FIVE TIMES MEME / accepting!
- ▼ five times my muse has caught yours getting off, and the one time they help out.
i. THE FIRST TIME she catches him is on a lazy morning, the haze of last night’s activities still fresh in the both of their minds. it’s a bit off-putting at first, mostly because she finds it hard to understand why he would take matters into his own hands ( haha ) when she’s right there, but she shrugs it off immediately.
no need to look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?
she rolls over to her side then, propping head onto hand as she contents herself with watching. it is, perhaps, the most intimate thing they’ve done so far ( save for the gentle touches to the other’s scars ), and when their eyes finally meet there’s a new heat behind them — fueling the movement of his hand and making it harder to hold hers back.
SHE WILL NOT JOIN IN.
it’s an absolute she’s resigned herself to from the beginning, determined to remain hands off and allow him to finish what he’s started on his own terms. if he’d wanted her help he wouldn’t have started this without her in the first place, is what she tells herself, fingers twitching at her side, itching to reach out and just touch.
if they slide down between her thighs and mirror his movements instead, well…the grin that touches both their faces is more than promise of secrecy enough.
ii. THE SECOND TIME it happens he thinks he’s being subtle, palming himself through his prada slacks in their booth as they watch one of the dancers across the room. that wicked look he gives her, grin salacious and provocative, is just begging for her to do something, and again she’s tempted. she’s leaning in, hand fidgeting at her side ready to undo the zip of his trousers when the gears shift abruptly, devilish grin in place when she’s in close enough that her lips hover dangerously close to his ear.
close enough to whisper all sorts of
indecentsweet nothings nobody but the two of them would ever know.his posture is rigid when she stands up ( it’s not the ONLY thing that’s rigid either ), and she slinks back toward their loft upstairs with a smirk on her face and a swing to her hips, already beginning to shrug off her clothes before the elevator door has even closed.
he joins her upstairs ten minutes later, and when they’re done she can’t remember ever being more glad for telling him to take his time finishing up so he could imagine every dirty, filthy thing she was doing in the loft while she waited on him.iii. by THE FIFTH TIME it’s become clear that they’ve stumbled across another kink of hers. THEIRS. there isn’t a moment’s hesitation between walking in, seeing him, and settling into her usual spot on the chaise across from the foot of the bed; it’s all one fluid motion. her hand twitches, but now it’s not so much a question of whether she’ll be touching him as it is when she’ll be touching herself.
there’s something in the moment when their eyes first lock — heat brewing in her gut — that’s almost more satisfying than anything else she could do, and she rides that thrill through to the very last second. sometimes she wonders if, under the right circumstances, she could get off just from the rush of that moment. sometimes she wonders if she’d even want to.
one day she’ll decide whether it’s worth the potential humiliation, letting him in so close that he could affect her so much, so decidedly. until then, she’s satisfied with the heat of that first glance and smirks shared as skilled fingers glide against sensitive skin.
iv. THEIR TWELFTH TIME playing this game ends far too soon after it starts thanks to an urgent phone call from the detective. no rest for the wicked indeed. disappointment hangs thick in the air, clinging to his hands and the fly of his trousers as he tucks himself back in and clinging to her fingertips, still just barely under the hem of her dress.
LATER, is the promise that passes between their eyes, a quick, chaste kiss exchanged before their arms link and they are off. domesticity comes easily in the throes of lust.
v. when THE TWENTIETH TIME rolls around they’re in bed again, resting in between rounds for the hell of it and cuddling because lucifer is a damn comfortable pillow and she’ll be damned again before she moves away any time soon. it starts innocently enough. she notices his arm shift innocuously, almost as if to embrace her, and ignores it, fingers running absentmindedly across his chest and lips occasionally pressing soft kisses along the paths they traced. it’s not until she feels him shift against her, groaning softly, that she realizes and looks down, fingers stilling immediately.
“ well don’t stop on my account, ” she teases, sitting up slightly for a better view of the show. this isn’t their usual style, playing this game while so…close, but there’s a first time for everything and it’s a first she’ll happily give to him.
if it just so happens to be a little bit harder to keep her hands to herself this time around, well…it’s only cheating initiating new contact and they were already touching in the first place.
