#paige.pdf

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lucifer obey me is like my hobbies include reading, collecting vinyl, psychological warfare, and walking my dog

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i think dmmd is funny bc you could be like oh it's a visual novel and someone would look it up and immediately see the same twink getting plowed by 4 different guys and be like. oh. yeah i guess

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favorite obm headcanon is satan is trans and naturally has black hair but bleaches it and refuses to acknowledge what lucifer created him as <3

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commission from @thread-theocracy 💙💙

super duper crazy happy to be able to present my obey me mc in all their glory! mars is my sweetheart, and they are lucifer's sweetheart. learn more about them on toyhou.se!

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portraits of a fallen angel a lucifer character study

part of the 2022 lucifer birthday collaboration, with art by thread-theocracy & i_m_hoshi

500 words / rated t / ao3 version

His eyes had shined with such vigor when he gazed upon depictions of angels and creatures of light. Lucifer once took pride in the images mortals conjured up of him, from detailed statues to paintings jumbled with emotions and meanings. Now, however, when he saw art of himself, and those he once called brethren and comrades, he averted his eyes as if he wandered into something he wasn't supposed to. 

Was it out of fear? Impossible, Lucifer had convinced himself–as if he would ever be afraid of such beings. It wasn't out of devotion, either, as the man refused to call any of those depicted with any respect. Though, he decided, fear and adoration were tightly entwined and sometimes impossible to separate. That was all too true when it came to those idols, and even his own rule.

Thousands of pieces had been created of him, and none of them showed him in a truly positive light. The portraits and paintings of angels radiated light and love, and made mortals long for the afterlife and what waited for them beyond the celestial gate.

All inspiration Lucifer brought to artists was grief and death. Chains and skulls adorned his likeness, and tears covered marble faces. Archangels, on the other hand, were triumphant statues and figures. They were victorious warriors and creatures to be adored.

Lucifer deterred his eyes from those most of all. Saints. Angels. The one who created it all. He couldn't bring himself to meet their gazes, lest they reprimand him with passive-aggression or attack him once again like there was still a war raging on.

The human world had far too many statues and paintings of archangels and saints. The old world, as it was once called, was built on worship of those figures. Lucifer was never among them, his name was always said in a whisper. His image, a hideous goat most of the time, was used as a deterrent and a warning. Those who worshipped him were less than dirt among the humans.

This was why he saw art of him, with big eyes and toned muscles and ringlets of hair, as a mockery. A mockery of what he once stood as, and what he could have been if things hadn't gone haywire. Why did they love to see him cry, or pull at his own skin like it was burning him alive? Why did they depict him with bare skeletal wings like a dying bat? "Lucifer" and "the Devil" were interchangeable, and there was no difference in the words as they left the tongues of humans.

Once, he was beloved. He was beautifully described and fawned over, and he could look to the endless skies of the celestial world with a content smile. He would puff out his chest and lead with a sparkle in his eyes.

Lucifer, fallen and lower than ever before, could only avert his eyes when reminded of the past. The winners of battles and wars wrote the history that would be studied for ages, and that was why his image was crushed under the golden sandals of archangels.

His fall had placed him lower than dirt in the eyes of blind worshippers.

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this is how lucifer and mars wake up in the morning

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fall to your knees a lucifer character study

500 words / rated t

Lucifer was never wrong. Rather, if he ever was wrong, he stood his ground and refused to admit it. He would never eat his pride, and he would never lose his footing and fall to his knees before someone else.

That being said, Lucifer was wrong a lot.

He lost himself to sleepless nights more often than he could ever admit. He would gaze into the mirror and find a face nothing like his own more often than not. He had regrets, and those regrets ate him alive.

Lucifer bit his tongue when his brothers berated his choices. He snarled and remarked that it was for their own good, and that he knew what was best.

They never needed to know how much time he spent in the mausoleum. They never needed to see him down on his knees, with his forward pressed against clasped hands.

Lucifer begged for forgiveness. Lucifer prayed to his father in that dark tomb so often that it became a ritual to him. His father would never hear him.

He didn't pray for his own forgiveness–he prayed for his brothers. He prayed that God would see all the mistakes were his own, and that perhaps his brothers could finally be forgiven by the being that created them. His brothers followed him blindlessly, and they never should have been punished for believing in family. Lucifer should have been the only one at fault. He was the one pulling others down to fall with him.

His prayers were never answered.

Instead, Lucifer clenched his jaw and pressed his palms as tightly together as he could. His nails dug into the backs of his hands, and his fingers throbbed.

No matter how much he endured, Lucifer always came away burned.

He knew better than to pray. He knew nothing good would come from a demon begging for a blessing. He walked away from that altar with bloody and raw hands, still too painful to pull his gloves over his skin. One would think he would give up, that the charred bumps and scars on his skin should have been enough to make him weary of asking God for any forgiveness.

But, Lucifer still prayed. He hid the burns, and he tried again.

No matter how much he detested his father, he still hoped the being would answer when his son pleaded to him. If God loved each of his creations, then Lucifer should have been listened to just the same as any mortal or righteous angel. Even after all he had done, he was once loved. He never wanted to admit that the love had faded as quickly as it had come.

The demon walked down the aisle once again, his gloves off and his hands already pulsing in anticipation. He bent at the knee, and pressed his hands together, looking to the high ceiling of the tomb with empty eyes.

Lucifer only lowered to his knees before one person.

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we have convinced our cishet male friend to play obey me after constantly telling him he's exactly like levi