#devil lucifer

[inubaki]

Devil’s Night (and the breakfast after)

[rainforestakiie]

Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 01

hello! here is a a new au! another request from @inubaki!

'A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

this is my take on the prist x devil trope!

hope you like it!

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03.

Since his earliest years, Adam had always been an anomaly. Even as a young child, he stood out, his peculiarities setting him apart from his peers. By the tender age of eight, he was acutely aware of his differences, yet the world around him scarcely noticed. His childhood unfolded against a backdrop of grim, grey walls, punctuated by the cacophony of his parents' relentless arguments and the oppressive presence of countless crucifixes nailed to every available surface. A singularly disturbing painting dominated the bleak decor.

Adam's gaze was irresistibly drawn to the family's most unnerving artwork. It depicted a gaunt woman, eerily elongated, as though she had been stretched to unnatural proportions. Her mouth gaped in a grotesque, elongated manner, her eyes bulging with a disturbing intensity. Clad in a black dress, her hair seemed to meld into the fabric, an indistinguishable mass. This figure was nightmarish, a vision of horror that haunted Adam. The woman's mouth appeared to harbour a multitude of teeth, far more than humanly possible, and instead of a nose, she had two snake-like slits.

His loathing for the painting ran deep. Desperation drove him to steal it, hide it, bury it, and even set it ablaze, but each time, it inexplicably reappeared on the wall, as if untouched by his efforts. This inexplicable phenomenon left Adam doubting his own actions, questioning his sanity.

Rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to dispel the haunting image, the young boy turned away and made his way down the long, shadowy corridor to the kitchen. He deliberately avoided glancing at his parents' room, where his mother lay sprawled on top of the quilts, oblivious in her beer-induced slumber. Beer cans littered the floor, crunching underfoot as he approached the kitchen, each step a reminder of the oppressive atmosphere that suffused his home.

Adam wasn't known for his cleanliness. His teachers had noticed and reported his dishevelled appearance countless times. He was much too scrawny for an eight-year-old, often mistaken for being six at most. His brown and red hair appeared almost black, sticking up in wild tufts. His emerald eyes, once bright and shining, now seemed dull and lifeless. His clothes hung off him like oversized sheets. Adam never spoke; he only stared and stared and stared.

As he finally reached the kitchen, a strong stench of smoke began to fill his nose. Adam was unlike other children, unlike most humans in general. How could he have known any better at just eight years old? He didn’t notice the disarray of his parents' room, nor how his mother didn’t look as peaceful as she usually did when she slept. The red paint on the carpet trailed from the hallway into the kitchen, staining his bare feet as he walked. The beer cans scattered across the floor became smeared with red as he stepped on them.

He remained silent as he finally entered the kitchen, his empty, dim green eyes staring blankly at the figures that seemed to be waiting for him. They were strange-looking, unusual. Clad in long ruby-burnt red robes with oversized hoods, their faces and hands were hidden from view. It looked like a scene from a television show. The group stood around a chair, but when Adam stepped into the kitchen that early Wednesday morning, all the robed figures turned to look at him.

The paint and ketchup smeared across the floor, especially around the chair, went unnoticed by Adam. He blinked once when one of the robed figures stepped forward and crouched down. Adam stared into the hood but couldn't see the person's face. A pitch-black, unnatural hand emerged from the robe.

"Adam, we've been waiting for you," the figure spoke. "We've been sent to retrieve you."

"Adam does not speak," another robed figure reminded. "Do not forget that."

Adam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He looked up at the strange figures before finally placing his skeletal hand into the awaiting dark hand. He stared up at the figure as they stood and began leading him towards the front door.

Just as Adam was about to step through the doorway, he turned to look over his shoulder. He saw his father, passed out at the kitchen table as usual, hands hanging limply over the side. Red-stained beer cans littered the floor, and red paint dripped ominously from the table.

Maybe it wasn’t paint or ketchup. Or anything like that. 

It was all a blur afterward.

The robed figures weren’t as kind as Adam had hoped. No, he knew from the moment he saw them that they were far from kind. But he was only a small, weak child. What could he have done? He was led away from his home, away from his indifferent family, away from the bullies who tormented him. Adam was taken from everything he knew.

He couldn’t comprehend where he was taken. He would never be able to explain it to anyone. It was a place shrouded in darkness, surrounded by dense trees, caves, and cliffs. The sky loomed ominously, the clouds thundering as if God Himself was aware of the impending horrors. A flash of lightning struck the top of the building, making the lightbulbs flicker ominously.

