#'The angel and the devil all in one place. How unsettling...isn't it?'

[icycoldninja]

Hi!! Could you make the boys from Devil May Cry with a reader that is Alisa Bosconovitch from the game Tekken You can do some research in case you know this game or not, okay?

Sure, hope you enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Alisa Bosconovitch-like!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante thought you were so adorable, like a lovely angel-princess that had descended from heaven just for him.

-You're also the sweetest and most polite cutie pie he's ever had the pleasure of meeting, and it just makes him want to protect you even more.

-He is enamored by your pretty fairy wings and can't stop trying to touch your hair because it's so soft and pink, and he really wants to know how it feels.

-Watching you pull off then detonate your own head was...jarring, to say the least, but after you reassured him (when you generated a new one) that this was completely normal and that you could easily recover, he stopped worrying.

-Sometimes, when you fight demons together, he asks you to hand him your head, and proceeds to chuck it at said demons as if he were only throwing a football.

-He also thinks it's so cool of you to be able to turn your arms into literal chainsaws because come on—who wouldn't want that power?

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil the boomer isn't very familiar with androids or robotic technology, so he's quite wary of you and your unusual abilities.

-However, if there's one way to gain his favor, it's by proving your combat prowess, and you've certainly done that.

-Watching you rip off your head, sweetly place it in the hands of your enemies, and then have your headless body duck while your head explodes is quite unsettling, but after seeing what he's seen, Vergil surprised for long.

-He sometimes forgets you're an android simply because of how polite and sensitive you are. You know when he's feeling down, you can tell when he's particularly smug about something, and you're just so kind to everyone all the time.

-He isn't used to seeing such pretty fairy wings like the ones you have, but he enjoys looking at them all the same.

-Sometimes, he fantasizes about doing the waltz with you and watch you twirl in that lovely dress you always look so stunning in.

□ Nero □

-Nero is so happy to finally meet someone he can truly relate to.

-Being the somewhat proud owner of a prosthetic arm, he can help you service your android parts with ease and even has a few tips for dealing with your joints, which can get rusty and malfunction, a fact he learned from experience.

-Notices your fondness for flowers and makes an effort to always buy some for you whenever he can.

-Thinks your head detonation ability is freaking hilarious and whenever you do it, he follows up by blowing up his own arm.

-You both frequently visit Nico to request additional attachments and accessories. Of course, you need to bring proper payment, but as long as you do, everyone's happy.

-There are times when Nero feels that he doesn't deserve you and your wonderfulness, and that you should leave him for someone better. The thought of not being able to see your lovely smile changes his mind immediately.

● V ●

-V literally sees you as a benevolent fairy godmother that has chosen to bless him with your light and beauty.

-You're adorably polite to everyone and everything, (unless they do something extraordinarily rude) that it's not possible to not admire everything you do.

-He digs up the most romantic poetry from his collections to woo you with, and even if that's not your thing, it's still very sweet.

-Griffon always has something to say when you whip out your arm-chainsaws or detonate your head.

-Speaking of detonations, one time, you accidentally blew up Nightmare because you didn't know what it was, nor did you realize V was the one who summoned it. He quickly forgave you, though.

-He really couldn't believe that you were an android when you told him, and now that he knows, he has begun looking up ways to care for robot bodies because he wants to keep you safe and understand good condition.

[semi-otaku]

lost in a haze

Summary: Alastor isn't sure what to make of Lucifer. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor Word Count: 3k+ Warnings: m/m, gay pining in hell, masturbation, blowjob, handjob, fingering, spit as lube to start, unprotected bathroom sex, Lucifer is a fucking top let's be ffr Author's Note: Banner artwork credit! Rewrite and repost from my old blog. Enjoy!

The air was heavy in the steam filled bathroom, though Alastor no longer felt the heat from the shower that poured over him. His mind was taut with panting breaths as he held one hand flat to the marble that only the King of Hell would have tiled from floor to ceiling, while his other hand pumped the length of his cock, swollen and aching for release. 

It was a fruitless chase, but he continued still with a determination to mollify what had settled into the pit of his stomach since he first arrived, nestling behind the stitches that now lined across his abdomen and gnawing at his organs. 

This started when Alastor first woke up in an unrecognizable room, pristine with the softest black satin sheets. It was the knock at the door that pulled him awake, his bleary-eyed focus drawn to watch as Lucifer walked in without hesitation. It was unsettling how he was not wearing the narrowed expression sneered across his pale features, but in that moment seemed bright, almost apathetic as he looked Alastor over. 

That look festered an unease that began to mull beneath Alastor’s skin. 

Lucifer was holding a tray and watching as the Imp that trailed his steps scurried to place a pillow across Alastor’s lap. “Your breakfast,” he nearly chirped, moving to place the tray to balance. “I wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for, so I went with a classic eggs benedict, adding some potatoes and sausage patties.” 

It was surreal. Alastor could feel the warmth seeping through onto his lap, pleasant and partnered with the savory smells of the prepared meal. His hunger rumbled with a ferocity that throbbed through his sutures and he tipped his chin to see how they ran diagonal from his chest to his hip. 

“What happened?” His voice cracked with the question.

Alastor vaguely remembered his staggered steps back towards the broken radio tower. His wheezing rattled throughout as he struggled to regain his breath and the overwhelming smell of iron, red and thick, spilling as he moved; he fumbled for whatever supplies he could find to try and staunch the bleeding.  

And then…nothing, but this is where Lucifer filled in. 

He detailed how he followed a trail of blood that led to Alastor, finding him closer to second death than life. Lucifer’s version ended with the heroic return back to his home where he could carefully tend to Alastor. 

Alastor could only stare, allowing the silence to settle over as he processed these words. Before this, he recalled the animosity that burned from the devil with their first meet up in the hotel lobby. The memory was almost comical with the sheepish display Lucifer was showing him now. 

It prickled his nerves, this unease now coursing hot through Alastor’s veins. 

“There was some concern at first,” Lucifer continued, either blissfully or blatantly unaware of the discomfort that was smeared across Alastor, “since your injuries were caused by an angelic weapon and all.” There was a shy smile that curled on the devil’s lips. “But you seem to be healing up nicely.” 

Alastor was wordless; only the low gurgle from his stomach punctuated his quiet. 

Lucifer blinked. “I’ll, uh, just leave you to eat then.” He dismissed the Imp and moved to follow, pausing, something twisting across his face. Alastor felt his breath caught in his throat but Lucifer said nothing and left him alone.

