This is a blog for an OC called Stanley Pitch, based upon The Devil from The Bible (tm). Semi-active. Mun is 21+, minors DNI. OOC info under the cut.
Pinning this because I've become active again lately and the info should be easier to find if someone is looking. It hasn't been updated in a while but I feel like it explains things okay. Please let me know if you got any questions!
tags to check out:
&scream supreme : aesthetic tag
fanart : appearance references (both in host and out)
nightstar : posts that describe the relationship between stan and lucifer (burningfeathersx)
fenton : posts that are relevant to or describe stan's host, fenton. that poor fucking meatsuit
dollmakers : more appearance refs but from picrew
Hey you can call me Buggers or Buggs or Maara. I'm actually 40 years old this year and don't roleplay much anymore so my apologies for getting anything wrong. I guess I'm what's called selective since I mainly just interact with @burningfeathersx , but I'm trying to branch out!
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Under the cut since it's A LOT and also a SECRET lmao
secret:Β Whatβs one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?
Easy enough: he's lonely. He's intensely, earth-shatteringly, irreparably lonely and it's directly because he's part of a duality where each part is designed to function alone. Me and Asche's personal lore for Stan is that he's "the other side" of God but that doesn't mean they're meant to get along. They're meant to be locked in a tidal orbit of never ending conflict, bound to each other but light years away. Stan is meant to be The Adversary and my personal lore is that he's just a little fucking sad about that.
Like he remembers helping to create the universe, hurling matter and heat in every direction, breaking down everything so Eli could pull it back together and form it into more and more complex elements, smashing atoms and meteors and whole planets into each other in a chaotic Mario Party Smash that lasted billions of eons and also just one flashbang
... so Eli could come in and create life on what was left.
And he knows that the only way to ever experience that sense of belonging and purpose again--at least on that "Mantle of the Adversary", cosmic level anyway--is to create a new universe. And he knows that in order for that to really happen the one they'd already made would have to be destroyed.
So there's that.
All this to say, I don't think Stan understands that's what he's feeling anyway. I think it translates to him as Angry and Sad. He'll show the angry part but he doesn't want people to ever know about the sad part.
Oh also he likes head touches and neck kisses shhhSHSHHHHHHH.
mistake:Β Whatβs the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?
Designing the platypus.
No but seriously, this one is really hard. I wanna say almost killing Lucifer, but is that really the worst? In all the millenia that Stan has been alive, his WORST MISTAKE was making Lucifer believe he was going to die at Stan's hands? Because in all honesty, the two of them will eventually find their way back into the toxic, symbiotic relationship they've had since Lucifer fell and everything will fall back into place again.
But will it??? Will it really????????? He effectively put Doubt in Lucifer's head for... basically as long as it's going to sit there. They'd gotten so close as for Stan to actually tell Lucifer "I love you", even if it was just a whisper, even if it was after just sticking a knife in the former angel's stomach, and they were both reminded that it could have been thrown away in a heartbeat over the pull of the Mantles needing to fill Roles.
Whether or not Lucifer moves on from it, Stan is always going to remember being slightly out of control... but not entirely. He was somewhere in the vicinity of the driver's seat and that is fucking chilling in its implications for Lucifer's place in his heart and Stan's capacity to have one in the first place.
So yeah I guess I'll keep it at that for now.
midnight:Β What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?
He has a fear of intimacy that is in direct conflict with his aforementioned loneliness, and yeah that actually keeps him up at night sometimes lmao. If you wanted to get deeper into that it's a fear of rejection. If you wanted to go even further it's a fear of abandonment.
That's too far woah woahhhh bring it on back now.
His nightmares are always full of songs sung by angels made by Him but Not Him, sounds he can't make that spin molecules together into planets and cities and people, beautiful and terrible but muffled and far away like it was a record playing in another room.
He never speaks in his dreams. His mouth wasn't meant to make sound it was meant to devour, and he never yells or screams or throws any kinds of fits in his dreams.