Adam was placed in a dim room where he was scrubbed clean. His hair was shampooed and conditioned, and he was given real food that his frail stomach couldn’t handle. He was dressed in more comfortable clothes as the storm clouds continued to thunder and roar, rain tapping insistently against the window. Adam stared at the glass, mesmerised by the relentless tapping. He wasn’t anxious as he waited; he didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he knew it was coming. Finally, a robed figure came to retrieve him.

Everything became even more indistinct. Adam was led through darker corridors, where candles were arranged at odd angles, some hanging precariously off shelves. He stared at a red one as he passed, its tiny flame black and grey, unlike any other candle flames.

He was brought into a vast hall with black stained-glass windows forming a dome above. Rows of stools faced a single direction, toward a pale, grey altar at the center. Red candles lined the base of the altar, their black flames appearing to hover above them. Goat skulls were interspersed among the candles, some hanging ominously above the altar. Upside-down crosses, reminiscent of the ones his parents nailed to their walls, adorned the hall.

Adam didn’t know where to look. The robed figure beside him led him down a long red carpet toward the altar. Hands pinched his underarms, lifting him onto the table, and gestured for him to lie down. As Adam’s head touched the cold surface, he stared blankly up at the stained glass above, watching as moon-like symbols glowed across the ceiling. Wooden beams criss crossed above, more candles lining them and casting intricate patterns.

A different robed figure approached his left. Unlike the others, this one wore a white robe, like an angel, adorned with red markings. The sleeves were much longer, almost reaching the floor, and a red leaf was sewn into the centre of the robe. It was a strange robe, Adam noticed, his eyebrows raising in confusion.

Holding an old, worn bowl, the figure dipped their fingers into crimson paint. They painted something on Adam’s forehead and cheeks, like face paint. He pretended to be fascinated, his eyes trailing back to the ceiling above him.

The figure clad in white robes began to speak, their voice a peculiar sound that Adam, too young to comprehend, chose to ignore. He rolled his head to the right, gazing down the hall where more robed figures in red stood, their eyes fixed upon him with unwavering attention.

Soon, a rhythmic chanting filled the room, causing a painful ache in Adam's ears. He moved his head back to its previous position, struggling against the encroaching fatigue. His eyelids grew heavy, darkness creeping into the corners of his vision. With a weary sigh, he succumbed to sleep’s pull, but only for a brief time.

When Adam’s eyes fluttered open again, his vision was a haze. The screams that filled the air were deafening, a cacophony of terror. A nauseating stench, foreign and unsettling, clawed at his senses, causing his stomach to churn. He raised his hand to cover his nose and squinted through the blur. A black candle, its flame an eerie white, flickered directly beside his head—strangely different from the red candles.

As the horrifying screams intensified, Adam found himself alone on the altar. The figure in the white robe had vanished, leaving him surrounded by a splatter of dark red paint. It stained the sides of the altar and had speckled his new clothes and skin. This paint was a deeper hue, contrasting sharply with the lighter face paint.

As he tilted his head in confusion, a sudden hand grasped his cheek, forcing him to look straight ahead. Hovering above him was a figure that defied human description. The being, dressed in a white suit with a red vest reminiscent of something from a circus, was more impish than human. Their platinum blonde hair, pale skin, and rosy cheeks gave them an almost enchanting but unsettling appearance. Golden and ruby eyes glimmered with a sinister allure, and an oversized white top hat crowned their head, entwined with a live golden snake hissing around its base. Initially, Adam had thought the snake was a trick, but it was very much alive.

For the first time in years, Adam spoke. His voice was shaky as he pointed his red-painted hand at the figure. "You have no nose."

A wide, unsettling grin split across the imp's face, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth.

As Adam straightened up, a serpentine black tail with a gleaming arrowhead tip captured his attention, swishing with an almost hypnotic grace. The impish figure twirled around the table in a sinuous, mesmerising dance, their hooves clicking rhythmically against the floor. Their hands, sharp and clawed, moved with a fluid elegance that was both unsettling and captivating.

The imp, with a flamboyant charm reminiscent of a circus performer, fell to one knee, extending a clawed hand in a gesture of invitation. Adam, wide-eyed with curiosity, grasped the hand with both of his small, trembling ones. His emerald eyes fixated on the claw as he gingerly stepped off the altar, the imp's hand steadying him with an effortless ease.

Yet, despite the imp's dazzling smile, Adam's gaze was drawn to the macabre scene behind the figure. The room was splattered with a grotesque mixture of red paint and other, more disturbing substances. Shredded robes and chunks of meat lay strewn about, and the dark crimson paint was splattered everywhere, as though someone had tried to transform the hall into a nightmare of black and red. Some of the paint even dripped from the ceiling. As Adam's head began to tilt upward in horror, the imp playfully pushed it back down, their grin widening.