The unease remained behind with a slow curdle of emotions that began to braise beneath, rattling his bones as he recovered. It held a tensity that pulled at Alastor, both aimless and wanting, a persistent bedevilment that carried with him in the manor and flaring hotly with every awkward interaction he shared with devil day-after-day. 

And all the while, Lucifer seemed unaffected. 

While he healed, Alastor now found he had the idle time to study Lucifer, truly, thoroughly from every stitch seamlessly tailored to his lithe figure and trimmed waist to the almost mischievous smile that framed his sharp teeth. He had a stilting grace with his regality, a performative switch whenever he entered the room to check on Alastor, bringing his burning proximity that amplified whenever his gaze lingered too long on the demon. 

But Alastor could not help but stare, irrevocably drawn like a moth wanting to be consumed by the flames.

He struggled to digest these moments that peered through the cracks of this kingly persona, even more so whenever Lucifer looked him over with the slow draw of his eyes, his lips hinting but never committing to a smile. 

And he would just go, leaving Alastor with his consuming presence that would linger behind, thickening the air around him.

It was maddening and suffocating, and Alastor leapt at the opportunity for his first unsupervised, Imp-free shower, though now he was so waterlogged it seemed cool against him despite hell never being short on heat. He let out a wet sigh that echoed off the walls before shutting off the water and pressing his brow to the marble; he let out another hefty exhale as the unwelcomed weight returned to settle back into his core. 

Alastor now understood that his only escape from this emotion that plagued him would be to return to the hotel, to leave behind this accursed place and its smirking-fucking-owner. 

He stepped from the shower, trying to ignore the heavy sway between his slender thighs. Alastor took his time to dry off, eventually tucking his towel high around his waist, positioning his still flushed cock upright and against his stomach. 

Water droplets rolled down the mirror, but he avoided his reflection that cut through the streaks, astutely aware of the burning shame with his inability to control his own body. 

Damn him.

There was a knock at the door that pulled him out of his self-loathing and droplets fell as his ears flattened back. “What,” his tone cut, nearly seething. 

Of course it was fucking Lucifer–as he should come to expect by now. He pushed open the door wearing what he deemed casual: dark slacks and a white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a few buttons undone to hint his smooth, pale planes of his chest beneath. His blond hair was tousled back and his cheeks rosy as he looked Alastor over.

Alastor twisted his shame away, his current indecency blaring through his mind as he faced the countertop and bathroom mirror. “I didn’t say to come in,” he snapped, his palm wiping away to see Lucifer’s reflection watching him still.  

As always, Lucifer played ignorant of his apparent discomfort and did not acknowledge his rude intrusion, but simply said that breakfast was ready. 

“I’ll be out in a moment.” Alastor could feel his blood–hot and thick–coursing through him and rising to the surface. The guest bath felt cramped now and he wished to shove Lucifer back out the door, but instead he narrowed onto him in the fogged reflection. “I am almost done in here.”

The familiar silence returned thick, mixing into the steamy air that surrounded them and spilling through the propped door. Lucifer frowned and stepped fully into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, trapping the tension. 

Alastor’s ears perked, his eyes sharp to the scrutinous gaze from Lucifer as he hoped the remaining blush from his elongated shower masked how his blood simmered beneath his skin. 

“I said I’ll be done in a moment,” his tone clipped, his hostility clutched as tight as the towel wrapped around his slender waist. Alastor held onto it like a summoned guard against the devil himself. 

Lucifer was unfazed, as always, allowing another pregnant pause to feed the quiet before he finally spoke.

“Thank you.” 

Alastor blinked. “I didn’t saying anything–”

“Oh, I know,” Lucifer cut through, stepping closer behind him, his scrutinizing stare now piercing over Alastor’s shoulder in the mirror, “I was helping you find the actual words that you should be saying.”

Alastor frowned, his eyes narrowing back on the reflection, refusing to face him. “May I remind you that I never asked to be rescued.” 

“You would not have been able to,” he retorted, his tone spilling hot, “as you were barely responsive when I fucking found you.” 

It pushed Alastor to turn and face Lucifer, but whatever rebuttal he had caught in his throat once he realized how painfully close he now was to him. Lucifer pressed closer with the same tensity that bore through from his eyes, pinning Alastor, rooting him to the marble; fire danced in his gaze and the steam dissipating enriched the rosiness on his alabaster cheeks.  

Alastor felt the bathroom deflating around, the walls shrinking in. 

He refused to back down. “Whenever I decide that you do something that I consider worthwhile,” Alastor rasped, his pride forcing the words from the back of his throat, “I will then make sure to say thank you.” 

He could not help but test and prod to see if the demon of legend thrummed beneath his tailored fits, pushing for him to surface, to erupt and tear open his healing wound. It would be a sick sense of closure for Alastor, but instead Lucifer only arched his brow, his signature smirk curling on his lips as he stepped closer, his hand dropping to feel him intimately. 

His touch bolted the length of Alastor’s spine and he hunched over, wrenching away, choking on a gasp from the abrasive touch. Lucifer’s smile widened and he closed the space between them, his hand returning to relish the throbbing through the damp fabric against his palm. “Then allow me to do something worthwhile.” 

Alastor felt outside of his body as his towel puddled onto the floor. The edge of the countertop was cold, digging into his lower backside as he fell back to balance the weight of Lucifer’s hands pressing onto his thighs. His molten touch was commanding, and the tension churning aboiled as the devil sank to his knees to unfurl the trepidation that anchored Alastor as he saw the demon’s jaw unhinge to swallow him. 

He clenched his teeth, hissing from the salacious pace set by Lucifer’s forked tongue that pulled every cohesive thought from his head. He gasped when Lucifer pulled away only to lick his palm, wrapping his hand back around Alastor’s cock and stroking in tandem with his mouth. The devil sucked to savor, with a determination that pulled a low groan from the back of Alastor’s throat and another gasp that followed the low vibration of Lucifer’s pleased hum. 

There was not a moment for Alastor to catch his breath, the fellatio pulling him from his skin, upwards to an unknown peak and to a teasing teetering along the ledge of pleasure that coiled back down at the base of his spine. Lucifer’s tongue curled with lewd sounds that filled the small space, taunting Alastor, pulling and pushing him closer. 

It titillated through his nerve endings; he was close, so painfully close. 

As his cock throbbed with the promised release, it stopped suddenly, jarringly. Alastor opened his eyes, dazed, dilated, and a desperate search only to see the smug satisfaction playing on Lucifer’s face. 