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πππππ· - why do you care so much about devang?
Send me πππππ· + a question or π³π°ππ΄ + a command to get my muse's honest answer or see them do something out of character for them!
Oh, this one was easy.
"Need her mostly intact and around so I can torture her more, you fucking moron." And that was the truth. And it came out simply enough.
But that wasn't all.
"...I mean it's not everyday you get someone that literally can't seem to DIE. The possibilities are fucking endless, you know? Fucking think about it, man. Shit."
But that still wasn't all. The question asked why he cared so much, and to that his first instinct was to say he didn't! Of course not! But...
Fuck.
".......And you know she just keeps fucking....comin' through, she keeps fucking truckin', she keeps KEEPIN' ON, yeah? You don't see that shit every day. It's fucking...resilience. Not to mention she's got a tongue on her that's so sharp it could slice pizzas all on it's own. Not to mention that I fucking rocked her shit within an inch of her miserable life, dropped little fucking beetles all over her, took her lifeless, armless corpse on a roller coaster ride, and you know that creates a special kinda bond between two people. Not that there's a--"
But he couldn't finish that sentence. Compelled to tell the truth. At least from his perspective.
"......................She's gonna be here till the end of fucking time. And so am I! So, what, am I gonna just... NOT give a shit about her? Fuck. She's strong, she's witty, she's REACTIVE, AND I GUESS IF ANYONE'S GONNA FUCK SHIT UP FOR HER AND MAKE HER EVEN MORE MISERABLE
Send me πππππ· + a question or π³π°ππ΄ + a command to get my muse's honest answer or see them do something out of character for them!
He'd left it to heal on its own; the bite wound on his neck.
No longer gruesome red half moons but still faintly purple, shadowed and nasty looking, visible above his fucking collar. It could have been easily mistaken for something he'd gotten in a knock-down, drag-out fight so he wasn't all that concerned with it showing. That wasn't too far off from the truth anyway.
Caught himself looking at it sometimes in the mirror. Touching it with soft fingertips.
Despite his very immediate reaction to Stan, Lark didn't actually rightly know who the fuck this was. He felt like he SHOULD know, and his hackles were immediately raised, and he felt immediately rewarded by the appearance of the demon taking his fucking pepsi. Yeah, see? Lark feels suspicious for good fucking reason. Some demonic guy of some sort. No deeper reason for Lark's hair to stand on end, all the way down his spine to his fluffed tail.
His eyes flicked back to Stan, and he looked down at the drinks, and back up at him. After an overly long silence, with a whip of his hand, claws out, he swiped the shot from Stan's hand. Just to watch it topple to the ground. Just to watch the world burn. Then looked Stan right in the eye. And pretend like it didn't happen. "Alright, Nightguy. You ever start getting along with somebody real well, and then start behaving absolutely psychotic everytime you're around them? Just a real mess of this shit."
Lark might not consciously recognize Stan but maybe that was for the best. A person's brain represses memories for a reason. But then again Stan hardly recognized him! The last time they'd seen each other he'd at least had more skin on him. And less fur.
Stan was, at least on some level, curious what could have happened to Lark to make him look worse than when he was in Hell. Like, what the fuck dude?
He was even more confused when Lark bapped the shot glass to the ground like a sassy housecat. Bitch did you just--???? Bitch?????
Oh, this bitch.
But alright.
Okay.
After a moment or two of flabbergasted, open mouthed shock, another shot glass appeared in his hand. A tiny and twisted little grin appeared on his face. Followed shortly by him sMASHING THAT SHIT ON THE GROUND TOO!! IT'S DRINK SMASHIN' TIME AT THE OLD SALOON!!! Absolute self sabotaging chaotic energy got him going in more ways than one, and sassing a being that already did magic and summon a little demon right in front of you fit the bill in Stan's book.
Plus he just so happened to know a little bit about acting psychotic in front of someone he liked.