With a delicate yet firm grip, the imp led Adam down the shadowy hallways, their swishing tail always in Adam's peripheral vision, keeping him entranced. The two moved through the hallways, now painted in an even deeper shade of red, up a staircase, and finally emerged into the stormy night. The sky roared with thunder, and lightning crackled with a fierce intensity, casting jagged shadows across the trees.

The moment they stepped outside, the lightning illuminated the forest, setting the trees ablaze with a surreal conflagration of black and white flames. The fire roared and howled, devouring branches and trunks, and creeping toward the grass below. Adam's breath caught in his throat as he clutched the imp in terror, his green eyes widening with a mixture of fear and awe. Sensing Adam's fear, the imp squeezed his hand reassuringly and thrust his other hand skyward. From the tip of his claw burst a cascade of golden fireworks that danced across the stormy sky.

Adam gasped, his fear melting into astonished delight. The display was breathtakingly beautiful—more wondrous than anything he'd ever seen on television. His face broke into a wide, joyous grin, mirroring the imp's own.

The imp, now beaming with even more exuberance, continued to release bursts of fireworks as they guided Adam through the forest. Adam's eyes followed every dazzling explosion of gold, even the charming, golden-hued ducks that fluttered through the sky. The rain poured down in torrents, but Adam was too enraptured to notice the downpour growing heavier.

Time seemed to stretch as they walked, though Adam felt no fatigue. The imp held his hand firmly, leading him across an endless stretch of countryside. Rolling grasslands stretched to the horizon, with sheep grazing on one side and cows on the other. Blackbarred fences lined their path until they reached a towering, ominous structure.

A church loomed before them, its bell tower illuminated by sporadic bursts of lightning. The building, three stories high, was adorned with white stone steps leading up to double oak doors. Stained-glass windows depicted cryptic scenes of angels in battle, swords, and halos, their colors flickering in the storm's light. Gargoyles perched on the steps, their eyes following every movement.

The imp guided Adam up the imposing steps with patient care, never growing impatient despite Adam's struggle. His grin was wide and sharp-toothed, an unsettling yet strangely magnetic feature. Once they reached the porch, the imp began wiping the red paint from Adam's face, their fingers deftly clearing away the mess. With a snap of the imp’s fingers, the paint vanished from Adam's clothes, leaving him drenched but clean.

The door knocker suddenly moved of its own accord, rising and slamming down with a thunderous crash that echoed through the church, startling Adam. Another peal of thunder rolled behind him as he turned to face the door. It creaked open slowly, revealing a woman's face framed by a warm, golden glow. She gazed down at Adam, her expression one of concern.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured, her voice tender. She lowered herself to Adam's level, her black dress pooling around her. Her hands, soft yet firm, rested on his shoulders. “You’re drenched to the bone and shivering. Where are your parents? Are you alone out here?”

Alone? Adam blinked in confusion. He turned to look for the imp but found only emptiness. The imp had vanished, leaving Adam standing alone on the porch. His heart sank as he realised that his enigmatic friend had left him once again.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the nun said, taking Adam’s hand in her own. “I’ll take care of you. Come inside, where it’s safe. This storm is only going to get worse.”

Adam glanced back over his shoulder as the nun led him into the church. His lip quivered as he saw the imp standing in the distance, waving with a final, dazzling grin before vanishing in a shower of golden sparkles.

“My name is Sister Sera,” the nun said with a warm smile. “I will take care of you.”

That was the very first time Adam had ever seen his ‘imaginary friend’. The Devil, himself, the King of Hell. 

~#~

Growing up within the Church was a peculiar experience for Adam. From the moment Sister Sera realized he was not six, but eight years old, he was promptly enrolled in the church's educational program run by the stern Sister Uriel. She was strict and had a penchant for slamming her long ruler against surfaces, a tool often used to reprimand Adam. His hands bore the brunt of her discipline, frequently stinging from her swift strikes when he failed to grasp the lessons. Despite his earnest efforts, comprehension eluded him.

The sun was his nemesis, its harsh rays causing him physical discomfort, forcing him to remain indoors while other children frolicked outside. He would sit in the library, perched next to the window, his gaze fixed through the tinted glass at the children playing below. His small hands rested on the oak desk, golden and brown bruises marring his skin. His apple-green eyes, filled with a longing that belied his silence, watched the other children kick balls, play tag, and skip rope.

