y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶g̶d̶o̶m̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶e̶,̶

your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

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— personal interpretation of ST. MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL and LUCIFER from milton's paradise lost. originally written within the cw's supernatural, now set within an original narrative, with inspiration from dante's la divina commedia and pullman's his dark materials. as revered by doll, she / her, 18+

⅋. ⥽ carrd. michael visuals & lucifer visuals.

exploration in . . . metanarratives. death of the author. the pursuit of knowledge. criticism of organized doctrine. unreliable narration. lovecraftian horrors  /  every angel is terrifying. the politics of heaven & hell mirroring the politics on earth. the theological debate between objective good and evil.  determinism & free will. fathers & sons.   

[sintoknow]

@ SINTOKNOW : LOVE IS CHOOSING, SAID THE SNAKE. THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN YOU BECAUSE YOU ATE IT.

ST. MICHAEL & LUCIFER, mythological interpretation by doll.

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✨️ it's over when i remake this blog,

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what's funny to me is that.... despite the irony, michael doesn't enjoy inhabiting his human form and prefers the magnitude of his true form even though he's fond of mortals, whereas lucifer actually has a lot of fun in his, despite thinking that humans are disgusting. 🧐

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would you like .. a starter with either archangel 😇

[resours]

a   sentence   starter   inspired   by    “ MABEL ”    a   podcast   about   ghosts ,   family   secrets ,   strange   houses ,   and   missed   connections   written   by   becca   de   la   rosa   and   mabel   martin.   /   part   2.

did i dream you?

i think i conjured you.

you laughed, and i fell in love with you.

i love only you. only you. only ever you.

sometimes loves isn’t enough.

you are familiar and strange at the same time.

i  thought you were beautiful: a thing i could never touch.

sometimes i think i would eat you if i could.

it is not uncommon for us to want to eat what we love.

we consume what we love.

where does it come from, the thread that ties us together?

you know some of my secrets, i know some of your secrets.

i always thought the worst thing in the world was repetition.

do you know who i am? or are you only looking in the mirror?

i am different. i am not the same as i was.

you don’t strike me as the kind of person ever to have been afraid of the dark.

even the dark needs things to eat, things to love.

the dark was hungry. the dark is always devouring.

i never used to step on insects. it would make me cry.

nothing in this universe is what you think it is.

i have only anecdotal evidence for this, but it’s true nonetheless.

entropy, come to devour all.

would they be horrified if they saw my hands, do you think?

my touch has always ruined everything, hasn’t it?

i am unwilling to change for any purpose except my own will, my own apotheosis.

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ancient deities..... divines horrors.... heaven's most terrifying weapons.... pretty.

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peeks in here,

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gospels of the divinity lost reverberate in the space between the two figures; the tension that settles in the space between them echoes like a choir in an empty church, just as haunting and inapposite. @imundus, ever the bold little thing standing before him; it could've been considered entertaining, were he not livid. so lucifer grins, all teeth, with none of the amusement, and watches her gnarled grace as it thumps beneath the meat of the flesh she dons.

well. well, well … if it isn’t the devil you know ... or should we go by formal names … hêlêl?

the devil is turned inside out by her words, a holy name lost to history. the indignation he feels at her insolence manifests in the tightening of his jaw and the red tint of his gaze. his cane, where lies concealed a flaming angelic sword, taps against the ground when a few nonchalant steps are taken towards her. its brass snake-head topper catches a stray slant of light, gleaming with the prospect of violence, alas it remains at his side. he has never had much patience dealing with demons in their half-minds but she is not a demon. a frankenstein's monster of a demon, perhaps, but not one in the strict sense. it is a remnant of tolerance he harbours for those who had once been amidst his ranks that has him enduring her boldness with apathy, instead of brutality. ❝ getting familiar, are we, meg? ❞ the devil drawls, jaggedly dragging out her false name like a dagger down one's rib cage, the syllable rotting in his mouth, between his teeth.

