved tension and unspoken resentment coming to a head. Each of the brother’s sin magnifying their worst impulses.

MC had always known that the brothers were burdened by their respective sins, each one struggling in their own way to manage the weight of their nature. But this… this was different. They couldn’t stand by and let the house tear itself apart. The brothers needed to understand, truly understand, the burdens each of them carried.

As the voices rose to a fever pitch, MC stepped forward, feeling the heat of the argument like a physical force. They had never felt so small in the presence of the brothers, who now seemed more like demons than ever before. But they couldn’t back down—not now.

“Enough!” MC’s voice cut through the din, surprising even themselves with the authority in their tone. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to them. For a moment, the weight of their gazes was almost too much, but MC held their ground.

“You all are so quick to judge each other, to lash out without thinking,” they said, their voice steady. “But have any of you ever stopped to think about what it’s like for the others? To really understand what they go through every day?”

Lucifer, his pride still stinging from Satan’s earlier comments, frowned. “And what would you suggest, MC? That we all just suddenly become empathetic?”

“No,” MC replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I suggest you all learn what it’s like to walk in each other’s shoes. Maybe then you’ll finally get it.”

The room was filled with an uneasy silence. The brothers exchanged glances, unsure of where this was going. Before anyone could protest or ask for clarification, MC reached deep within themselves, tapping into the magic they rarely used. It was a gamble, one they weren’t even sure would work, but it was worth a shot. They spoke the incantation, their voice firm and resolute.

A ripple of energy pulsed through the room, invisible yet palpable. The brothers stiffened, each of them feeling something shift within them, a disorienting tug at the core of their being. As the magic settled, they all looked at each other with wide eyes, the reality of what had just happened slowly dawning on them.

“What… what did you do?” Levi’s voice trembled.

“I switched your sins,” MC said simply. “For the next day, you’ll all be living with someone else’s burden.”

Lucifer was the first to protest. “You can’t just—”

But MC cut him off, their tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to find out exactly what it’s like to live with someone else’s sin. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to appreciate each other a little more.”

With that, they turned and left the room, the brothers too stunned to follow. As the door closed behind them, the brothers were left in an uneasy silence, each one already feeling the strange effects of their new sin taking hold.

Lucifer (Sloth)

The morning after, Lucifer awoke to a sensation so alien it left him momentarily disoriented. Accustomed to springing out of bed with a mind razor-sharp and a schedule demanding his attention from dawn until well past dusk, he now found himself ensnared in the heavy chains of lethargy. His limbs felt like they were weighed down by lead, and his eyelids refused to obey his commands to lift.

Despite his efforts, the temptation to sink deeper into the soft embrace of his bed overpowered his usual discipline. This was Belphegor’s realm—sloth—and it clung to Lucifer with a tenacity that shocked him. The sheer effort required to swing his legs off the bed and stand up felt like battling through a swamp. Each step was sluggish, each action drained more of his energy, and by the time he managed to dress himself, he felt as if he had fought a war.

The day’s duties loomed large in his mind, but as he made his way to his office, the journey felt interminable. Papers were stacked neatly on his desk, reports awaited his review, and the endless list of tasks called for his usually impeccable oversight. However, staring at the documents, Lucifer found his usual sharp focus blurred by an overwhelming desire to do nothing.

Throughout the day, the house seemed quieter to him, or perhaps he was simply too wrapped in the fog of sloth to notice the usual sounds. He tried to push through, to ignite some spark of his usual drive, but each attempt fizzled out, smothered by an oppressive blanket of fatigue.

His interactions with his brothers were strained. Mammon’s boisterous complaints and Leviathan’s subdued mutterings about game losses slipped past him like whispers on the wind. Lucifer’s attempts to command authority fell flat, his voice lacking its usual force. The sight of his brothers reacting to his uncharacteristic apathy with confusion—and in Mammon's case, a poorly concealed delight—only deepened his frustration.

Dinner was a quiet affair, with Lucifer picking at his food, an unusual sight that didn’t go unnoticed. Beelzebub, who sat observing the strange lethargy that had claimed his eldest brother, offered a sympathetic glance. Even Beel could see the battle Lucifer fought against the sin that gripped him.