Adam was always inside, trapped by the sun's cruel touch. The other children found him peculiar, taunting him with his incessant staring and silence. Sister Sera tried everything to coax words from him, but Adam remained mute, with nothing to say.

With a heavy sigh, Adam returned his attention to the history textbook Sister Sera had given him. If he couldn't play outside like a regular boy, he was to study. Study until he matched the intelligence of the other ten-year-olds. But the material bored him. He cared little for when the church was built or why Father Michael insisted it face north. His loneliness and boredom gnawed at him. He glanced through the window again, yearning to join the other children but knowing they would shun him as they did within the church walls.

Propping his elbow on the desk, Adam rested his cheek against his hand, his eyes welling with tears. He felt utterly alone. His green eyes shifted when he heard the soft patter of feet on the wooden floor. Tilting his head, he wondered if he had dozed off.

Something incredibly small was waddling between the desks, making its way around the library shelves. Adam stared for a moment before sliding off his stool to follow the curious creature. Peeking around the bookshelf, he found himself staring at a... duck?

Indeed, it was a duck. Its webbed feet made soft slapping sounds against the wood as it waddled along, its orange and yellow feathers ruffling gently. But the strangest thing was the little white top hat perched on its head. Adam had never seen anything like it.

He cocked his head in wonder, slipping out from behind the bookshelf to trail after the duck.

A little duck wearing a top hat—it was like something out of the forbidden books Sister Sera disapproved of. She had caught Adam reading one once and promptly confiscated it. If Adam wasn’t supposed to read such books, why were they in the church’s library to begin with? The thought puzzled him, but the sight of the duck made his heart swell with a sense of magical wonder.

Adam followed the duck, walking slowly and carefully, afraid of frightening his new friend away. The duck made another turn, its tail bobbing side to side. Adam rounded the corner and gasped; the duck was gone. He stopped in the middle of the aisle, his shoulders sagging. Where had the duck gone? He glanced around, his nose scrunching up in worry. Had he imagined it all? Sister Sera often said he had an overactive imagination and that it was dangerous.

Suddenly, a quack echoed from above, and Adam barely had time to react as a book tumbled from the top shelf. It fell like a sack of potatoes, nearly hitting him on the head. He stepped back just in time, and the heavy book slammed into the floor with a booming thud that reverberated through the library. He was lucky everyone was outside, or he would have certainly been reprimanded for causing trouble.

Adam looked up to see the duck perched on the top shelf, staring down at him with a golden twinkle in its beady black eyes. The top hat made the duck stand out, but now that Adam was closer, he noticed the duck had strange rosy cheeks. How peculiar. Adam shrugged and knelt down, drawn by the book the duck had knocked off.

As he settled onto his knees, something much softer and lighter than the book landed on his head. Adam gasped, jumping slightly as the duck nestled comfortably on top of his head. A meek smile twitched across his lips, and he hesitated before raising a hand to touch the duck’s soft feathers. The duck nuzzled into his hand, and Adam grinned. He liked ducks, he decided. Very much so.

Sitting against the bottom bookshelf, Adam dragged the heavy book onto his lap. It was thick, with many faded pages. The cover was made of red and black leather, like snakeskin, and a metal strap held it shut. The writing was strange, more like symbols that Adam couldn’t read. He lightly brushed his fingertips across the cover and bit down on his bottom lip.

The duck released another quack and flapped its wings, sending a swirl of golden light around them. Adam squeezed his eyes shut briefly, and when he opened them again, he found that the symbols had transformed into readable letters.

"The History of Hell."

Adam swallowed thickly. He would definitely be punished if he were caught with this book. He glanced at his bruised hands but felt an irresistible pull from the book. Something magical had happened with the duck in the top hat leading him to it.

How bad could it be?

With one hand gently petting the duck on his head, Adam used the other to unclasp the heavy book. It sprang open as if it had a mind of its own, the pages fanning out before settling on one filled with vivid illustrations and sparse text. Perfect for his first step. Adam wasn’t perfect at reading, but he would make do.

“A million years ago, there was a single being titled an Archangel…” Adam began to read aloud, unaware of the prideful duck perched above him.

The page before him depicted a magnificent being, radiant and powerful, with expansive wings that seemed to glow with an inner light. The Archangel's face was serene yet commanding, eyes like molten gold staring out from the page. Surrounding the figure were scenes of celestial battles, angels with swords clashing against dark, twisted creatures.

As Adam read, the room seemed to grow darker, the air thickening with an otherworldly presence. The duck on his head quacked softly, a sound that echoed eerily in the suddenly oppressive silence. Adam's heart pounded, but he continued, captivated by the unfolding story.

