To The Consternation And Absolute Dismay Of The Palace Staff, The Count Of Vesuvia Was Declared To Be

To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds.

The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague.

See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday.

OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girlmediocre that takes care of him.

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

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

Yeah, mc passed tf out bc of Belphie’s Avatar of Sloth powers. 💀

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

Glad you enjoyed 💖💖💖

Having even more thoughts on this.

What would have made this story even better is if everything happened as it did in canon. MC does their timey-wimey bullshit and is alive. But they saw themselves die. They remember dying. They died.

And no one cares. It’s not that no one seems to care, it’s that everyone straight up doesn’t care. None of the immortal beings they are around give a single, solitary shit. Bc what are you talking about MC? That wasn’t you that died. You are still here. Okay, maybe that MC died, but you’re not dead, right? What’s the problem then?

And Belphegor acts exactly as he did in canon, doing a one-eighty immediately upon learning that the MC is Lilith’s descendant. And Diavolo is all “excellent! let’s put this whole ordeal behind us, hm?”

idk, it would make the intrinsic horror of the main character’s death being glossed over more horrifying and realistic for me. That entire part of the plot could have been— if not saved— drastically improved with just a bit of dialogue from each character.

I just couldn’t write a Belphie POV for my fic fear of falling apart (shameless plug) and I was wondering if it’s because I just don’t like him. In simple terms, yeah. But in not so simple, it’s cause I just can’t understand him or get into his head.

Warning: a whole rant is ahead. Just for my peace of mind.

While I don’t personally like Belphie, I do have a certain appreciation for his character. He is interesting, but what’s more interesting is what he could have been. I feel as though he could have been developed a LOT more into a really layered character that had a complex and interesting relationship with the MC after the whole Lesson 16 debacle. But it was such a massive waste of time. More than half of the entire first season was building up to the Belphie confrontation and all of the juicy, crunchy interactions and character moments that would have to follow an event like what happened. But it just didn’t happen. I’m not talking about the lack of apology or the canon “awkwardness” that the MC had to fix. The fallout, the consequences, of that entire situation should have been meaty. And obviously, everyone reacts to trauma differently so it’s hard to put that in a self-insert game, but there should have been dialog/action options or plot progression. PLOT PROGRESSION. Diavolo and Lucifer just inadvertently got the only human without magic in the exchange system killed on their watch. Simeon and Solomon— and VERY MUCH Solomon— should have been fucking on that. We could have had higher stakes than ever, even more than whatever forced “Celestial War” bullshit that Nightbringer tried to pull. Instead we get another 4 lessons of fluff and hyjinks. 

All that tension, all that suspense crashes down and is wiped away in an instant, leaving the player to wonder if the whole Belphie thing was even that big of a deal in the first place. 

I think that a really, really compelling dynamic could have been born from Belphie… not apologizing. Or apologizing but for the wrong things. He took the demon threat that had been hinted at with nearly every demon brother and fucking hammered it home. The MC couldn’t do a damn thing and just died. Just like that.

Just… there were so many different directions the game could have gone to really flesh out the Three Realm Student Exchange aspect of the world, and make Diavolo a character that isn’t just secretly super interesting. Or even just to make any characters other than Mammon and Lucifer (the faves) a little less two dimensional. Maybe even explore what it is to embody sin and still love. Finding love despite or because of that sin. Idk, I’m just a home fanfic writer.

But it pains me to see a product that had so much potential, a CHARACTER that had so much potential, get squandered.

Long rant told shortly, I don’t write Belphie because I just can’t. There’s nothing for me to extrapolate from. Lesson 1 - 16 Belphie is a different person from who emerges afterword. And I just can’t compute who he is, what his motivation is, what his wants are. I can’t get into his head or even make something up for him yet.

Anyway, if you read this far thanks :P

This was fun! I love little quizzes!

I’ll tag @bellslovemachine and @ayshela

Silly personality quiz chain anyone?

Supaaanovaa

@that-one-dork @belovedrat @hailberryy @louwitheredaway @ratbagdoo @ghosty-reblogs-0w0 @c00kietin @skrapa-reblawgz @amat3ured1t0r aaand anyone else :3

I absolutely adore these things. The Barbie dress up stage never left my soul. Thank you for the sweet tag Star!!

I’ll tag @believemeimeverywhere, @obae-me-mantitties, and @gfmammon

dress up maker

I came across a fun maker and wanted to tag people~

link to maker (x) link to maker 2 (x)

Probably one of the most accurate ones I've made <3

Tagging (no pressure): @actuallysaiyan @lady-of-endless @karusenka @firstdivisiongirl @imjustabeanie @help-i-lost-my-sock @indydonuts @escenariosinfumables @bby-deerling @cinnbar-bun @rosydolly and anyone else who wants to join xoxo

no guts

just a little something that’s been in the crockpot of my mind for, oh, a year. i’m purging the dreaded WIPs of my notes app and figured I finally found the direction I wanted to go with this one. this is inspired by @fickleminder’s “no hope, no love, no glory” which you should definitely read. basically, what would happen if MC fell out of favor with Mammon

———————————————

“And— and ya shoulda seen the server’s face when Beel kept goin’ with the— hey. Hey? Ya listenin’ over there?”

Your eyes had gone cloudy. They usually do around halfway into any story, but Mammon was determined to make you laugh this time. This was a story tried and tested to make even the grumpiest demons laugh and he misses your laugh like he’s never missed anything else. There’s an ache where your presence used to be that nothing else can fill. Because he can be leaning over your bedside, fussing over your pillows, scooting his chair up until his knees knock against the bed frame and it won’t matter. You’re present and you’re breathing and he’s close to you, but you’re not there. Not there. 