As the day drew to a close, Lucifer retreated to his study, a place where he had spent countless hours strategizing and planning with meticulous care. Now, it felt like a cell. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, not to think or plan, but simply to surrender to the weariness.

In this rare moment of quiet reflection, Lucifer began to understand Belphegor’s daily reality. The constant pull of sloth wasn’t just a lack of energy—it was a battle of will, a test of endurance against one’s own body and mind. It was a struggle he had never truly appreciated, having always been the one to chastise his youngest brother for his laziness.

A newfound respect for Belphegor’s challenges began to take root. Sloth was not just an annoyance to be berated; it was a formidable foe to be understood and managed. This insight, hard-earned through a day of struggling against an unnatural inertia, brought with it a reluctant empathy. Lucifer realized that understanding and support might be more effective than disdain and commands.

That night, as he prepared for a sleep that he felt had already claimed him hours before, Lucifer made a mental note to approach Belphegor with a different demeanor. Perhaps, he thought, there was room for patience and understanding in the House of Lamentation, even from its stern ruler.

This experience, while harrowing, had peeled back a layer of his own untouchable facade, revealing a capacity for growth and change that Lucifer had not acknowledged in a long time. Tomorrow, the spell would be lifted, and his usual vigor would return, but the lessons from today would linger, altering the way he led his brothers, and more importantly, how he understood them.

Mammon (Wrath)

Mammon awoke to a sensation of smoldering heat coursing through his veins, an unfamiliar, unsettling intensity that jolted him out of sleep. This wasn’t the usual surge of adrenaline he felt when cooking up a new scheme or escaping a debt collector. This was raw, uncontrolled anger—a boiling rage that seemed ready to erupt over the slightest provocation.

As the Avatar of Greed, Mammon was no stranger to intense emotions, particularly the desperate need to acquire and possess. Yet, as he lay in bed feeling this wrath pulsate within him, he realized just how different and daunting this emotion was. The smallest noises—a distant door slamming, the murmurs of his brothers in the hallway—ignited a fierce irritation that clawed at his insides.

Attempting to start his day, Mammon’s usual enthusiasm for potential riches felt overshadowed by this pervasive anger. Every misplaced object in his room, every wrinkle on his clothes seemed to taunt him, fueling his fury further. He snapped at the fabric as he dressed, his hands trembling with an urge to tear rather than straighten his jacket.

Breakfast was a battlefield. As he entered the dining hall, the clatter of dishes and the casual banter of his brothers felt like assaults on his senses. When Levi accidentally bumped into him while reaching for the juice, a surge of anger so intense washed over Mammon that he nearly hurled the glass across the room. The shock in Levi’s wide eyes pulled Mammon back from the edge, and he stormed away from the table with a snarl, leaving a stunned silence behind him.

Throughout the day, Mammon struggled to manage the constant simmering rage. The bustling streets of the Devildom, which usually excited him with their opportunities for mischief and money-making, now seemed filled with obstacles and annoyances. Every jostle was a provocation, every whispered bargain a challenge. Mammon found himself involved in several altercations, each leaving him more drained and bewildered by his reactions.

Trying to engage in his usual trades and negotiations was a disaster. Each interaction felt like a ticking time bomb, his patience razor-thin. The realization that he could no longer trust his instincts, that every impulse might lead not to profit but to conflict, was deeply unsettling.

By late afternoon, Mammon found himself alone in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, head in hands. The anger had exhausted him, each outburst leaving a bitter taste of isolation and regret. It was then that he truly began to understand Satan’s daily ordeal. The wrath that Mammon had temporarily inherited was a constant, all-consuming fire that threatened to consume not just him but everything and everyone around him.

This insight shook Mammon. He had often mocked Satan for his 'dramatic' flares of temper, never fully comprehending the effort it took to contain such a volatile force. Now, bearing the weight of wrath himself, Mammon felt a profound sense of empathy for his brother, mixed with a twinge of guilt for all the times he had provoked him without a second thought.

As evening approached, and the household settled, Mammon made his way to Satan’s room—a journey that felt much longer and harder than usual. He knocked hesitantly, a stark contrast to his usually brash entrance.