Alastor clenched his teeth again, caging his desperation as he watched Lucifer pull himself upright, his lips swollen and glossy from his spit. His hands moved to Alastor’s narrow waist and gripped his hips, lifting him enough to sit on top of the counter. Lucifer then pushed apart his thighs, spitting on his palm again before his hand returned to set a languid pace, following up and down Alastor’s flushed cock.

Please, Alastor screamed in his head, and he swore his teeth would crack with his suppressed groan, his head falling back into the mirror with a dull thud. He closed his eyes, afraid to look and so easily unraveled, unaware that Lucifer suckled the fingers of his other hand before dropping lower, searching. Alastor shuddered from the tentative touch, the slow circle drawn around the rim that sparked a newer pleasure that licked up his spine. 

Lucifer was very aware, his tone coy. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck you,” but the venom always perched now stammered from Alastor’s lips. 

Lucifer only hummed with his sly smile and hooded eyes. He stepped closer, leaning to press against Alastor’s bare chest, his heat bleeding through the fabric. Lucifer tilted his head to bite the slope of Alastor’s neck and he could not stop how it shuddered through him. “Maybe later,” Lucifer murmured against his skin, and Alastor let out a strangled mewl as a finger curled within him. “But you first.” 

The intruding touch elicited a pleasure that bolted back down Alastor’s spine, causing his cock to jerk in his grasp. Lucifer watched him, his eyes darkening and his smile stretching across his sharp jaw. “I knew you would like this,” he purred. “Are you ready to thank me yet?” 

He was teasing again and the only response Alastor could make was a choking attempt to try and pull the words from his raw throat. He could not think at this moment, now with how his blood was roaring in his ears, not with how his heart was reverberating against his bones until they bruised black. 

Lucifer hummed against, relishing in the unsung reaction. “Not quite yet?” He grinned as he pressed another slick finger into his puckered hole. 

Alastor moaned loudly, writhing from his touch, and Lucifer quickened the pace of his hands, one curling and one tugging simultaneously. Alastor arched into the delicious pressure raring from the pit of his stomach, the long-sought release finally bursting bright with colors and pulsing hot onto his stomach. 

He felt boneless, almost folding in half when Lucifer pulled away; he only returned to his body with the sound of the sink, of drawers being rummaged through. Alastor blinked, forcing his eyes to see the devil’s slacks unbuttoned and a glossy sheen that covered the ridges and veins of his cock, heady and thick. 

Lucifer knitted his slender waist back between Alastor’s thighs and Alastor moved instinctually, his hips canting and moving closer to the edge to meet with him. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” Lucifer teased, his lubed fingers touching to line himself. 

Alastor stayed quiet, mouth watering and eyes avoiding, his jaw tight as he focused on the blunt prod. Even with the foreplay given that shattered and pieced him together again, it was still a tight fit. Lucifer was patient with gentle thrusts that filled him, sinking slowly, carefully, into him. Alastor felt his skin prickling with a cold sweat, a shuddered rasp pulling when Lucifer was finally sheathed completely within. 

Lucifer paused once he was flushed intimately against the cradle of Alastor’s hips and he watched a moment before his head tipped back to drag his tongue along the curve of his neck, his teeth nipping at his fluttering pulse. Alastor clenched, the small sounds escaping summoning the demon with a bruising hold on his hips and slow, powerful thrusts that sent hot bolts bursting his seams. 

Alastor felt his soul pulling away. His mouth fell open with muted cries as Lucifer pounded mercilessly into him. 

“Let me hear you,” Lucifer pulled him upright, closer, his claws dragging down Alastor’s back to mark him. 

Alastor shuddered and reached to grab him, his fingertips biting into Lucifer’s sharp jaw to bring his lips to finally touch his own. It was a desperate kiss searing and he felt Lucifer smiling into it before biting down. Alastor groaned from the taste of iron and again when Lucifer dropped his mouth to bite into his chest. 

It stirred something deep, something primal that filled him once again and fracturing throughout Alastor.  

“Give me one more.” Lucifer captured his mouth, rasping against his lips. It was not a request and Alastor felt his cock jerk. “Touch yourself.”  

There was another bite at his pulse that was pushing against his skin and Alastor arched against Lucifer, his heart still bruising to the surface. Lucifer’s mouth trailed upwards with heated, wet kisses, and Alastor moved his hand between them, pushing him backwards so his hand could wrap around his hardening cock.

Lucifer’s smirk returned, his focus returned on his powerful thrusts that filled Alastor, coaxing another thundery groan from him. Alastor's hand fell in rhythm around his cock, building fast with the pace of the devil, and he swelled, breathless and brimming. There was a faraway command that pulled his second release that left Alastor smitten, the euphoric coil shattering throughout. 

For the second time, Alastor could feel the slow return back into his skin, slowly blinking to focus on Lucifer and his salacious grin. The mess they made began to spill and Alastor burned with embarrassment, pressing his hands on the firm chest peeking beneath the white shirt, pushing Lucifer until he slipped out from him. 

Alastor was a deflated husk, unable to summon the strength to cover himself, his eyes flickering to steal a quick glance at the heady gaze Lucifer held on him.

“Fuck breakfast,” he said, his fingers moving to unbutton his shirt and peel it off. “I think I’m going to take a shower.” He seemed roguish, his satisfaction brimming on obnoxious. He arched his brow at Alastor. “Care to join me?”

Alastor was still splayed on the counter, life drained and filthy anew. For a moment he contemplated just leaving, to retreat back into the room prepared, to pack and hideaway at the hotel, but his hesitation only caused the spend to spill more. 

So instead, Alastor said yes.  

“Yes what?” 

The devil returned to his teasing tone and this time it pulled something prurient from Alastor, something he knew he would no longer try to control. “Yes,” and a moment passed before he decided to play along, “and thank you.” 

It was quiet, but it was enough. Lucifer beamed, finishing stripping away his layers and moving back towards the shower. “You coming?” He paused to look over his shoulder, watching with hooded eyes until Alastor finally pulled himself up to follow. 

Alastor moved until he could reach and cup Lucifer’s chin, holding his gaze on the sharp grin that spread across his jaw. “After all, it’s my turn now.”

arcie's navigation || misc. fandom masterlist

[manynarrators]

So I'm reading Queen of the Damned for the first time, and the following bit stood out to be. Excerpt (pg. 139-141) under the cut because it's a bit long, but I want to talk about it!

This comes from the chapter about the Talamasca, and this particular passage is David Talbot (head of the organization) trying to prove to Jesse that vampires are real.