“The Archangel, a paragon of purity and strength, hope, dreams and creation, was tasked with guiding the very first human. However, pride and ambition led to a tragic fall…” Adam’s voice wavered slightly as he turned the page, revealing a dramatic scene of the Archangel plummeting from the skies, his once-radiant wings darkened and tattered.

The images were almost too vivid, as if they were alive. Adam felt a shiver run down his spine, the air around him crackling with energy. He glanced up momentarily, half-expecting to see the Archangel descending into the library. The duck quacked again, more urgently this time, its little feet tapping against his head.

Adam turned back to the book, his curiosity overpowering his fear. “Upon his fall, the Archangel was cast into the depths of Hell, where he was transformed into the first Demon King, ruler of the infernal realms…”

As he read these words, the golden light from the duck intensified, casting strange, dancing shadows on the walls. The library around him seemed to fade away, replaced by a vision of fiery landscapes and towering, nightmarish figures. Adam could almost feel the heat, smell the sulphur.

The duck nuzzled his head again, bringing him back to the present. Adam blinked, shaking off the intense vision. He looked down at the book, the pages still glowing softly. He realised that this was no ordinary book; it was a gateway to a world beyond his understanding.

“The Morning Star…” he read quietly. 

Adam took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he petted the duck for comfort. “It can’t be that bad,” he whispered to himself, though the lingering sense of dread in his chest told him otherwise. But the pull of the book, the allure of its forbidden knowledge, was too strong to resist.

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, Adam continued to read, each word drawing him deeper into the dark, magical history that lay hidden within the pages.

"Lucifer?" Adam breathed out, tracing his fingers across the intricate drawing of the King of Hell. "Swore to never rest until he had his soul mate, the first human, back where they belong. In his arms."

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed through the hall as the library doors slammed against the walls. The sharp, rhythmic click of high heels reverberated through the floor, making Adam feel the vibrations beneath him.

“Adam?” Sister Sera’s voice called out, a mix of concern and authority.

In a panic, Adam shoved the book under the bottom shelf. He made a mental note of its hiding place, his heart racing. Standing up, he noticed his head felt oddly light. His heart sank as he realised the duck had vanished into thin air.

“Adam,” Sister Sera sighed, hurrying towards him, her long dress swirling around her ankles. “There you are. Why are you hiding all the way back here in the dark?”

Adam swallowed hard, his mind racing for an excuse. He glanced at the spot where the book was hidden, making sure it was well-concealed.

Sister Sera’s stern gaze softened slightly as she reached him, her eyes studying his face. “You know you’re not supposed to be back here alone. The library is for supervised reading only,” she chided gently, her tone a mix of admonishment and concern.

Adam nodded, his heart still pounding.

She sighed again, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Curiosity is natural, Adam, but there are rules for a reason. Come along now. It’s time for your lessons.”

As she guided him out of the dark corner of the library, Adam stole one last glance at the hidden book. The weight of its forbidden knowledge tugged at him, a promise of dark secrets and ancient truths. But for now, he had to obey.

As they walked down the hall, Sister Sera’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. “Adam, remember, we only seek knowledge that enlightens us, not that which tempts us to stray from the path.”

He nodded again, but his thoughts remained on the book, on Lucifer’s quest for his soul mate, and on the magical duck that had led him to it. The mysteries of the dark tome lingered in his mind, a tantalising promise of adventures yet to come.

For now, he would wait. But he knew that he would return to the library, to the book, and to the secrets it held. He couldn’t resist the pull of the unknown, the allure of the forbidden.

As they reached the classroom, Sister Sera paused, looking down at him with a mixture of fondness and sternness. “Now, let’s focus on your studies, Adam. Knowledge is a powerful tool, but it must be wielded wisely.”

Adam nodded, slipping into his seat. He opened his textbook, but his mind was elsewhere, already plotting his next visit to the hidden book and the dark, thrilling mysteries it promised to unveil.

Maybe he’ll see the duck again. 

~#~

Adam was thirteen when Sister Emily arrived at the church. She appeared so adorably cute, with sparkling eyes and a warm smile that hypnotised Adam. Sister Emily was sweet and kind, and she often stayed inside with him. Not all the time, but more than any other nun.

Adam desperately wanted to be Sister Emily’s favourite. He behaved well and did his very best in lessons, striving to avoid punishment. He hardly got stuck on the hands now, and Sister Emily was so happy with him. She encouraged him, even teaching him how to make origami and how to draw. She took him outside during the night and taught him how to garden. Adam truly enjoyed it. Sister Sera appeared happy with his development.