+i. HER FIRST TIME joining him happens unexpectedly. it’s perfectly staged, more-so than any of their other times doing this song and dance, and when she walks in to find him pleasuring himself on her chaise ( her spot; her place; HERS
notHIS ) her control snaps like the fine thread it is.she’s on top of him in an instant — hand pulling hand away from his erection, lips crushing lips with a vicious intensity fueled by every desire she’s held back until now. “ MINE, ” she growls against his lips, and whether she’s talking about the chaise or him is up for debate as she grinds down against him.
it’s a decisive show of marking her territory, and she punctuates it with a sharp bite at the junction where his shoulder meets his neck. her hand slides between them after, stroking him off in time to the soothing kisses she lays along his neck and collarbone — as much of an apology as he’ll ever get from her like this.
it’s only the beginning round in what’ll soon be a long night of phenomenal sex, and when they’re finally sated, panting hard against their piano, she somehow manages to muster up the energy to drag them both to the chaise and just…flop. him first. her second. it’s small enough that she’s forced to practically lay on top of him but she smiles contentedly, nuzzling his neck.
maybe it was safe to label it as THEIR chaise now.
FIVE TIMES MEME / accepting!
i. THE FIRST TIME she catches him is on a lazy morning, the haze of last night’s activities still fresh in the both of their minds. it’s a bit off-putting at first, mostly because she finds it hard to understand why he would take matters into his own hands ( haha ) when she’s right there, but she shrugs it off immediately.
no need to look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?
she rolls over to her side then, propping head onto hand as she contents herself with watching. it is, perhaps, the most intimate thing they’ve done so far ( save for the gentle touches to the other’s scars ), and when their eyes finally meet there’s a new heat behind them — fueling the movement of his hand and making it harder to hold hers back.
SHE WILL NOT JOIN IN.
it’s an absolute she’s resigned herself to from the beginning, determined to remain hands off and allow him to finish what he’s started on his own terms. if he’d wanted her help he wouldn’t have started this without her in the first place, is what she tells herself, fingers twitching at her side, itching to reach out and just touch.
if they slide down between her thighs and mirror his movements instead, well…the grin that touches both their faces is more than promise of secrecy enough.
ii. THE SECOND TIME it happens he thinks he’s being subtle, palming himself through his prada slacks in their booth as they watch one of the dancers across the room. that wicked look he gives her, grin salacious and provocative, is just begging for her to do something, and again she’s tempted. she’s leaning in, hand fidgeting at her side ready to undo the zip of his trousers when the gears shift abruptly, devilish grin in place when she’s in close enough that her lips hover dangerously close to his ear.
close enough to whisper all sorts of indecent sweet nothings nobody but the two of them would ever know.
his posture is rigid when she stands up ( it’s not the ONLY thing that’s rigid either ), and she slinks back toward their loft upstairs with a smirk on her face and a swing to her hips, already beginning to shrug off her clothes before the elevator door has even closed.
he joins her upstairs ten minutes later, and when they’re done she can’t remember ever being more glad for telling him to take his time finishing up so he could imagine every dirty, filthy thing she was doing in the loft while she waited on him.
iii. by THE FIFTH TIME it’s become clear that they’ve stumbled across another kink of hers. THEIRS. there isn’t a moment’s hesitation between walking in, seeing him, and settling into her usual spot on the chaise across from the foot of the bed; it’s all one fluid motion. her hand twitches, but now it’s not so much a question of whether she’ll be touching him as it is when she’ll be touching herself.
there’s something in the moment when their eyes first lock — heat brewing in her gut — that’s almost more satisfying than anything else she could do, and she rides that thrill through to the very last second. sometimes she wonders if, under the right circumstances, she could get off just from the rush of that moment. sometimes she wonders if she’d even want to.
one day she’ll decide whether it’s worth the potential humiliation, letting him in so close that he could affect her so much, so decidedly. until then, she’s satisfied with the heat of that first glance and smirks shared as skilled fingers glide against sensitive skin.
iv. THEIR TWELFTH TIME playing this game ends far too soon after it starts thanks to an urgent phone call from the detective. no rest for the wicked indeed. disappointment hangs thick in the air, clinging to his hands and the fly of his trousers as he tucks himself back in and clinging to her fingertips, still just barely under the hem of her dress.