Imagine, there is so much of you on file as to be the example that vampires exist. You have been recreated in unsettling detail and kept in the archives. You and the painting both survive, but you are not the you in the painting.

Nor are you the most important part of this, you are a link to a story that isn't even yours. Your theatre isn't yours because the deed is in the name of Lestat de Lioncourt. There's a journal article with you smiling. You only maybe know about all of this.

Five-hundred years and you are a pretty thing on a shelf, still. That is what you will always be to them.

All of which is to say, that the show having just folders upon subfolders on Armand is both somehow more devastating reading the book, and also an accuracy! I want to read the files, what does the Talamasca know? How do they talk about Armand? How many people have seen this painting? Does Armand know about the extent of the archive, if so, how does he feel about that???

I'll take questions that will never be answered but that I desperately want to be for $500.

She saw an enormous painting against the far wall. She placed it at once as Renaissance, and probably Venetian. It was done in egg tempera on wood. And it had the marvelous sheen of such paintings, a gloss that no synthetic material can create. She read the Latin title along with the name of the artist, in small Roman-style letters painted in the lower right corner.

"The Temptation of Amadeo" by Marius

She stood back to study it.

A splendid choir of black-winged angels hovered around a single kneeling figure, that of a young auburn-haired boy. The cobalt sky behind them, seen through a series of arches, was splendidly done with masses of gilded clouds. And the marble floor before the figures had a photographic perfection to it. One could feel its coldness, see the veins in the stone.

But the figures were the true glory of the picture. The faces of the angels were exquisitely modeled, their pastel robes and black feathered wings extravagantly detailed. And the boy, the boy was very simply alive! His dark brown eyes veritably glistened as he stared forward out of the painting. His skin appeared moist. He was about to move or speak.

In fact, it was all too realistic to be Renaissance. The figures were particular rather than ideal. The angels wore expressions of faint amusement, almost bitterness. And the fabric of the boy's tunic and leggings, it was too exactly rendered. She could even see the mends in it, a tiny tear, the dust on his sleeve. There were other such details-- dried leaves here and there on the floor, and two paintbrushes lying to one side for no apparent reason.

"Who is this Marius?" she whispered. The name meant nothing. And never had she seen an Italian painting with so many disturbing elements. Black-winged angels…

David didn't answer. He pointed to the boy. "It's the boy I want you to observe," he said. "He's not the real subject of your investigation, merely a very important link."

Subject? Link... She was too engrossed in the picture. "And look, bones in the corner, human bones covered with dust, as if someone had merely swept them out of the way. But what on earth does it all mean?"

"Yes," David murmured. "When you see the word 'temptation,' usually there are devils surrounding a saint."

"Exactly," she answered. "And the craft is exceptional." The more she stared at the picture, the more disturbed she became. "Where did you get this?"

"The order acquired it centuries ago," David answered. "Our emissary in Venice retrieved it from a burnt-out villa on the Grand Canal. These vampires are endlessly associated with fires, by the way. It is the one weapon they can use effectively against one another. There are always fires. In Interview with the Vampire, there were several fires, if you recall. Louis set fire to a town house in New Orleans when he was trying to destroy his maker and mentor, Lestat. And later, Louis burned the Theater of the Vampires in Paris after Claudia's death." Claudia's death. It sent a shiver through Jesse, startling her slightly.

"But look at this boy carefully," David said. "It's the boy we're discussing now."

Amadeo. It meant "one who loves God." He was a handsome creature, all right. Sixteen, maybe seventeen, with a square, strongly proportioned face and a curiously imploring expression.

David had put something in her hand. Reluctantly she took her eyes off the painting. She found herself staring at a tintype, a late-nineteenth-century photograph. After a moment, she whispered: "This is the same boy!"

"Yes. And something of an experiment," David said. "It I was most likely taken just after sunset in impossible lighting conditions which might not have worked with another subject. Notice not much is really visible but his face." True, yet she could see the style of the hair was of the period. I "You might look at this as well," David said. And this time he gave her an old magazine, a nineteenth-century journal, the I kind with narrow columns of tiny print and ink illustrations. There was the same boy again alighting from a barouche-- a hasty sketch, though the boy was smiling.

"The article's about him, and about his Theater of the Vampires. Here's an English journal from 1789. That's a full eighty years earlier, I believe. But you will find another very thorough description of the establishment and the same young man."

"The Theater of the Vampires…" She stared up at the auburn-haired boy kneeling in the painting. "Why, this is Armand, the character in the novel!"

"Precisely. He seems to like that name. It may have been Amadeo when he was in Italy, but it became Armand by the eighteenth century and he's used Armand ever since."

"Slow down, please," Jesse said. "You're telling me that the Theater of the Vampires has been documented? By our people?"

"Thoroughly. The file's enormous. Countless memoirs describe the theater. We have the deeds to the property as well. And here we come to another link with our files and this little novel, Interview with the Vampire. The name of the owner of the theater was Lestat de Lioncourt, who purchased it in 1789. And the property in modern Paris is in the hands of a man by the same name even now."

"This is verified?" Jesse said.

"It's all in the file," David said, "photostats of the old records and the recent ones. You can study the signature of Lestat if you like. Lestat does everything in a big way, covers half the page with his magnificent lettering. We have photostats of several examples. We want you to take those photostats to New Orleans with you. There's a newspaper account of the fire which destroyed the theater exactly as Louis described it. The date is consistent with the facts of the story. You must go over everything, of course. And the novel, do read it again carefully."

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of the Devil

>Caged // Part 5

pairings: (established) sam winchester x gn!reader, destiel is there :D

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together. after reaching out to rowena, all you can do is wait. and all sam can do is hope he can distract you well enough

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, hallucinations, graphic depictions of said torture, suggested SA

word count: 3,431

A/N: this part has suffered multiple rewrites and edits. you must like this one, this is a threat/j also! if you’d like to be tagged in this series or my one shots, just lmk!! ^.^

read other parts here

———————

Soggy biscuits absorbed with rich, homemade gravy fill up your vision as it is what you’ve been staring at for you’d say felt like the last hour. Sam would say it’s only been 10 minutes. The overwhelmingly intoxicating smell of fresh breakfast made your body beg you for more food, but you could hardly stomach the half of a biscuit you managed to force down in the first place. So now you have just been crushing the other half of the biscuit and mixing it into the gravy, creating almost a paste at this point.

The men around you conversed lightly amongst themselves and you appreciated their commitment to making this moment feel as normal as possible, but your back radiated with itchy heat that screamed you were being perceived.