"Jesus fucking christ." Lark slams his Pepsi like it's alcoholic (sadly not), crushes the can against his skull, then pops open a fresh can (lukewarm) and shoves it in Stan's hand. "Alright, what you got??"
"It ain't about what I got! Which, by the by, isn't a fucking PEPSI." He tossed the offered can over his shoulder where it was caught by a suddenly appearing demon of diminutive stature. The little guy gave a tiny woohoo. At least he appreciated the finer things in life.
Stan, however, snapped his fingers and had a couple whiskey sour shots brought over. Held one out for Lark. "It's about what you got. I just stopped by 'cuz I could sniff out the residue of HORRIFIC TORTURE from a mile away. Got the little eternal damnation hairs on the back of my neck going woo-woo-woo, know what I mean?" He was definitely NOT the person to ask advice from, but if Lark got more specific about what he actually wanted advice on then Stan would at least answer...
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alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?
betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?
bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?
break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?
desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?
failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?
fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?
future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?
ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?
guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?
hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?
heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?
hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?
hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?
mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?
midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?
mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?
monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?
nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?
pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?
secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?
skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside themβa beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?
torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?
wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?
It soothed the embarrassment of losing their cool. The fear melted back into base caution, and frankly, they didn't necessarily disagree. They know how to do their job. The other sins bustled about with all their pomp and status, while Envy worked for every crumb they got. Every crumb they deserved.
But all this for Devang? What makes her so special?
"Of course. Plenty of other fish in the sea for you and me." They took a slow breath and brushed a hand through their hair, smile returning. They lightened their tone, make nice. "It's just as well; I can't mimic her ghost arms, you know. You really made her one of a kind."
So as long as they don't mess with Stan's favorite kitty, they'll get away without so much as a slap on the wrist. Noted.
Stan might have been more inclined to think any compliments thrown his way were fake or self serving... but he wasn't immune either. Being reminded of the time he'd trapped Devang in Hell, played upon as many fears of hers as he could, ATE BOTH HER ARMS, and psychologically tortured her until they were BOTH tired was...
A nice memory. Felt good.
"You're damn straight I did. But hey, she was already pretty fucked up when she got here so... What're ya gonna do, huh?"
Both hands went to Envy's shoulders as Stan held them at arm's length. He might have been squeezing those shoulders just a little too hard as his face split into a grin.
"If you REALLY want a character study, I could just eat YOUR arms too. Yeah? Really help you get into the role?"
This was a real offer. Envy could definitely do their job with no arms in their True Form.
They fucking laughed. A laugh that fought its way out of their mouth uncontrolled right after a baffled glance at the cutout, and explosive fear at the YELLING and GRABBING.
But they still fucking laughed, the kind of laugh you have at a funeral and regret instantly. The kind paired with a panicked smile as they scrambled to get to laughing with instead of laughing at.
"That- Her??" They slipped back a few steps, pointing. That one?? ? This is what you care about? THIS? "Hahah, no that's- see, that's funny. I love her." Ground through their teeth, as burning fear quickly switched to seething jealousy. THAT's what got your attention. You like THAT BITCH. Of all the things- THIS? THIS IS THE ISSUE?
Envy threw their hands up. "No, no, I get it. She's your toy. And his." They shapeshifted into a certain redheaded lizard man. They liked him. He's spicy. They enjoyed fucking with him with Devang's face back in the day. "And his." Another face of a Devang love interest. Because she has so many, despite her best efforts.
They shifted back to their most common form, hands still up between them. "I get it. Really. Loud and clear, boss." The tightest smile they'd ever smiled. Danger Danger Danger Danger I just sassed the king of torture WOOHOO.
He weathered that panicked display with the patience of an executioner; go on, get it all out. Won't change anything. But yes. That was the issue. And in truth it wasn't that BIG of an issue since he knew Devang could fend for herself better than any cockroach in existence, but this time Envy wasn't just tormenting a blind old lizard man; they were potentially starting beef with another Hell.
Maybe??? Stan wasn't really sure.