LATER, is the promise that passes between their eyes, a quick, chaste kiss exchanged before their arms link and they are off. domesticity comes easily in the throes of lust.
v. when THE TWENTIETH TIME rolls around they’re in bed again, resting in between rounds for the hell of it and cuddling because lucifer is a damn comfortable pillow and she’ll be damned again before she moves away any time soon. it starts innocently enough. she notices his arm shift innocuously, almost as if to embrace her, and ignores it, fingers running absentmindedly across his chest and lips occasionally pressing soft kisses along the paths they traced. it’s not until she feels him shift against her, groaning softly, that she realizes and looks down, fingers stilling immediately.
“ well don’t stop on my account, ” she teases, sitting up slightly for a better view of the show. this isn’t their usual style, playing this game while so…close, but there’s a first time for everything and it’s a first she’ll happily give to him.
if it just so happens to be a little bit harder to keep her hands to herself this time around, well…it’s only cheating initiating new contact and they were already touching in the first place.
+i. HER FIRST TIME joining him happens unexpectedly. it’s perfectly staged, more-so than any of their other times doing this song and dance, and when she walks in to find him pleasuring himself on her chaise ( her spot; her place; HERS not HIS ) her control snaps like the fine thread it is.
she’s on top of him in an instant — hand pulling hand away from his erection, lips crushing lips with a vicious intensity fueled by every desire she’s held back until now. “ MINE, ” she growls against his lips, and whether she’s talking about the chaise or him is up for debate as she grinds down against him.
it’s a decisive show of marking her territory, and she punctuates it with a sharp bite at the junction where his shoulder meets his neck. her hand slides between them after, stroking him off in time to the soothing kisses she lays along his neck and collarbone — as much of an apology as he’ll ever get from her like this.
it’s only the beginning round in what’ll soon be a long night of phenomenal sex, and when they’re finally sated, panting hard against their piano, she somehow manages to muster up the energy to drag them both to the chaise and just…flop. him first. her second. it’s small enough that she’s forced to practically lay on top of him but she smiles contentedly, nuzzling his neck.
maybe it was safe to label it as THEIR chaise now.
PORTRAYAL. Like it says in the description, this is a blog for the character Lucifer Morningstar from FOX’s LUCIFER with a feminine twist. This blog will be primarily based in the series with little to no influence from the source material the show was based off of. Sorry, but I’m a broke college student who’s too lazy/busy to try and find free versions of it online. I also find that I often prefer to incorporate my own headcanons and interpretation of the lore that exists anyway, so do not expect her to perfectly align with any one canon, especially the comics.
Though Lucifer loathes the human need to label everything and because, as a celestial being, her outward appearance is a manifestetion of sense-of-self and thought, if pressed, she would identify as trans given the widespread misconception of masculinity associated with her due to the word of God and a belief that He intended she be His second son and not His first daughter. As such, I plan to incorporate this idea in situations where Lucifer is not truly the devil, and as a human, Lucifer is a trans woman. Her faceclaim in these verses ( which I plan to utilize more often when this blog is more active ) will be Michelle Hendley. Though I do plan to continue using Mallory Janson to portray Lucifer as a celestial being, I am open to critique and discussion as I understand there are many issues with using a cis faceclaim to portray a trans character, however grey the term is when Lucifer is, indeed, the devil. My ideas for execution of this interpretation are by no means perfect, and there is some confusion for me given how I am approaching this change of portrayal. Please, bear with me and feel free to educate me on how I can improve what I am doing to help better the trans community, especially in the Tumblr RPC.