The red dots still have not left the microwave but you hadn’t really moved much either. After Dean finished making breakfast with the not-so-helpful hand of his beloved clumsy angel, he plated up a generous portion for his baby brother, his loving partner, and a smaller portion for his troubled friend. You smiled and uttered a quiet ‘thanks’ while taking the plate and setting it in front of yourself.

Since then, you’ve really just been picking at your food, and you can feel Sam’s eyes on you but the heat that flashes up your back isn't a result of his presence. No, it was a much more sinister glare, a wicked perception.

“No, it was too much flour,” Dean rolled his eyes at Cas’ previous statement that you didn’t pay attention to.

“But you told me too much heat is what can ruin a good sauce,” Cas tilts his head with the statement.

“Yeah, but so can clumpin’ it up with too much damn flour,” Dean sets down his fork and turns to him as he emphasizes his repeated words.

“Well this time it was perfect, thanks guys,” Sam interrupts with a light chuckle. Dean and Cas must’ve been arguing about the first time Cas tried to help with breakfast, the gravy came out way too thick and still, to this day, the two argue about what really caused the mess up and who’s fault it ultimately was.

You remember this argument well. It started with Cas genuinely not understanding what went wrong in Deans step-by-step instructions of making gravy. When the gravy came out a thick and clumpy mess, Cas deemed it Dean's fault for not mentioning what heat to keep it at and Dean insisted that heat had nothing to do with it but that Cas misread the measurements. A small smile lifts your lips against your own will as you remember how confused Cas was at Dean’s irrational frustration. They weren’t mean to each other, they were both just too stubborn and so set in their own stories that it prompted bickering all this time later. You actually found it quite sweet that this is what their arguments consisted of.

“My brother and his shitty cooking skills.”

You tensed, looking up to see the red dots were gone. You refused to look behind you, where the bored voice came from. You know who it is. You just want him to go away.

“Doesn’t Dean know that angels can’t technically ‘enjoy’ food?” You can hear his voice twisting with his scrunched face. The facial expressions of The Devil are probably the most unsettling thing about his appearance. The contortions of his face never gave way to match what he’s actually thinking but only what he’s saying at the moment.

You ignore him but set down your fork, settling your hands in your lap. You hope that if you can just ignore him long enough that he’ll go away. But what has hope ever really gotten you?

“Someone needs some more time in the kitchen though,” Dean mumbled, half joking. Cas just rolls eyes.

Sam shakes his head with a scoffed laugh and takes a sip of coffee. As he sets it back down, he turns to look over at you, “are you finished?” He asks as if it’s not obvious that you are. You just nod and Sam stands up and gently grabs yours and his plates to take to the sink.

“Thanks guys, food was good,” you give Dean and Cas a half smile of appreciation and they both return the act.

“So when is Rowena going to get here?” Dean asks, wiping off his hands and pushing aside his plate.

“She said she has some business to finish up in Georgia but that she’ll come here right after,” Sam sets the dishes down after properly rinsing off his minimal crumbs and your paste mixture, which oddly enough resembles Cas’ messed up gravy. “She said it would be tomorrow at the latest,” Sam turns to face the group, drying his hands on the dedicated towel hung from the dishwasher.

“Rowena,” Lucifer says in a voice with a sultry emphasis, a smirk painting his lips, “what a treat.”

“Thinking we just take it easy,” Sam looks at you which leads the other two to do the same, your face burning from the intense spotlight. But you only focus on Sam and nod.

“Speakin’ of,” Dean clears his throat, looking at you a bit warrily, “any signs of him?”

You sigh, knowing you have to tell him the truth, but when you look behind you, you see that Lucifer is gone and so is the suffocating air that comes with his presence.

You don’t respond and Dean says something else but you still look around the room for him. So distracted that you don’t even realize that Sam has maneuvered around the counter and back in front of you again.

“Can you hear me?” Sam’s voice pulls your head out of whatever cloud Lucifer left it in and as you sit up you can hear the blood rushing back through your body from a need to escape your awful posture from the last little while. All three of them are watching you. Not four, three, you remind yourself.

Sam’s eyes aren’t panicked or scared but observant with worry and almost guilt. His hand is placed over yours and you can tell that he’s unsettled by this whole ordeal but if he’s experiencing anything beyond inconvenience then he’s doing a hell of a job at hiding it.

Dean is not the same, his eyes are hardened into solid anger that he shoves his fear behind. He looks ready to rip out Lucifer’s lungs and his eyes glaze over the room even though he knows he won’t be able to see anything himself. And another thing- pity is what it was. Dean's eyes are angry but the underlying muscles in his face melt with pity.

And Cas, god, Cas. He’s smiling and it’s not creepy, no, it’s comforting and warm. Simple and a stark reminder that it’s going to be okay. Cas knows that you aren’t okay but he knows you're safe and that’s exactly what his smile reminds you. It’s a smile of acceptance that yes, you’re struggling, but you’re also here in the bunker with your family.

You drag your eyes back over to Sam where he’s still waiting for a response. He assumed you could hear him now, but he gives you a moment to catch up with yourself.

“Yeah,” you utter, looking back down at your hands, “sorry, I think he’s gone now,” you shake off, still a little unsettled at how he just vanished.

“We can use the sigil just in case,” Sam offers but you shake your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you try to assure, hoping to sound more confident in your claim, “he’s really gone, I don’t know why, but he is.”

“Okay, good,” Sam smiles warmly, but you can still see the unease in his eyes. “How about we go watch a movie? Just relax?” Sam offers, hoping to find a way to distract you for a while before Rowena can’t get here.

You nod and Sam leads you back to your shared room after waving off Dean and Cas’ cautiously questioning eyes.

Sam leads you to the bed while he sets up his movie. He stole a few extra cushions from a hall closet to make the bed more ‘couch-like’ as he puts it. He’s currently working finding the perfect spot to place the laptop so your neck doesn’t strain and you can’t help the smile that his excessive thoughtfulness provokes.

Once everything is situated, Sam starts a movie that you made him pick because you didn’t want to deal with the overwhelming amount of choices spread across the streaming services subscribed to in your family unit. He then slides in next to you and pulls you close to him.

Sam really needs this, after the nights of sleeping in an empty bed and wondering if you were even alive, he needs this moment to be as cheesy and wholesome as he could. He thought if he could get Dean to make fun of the sweetness of it then just maybe would Sam have reached cheesy enough.

He can’t help as his hand idly rubs the more comfortable parts of you back, and he’s extra careful as to not let his gauze get too jumbled, making sure to just use his fingers.

