Succumbing To The Will Of The Snail As We Speak

Succumbing to the will of the snail as we speak

Can we stop comparing Sylus to these psycho booktok men? Please?

Zade: I chopped off the hands of the man who touched my girl and set them on her front doorstep

Sylus: That’s absolutely horrifying why would you scare her like that

Aero: I rubbed my nut on her lips and made her kiss my brother

Sylus: That’s deranged and outta pocket seek professional help

Sylus is a TEDDY BEAR for MC he would never scare her with severed body parts or subject her to deranged antics to feed his own dark & twisted pleasure. He wouldn’t murder any man that looks at her. He’s the epitome of “my girl can wear what she wants because I can fight” and he’s secure in himself.

Have you listened to him take care of MC on her period? A sweetie pie fr.

He’s ready for her WHEN SHE’S READY. He is patient and straightforward with his intentions. He never forced her to be with him. The only thing he forced was trying to resonate with her.

Did he watch us from afar? Yes. Is he rough? Yes. Would he kill for you? Absolutely. Would he ever shove his blicky up your kitty? FAWK NO.

Don’t compare my man to those stalker dark romance book men they’re completely different. & this is coming from someone who is an avid dark romance reader.

(I also read other genres don’t get crazy)

[scrolling through a fandom tag] wrong. wrong. incomprehensibly wrong. wrong but harmless. nice style and color palette but I don't care about that ship. mildly entertaining liveblog update. they whitewashed my girl :( . good joke, reblog. wro--well that's my mutual so I will politely look away. fifteen posts in a row by an innocent rp blog that I don't have the heart to block. take I agree with but op was annoying about it. chapter twenty-eight of a longfic wip. !! GOOD POST !!, instafollowed. bot. technically correctly tagged but uses this acronym for something completely different. museum worthy art piece by a sixteen-year-old from the philippines. wrong. wrong but in a new and exciting way that provokes thought.

also a moment of silence for female characters who get a lot of shit but would be adored if they were male

Jenny Bloomfield. Cats in the Meadow.

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.