❝ i would greet you in kind, only it would be an insult to invoke an angel's name for a little maggot of a demon. ❞ he makes a plain gesutre toward her, then a step closer is taken, head tilting in mock indulgence before he grasps her chin, ❝ such a beautiful face you wear, yet it can't hide that mangled thing in you. not from me. ❞    

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considering having lucifer's 21 century / modern arc revolve around him getting bored of hell (as the notion of the apocalypse/the second angelic war rolls closer...) and getting into earthly politics or corporations. finding new ways to exert power over mortals through cutting deals at the highest level of power, adapting with the vices of humanity like corruption & consumerism. 🥰

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point of the matter is, lucifer will lounge about on any available surface because, at his core, he is a cat <3

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a circle of holy oil, set aflame, casts swaying shadows across the far walls. the archangel stands amidst it, one hand in the pocket of his coat, the other leaned against the brass topper of his cane, angelic sword concealed within it, the might of heaven gleaming beneath. michael tilts his head, almost bored, and unimpressed. ❝ attempting to command me with spellcraft is... ambitious of you. ❞ the tone compasses of irritation and a sense of foreboding, as a cursory glance is spared over the hasty work. ancient creatures are not renowned for their patience. he huffs with dry amusement, then, ❝ douse the flame, before i decide to. ❞

open, to mutuals.

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gabriel said, you seem to do a terrible job at recruitment.

this is the devil in retreat, in chagrin, contemplation. swaying the antichrist ought to have been a done deal. it was in the damned name. ❝ i am a bit out of practice with today's demographic. ❞ lucifer bites out with faux amusement and a dry huff, betrayed by the scowl etched into the flesh he wore. a testament to what little patience he has left that he indulges civility with gabriel right now, for his irritation is a palpable thing, beating like blood through his grace. he had not requested company, yet company had sought him out, the purpose of which remained within the sphere of the clandestine, though he thought it might be merely to irk him further. always the morbid news and revelation with @ravmalakh. recruitment had been his thing, once upon a time, yet the usual tricks had dulled with the shifting centuries. ❝ deals with the devil... ❞ he tsks, leaning back within the occupied chair as he rolls his eyes with a huff, ❝ seem to be passé. ❞

❝ but man is a simple beast. ❞ he says plainly, toying with the butterknife leaned on the plate with an untouched pastry, by the coffee gone cold. a mortal indulgence far below him, like the entire place. even now, glancing around the interior of the quaint cafe, and the mortals all around, he derives great joy in imagining how quickly civilisation can unravel with a nudge. if he had to rework his playbook, then so be it. a little effort, a heaven brought to its knees. ❝ temptation, brother dear, is as easy as finding the right apple. ❞

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btw if you refer to michael by his actual name's pronunciation, mikha'el, he will be 🥰

[alliecathayes]

BEN BARNES Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities | 1.05 “Pickman’s Model” (2022)

[whisperofamemory]

 ❛ you remember me. ❜ she breathes out, her dark blue eyes staring at the professor @sintoknow (michael) with a mix of terror and fascination. she'd attended his lesson a few days ago. just for fun. she was immortal and knew no one she met would remember her as soon as she was out of their sight. that's why she'd spent a good chunk of the 21st century attending classes just for the sake of it, knowing she would never have the occasion to get an actual degree because that would require being remembered. but he remembers her... how? how is it possible? she was so shaken up by this peculiar event, it had been a miracle she hadn't dropped her tea.

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the empty amphitheatre of a lecture hall seems melancholic in its silence, a hush broken only by the scribbling of pen to paper. he leans against the grand desk, pen dancing across the tattered, old page of the copy of hamlet in hand, leaving inked trails of messy annotations along the lines, specifically under the poignant passages painting the portrait of ophelia. the girl in the water, the weight of unspoken love and the agony of a cursed existence. a sad tale, not unlike hers. macabre though it may be, michael had come to appreciate that in humanity — making art of their plights, words on paper divulging the tragic condition of man. she was not human, however, and neither was he. she was just as much a stranger here as he but he would indulge this facade a little while longer. ❝ come, sit. ❞ the professor waves her in and nothing of his composed, casual tone hints toward an inkling of oddity despite the circumstances, as if she were not bewildered. ❝ i remember all my students, ❞ he says with a knowing smile. in truth, he had been thinking of this girl since the moment he saw her. the curse within her is a dark thing, arranged neatly in place of a soul, and it piques his curiosity in a way few manage; when she enters his line of vision, she appears to him a little blurry, like all things soulless. ❝ i hope the class did not bore you... you didn't show up again after. a shame, really. i quite enjoyed your contributions. ❞

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it’s very amusing to me that michael will always aid someone if they call on him, but he'd be so smug about it that it's probably not worth it in the end.