This is nice, this really is what you both needed. There were no physical wounds to care for upon your return and in turn, no reminder of just how fresh it all is for you. But this here? Pressed so close into Sam that you wonder how long it will take to become one. It’s the closest thing to stitches and isopropyl you’ll get.

So you enjoy it and you take it for granted. And you ignore the tension that flexes your muscles when Sam gets too close to your neck. And you force the memories that some scenes in this completely innocent movie reminds you of. And you soak up all of the affection that you’ve been missing out on for too damn long.

The low rumble in Sam’s chest when he laughs at a particularly funny scene feels like home and the way he settles back around you after the scene is over feels like security.

The crook of his neck you’ve nestled into and the radiance of his comforting body heat is enough to pull you right into an irresistible sleep.

———

Harsh strikes of lightning, that’s new. He’s never ventured outside of the musky cellar he’s kept you in, why bring you outside now?

Cold iron bars fence the perimeter of a cramped cage suspended in what looks like a storm cloud. This is all new, almost incomprehensible, why show you this? What is this?

Screams, gut wrenching, blood curdling screams erupt from the too-small cage and you instantly recognize them as Sam’s. The rattle of his voice was so distinct, but it wasn’t his angry scream of pain. No, it was almost a whimper, an exhausted string of pure disparity.

Lucifer’s own shouts of mocks and profanity litter the free space of sound not already occupied by sharp lightning or pathetic screams.

You don’t have any control over your perception of the scene before you and you feel like you're on a rollercoaster as you're zoomed all the way in and past the bars of the cage.

Fuck.

Is that Sam?

His hair is a matted and sticky mess of blood, making it look like dye, and syrupy strands fall in front of his face, leaving only his gaping mouth visible. He’s completely bare, his skin exposed, scarred and stained. He’s weak and thin, eerily thin.

His hands are strung on hooks, like if Jesus was crucified through his wrists, and you see that the scruff of his neck is pulled back by a third hook. Just like Lucifer did to you.

Where the fuck is your earthly body? Because you need to vomit all 2 ounces of breakfast that hasn’t really settled in your stomach anyways.

You try to look around or to move or, fuck, just close your eyes, but you can’t.

A set of giggles would make a chill run up your back if you had yours right now.

“Our time really did get cut short, doll,” Lucifer coos, his voice an echo in this weird dimension and not coming from any corner in particular.

You can’t speak because you don’t have a mouth.

“Just imagine the fun I could’ve had,” Lucifer hums, his voice still distant but you can hear the movements of his mouth. It’s disgusting.

Sam’s back arches forward with a sharp gasp strangling his throat as a bloody hand punches through his chest. Crunching bones and soppy skin ripping through your own non-existent ears. A shimmering heart, coated in blood, is gripped in a tight hold of the arm that ripped out of Sam’s rib cage. The arm is yanked back out and out comes The Devil himself, a livid scowl on his lips as he squeezes the life out of Sam’s heart and splatters it on the iron floors.

“Think of what I could’ve done to you,” he sneers, “that body, those screams, your heart,” he spits, mouth practically foaming with rage. The drips of blood on the tips of his fingers land on the ground with sharp snaps, leading a trail and you now realize he’s walking closer to you.

You.

Actually you, fuck. Your body is back and The Devil is grinning ear to ear.

“Let’s find out,” he purrs, lifting his blood soaked hand and running it along your jaw, leaving a sticky path of pungent blood, only amplifying the rotting iron stench in this cage.

And with your body returns your fear, and your nausea, and your chills.

Lucifer grips your throat with his bloody hand, lifting you off your feet and you’ve realized Sam’s body is gone. He keeps his grip sturdy on your throat and even though you can’t breathe, you aren’t feeling faint. He’s preventing you from passing out.

Lucifer drags you over to the hooks where Sam was and he pinches the back of your neck to string you up like a carcass.

His hand traces from your neck and down to your shoulder, shoving hard. He shakes your shoulders and his face melts with annoyance when suddenly you’re ripped off the hook like a blown piercing and you’re-.

“Wake up, you’re okay,” Sam’s voice floats on you like a stern warning, like he’s unsure his words will actually mean something. The urgency in his voice is something you don’t miss.

Your eyes shoot open and you swallow a gulp of air, clawing at your throat to make sure his hands are gone. And you feel your face to make sure the blood is gone too. Sam’s hands are clasped on your shoulders like he had to shake you awake. Oh. You look up at him with quick breaths and a panicked expression, letting what the fuck you just saw catch up to you.

“It was just a dream, you’re okay,” Sam loosens his hold on your shoulders and you slump down into the bed a bit. You can’t find yourself too look at him, the image of cage-him being so vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before burns the backs of your eyelids.

Sam was your person, the man you love and have chosen to spend your life with. And yes, you’ve seen him in many different ways, you’ve seen him more than anyone else has- well at least you thought.

“Hey,” he coos. God, it’s sweet and loving, but it’s in the same way Lucifer just mocked you. Sam gently grabs your jaw, kind and soft, but fuck Lucifer just did the same with Sam’s blood leaving it’s stain. You flinch away, pressing into the headboard and groaning. You feel absolutely sick. “Okay, okay,” he speeds out, not expecting the reaction but adjusting quickly. “Do you want some water?”

You ignore him, bolting from your spot and dashing into the bathroom. Slamming the door behind you, you fall to your knees and involuntarily rid your body of nutrients it desperately needs. There’s rustling around you but you don’t waste time placing it.

What did Lucifer do to Sam? He never talked about it beyond a simple explanation of he was dead for a few months and suffered hallucinations after getting his soul back. Sam was never openly prepared to share his past with you, but when he did he was honest and delicate. It’s just that… this was never something you even expected for him to share. And the implications that came with what Lucifer said. It makes you lurch again, this time spewing nothing but splatters of stomach acid that burns your throat.

“Let it out, honey,” Sam sets a glass down on the ceramic counter of the bathroom and he sinks down to your level with some paper towels.

You take your time, arms wrapped around the toilet bowl. You reach for the glass, rinsing out your mouth and flushing the water away. Settling into the wall next to the toilet, you still don’t look at Sam’s face.

“Feel any better?” Sam asks, dipping down his gaze to hopefully pull yours to him. It doesn’t work.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, settling your elbows on your knees, “No, not really.”

“What happened?” He asks carefully, honestly a little afraid of what you might say.

You swallow the tickle of nausea and flick your eyes daringly to Sam’s, the image of dark red mats of hair sticking to his cheeks. You force your eyes closed and take a steady breath.