Something else that I feel I should note in here: I DO NOT CONSIDER AMENADIEL TO BE THE OLDEST. I do draw heavy inspiration for my portrayal of Luci from biblical lore, and thus in terms of creation Michael would be the oldest, Lucifer the second oldest, and so on and so forth. I do, however, see Amenadiel as the oldest of the angels, where Michael would be the oldest of the archangels, thus giving him ( in my view ) some pull as the oldest of a particular grouping.
ACTIVITY. My activity on this blog will be low and sporadic, mainly. Right now I'm juggling college and color/winter guard, so it'll be tricky to be on as much as I'd like to. I’ll do my best to build a queue that’ll run semi-frequently, but that’s very low priority for me at the moment. If you see me active and I owe you a reply, though, don’t hesitate to give me a little nudge. Sometimes my procrastinating ass needs one.
FORMATTING. With each new blog I make I adopt a new kind of formatting style. The one I use right now is one that I’m very happy with and probably will not be changing anytime soon. Please don’t feel obligated to match this. I’m not super picky about the aesthetics of my blog, and the only change I’ll make ( if ever ) is from normal text to small text. I personally DO NOT use the super small text but if that’s what you like to use it’s fine. I’ve got very little trouble reading it and it doesn’t inconvenience me. I will mirror-format ONLY in some cases and ONLY at the writer’s request.
STATUS. As of right now this blog is NOT mutuals only. ALL starter calls posted are open to ALL of my followers, regardless of mutual status. As a warning: if we are NOT mutuals and you like a starter call, I expect you to contact me via IM or ask with ideas on how our characters could interact. It doesn’t have to be anything major. It just makes the process of writing MUCH easier and makes me more likely to follow you in the long run.
SHIPPING. Lucifer is, as a general rule, a rather shameless flirt and very liberal in her sexual escapades. Your character is free to reciprocate/react however they would like, but try to keep in mind that part of the character mythos is that she is pretty much irresistible to anyone and everyone who would normally be attracted to her. If we can find a reason for your character to have some level of immunity to this in crossover situations that’s fine, but on the whole that won’t be something that should happen very often.
Please also note that romantic ships on this blog will not be frequent and will require quite a bit of development if they ever are to happen. I’m a ship whore, but chemistry is very important.
MEMES. I LOVE MEMES. If you want to send in the thing, please do. I will most definitely appreciate it, even if I take three billion years to respond. Memes are ALSO a great way to start RPs with no prior plotting or even prior interaction, so I do really encourage you to send them in! Meme me up, Scotty!
EXCLUSIVITY. As of right now, I am NOT muse exclusive with any blogs and have NO intentions of doing so in the near future. I will, however, consider practicing ship exclusivity in certain cases.
CREDITS. All icons were screencapped and edited by me. Please do not steal them. Current theme is courtesy of @nonaziharlot. History heavily inspired and modeled after @gcdgiven's original bio with permission. Please do not copy.
FINAL NOTES. Congratulations! You’ve finished this brick! I don’t do passwords or the like because they’re awkward to me, but I really appreciate you taking the time to read this. As I’ve said before, I’m always open to interaction and plotting so feel free to hit me up whenever! If we are mutuals you are also always free to ask for me Skype! Have a lovely day!
name: Lucifer Morningstar.
nicknames: Luci. Lu. Lulu. Luc. Lucy Ricardo.
aliases: The Devil. Satan. Prince(ss) of Darkness. King Queen of Hell. Abbadon. Belial. Old Scratch. Samael. The Light Bringer.
gender: Female.
date of birth: The Beginning™.
place of birth: The Center™.
age: Ageless.
orientation: Pansexual. Demiromantic.
education: —.
religion: Christianity. Pleasure.
height: 5'9".
weight: 132 lbs.
species: Archangel.
hair color: Brown.
eye color: Green.
scars: Twin ovals on her back from when she cut off her wings.
tattoos: —.
dominant hand: Right.
faceclaim: Mallory Jansen.
father: God.
mother: Mum.
brother(s): Michael. Gabriel. Raphael. Uriel. Amenadiel. etc.
sister(s): Azrael.