Satan, surprised by the visit, looked up from his book, his expression guarded. Mammon stepped inside, his posture uncharacteristically subdued.

“I... I think I get it now,” Mammon started, his voice rough with unspoken apologies. “The anger... it ain’t just some flame you can snuff out when you feel like it. It’s like being chained to a beast, always pullin’ at ya.”

Satan watched him, the usual sharpness in his eyes softening. “It’s not easy,” he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. “But knowing someone understands... it helps.”

Mammon nodded, the tension that had coiled tightly within him unspooling slightly. “I’m sorry, for all the times I made it worse. I didn’t know—couldn’t really know—how hard it was fighting that... that beast.”

A small smile tugged at Satan’s lips, a silent acknowledgment of Mammon’s effort. “We all have our sins, Mammon. Maybe now, we’ll be a bit better at helping each other with them.”

That night, as Mammon lay in bed, the wrath still simmering within him, he felt a glimmer of hope. This brutal day had opened his eyes, not just to the burdens his brothers bore, but to the possibilities of what they could overcome together. Understanding, Mammon realized, was just the first step, but it was perhaps the most crucial one. Tomorrow, the sins would switch back, but the lessons learned would linger, shaping his actions and, hopefully, his relationships, for the better.

Leviathan (Gluttony)

The shifting lights from his fishtanks danced weakly over Leviathan’s room, failing to stir him from his unusual lethargy. When the spell switched his sin from envy to gluttony, Levi hadn’t anticipated how drastically it would alter his daily routine. Accustomed to waking with a gnawing sense of inadequacy, today it was replaced by an actual gnawing in his stomach—an insatiable hunger that felt as deep and vast as an oceanic abyss.

Attempting to rise from his bed, Levi felt the hunger clawing at him with a ferocity that shocked him. It wasn’t just a need for food—it was an all-consuming obsession. His usual morning thoughts, typically filled with strategies for new levels or contemplating the latest games and animes, were now overrun by thoughts of what he could eat, how much, and how quickly.

As he shuffled towards the kitchen, the corridors of the House of Lamentation seemed longer than ever, each step driven by a growing desperation. Reaching the kitchen, Levi began to eat whatever he could find—bread, leftovers, even ingredients that were meant for dinner. The hunger was relentless, unsatisfied by the volumes of food he consumed, each bite only sharpening the pangs that gripped him.

During breakfast with his brothers, Levi’s usual reticence was replaced by an impulsive focus on the food. He barely registered the conversations around him, his attention riveted on his next bite. When Beel reached for the last pastry—a usual act that Levi would typically envy in silence—it triggered an unexpected and sharp response from Levi.

“Leave it! I saw it first!” Levi snapped, his voice a mixture of desperation and anger, surprising himself and his brothers. Beel, taken aback by Levi’s uncharacteristic outburst, withdrew his hand, a hurt look flashing across his face.

As the day progressed, Levi tried to engage with his usual online gaming community, but the hunger made it impossible to concentrate. Each ping and notification seemed like a distant echo, irrelevant compared to the gnawing emptiness inside him. Attempting to play felt futile as his reflexes were slow, his decisions poor, driven by the distraction of his unyielding appetite.

Levi’s realization of Beel’s daily struggle with gluttony began to dawn on him in painful clarity. The constant hunger was not just a physical ailment; it was a psychological torment. It sapped his strength, dulled his passions, and turned every thought painfully towards anything he could consume. Levi, who had always viewed Beel’s eating habits as a mere characteristic of his sin, now understood the true burden it was—a relentless drive that overshadowed everything else.

By evening, Levi found himself back in the kitchen, not for the joy of snacking as he used to, but out of sheer necessity to quell the beast of hunger roaring within. As he stood there, eating mechanically, he felt a presence at the doorway. Beel, his expression somber, watched him for a moment before entering.

“I didn’t really get it before… how hard this is for you,” Levi admitted without looking up, his voice thick with the exhaustion of his relentless hunger.

Beel approached, placing a comforting hand on Levi’s shoulder. “It’s tough, yeah. But you get used to it… kinda. You learn to live around it,” Beel said, his voice carrying a mix of resignation and empathy.