Your eyes drift back down to his face, focusing back in, just a little. It’s enough for Mammon to pick back up his story, watching your attention extra carefully now because this is the punchline of the story and you can’t miss it or he’ll never hear you laugh and the void will keep aching because he’s greedy and grasping but there’s nothing to have anymore, nothing to grasp— except there will be because Mammon will make it. He’ll create something to hold onto, something he’ll horde all to himself in the hole in his chest. He’ll create it. 

“And it was a mess, and the server said, he said—“

“I was a server,” you croak and Mammon is instantly snapping his mouth shut. His teeth clink together uncomfortably but Mammon ignores it, nodding his head rapidly, eager to egg you on. You talk so little. Your voice sounds a bit rough, should he grab you a glass of water? But no, he has to pay attention, he’ll get you that glass in a minute. He’ll remember. 

Your eyes list to the side and Mammon swerves his head so you’re still making eye contact with him. 

“There was… the company went bankrupt so I had to find another job.” You say. Your fingers inch across your blankets, tapping against the mattress just slightly. Like you’re about to start gesticulating when you speak. They don’t go very far. “It was around— no, it was near my… my house. Apartment. The restaurant was near my apartment… maybe two, three miles away. I’d walk there everyday.”

Mammon leans further in, hanging off your every word. What little he knows about your life outside your time in the Devildom hurts him. Pains him like nothing else. That you had a life, that you had experiences, that you lived your human lifespan and Mammon only gets the tail end of it when he wanted the all of it. But that’s his own fault, isn’t it? No use in being greedy with something you gave up. Mammon will leave that to Levi. He’d prefer to be greedy with the time you have left in his life than envious of the time you spent without him. 

“I mostly… I mostly handled the cashdrawer. The customers would— they never tipped when I was the server.” Your eyes move to him and there’s the clarity Mammon’s been aching for. The slightest bit of sharpness in your eyes. It makes his heart beat a little faster, even after all this time. “And I always wasted the— the ingredients when I cooked. So I manned the register.”

You huff out a breath and Mammon’s heart near leapt out of his throat. You laughed. You laughed you laughed you laughed you laughed. You laughed and he was here to see it. 

“Should— I should have known,” you mumble and Mammon strains himself to hear everything you say. “I never did anything right. It was a couple dollars at first. Every few nights. But then I was losing ten. Twenty. Thirty. Every night.” Your brows furrow as you recall. “And they said— said I was stealing.”

Your eyes turn to him and they bore into him with… something. Not intensity. Not sadness. But some kind of weight Mammon can’t place. Every nerve is prickling. His chest hurts. 

“I wasn’t.” You whisper, like it’s a confession. “But the— and then when I was moved to cleaning, when it stopped going missing. And then I spilled— I was fired. From being a server.”

Your eyes slide away from him and you look down at your hands, still and wrinkled on the blankets. 

“Never did anything right,” you mutter.

“That’s not true!” Mammon bursts out heatedly, making you startle a little. He lowers his voice immediately. “That’s not true. Ya— ya did everythin’ right. Ya did.” 

You slowly sink back against the pillows, loosing whatever wind you had, the firmness of your posture and eyes fading away. You make a ‘hmmph’ sound of mild derision and say nothing else. 

Mammon’s hands hover over one of yours. There’s a sick, tight feeling in his throat and he just wants to explain that you weren’t a screw up or a failure or whatever else you might think. They were the failures, the colossal fuck ups. Mammon most of all. 

If you were having trouble at your job, Mammon should have been there. Your first man, your protector, should have helped you prove your innocence and helped you find the missing cash. Mammon’s always had a nose for money, and it would have been easy for him to give you some of his—

Some of his affinity for it. 

“No. No no no no no no no no no no.” Mammon hands cover your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Ya— did you have trouble? Did— did— ya said your company went bankrupt? Money went missing? What other stuff happened? Hey, hey. Focus on me, please? What else happened? Please?”

Your eyes do move to him, annoyance in the slight furrow of your brow. But you don’t say anything. 

“No, please? Just— ya don’t gotta tell me all of it, promise. Just a little.”

“Every company,” you mutter, resentful. Mammon doesn’t know if you’re resentful of him or what you’re talking about. He doesn’t want to know. 

“Every company what,” Mammon snaps, impatient. His heart is thudding so fast. His hands are drained of color around the knuckles and shaking over your wrinkled one. “They what?”

“Went bankrupt. Or I got laid off. Every company I worked for.” You shake your head, eyes trained on the ceiling but looking off somewhere unknowable. “Never did anything right.”

Mammon’s hands fall away from their vice grip on yours. They find a new home over his mouth, where he clamps his fingers to his jaw as he fights wave after wave of nausea. 

Fuck. Fuck!

“I didn’t…” he gasps. “It— I didn’t do it,” he tells you desperately. “It wasn’t me! Or I— I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know!”

You look at him again. And it… it’s awful. Mammon can spend hours by your bed, praying for you to look at him, hoarding every moment you acknowledge him. But this? Your empty eyes that somehow pin him to his chair? They make him want to run. Shrivel up and disappear. Worse than when Lucifer gets the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead that means he’s really upset and Mammon has fucking done it this time. 

“Okay,” you say, befuddled and… and nothing else. Nothing at all.

Mammon puts his head in his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs. You once told him his elbows were bony. Laughed right in his face when he got all puffed up and mad about it. He feels it now, the aching pressure that presses his legs into the fake leather cushion of the stiff, uncomfortable chair he sits in. 

He would give every Grimm— no, every bit of gold, every shiny piece, every glimmer in his collection for you to call him bony again. 

“I didn’t know,” he says again. To you. To the open air of the stupid, shitty human nursing home. To his brothers— fuck how is he going to tell them? How is he supposed to… fuck. 

You don’t answer. And for once, Mammon’s grateful for it.