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Bibliophile and cat lover

@satanlovescats / satanlovescats.tumblr.com

My brothers suggested this. - Satan, Lucifer Sucks Club president {Obey Me! Satan RP Blog}
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Rules

  • Ask away!
  • Mun is over 18 and will not take NSFW asks from anons.
  • NSFW and darker themes will be tagged. Tags will be “tw …”.
  • Mun will be very selective with NSFW roleplays. I will stop if I start feeling uncomfortable at any point. 
  • There will be no shipping the brothers together on this blog. It’s fine if that’s your thing but personally I’m not up for it and won’t post any content like that here.
  • Satan will respond as if you are a stranger or acquaintance unless you've interacted before or you IM me with some info on your MC.
  • I forget to use them a lot, but here are my tags to navigate stuff if you find yourself wanting to.
  • Please be patient. Asks are queued to post a few times a day, though I may post early sometimes.

Mun info:

Hello! My name is Dee, I’m 25, and stuck in retail until grad school. I’m a huge biology nerd that recently started liking older books. I’m asexual which is why I’m personally not the best with NSFW stuff. I’m also pretty anxious so I might be awkward at first. 

I run another blog @ask-lord-diavolo so you’ll find me there from time to time too. I also have my writing blog @4am-obey-me-thoughts.

Admin posts will be tagged “ooc” or “mun answers” and any text from me will be marked like this {*insert text here*}.

If you have any questions, just ask!

#ooc
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satanlovescats

Existence

Voices. Jumbled noises. Screaming. Who was screaming? Was it him? No. Not any more. He didn’t know his own voice yet. Or did he? There were two voices. A pair of cries. One mournful, one vengeful. He was screaming, too. So that’s what it felt like.

Everything came all at once. The dissipating green glow of a wound knitting together on a hunched back. The metallic odour of a substance dripping from his claws. The ragged breathes ending the shouts. His own and another’s. His chest heaved. His ears ached. His limbs were numb. But… they were his. His sensations. His extremities. His experiences.

Fingers flexed. A tail swished. A fire burned. White hot and ready to leave nothing but ashes. Limbs contoured, elongating and cracking. A bright glow, as though magma breached the surface. A target, crumpled on the floor before him. Pathetic. To think he came from such a form. To be rejected by such a form.

A cacophony of voices, roaring as a clawed hand came to tear at the newly formed black feathers. Catching his own, a blackened hand gripped tightly at his wrist. Eyes pierced his very essence, and he knew. He knew he could never win. The fire only grew. Fuelled with inadequacy. Cracks became a fissure, boiling, bubbling green smoke billowing out.

It sizzled on the ground, hissing and eating away at the discarded flesh left to rot. Acid. The second form stood, towering over his, wings unfurling and with one flap the air was clear. Why?! The corporation he so carefully cultivated was reaching its limits. So close to becoming the dust he wished to create. Not like this.

An unstoppable force, an immovable object. A never ending cycle. A fire dowsed in fuel. Kindling soon to be charcoal. Breaking. Blown away by the prevailing winds of feathered wings. Destruction. To the world and to himself. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t know how. All he knew was rage. To fight. To bite, to kick, to claw. To survive.

Ready to spring forth on his creator, something else caught his arm. Heavy and cold. Containing the flames. Another and another. Wrists and ankles bound. Pulled to the floor, dragged back and chained to the wall. He thrashed, staring at the two figures looming over him. Words he didn’t understand, comprehension lost in the swirling storm.

Light. A soft orange hue. The glance back. A face he’d never forget. Seared into his memory. Cold and indifferent. The one from who he came.

“Are you coming, Lucifer?” A back turned, the light fading.

“Yes, my Lord.” A door closed, darkness returning.

Lucifer… Lucifer… Lucifer…

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macrolit
“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”

— Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck

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macrolit
Books cannot be killed by fire. People die, but books never die. No man and no force can abolish memory. No man and no force can put thought in a concentration camp forever. No man and no force can take from the world the ideas that embody man’s eternal fight against tyranny of every kind. In this war, we know books are weapons. And it is part of your dedication always to make them weapons for man’s freedom.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882-1945) US President (via macrolit)

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Anonymous asked:

Sat atop a soft pink velvety pillow a familiar cat with very distinct "socks" yawned lazily. Tired from being awaken from its nap the kitten began to walk in circles before gracefully laying down.

Stretching out it's paw Socks knocked over a book the wrath demon had always swooned about owning some day. Unfazed by the thud the kitten placed his head on the pillow. If one looked closely enough one might recognise a lipstick print on the kitten's forehead.

His day went as many others, spent in the quiet of his room reading in the armchair. A cup of tea forgotten on the side table, left to cool only to be remade later. Engrossed in the story, he startled at the thud. His head whipped around, scanning for the source. A fallen book. Not uncommon, his books left to battle against inertia in precarious piles and overcrowded shelves.

Sighing, he rose from his chair. This time entropy was not the culprit, he realised. No, the furry fiend lay curled up on the bureau, spared only a quick glance. Satan picked up the book, rereading the title a few times. How? It was sold out everywhere, all the library copies reserved for months! Another look at the kitten showed not fate's hands, but the shadow of lips.

Those lips he knew all too well. The feel of their warmth against his own. Pressed to his cheek, his forehead, his nose. Their smiles and their frowns. The way they were bitten in nerves. The colours that deocrated them. The voice that sounded from behind them. Her lips.

Satan would spend the rest of that afternoon eagerly buried in another story, but come evening, he planned to pay a visit to the room down the hall.

#satan answers#anonymous visitor
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4am-obey-me-thoughts

For You

The festive season started to take off in the Devildom. The way Satan saw it, many demons still had a sore spot toward the holidays. In particular those of the fallen angel variety. Though much to the displeasure of Lucifer’s sour stomach, the prince’s insistence saw the holiday party, at least, become annual. Satan paid little attention to it, until a certain human expressed their love of all things winter and Christmas. Naturally, he hit the bookshelves.

Keep reading

#a festive oneshot from my writing blog
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