Until one day, Adam noticed a change in Sister Emily. Her smile faded, and dark circles formed under her eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, Addie,” Sister Emily said as she sorted through the seeds she had brought outside. The moon was full and bathed everything in a glorious light. “I’m fine. Just a little more tired than normal. I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Dragging the flower pots over, Adam placed them down and cocked his head, his green eyes glowing with wonder. Sister Emily laughed once more and patted him on the head with a sweet, small smile.

“It’s nothing serious, Addie. Just dreams. Weird dreams…” she trailed off in a daze, her face growing a sickly pale shade. Adam wanted to ask if she was alright, but no words crawled up his throat.

Sister Emily's bottom lip quivered, and her hands frantically searched her pockets until she found her rosary beads. Anxiously, she pulled them out and held them between her hands, beginning to pray. Her voice cracked and pitched as she struggled to get the words out. Tears began to build in the corners of her eyes as she stared up at the church, continuing to pray to God.

Adam tilted his head in concern. Sister Emily had changed so quickly, and Adam didn't understand why. He turned his head in the direction Sister Emily was staring, and all the hairs on his body stood up as he saw a black silhouette in the church window. The silhouette had horns and blood-red eyes. Adam's heart began to pound painfully. While he felt fear, he also knew the creature meant no harm to him.

A high-pitched scream ripped from Sister Emily, and Adam spun around. He stumbled back in horror as thick red beads began to run down her pale cheeks. Sister Emily fell to her knees, her bony fingers clawing at her face as she released a series of screeches.

"My eyes! My eyes!"

"Sister Emily?" Sister Sera screamed from the church doors. "Emily, what's the matter?"

Adam stumbled out of the way as the other nuns rushed to aid Sister Emily. He didn't understand what was happening and found himself turning back to the window where the creature had been, only to find it gone. He gulped painfully, a churning sensation racing through him. He had a feeling Sister Emily was being hurt because of him...

There was something dark inside the Church. Something dangerous that was attached to him…

[i-am-trans-gwender]

I think it's funny how my parents say the Devil is tempting me into being a trans girl.

Isn't the Devil supposed to lead people down the easy path? Being trans is the exact opposite of "easy".

Does the Devil just straight up have nothing better to do then to try to subtly influence me to be trans?

[metalatias5]

Lucifer Week 2024 Day 1 - Heaven/Hell

It's a day late, but I've been putting a lot of effort into it, worked on it for two days straight pretty much

Lucifer Week comes from snyyland on Twitter

Close-ups of a couple hidden details under the cut

The light reflection in his eyes is supposed to be shaped like what Heaven looks like from Hell

The six-point "Morningstar" on his robes is missing practically all of its top point, sort of forming it into a downward facing five-point star a'la Pentagram

[dandelion-blues]

The Miracle is You

Intro:

When Lucifer gets his wings back, he doesn't just lose time. He is displaced in another universe. A universe where he might just be accepted and find a family he never knew he needed.

Lucifer x Good Omens crossover fanfic

Chapter 1

“No, no, no!” Lucifer screams frantically. He pulled roughly at the damned extra limbs. He grasped desperately for them, pleading for them to not be real and go away.

The beautiful white feathers stayed, though, achingly adding a now unfamiliar weight upon Lucifer’s back. The beautiful pure white wings ethereally spread out. They were the most beautiful of all angel's wings but sharpened with a deadly grace of all archangels. The wings of the favored son of God, Samael.

Why are his wings back? Why now, after everything? What does Dad want with him now?!

Lucifer wants these wings off now, he needs them off. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong!

Now if Lucifer were in a stable frame of mind he might have noticed that he wasn’t in LA anymore, or even still in his dimension, but well I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough. Especially when our lovely angel and demon couple happen upon him.

“Oh Crowley, it's such a lovely day today, isn’t it?” The angel Aziraphale asks his friend and lover, the pink of dawn marking the horizon with only the quiet sounds of critters heard.

“It always is with you Angel.” Crowley smiles at the Aziraphale. The angel noticeably blushes and starts to stutter something back but is interrupted by frantic yelling heard not too far away.

“What the-” Crowley starts exasperated, but quickly his yellow eyes go large in shock behind his shades.

Just behind the bridge, kneeling in the park’s grass is a person, no an angel marked by their impressive white wings yelling and panicking as they try and desperately grip at their feathers.

Crowley and Aziraphale share one look and quickly go running over to the angel. Only as they get closer, so does their growing horror. The angel is trying to rip out their feathers.

Crowley reaches the angel first and grasps their hands tightly, but not harmfully, to stop them. This unfortunately only causes the unknown angel to flinch hard.