HONEST | TRUSTWORTHY | THOUGHTFUL | caring | BRAVE | patient | selfless | AMBITIOUS | tolerant | LUCKY | INTELLIGENT | CONFIDENT | FOCUSED | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | CLEVER | CHARMING | cheerful | optimistic | DECISIVE | ADAPTIVE | calm
MOODY | SHORT-TEMPERED | EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE | whiny | controlling | CONCEITED | possessive | paranoid | lies | IMPATIENT | cowardly | BITTER | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | JUDGEMENTAL | forgetful | IMPULSIVE | SPITEFUL | STUBBORN | sadistic | petty | unlucky
persuasion: The ability draw out people’s forbidden desires. The more simple the human, the easier it is. The more complex, the more challenging and interesting. Chloe Decker is immune to this for reasons beyond even Lucifer’s understanding.
super strength: Small, but full of fite™. Able to punch through walls, throw fully grown men across the room without a push, and hold her own against an angel ( presumably ) at full strength. Extended endurance ( /winks ) and super speed can also be assumed.
shapeshifting: All angels come readily equipped with the ability to create ( and also see through ) glamours at will. Generally this is used to hide their wings while on Earth or ( in ye olde days ) to fuck with the humans when visiting them for a laugh ( looking at you, Gabriel ), but Lucifer frequently uses this ability to give humans a glimpse of her hellish form and what awaits in the deepest pits of hell.
immortality: Unable to die by normal, mortal means. Exceptions to the rule are demon blades, other angels, and Chloe Decker’s presence. She makes her vulnerable.
flight: With wings, she can fly ( and so much MORE ). Without them, she is grounded.
Sometimes — not often, but sometimes —
there are those who prefer to deal in favors of knowledge than favors of
pleasure or gain. Lucifer rarely indulged in them ( even just a fraction of an inkling of pure, unfiltered knowledge of the universe is enough to turn the average human brain into mush, and wasn’t that just such a WASTE? ), but sometimes...sometimes she got bored. Sometimes, when faced with the oh-so-common and oh-so-boring question — how did it all begin? — she’d smile coyly and, instead of the standard, polite refusal, lean in close and whisper conspiratorially...
You humans already got that bit right.
THE BIG BANG. An apt ( if slightly disturbing ) name for the actions of her parents in creating the universe. To think, all it had taken was one truly stellar orgasm between a couple of celestial beings to spark the whole of Creation. Generally, the story stopped there: complete and irritatingly unfinished at the same time. She’d learned her lesson in telling the rest on a cold night in Bethany — a final plea to a dead man walking.
When she did tell it, it went a bit like this...
ONCE, there was a father who wasn’t a Father yet, and a mother who wasn’t a Mother yet, and they fell in love. From their love came Creation, and following Creation came children — a whole Host of children, all of whom were brilliant and passionate and...AND.
While Mother and Father consummated their love, further expanding the universe, the Host amused themselves, forming bonds and cultivating talents. The core bond, consisting of the first five to be borne, later came to be known as the archangels — each exalted for their individual talents. Michael, the sword, strongest and bravest of the Host; Samael, the light, heart and soul of the Host; Raphael, the cross, healer of all ills; Gabriel, the voice, brilliant composer and beautiful singer; and Uriel, the brain, lover, creator, and solver of patterns simple and complex.
For a time, everyone was happy. When Father said let there be light and lit up the gaseous expanse of the universe, one of the Host, Samael, stared on and, with all the wonder and insistence and innocence of a small child, tugged on Father’s metaphorical sleeve and asked — no, begged — for more. Because she was His light, He indulged in her request. With a wave of his hand, the light-bearing mist collided, burning and brightening and forming brilliant new STARS.
take care of them, little one. Father said, gently pushing her to the newly formed cluster. Like Mother and Father had done before her Samael gathered the stars, grace pulsing with love as she carried them out among the cosmos, placing them into constellations and galaxies in representations of her brothers back home. She watched with joy as they grew into their power, growing and consuming and expanding out further into the universe her parents had created, each partitioning their own portion of the remaining expanse and pulling it towards them, never dying while she was around to pull them back from the brink.