Leviathan paused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, and met Beel’s eyes. “I’m sorry… for not understanding earlier. For all the times I got annoyed at you for eating everything. I see now how much of a fight it is.”

Beel squeezed his shoulder, a gesture of brotherly solidarity. “It’s okay, Levi. We’re all dealing with our stuff. Maybe now we can help each other a bit more, huh?”

Nodding, Levi felt a weight lift slightly—not from his stomach, but from his heart. This shared experience, though fraught with discomfort and revelation, had unexpectedly bridged a gap between him and Beel. They stood together in the kitchen, two brothers newly bonded not just by the house they shared, but by the understanding of each other’s battles.

That night, as Levi lay in bed, the hunger still gnawing but his heart a little lighter, he thought about how easy it was to overlook others' struggles when they were hidden behind the veil of everyday interactions. Perhaps, he pondered, there was more to every sin, every behavior, and every reaction that met the eye. With this new understanding, Levi felt a resolve to not only battle his own sin but to help his brothers with theirs, fortified by the empathy that had grown from walking in Beel’s shoes—or, in this case, enduring a day with his hunger.

Satan (Pride)

The morning dawned with an unusual clarity for Satan, but it was not the clarity of peace or resolution. Instead, he awoke to a searing sense of purpose that felt foreign yet overwhelmingly powerful. Accustomed to the simmering heat of wrath, he now found himself enveloped by the cold fire of pride. Each action, each decision, was magnified through this new lens—a relentless drive to not just participate but to dominate and exemplify perfection in every aspect of his existence.

His usual morning routine, which typically involved reviewing his academic and demonic duties with a critical but controlled approach, now became a battleground of self-imposed standards and unattainable expectations. The books on his shelf needed realigning, his clothes required meticulous arranging, and even his breakfast became a calculated choice rather than a simple meal. Every minor imperfection seemed to scream at him, a glaring declaration of failure.

As he moved through the hallways of the House of Lamentation, the usual disarray he could dismiss with a sneer now felt like personal affronts to his command. When Beel left a mess in the kitchen or Mammon’s schemes disrupted the order of the day, it wasn’t just annoying—it was unacceptable. Satan found himself issuing commands with an iron edge, demanding compliance and perfection not just from himself but from his brothers as well.

The interactions were draining. Each demand for excellence pushed his brothers further away, their responses ranging from bewildered hurt to simmering resentment. The pride swelled within him, urging him to impose his will further, to correct every fault, to mold everything to his vision of perfection.

It wasn’t until a late afternoon reflection in his room, far from the eyes of his brothers, that the weight of Lucifer’s sin truly sank in. The solitude he sought didn’t bring relief but a sharp, piercing introspection. He considered Lucifer—his leadership, his unyielding demands, his isolation. Satan had often resented his older brother, viewed his control and poise as arrogance. But now, encased in the armor of pride himself, Satan began to grasp the burden it entailed.

Lucifer hadn’t comforted him; there were no shared moments of understanding or soft words exchanged. Their relationship, fraught with tension and a history of rebellion, offered no room for such closeness. Yet, in this solitude, Satan acknowledged a truth he had never considered: he had only ever seen the outcome of Lucifer’s decisions, never the agonizing choices that led there.

Satan sat alone, the quiet of his room echoing back his thoughts. He pondered the enormity of what Lucifer must carry. The pride, while a powerful force, was also a blinding one, isolating Lucifer not just from his enemies but from those close to him. Satan realized that he had come into existence after his brothers fall from grace, after the battles and losses that had shaped his brothers into the beings they were. He had not shared their most formative sufferings; he had only ever known the aftermath and the responsibilities that came with it.

Satan conceded a painful truth: Lucifer had suffered profoundly, not just from the external conflicts but from within, from the blame and the expectations placed upon him as the eldest. Pride might have been his sin, but it was also his cage, crafted by both his own hands and the perceptions of those around him.

This realization didn't soften his stance towards Lucifer—it wasn’t in Satan’s nature to relinquish his criticisms easily—but it broadened his perspective. He acknowledged, if only to himself, that there were depths to Lucifer’s struggles he had not considered, layers of sacrifice and pain masked beneath the veneer of control and authority.