Crowley frowns in concern, but then the angel tries to get out of Crowley’s grasp.

“Stop!” Crowley orders the angel, looking into their eyes. Only the angel’s brown eyes are glazed over, and their handsome face is tight in fear, like they cannot comprehend what is in front of them.

“No no no.” the angel continues to say fearfully and shakes. Their dark eyes staring at Crowley, but not seeing him. “Please, no more!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley snaps when his angel reaches them, “They aren’t in their right frame of mind, and I can barely hold on to them and keep them from harming themselves. They're too strong. Please Miracle something!”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes go large, and he steals his nerves and nods, producing a Miracle.

Just like that the unknown angel’s eyes roll back, and they fall into Crowley’s arms unconscious.

Unfortunately the unknown’s angel’s impressive wings are out and on display, and people are surely going to come out soon. It’s practically a miracle that no one else has come by yet.

In any case Crowley looks towards Aziraphale, as he is picking up the unknown angel, conveying without words what to do. Aziraphale looks fondly at Crowley and produces the Miracle that gets them and the unknown angel in the bookstore.

“Oh dear, I hope they’re alright.” Aziraphale frets, smoothing his tan blazer, and looking worriedly at the unknown angel. Their dark hair, black as night, high cheekbones, olive skin and young face not looking a day over 25, by human standards anyways. The age doesn't mean much for angels, but well, the point still stands.

“Careful now, or I might think you were checking them out.” Crowley smirks as Aziraphale blushes.

Aziraphale lightly smacks Crowley’s arm, “Hush you.”

Azirahale sighs, “I suppose we should bring them somewhere to rest until they recover.

“Yeah,” Crowley frowns, “I’ve never seen anything like it, they were trying to rip out their feathers, pleading for something or someone to stop.”

Aziraphale looks troubled, and the couple stays in contemplative silence until they reach the guest room and Crowley places the unknown angel gently on the bed, adjusting them on their stomach, so their wings aren’t flattened or harmed.

Except when Crowley carefully adjusts one of the wings, he hisses sharply and takes sight of blood pouring down his hand.

“What happened?” Aziraphale asks worriedly, as Crowley curls his hand towards his body, did the angel’s wing just cut him?!

Aziraphale gently grabs Crowley’s hand, and sure enough there’s a clean slice down his palm, dripping with blood.

Aziraphale gasps, and goes to Miracle something, but Crowley stops him, “Stop, you’ve already used enough Miracles today, besides it’s already closing up.” Just like that the wound closes up like it was never there. The only evidence is the remaining blood.

“Oh alright,” Aziraphale huffs and carefully examines Crowley’s hand, “But what in the Almighty’s name could have done that?”

Crowley glances out at the unknown angel’s wings, a pit forms in his stomach, and he approaches the wings carefully, and sure enough on the end of one of the primary feathers is Crowley’s blood.

Please, don’t be what Crowley is thinking. Please, please, please.

“What-” Aziraphale begins, but lets Crowley continue bewildered.

Crowley goes over the primary feather again, the tip of his index finger just touching it, and he digs his finger in a bit more, and sure enough blood is drawn.

Aziraphale gasps, and quickly takes Crowley’s hand back in his, “What were you thinking?!” Aziraphale starts to rant, fretting at Crowley, except he stops when he sees the look on his demon’s face.

“Their an…” Crowley starts, his voice quivering, “Archangel.”

“No.” Aziraphale gasps.

Crowley nods grimly, “Their primary feathers are deadly sharp, and no other angel would ever possess such wings.”

“What does this mean?” Aziraphale holds Crowley’s hands in confort.

“I don’t know,” Crowley states and squeezes his angel’s hands back, “but I’ll know we’ll get through it together.”

“Together.” Aziraphale agrees and embraces his demon. They glance once more at the unknown angel, a sign of change. What that change is though, it’s too soon to tell.

Luckily, the angel and demon have one another. They chose one another. They navigated the black and white standards of their celestial worlds’, and eventually came to see and accept the world and themselves in all their beautiful shades. Now it’s time for a certain Devil to learn the same, but well that’s for another time.

[hasbeenhellwolf]

Last minute getting on the Lucifer week train!! Day one, Heaven/Hell!!

[cosmicvenusnebula]

Pagan ranting:

Most of the time, deities find it honoring or adorable that us humans find their depictions attractive, but I am so afraid of them feeling like I am disrespecting them by having those feelings.

When it comes to Goddesses, I have no problem feeling Sapphic feelings for their depictions, but once it's a male god I feel gross, like I am disrespecting or overstepping since I am just a smol human.

