#just look at solomon's

[melverie]

on a scale of 1 to satan how bbg is mephisto

Satan has had far more time to establish his place as the ultimate babygirl (to me at least), so I can't give Mephisto the honor of being anywhere near his level but man the devs are making sure that he's at least getting close

I mean he

is the local horsegirl

apparently has a massive sweet tooth

stakes his entire self-worth on being useful to the future ruler of the land

seems to be great with kids

is super diligent. Just look at how much effort he is putting into journalism despite absolutely having no interest in pursuing that field in the future

is an honorary member of the Anti-Lucifer League, yet refuses to spread any false information about him in the school newspaper and mostly ends up singing his praises instead

runs said newspaper (and as someone who did the same for a year, I respect that a lot)

isn't really all that interested in MC, which is a nice change of pace

and finally, seems to dye his hair purple which makes him look like an eggplant <3

Also when he saved MC from falling on the ground and then brushed it off afterwards because he "only did what anyone would have done" back in season 4? That part was so good

ALSO Solmare could easily give him the perfect blushing face. Just look at him

[andminnequin]

PRIDE MONTH’S ALMOST OVER AND I JUST REMEMBERED I HAD TO DO THIS

SPEEDRUNS IT

[lonely-north-star]

The sillies <3

all done by @/kami_kakari on Twitter!

[froggerland]

No thoughts just sojoplittle challengers dynamic

[andrew-rannells-mustache]

Some important reminders for the upcoming holiday season <3

[aiikuraa]

Colored version of Paimon's likeability comic ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

[12am-motivation]

i think i'm going to cry-

[tsarjozinzbazin]

*SLAMS DEBIT CARD WITH A NEGATIVE BALANCE ON IT* 💥💳💥💳💥💳💥💳💥 MOR COLD LIEUTENANTS PEASE

OKOK SORRY 🙏🙏🙏

this is what they look like to me sorry (Ned is a porcupine)

[sane-omblog]

“Uh-oh, I spilled it”

[dandelionfool]

things alfie daydreams wistfully about when it's been too long since he was last almost-killed by tommy

[mammomlette]

Day 5 is snowball fightssss!! With thirteen (and Solomon????)

Thirteen, you’re not supposed to used firearms…

More zoomed in cause she was a tad far

[hacash]

ok let's get down to the important questions

this is exam conditions, folks, so show your working out in the tags. also yes, I'm aware there are other members of the crew to consider but these are definitely the top contenders imho; very willing to be proven wrong in the reblogs.

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[yourlocalgrass]

I looked at the trailer again since I slept through it last time (until the last part) but looking back

WE’RE BACK TO FELLOW EXCHANGE STUDENT??

WHAT HAPPENED TO ADORABLE APPRENTICE???

[inhuman-obey-me]

Solomon + 🙊 please and thank you!

"I've never found a way to be honest." - Solomon/MC

You run your fingers over the leather-bound spines of rows upon rows of notebooks crammed too tightly into the bookshelves lining Solomon's walls. Centuries of magical experimentation are recorded therein, thousands of pages of the sorcerer's past efforts and investigations -- and the only tangible glimpses you've ever gotten into his life before.

"You know, you seem like the type of person who would keep a journal," you say, looking back inquisitively towards him. "Do you?"

"What, here, in the Devildom? Not out in the open like that where anyone could find it," he answers with a teasing grin. "Why? Would you like to read it?"

"Would you really show it to me?" You're pretty sure it's not a serious offer, but you perk up a little despite yourself. You can't help it; it's been over a year since he took you on as an apprentice, yet still he dodges your questions every time you try to learn more about him.

"For my adorable apprentice? Of course," he says, his smile never leaving his face, "if I had one to show. But I stopped writing them, oh, a couple thousand years ago probably, so I guess not!"

"Solomon!" you yell in frustration, lightly tossing a stray tome at him that he easily deflects with a flash of magic. "Just say that then! Can't you be honest with me for once in your life?"

"Honest, hm? I wonder," he laughs cheerfully, though there's an edge to it that you're not used to hearing. You can't quite pinpoint what emotion is hidden inside -- sadness, bitterness? Emptiness, maybe, or something else entirely. There's a shadow of something almost dangerous in his storm-colored eyes -- but he captures your hands in his and presses a deep kiss against your lips before you have a chance to understand what it is.

His breath is warm against your face, his fingers intertwining their way tightly through yours, and you can feel the wave of raw, unspoken emotion from him. You start to melt into him against your better judgment, begrudgingly letting your annoyance slip away under his touch.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulls away, that unreadable grin wide across his face again. "How was that? Was that honest enough?"

You could murder this man, if he weren't immortal.

"You know that's not what I meant!" You sigh, then add, "Solomon...why don't you trust me?"

He gives another soft hum in thought, brushing his lips lightly upon your forehead without meeting your gaze. "Trust is a hard thing to give away with all these angels and demons around us," he murmurs finally. "I've never found a way to be honest."

You frown, squeezing his hand in yours.

"Well, I want to trust you, Solomon. So I need you to trust me. Please."

He falls quiet, then kisses you again, softer this time, more vulnerable than the first. When he lets go, his face lingers inches from yours. For the first time, you see a hint of fear in his eyes. They stare deeply into you, as if searching for any reason to back out, any excuse to pull away. His muscles are tensed, ready to run.

But you have always been honest with him. He owes you the same.

"Okay. I will."