As night fell and the house quieted, Satan made a quiet resolve to approach his older brother with a newfound appreciation for his complexities. The pride would leave him at dawn, but it's lessons would linger, shaping his understanding of leadership, of brotherhood, and of the silent battles fought behind the faces of those he called family.

Asmodeus (Greed)

As night enveloped the House of Lamentation, Asmodeus sat surrounded by the treasures he had "acquired" throughout the day. He realized that greed, his temporary sin, was not just about accumulating wealth or objects—it was a deeper, more pervasive desire that could consume one's life if left unchecked.

Each item, once a trophy in his quest for more, now felt like a chain linking him to a deeper understanding of his brother’s. The weight of greed had not only transformed his desires but had also opened his eyes to the burdens that Mammon bore every day. Mammon's battle that involved much more than the simple desire for more, but a constant search for value in an existence that seemed perpetually insufficient.

It wasn’t just the relentless drive to acquire and possess that pained Asmo; it was the realization of how this sin shaped Mammon’s interactions with others. Throughout the day, as Asmodeus felt the compulsion to hoard and hide, he noticed the mistrust in his brothers’ eyes, a suspicion that he had never encountered when driven by his own sin. Every whisper, every sideways glance felt like an accusation, echoing the way Mammon was often treated whenever something went amiss in the house.

Asmodeus now understood that Mammon’s greed was not a simple choice or a whimsical desire to collect valuables. It was a profound, incessant urge that colored every aspect of his life, often leading him to be blamed or ostracized for incidents he had no part in. The realization hit Asmodeus hard; the loneliness and isolation Mammon must feel, always the first suspect, always guilty until proven innocent.

Reflecting on his own sin, Asmo could see the stark contrast. Where lust was often celebrated or indulged, greed was met with wariness and scorn. His own desires, though intense, were straightforward and often welcomed in their indulgence. They brought him closer to others, even if sometimes superficially, whereas Mammon’s greed pushed him to the margins, often seen as a disruptive force rather than a personal struggle.

Sitting alone, Asmo felt a surge of empathy for Mammon. The constant suspicion, the automatic blame—it was a lot to bear, especially when one was merely following an intrinsic, uncontrollable drive. He thought about the times he had casually joked about Mammon’s misadventures and all the accusations he had thrown his way, never considering the sting that might linger behind his brother's forced laughter and bravado.

Resolved to change the way he interacted with Mammon, Asmo began to carefully replace each item he had taken back to its original place. With each object returned, he felt a piece of his burden lighten, not just the burden of greed, but the burden of misunderstanding he had helped place on Mammon’s shoulders.

The next morning, after the sins had returned to their rightful place, Asmo sought Mammon out, finding him in his room, a place where many of his secretive exchanges took place and where he kept his most precious treasures. Mammon looked up, surprise flickering across his face as Asmodeus approached with a genuine smile.

“Mammon, I… I wanted to say, I get it now. I didn’t before, but I do now. What you go through with greed, it’s not easy. And I’m sorry for all the times I might’ve made it harder for you,” Asmodeus said, his voice earnest, carrying an emotional weight that was rare for him.

Mammon eyed him warily for a moment before a slow, cautious smile spread across his face. “Ya mean that, Asmo? ‘Cause it ain’t just about the stuff or gainin' more or winnin', ya know. It’s how everyone looks at ya, like you’re up to no good before you’ve even done anything.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that too. From now on, I’ll do better. I’ll help them see the Mammon I know, not just the greed,” Asmodeus promised, placing a hand on Mammon’s shoulder.

Mammon nodded, a look of relief washing over him. “Thanks, Asmo. Means a lot, really.”

As they parted ways, Asmodeus felt a renewed sense of connection to his brother. This experience had taught him more than the weight of greed; it had opened his eyes to the importance of understanding and supporting each other’s battles, no matter how different they might be.

Beelzebub (Envy)

Beelzebub awoke with a pang that was unfamiliar yet intensely painful. This wasn't the usual emptiness of hunger he was accustomed to, but a different kind of void—one that seemed to claw at his heart rather than his stomach. As the sin of envy took hold, replacing his constant companion of gluttony, Beel found himself seeing the world through a green-tinted lens.