Prob my religious trauma, and that I am 17 so I feel like I have no right to feel sexual or romantic attraction to literal ART of my gods.

Especially when it comes to Lucifer, I am obsessed with him, he is/was my father figure/teacher, and idk if it's because I was raised Christian and he is the devil or what, but I am constantly afraid of pissing him off for sexually simping for depictions of him or characters with the same name, such as obey me and hazbin hotel Lucifer.

Main point: I feel like I am being disrespectful for being human when it comes to the gods???

(Honestly it's probably because I was raised Christian so that trauma is still effecting my views on Lucifer/Pagan gods)

[giulscomix]

I had the need to give my contribution to kick Valentino's ass badly saga, and the last line.. "Jesus!" "Not quite." from Lucifer tv show season 4 I thought would have fit so well 🤣😈🔥

❗My COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN ❗

If interested, please send me a mail for more infos on prices: 📩 gjulslalli@gmail.com

[notherpuppet]

Nurse Lucifer!! Design by yokshima_ on twitter 💘💉

[re-unknown]

Part 2 radioapple sketches.

[fallenxangel-13]

fallen angel worshipping your body for the first time. eyes widening in adoration, as though seeking salvation in your flesh alone. his fingertips ghost over your soft skin, lips murmuring praises against your bare neck- warm and desperate-before he takes you raw.

"you're so divine," he groans in your ear, his large wings shudder, feathers rustling as he thrusts deeper into you-eager for more. his faintest whispers send shivers down your spine. "forgive me, love.. heaven was wrong. you were made for me. only me. understand?"

[shellem15]

Can I just say, I really appreciate how Critical Role plays the Devil trope straight. There's been this phenomena in a lot of modern media (I'm not going to mention specifics but I'm sure a few examples pop up in people's minds) where Hell and the Devil aren't scary or malevolent forces. Hell is portrayed as being basically the same as our world just "edgier", and the Devil is a pretty decent guy actually. Heaven are secretly the real bad guys!

But Critical Role doesn't do that. In Exandria, Asmodeus *feels* like the Devil. He's malevolent and manipulative and terrifyingly powerful and he hates you, personally. We never see that type of portrayal anymore! And it's amazing! And he still manages to be sympathetic and tragic without losing his edge!

And the "Good Gods" are portrayed as flawed without being secretly evil or something! Like, actual nuance? In my Heaven/Hell dichotomy? What!?

It's just such a breath of fresh air after so many "The Devil was right, actually" stories. So props to Matt and Brennan and the cast.

[reallydifferentcaptain]

DID ANYONE ELSE CATCH THIS REFERENCE???

The devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin' for a soul to steal

He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind

And he was willin' to make a deal

When he came across this young man sawin' on a fiddle and playin' it hot

And the devil jumped up on a hickory stump

And said, "boy, let me tell you what"

"I guess you didn't know it but I'm a fiddle player too

And if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you

Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy

But give the devil his due

I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul

'Cause I think I'm better than you"

[i-am-trans-gwender]

I hate the cliche Devil design because it's a combination and demonization of three gods.

Two aspects of the design come from Greek myth. He's a goat man like Pan and wields a trident (commonly mistaken as a pitchfork) like Poseidon.

Meanwhile the forked tail comes from the Egyptian god Bes.

[kiimikyo]

unwelcome witness and town gossip

more of the ravenous devils au i posted before

[zephyrchama]

It is said that at times when a choice has to be made, everyone has an angel and a devil on their shoulder. These beings will try to influence a person's morals for right or for wrong.

You thought it was an exaggeration or something that only happened in cartoons. Yet here you stand, in the middle of a market trying out new foods, with Lucifer over one shoulder and Simeon over the other. They're arguing about which treats you should buy. As calm, rational adults, they aren't raising their voices or coming to blows. They're not making a scene at all. But there's a certain fire in their eyes and a stubbornness not to back down, keeping the two of them competitively breathing down your neck until you've made a choice.

"This one is similar to what I made you last week." Simeon points to a high-quality product on the top shelf.

"It's expensive. For that price, you can get two of these." Lucifer points to another product on a lower shelf. "I know you'll like them."

"That's too much. We can't have you getting sick from overeating. How about this? It's fluffy and light." Simeon tries to put a snack in your hand.

Lucifer knocks the angel's arm aside and puts his own recommendation in your hand. "This is made with rare ingredients from across the Devildom. You won't get a chance to try it again."

Two iron grips take hold of your shoulders as Simeon and Lucifer smile at each other. Two irked and vaguely threatening smiles, void of actual positive emotion. You consider just buying a keychain instead.