But he knew there had been an influx of Others in the last year or so, and he might have heard through the grapevine that some kind of SOMETHING was about to go down over there. Just wasn't sure what.
"Oh puh-lease, spare me. I know what your FUCKING DEAL is and you can calm down. Okay?" Despite the hands between them Stan wasn't really into personal space. He sidled right up beside Envy again, getting all cozy with an arm around them. "I don't go berserk about you because I know you got this. Right? You're one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Remember??? And lemme tell you right now: you got more brains in that big old bird's nest of yours than ALL the other sins put together. You got the plans! Okay? This is just a
friendly reminder
to keep being your smart little self. Right?"
Danger, danger, danger, but not necessarily right now.
Their eyes narrowed, watching their hair wrap around his finger, smile still ever-present on their features. They didn't pull away, but their hair got just the slightest bit shorter, nearly slipping through his fingers.
"I hate to think you wouldn't trust me. I like to think I'm a pretty low maintenance sin, and you know my work has always been more subtle than the others."
What got them on his radar? Not enough souls? Maybe. They had been having a bit of a lull lately. Or the second hell thing? Sure, fine. That could be it. Not a huge deal. They could play these off. Definitely not Stan finally catching interest into what they'd been doing last year in other dimensions. Or the year before. They got away with that. For sure for sure.
Envy just danced around it then, emboldened by their track record of slipping by unnoticed. "You haven't given me any new orders in so long, I thought you might like to see me take a little initiative. Your hands are full enough without little sins bothering you for every little thing."
Stan actually HADN'T caught whiff of Envy's dealings last year or the year before, so they might just be off the hook for those. (For now anyway.)
"Uh-huh. That's a lot of words to say and not answer my fucking question."
The bad news was that he'd been tipped off by a little wingless bird of prey that Envy might be using the face of someone Stan knew... someone he sort of liked. He conjured up a life sized cardboard cutout of that person to stand beside him; crew cut hair, duster coat, and a little sign around her neck that said GET FUCKED: THE DEVANG DAYS ARE COMING!
"So lemme help you out. See this gal? Right here? See this fucking absolute psychiatric landmine? And DON'T TELL ME you don't know who she is because I KNOW you know who she fucking is." He grabbed Envy by the chin this time, pulling them close and narrowing his eyes.
"YOUR JOB, MY SKIN WALKING FRIENDO, IS NOT TO WEAR HER FUCKING FACE AROUND AND CAUSE SHIT. Cause shit looking like ANYBODY else." Except Lucifer, but that probably went without saying. Probably. "Take initiative all you want! You're smart. You're quick. You're here, you're there, you're everywhere, but if I find out that you caused trouble for Ms. Butchy Britches over there, I'm gonna make you clean every single tooth on the Beast with a Thousand Mouths.
Shit, it's the cops. Instant, instinctive smile. "Aw, you really DO care." Yeah, THAT won't stir the pot.
"Let's not go that far, babes." Knifed a hand through the air at that. "And anyway, it ain't about caring; it's about trusting that my sins know their fucking jobs without me checking up on them all the time."
One finger twirled around a strand or two of Envy's inky, frizzy hair. "So tell me. Do you know what your job is? Yanno, around here?"
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Wrong. [About whuppin' him with a belt. Working on her fly now. Unperturbed by his fucking hand blocking her view of his feet. Wouldn't be THAT hard to aim if she got far enough PEE.]
[OOOOOH THE FREAK-DEMONS ARE IN FULL FUCKING FORCE AGAIN. SHE HAD MADE HER INTENTIONS CLEAR, HADN'T SHE! THEY REALLY WERE IN FOR A SHOW! HOT DAMN!
Except Stan finally realized what was about to happen and NOPED the fuck out of there. The understanding dawned on his face, his grin withered and died--]
Jesus tAP DANCING CHRIST alRIGHT!
[--and he blinked out of her personal space.
The creeping peanut gallery of low level tar beings (that needed serious therapy) left when he did, of course.]