Morning in the House of Lamentation brought with it the usual sounds and sights, but Beel’s perception of them had altered dramatically. As he lumbered into the kitchen, his eyes were drawn not to the contents of the fridge but to the relationships, possessions, and attributes his brothers flaunted. Levi’s latest gaming setup, Mammon’s closeness with MC, Satan’s intellect—things he’d never paid much mind to suddenly became symbols of what he lacked.

Breakfast was a torturous affair. Each of his brothers discussed their plans and achievements, and with each word, the seed of envy grew thornier in Beel’s chest. He saw their easy camaraderie and felt outside it, isolated by a newfound longing not just for more food, but for more of everything they had.

The day progressed, and Beel’s usual straightforward path of satisfying his hunger became a twisted road filled with comparison and resentment. Training in the gym, he couldn't help but notice how effortlessly others could perform each exercise, his own larger, bulkier form suddenly a source of frustration rather than pride. Where he once felt camaraderie, he now felt competition, a gnawing need to spite others.

As he moved through the day, every laughter-filled conversation his brothers shared, every personal success they flaunted, felt like personal slights to Beel. The weight room, once his refuge, became a hall of mirrors reflecting back his inadequacies. He lifted weights with a ferocity driven by envy, each rep a silent scream against the injustices he felt.

It wasn’t until he caught his reflection in the mirror, sweat-drenched and eyes burning with an unfamiliar malice, that Beel realized how deeply the envy had taken root. He paused, hands trembling, not from exertion but from the emotional turmoil that wracked him.

In the quiet of the locker room, Beel sat heavily on a bench. The reality of Leviathan’s daily struggle with envy began to dawn on him. The constant comparison, the perpetual feeling of falling short—it was exhausting. Torture of the soul. Levi, who often seemed so withdrawn, was fighting a battle that Beel had never truly understood until now; it was a deeper, more insidious feeling than he ever imagined.

Realizing he needed to confront these feelings directly, Beel sought out Leviathan. He found him in his room, surrounded by the glow of multiple screens, a digital world where Levi often escaped his own insecurities. Beel paused at the door, taking a moment to compose his thoughts, then stepped inside with a determination that belied his internal turmoil.

“Levi,” Beel started, his voice gentle. Levi paused his game, turning to face him with a wary expression that shifted into surprise as Beel continued. "I’ve been feeling things today. Envy. It’s heavy, like being hungry but for everything at once.”

Levi’s eyes widened slightly, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he struggled to form words.

Beel moved closer. Without hesitation, he did what felt most natural to express his feelings—he wrapped Levi in a firm, reassuring hug. “I get it now. How hard it must be, feeling like this all the time. It’s tough… tougher than I thought. You’re stronger than you think, Levi, dealing with this every day.”

Levi, caught off guard by the hug and the compliment, stammered a response, his usual aversion to touch crumbling under the genuine care in Beel’s voice. “I-It’s not easy. I don’t always handle it well. But, um, thanks, Beel. Means a lot, hearing that from you.”

Pulling back, Beel kept his hands on Levi’s shoulders, looking him squarely in the eyes. “You don’t have to handle it alone, though. We’re brothers, right? We should be helping each other, not just… envying what the other has. I want to help, okay? Whenever you feel like it’s too much, just come find me.”

Levi nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through his initial awkwardness. “Okay, I will. Thanks, Beel… really.”

As Beel left Levi’s room, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders—this experience had not only shown him the burden of Levi’s sin but had also reminded him of the power of straightforward, sincere communication.

That night, Beel lay in bed, reflecting on the day’s lessons. He understood now that each of his brothers carried hidden struggles. Tomorrow, all of their sins would switch back, but he and his brothers would endure, forging stronger bonds in a house often divided by the very sins that defined them.

Belphegor (Lust)

Belphegor woke up feeling unusually restless, an unfamiliar energy coursing through his veins that seemed entirely at odds with his typical languor. As the sin of lust temporarily replaced his inherent sloth, the quiet calm that usually surrounded him dissolved into a simmering intensity. This new sensation wasn't just about physical desire; it was a craving for emotional connections and experiences, a longing that felt as invasive as it was unsettling.