“He was there,” you settle on saying, your words surprisingly still as you spoke them.

“In your dream?” Sam inquires, confusion bending his brows.

“Yeah.”

“Was it him him or a memory?” Sam asks, already finding a prime spot to paint a sigil if need be.

Oh, it was a memory alright, just not yours. “It was him,” you nod, eyes unfocused. You grab your wrists, rubbing them to remind yourself that cool iron no longer latches onto your skin but only your own grasp. “He’s gone now, I- I don’t see him.” You decide to keep seeing Sam like that to yourself.

“I hate this,” you admit with a scoff, landing your head into the wall behind you with more force than you meant to but you ignore the wave of pain.

“I know, honey,” Sam says solemnly, wishing he could do more for you, “once Rowena gets here, we’ll have more answers. More solutions.”

But with waiting comes uncertainties and fears of what if she can’t help at all?

“We’ll fix this, I’ll fix this,” Sam promises, holding your hands firmly. You open your eyes, finally looking over at Sam who has no doubt in his mind that you will be okay.

With some subtle coaxing, Sam finally gets you off of the cold floor and brings you back to the bed. You don’t feel safe sleeping and Sam can understand this, and without The Devil present, a sigil won’t work on kicking him in a corner for a few hours. So for now, Sam sits with you and pulls out a deck of cards.

“Blackjack,” Sam straightens his posture and you get an assaulting flash of the spread of his arms past their resilience, latched on hooks. You advert your gaze to the cards instead. He settles the blankets into a makeshift table and deals, “go.”

You chuckle a small laugh which spreads to Sam’s lips as you peek at the hidden card, “uh, hit me,” you shrug. He flips a card and you add it up to 17. “Hit me,” Sam flips down another card and you hiss.

A small smirk and he takes the cards away, starting a new round.

Round after round, wins and loses, flashes and waves of nausea. But you power through for Sam. You hold yourself as tightly wound as you could and you forced yourself to shove away the weeks of torture so that you can have just now.

You keep your senses keen for Lucifer’s return, not wanting to let your guard down for even a second because the bastard really stepped up his game by showing you Sam like that against his will.

Maybe it’s somewhat of a good thing, though, because now you feel nothing but pure hatred. And as you do the simple math of the ‘distracting’ game supplied by your love, you think of every way possible to make Lucifer fucking pay.

———————

thanks so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @internallysalad @checkedoutghost

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Hi again! It's the anon that made the succubus au! I've come to bother you again with another idea! I hope you like this one, I plan on it being a tad darker with some BAMF Adam.

I went to see Longlegs a few weeks ago (dint worry, this isn't a Longlegs au (even tho now that o think about it, I would love to see that, but that'll be another day-)), and I love the design of the Devil. The stereotypical horns and goat silhouette that you can just make out- *chefs kiss*

So, I'll skip to my point. Adam dies during the extermination, comes back a sinner- in a way. He's basically become totally corrupt by Hell itself. I like to think that he's indulged in EVERY sin for around 10,000 years.

I like to think that Lucifer gets his power from hell, and now, so does Adam, he's on par in power with Luci in this.

Adam doesn't come back as a usual sinner, seeking redemption at the hotel, but instead, he can materialize out of no where, dissappear at will and if he wants, he can make himself untouchable. Completely. Not even Alastor or Lucifer could harm him. And his form? He looks like how we depict Satan, tall, half goat half man, multiple seats of horns, which a goats face.

But I love Adams face, he's a gorgeous man, so obviously he can switch between. He can make himself appear more monstrous (like real world Satan) or more human (with hooves and one set of horns).

He's bent on revenge. He terrorizes Lucifer, makes him see Adam some days, or some tall, horned monster standing on the corner (sometimes he goes completely unnoticed, other times he's everywhere).

Lucifer knows it's Adam, but he's dead? He thinks it's his guilt ridden mind playing tricks on him, till he wakes up and sees Adam standing over him, digging his hand into his side. Lucifer finds that he can't scream, move, or use his powers. He just stares at Adam, as he feels his rib be pulled out.

To add more injury, Adam just crushes his rib while laughing, then disappears. Lucifer heals of course but he notices that he now has a scar, the same shape as Adam's.

Lucifer isn't the only person he goes after, he also goes after Alastor. Mainly reopening his wound as soon as it shows any sign of healing. Alastor is fully aware it's Adam, he's terrified that the only person that was able to injure him is not only alive but even more power than he was as an angel (he wouldn't admit that he's scared, nor would he tell Charlie about Adam, he sees Luci acting off, as much as he likes seeing him out of sorts he doesn't engage (Adam doesnt interact with Alastor as mich as he does Luci- yet. He settles for humiliating Alastor (i remember you (I hope this is you lol) saying that you like one sided angelicradio, i think that would have such a good place in this au, Alastor cant help but find himslef even more interested in Adam, especially since he's alive and seemingly even more powerful)).

I like to think Adam would go After Nifty to, but I don't think he'd kill her. He'd want her to suffer but he doesn't know much about her so he can't start his revenge just yet. Plus he's having too much fun with Lucifer and Alastor.

Him and Lucifer talk. Adam usually only speaks when Luci is having sleep paralysis. He doesn't want to have a conversation. He wants Lucifer to hear what he has to say. No interpretations. Lucifer of course yells and says horrible shit whenever he sees Adam, it frustrates him that Adam doesn't engage at all, just stares. Which unsettled Lucifer.

If you've seen Longlegs, he acts a lot like Satan, standing in the background, making himself known on his terms.

He mainly shows himself to Lucifer, and of course, he does this while Lucifer is doing business around the hotel. He mainly uses his more beast-like form while doing this. Lucifer eventually confides in Charlie, who's concerned about her dad, she thinks it's some form of hidden grief that's making him see Adam. Vaggie is a little indifferent. She can tell something is bothering Lucifer (and that Alastor is acting off but she doesn't really care about that). But the Adam Lucifer is describing sounds nothing like the Adam she knew before and after her fall, sure he was a monster, a devil even but he didn't LOOK like one.

I've been commenting on some of your posts (shhhh) and if there's one thing I make very obvious is that in any form, I love a gorgeous Adam, chub or no chub, man's hot, pretty, definitely sexy. And that comes through both forms. His eyes are still gold, and shine when the sun (or whatever Hell has) hits them, they basically glow at night, which adds a new hostility to them.

Man was a giant when he was alive, he's a giant when he's a "sinner". His normal form wouldn't have changed heights too much but his more beast-like form DEFINITELY has (I know in the show he's like 10" but I think that's a bit much, I like to this he's 6"-7"), his beast form would be more on parr with his canon height.