In their gratitude, they’d given her the name Morningstar, for night never came when she was there. It was a name she’d forever cherish.
Eventually, (
seven days ) millions or billions of years from when she had been charged with her task, Samael was called back home. Much had changed in the time she’d been living among the stars. Her family had grown, including one more sister in a sea of new brothers and...humans.
They were curious little creatures. Young, certainly, in comparison to the angels and certainly the archangels. Dirty. If Samael looked closely she could see bits of the clay Father had modeled them from peeking out. Most of all, they were favored.
Samael watched with her sister and brothers as Father gave them gifts He’d never dared to give to the Host: a home orbiting the first star she’d ever placed — a beautiful young thing named Sol; the garden, home to a tree bearing fruit containing pieces from before Creation; and a destiny headed towards greatness, meant to somehow make what was already perfection better. For the first time in the whole of her existence, Samael felt envy.
When Father asked demanded humans receive the protection of the Host as well, Samael grit her teeth and obeyed as her siblings did. Even if they couldn’t make things better, even if she didn’t particularly like or even know them...they were family.
The tale wouldn’t end there, merely pause. The devil didn’t need to stretch her legs, but her audience did. So, what do you say, beardy? Are you ready for more? His placid smile set her on edge, but she smirked through it. If she was going to save him she’d need to continue.
Right. Carrying on.
So Samael obeyed, bitterness held at bay by the fond whispers of the stars ( O’! Bright and Glorious Morningstar! ) and the firmly held belief that she was still His favorite, no matter how much He doted on the youngest siblings. Days became weeks became months became years as she watched over Father’s pet project like the rest of the Host, confusion ( and perhaps — in much, much later hindsight — a certain fondness ) growing as she watched the two stumble along the garden.
Are we not just as worthy, if not more, of these gifts Father has given them? she’d asked her siblings, some nodding in more awe than agreement at their older and beloved sister while others ( MOST ) grit their teeth as she had.
It is not our place to question Father. Only to obey. Why? He is the Creator. He is not the only one. We have created just as much as He has. Why should we devote our existence to His creations and not ours as well? Do not press. Do not think. Simply do.
Despite ( or perhaps, in spite of ) her siblings’ insistence, Samael thought and thought. Angels were divine, just as Mother and Father were, so their creations were just as pure. Humans, though, were too far removed from divinity to hope to create anything but adequate in comparison. They couldn’t possibly make Father’s creations better. So, Samael went to confront her father — remaining family witness to the slaughter.
The fight lasted...it lasted a while. Time seemed to blur amid the shouting match that followed, but she was sure it was years, decades even, before it ended, and oh...oh, how it had ended. THE STARS HAVE TAUGHT YOU TO BURN TOO HOT, LITTLE ONE. Samael, burning with the shame of her Father’s scolding, lunged forward, hands clenched and tensed for...for...something.
And Michael — strongest, bravest, and obedient eldest brother that he was — stepped between them, sword at hand. It didn’t burn at first, not until it reached Samael’s star-touched grace. Where sword met, soul blackened, tearing and cauterizing and chasing away the brightness that had once defined her very existence. Without that...she fell.
Despite reaching hands, despite begging eyes, not one brother or sister stepped forward to save her. Down, down the Bringer of Light went, landing in smoke and fire in a crater in Eden, fallen to one of the lowest planes of existence. In her grief, homesickness, and perhaps still in rebellion she burrowed herself even further, hiding away from the light of the stars she was no longer permitted to visit.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Silence would follow, polluting the air for several minutes. Even millennia later, the wounds of her punishment were still fresh. Are you still prepared to die for Him? For this pointless cause? she’d asked eventually, demeanor somber, not smug. The serene quiet that followed felt like Michael’s stoic, unflinching betrayal.
BROTHERS.
Her eyes were cold as steel as she left the bare cottage, leaving the pious man to his fate. One day they would learn that nothing good came of being Father’s favorite and find no sympathy on her part.