The day started differently for Belphie. Instead of seeking the nearest comfortable spot to drift back into sleep, he found himself drawn to the livelier parts of the House of Lamentation. He lingered in the hallways, his gaze following his brothers with an interest that felt compulsive. Asmo’s effortless charm, which Belphie usually ignored, now sparked a keen sense of yearning to engage and be noticed.

Breakfast was an ordeal. Each laugh and touch shared among his brothers felt like a sting, highlighting his usual detachment. The ease with which they expressed affection seemed to accentuate his isolation. The longing to be part of that, to feel as deeply and freely as they did, to be the center of attention, gnawed at him with every passing moment.

As the day progressed, Belphie found it increasingly difficult to manage the surge of emotions that came with lust. His usual strategies for dealing with sloth—withdrawal, isolation, sleep—were ineffective against this relentless desire for closeness and intensity. He caught himself staring, reaching out, wanting more from every interaction than he knew how to ask for.

The library became his refuge by midday, a place where he hoped the quiet might dampen the fervor of his feelings. But even surrounded by books, he felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. The solitude he usually cherished now felt suffocating. When Satan happened to wander in, searching for a particular volume, Belphie’s usual nod of acknowledgment turned into an intense conversation about the themes of the book, his words tumbling out with a desperation that surprised them both.

Satan, taken aback by Belphie’s fervent engagement, responded with a cautious interest, which only drove Belphie to push the conversation deeper. The interaction left him feeling both exhilarated and exhausted, a testament to the consuming nature of his temporary sin.

Feeling unsettled by his new intensity, Belphie sought out Asmodeus in his room, hoping to glean some insight into handling these overpowering desires. He found his brother sitting elegantly in a chair in front of his vanity, seemingly at peace as he applied his nightly skincare.

“Asmo,” Belphie started, his voice tight with the strain of uncharacteristic emotions, “how do you manage this? This constant craving... to touch and be touched, to be seen, adored?"

Asmodeus looked up, his eyes gleaming with a mix of sympathy and a flair of his usual dramatic charm. “Oh, Belphie, darling, it’s an art and a battle,” he began, his voice lilting with a practiced grace. “Lust isn’t just about the allure or the rush of desire. It’s also about the ache that comes when the curtains close and the applause fades. You see, even when I’m surrounded by adoration, I know much of it is just for the spectacle of Asmodeus, The Avatar of Lust—not for the person beneath.”

He paused, a thoughtful frown briefly marring his perfect features. “It’s the most easily quieted sin when satisfied, yes, but it’s a hunger that comes back as soon as you realize the feast was all confectionery sweetness, no substance. People rarely seek the man behind the mascara, and that, my dear, can make you crave it all the more desperately.”

Belphie listened, the words reflecting all he had felt all day. “It's a second skin. It clings to every part of you, intensifying every interaction, every glance. I never realized how exhausting it could be—not just physically but emotionally. The constant desire for more, for deeper connections, feels like an itch that can't be scratched. It is relentless, distracting, and disorienting."

“Precisely!” Asmodeus exclaimed, sitting up with a flourish. “It’s a glittering stage where the lights blind you to the emptiness. That’s why we must find balance, seek out those who love not just the allure but the soul beneath. It’s not easy, but oh, it’s crucial.”

Belphie nodded, surprised by the honesty in Asmo’s theatrical disclosure. “How do you find that balance?”

With a wistful smile, Asmodeus stood, brushing off his robes with a graceful sweep of his hand. “By cherishing more genuine moments, dear Belphie. By building connections that go beyond the surface, the press of bodies and the chorus of pleasure it ensues.”

The conversation left Belphie deep in thought as he watched Asmodeus glide across the room, his gait as confident as his persona. The encounter had not only shed light on Asmo’s struggles with lust but also mirrored back to Belphie the complexities of his other brothers sins.

That evening, as the day’s experiences settled like dust after a storm, Belphie felt a burgeoning respect for Asmo’s restraint and a new understanding of his burden. Tomorrow he would return to his familiar sloth, but the events of today promised a fresh perspective on how to engage with the world and his family—a way to bridge the gaps that had long kept him aloof and apart from the warmth his family offered.

BOOP😼

war never changes