So basically this au is Adam being possibly even stronger than Lucifer (ww don't know how much stronger because he's new to hell), he wants to cause the man as much pain as he's caused him, and make him feel like he's nothing. Exactly the way Adam felt when he got abandoned in Eden.

I hope this is somewhat interesting to you, and I got through my idea semi well. I wish I could add pictures to asks so I could actually make sense, lol

Anyway, I'll leave that here.

Again, I love your work! I have to say that eveytime, I want to drive it home lol

Okay-bye!

(I'm sorry I'm referencing Longlegs a lot. I swear this isn't an au based off that movie, it's just the best Satan I've seen lol)

I haven't seen or even heard of this movie but it Sounds interesting!!

Adam deserves a little revenge let's be real. My boy has been through Hell before he even got there.

The angst potential is so *chefs kiss*

Thank you!! You are so sweet! Here have a cupcake 🧁

[rsmrymnt-tea]

Hey!! Yeah I'm in your ask box fairly often, I really like talking to you agksks. I guess I could have 🐝 as an ID? (as long as I remember to use it akdjsfjs)

I wish I could be more help with sending longer asks um. I know there's still a limit on desktop, but on mobile I don't seem to have a character limit? Or if there is one I haven't hit it yet.

Oh!! Solomon advocating for MC's health and safety in the Devildom!! Thinking about it, it feels weird to me that he'd be okay with a regular non-magical human having an extended stay in the Devildom? Doesn't he consider himself to be a sort of protector for humanity? (or did I make that up uhh)

Either way I can see him working with Diavolo to human-proof things as much as possible, because even if he can't stop Dia from bringing MC in he can try to make it as safe as possible for them.

Though he's not necessarily the best marker for what is edible and what isn't. He does eat his own cooking, and his favourite surprise guest food appear to be Unidentified Matter? (is he alright?) I do like to think that half of the time the names for Devildom food is aesthetic and half the time it is Literal.

(imagine finding out halfway through the year that the majority of things put in place for your safety were insisted on by Solomon! You hardly see him but he's been quietly ensuring your safety to the best of his ability this entire time)

(actually on that note, I know he was only meant to be a side-character, but it seems strange that we hardly see him in s1? You're not interested in the only other human around MC? In my head he checks in on them regularly throughout the first year)

I have seen Simeon's room and it's easily explained! The devs made it like that to match the rest of the Devildom aesthetic, and also canon just introducing aspects of world-building without expanding on it. I can't see a species made for eternal daylight not feeling unsettled by the dark. And vice versa for not-fallen-angel demons!

Hm the thing about MC applying for RAD is that the can't really consent to attending RAD? Either the application states that it's a demon school or it doesn't, but as far as MC is concerned demons don't exist? So they fill it out as a joke or they fill it out not knowing that it's a demon school and either way they're not consenting. Personally though, I enjoy the insanity of Diavolo just kidnapping them and holding them hostage.

Aaaah Making Living In The Devildom Work is so good. I love love thinking about world-building!

🐝 you shall be! Asdkfahd gosh I’m flattered you like talking to me sdfdf And the secret to sending longer asks is to do it on mobile?? Omfg alright Tumblr this isn’t the first time you make no fucking sense at all

Him being a (the?) self-appointed protector of humanity is a canon thing, yeah! Perhaps he decided to reluctantly agree for the sake of the bigger picture? If the three realms are united then there maybe the human world in general would be more safe? Since both the Celestial Realm and the Devildom would have to give a shit about human safety and well-being.

Also yeah… Solomon might not have really had a choice if Diavolo really wanted an ordinary human in the Devildom? We know how he doesn’t really take no for an answer, especially in the beginning before Belphie calls him out to his face in S3… So helping him figure out how to make Hell less hellish for ordinary humans was probably the only choice he had either way.

I like to think they just went off of what Solomon knows from research when it came to the food? Maybe when he’s reminded that he’s the exception to surviving some of the food he’ll be able to remember what’s safe for regular human consumption and what’s not? And gosh I’d like to think that at least half the names are for aesthetic reasons, so many have ‘Devil,’ ‘Demon,’ and ‘Hell’ that those better just be the locals giving that ~quirky local flavor~ for the exchange students and visiting magical humans. Same with how they named their businesses and brands >.>

Somewhat related, the fact that they went back on Solomon being able to make his food look incredibly appetizing with good plating yet taste absolutely atrocious is a detail that makes me a little sad because I love the unexpectedness of it

ALSO YES AFGHAFDHJS Solomon as your Ultimate Protector From Behind The Scenes??? I’m in love with the concept especially since there’s a way to read his involvement in S1 story that goes wonderfully well with that~ <3

Also yes on him checking on MC throughout the year… Though now that I think about it, they probably see him pretty much every day since he also goes to RAD? And in my head, Devildom History and Law are all mandatory classes for the exchange students so you’re also classmates (just a hc tho ahaha) and going by chats, it looks like he invites you out from time to time too?

Like imo it’s a little easy to forget that we barely see much of the entire year that MC is in the Devildom, and since the main story of S1 focuses primarily on the brothers, we don’t see MC’s actual day to day schedule aside from going to RAD. I’ve gone back to reread S1 a few times to check things for rewrite reasons and if you count and estimate all the days we get to see… It’s like less than a month? Everything goes by suuuuper fast if you don’t imagine time between arcs and chapters. Doesn’t help that there’s often an explicit or implied ‘the next day’ kind of deal… Like the Lesson 16 incident -> Lesson 17 Belphie bonding thing

Hmm makes sense! I remember the brothers taking some time getting used to the daylight during the times they were there, and I think Satan commented on it the most? Which makes sense since he’s the only pure demon among them.

That’s true, especially if you stick with the canon of them just being so surprised that hell is real and so are demons and knowing absolutely nothing, not even what a pact is despite all the media about it… I’ve personally gone with the idea that someone else who knows the MC well who’s acquainted with Diavolo sent in their profile as an exchange student candidates after deciding that they’d be able to handle it? Alongside the profiles of several others. It just so happened that MC was the one chosen.

Super fun! There’s so little actual world building in the game that, while frustrating if you want to work exclusively off of canon, it leaves sooooo much up to imagination! And no one can really tell you you’re wrong, even less so if there’s literally nothing on the subject from canon.

(Actually, even if there is, no one can really blame each other for not knowing/caring because so much content is locked behind either a paywall or time, and sometimes canon’s just straight up stupid lmao)