𝔬𝔟𝔢𝑦 𝔪𝔢

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 ▃ ＊ 𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒚 ; a private, lore-heavy, and highly selective roleplay blog for ⸺ 𝗑𝗎ě ( 雪 ), an original character found within the obey me! universe, though reimagined and rewritten through a sensual, mythic, horror lens; a space where faith, desire, and power intertwine. drawing from all official media — the games, manga, and anime — this version weaves them into a single, cohesive continuity.

also, while this blog is primarily devoted to xuě’s story, the demon brothers may also appear here at times [ … ] either written by request, or when the narrative itself demands it. replies arrive slowly but with intention and care. out-of-character content appears freely; this blog is low activity, not suitable for minors, and mutuals only. as written by kiara [ she / they, 26 years old ].

𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: while obey me! invites the player to step into the story as themselves, this portrayal diverges from that intent. xuě is not a self-insert, nor an idealized projection, but her own character within this rewritten world.

beel almost always arrives first, because he can smell food even when there technically isn’t any. he doesn’t say much at that hour. he just sits beside her at the table, huge and warm and still slightly sleepy, eating whatever she’s left out like it’s the most normal thing in the world to share breakfast with a human girl before the rest of the house wakes. mammon pretends he was awake already. he wasn’t. his hair is a mess and his shirt is probably inside out. but he leans against the counter and grumbles about how noisy the house is getting lately, even though the room is practically silent. lucifer pretends he doesn’t notice the shift at all. but there are mornings when he pauses in the doorway, watching the two of them sitting there like it’s the most ordinary domestic scene imaginable, and something about it settles the tension in his shoulders before the day even begins. it’s small things like that. little adjustments that no one acknowledges out loud. like how the brothers gradually start ending up in her room at night. not intentionally. it just… happens. the house is large enough that everyone technically has their own space, but demons are creatures that gravitate toward warmth, toward presence, toward the quiet reassurance of knowing someone else is nearby. and xuě, without ever meaning to, becomes a kind of gravity point in the house.

belphie starts it. he drifts in one night while she’s reading, collapses across the end of her bed like a cat that has decided a surface belongs to him now, and falls asleep within minutes. she doesn’t wake him because she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to. the next night he comes back without asking. beel follows eventually, because wherever belphie goes, beel is rarely far behind. mammon claims he’s only there because everyone else is hogging the couches. asmo shows up sometimes just to braid her hair and talk until one of them falls asleep mid-sentence. satan brings books. levi sits on the floor with a console in his hands, occasionally forgetting he’s supposed to be embarrassed about being there at all. and lucifer never stays, but there are nights when he opens the door just enough to check that the chaos inside the room is still contained to something soft and harmless. no one ever formally decides that her room has become a gathering place. it just becomes one. sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night and realizes the room is fuller than it had been when she fell asleep. someone curled at the foot of the bed, someone half-dozing in the chair by the window, someone quietly scrolling through a phone on the floor. the strange thing is that none of them seem embarrassed about it anymore. like the house simply adjusted its idea of where everyone belongs when the lights go out, and no one ever bothered to argue with it.

xuě absorbed the words slowly, not like an impact— more like pressure. a weight settling just beneath her ribs, incredulous rather than cruel, but sharp enough to make her flinch anyway. she let out a breath she hadn’t meant to hold, shoulders pressing back into the brick as if the wall might remember how to be solid for her. the world still smelled wrong. burnt ozone, wet stone, the lingering trace of places that were never meant to see daylight. it tugged at something old and known in her [ … ] something court-bred and subterranean. her bracelet lay cool against her wrist, metallic and faintly reflective, as if it were still watching the space where the thing had been, as if it were cataloguing its absence. ❝   yeah,       ❞ she said, rubbing the heel of her hand against her sternum. ❝      it doesn't make sense to me either.       ❞

her voice came out steadier than she felt. inside, everything was still rearranging itself— panic easing its grip, adrenaline bleeding off, magic retreating into its channels with the dull ache of something overextended. in diyu, confusion had rules. hierarchies. protocols. here, it simply sat in her chest and hummed. she looked at percy then. really looked. the sword first— too casual to be ceremonial, too natural to be costume. he held himself like someone who expected violence the way others expected weather. like the world had already tried him, and failed. the air around him felt restless. impatient. as if stillness were something it didn’t quite understand. not demon. not ghost. not anything she had words for. ❝        that thing back there—        ❞ xuě nodded vaguely toward the campus square they’d fled from, ❝      that wasn’t… normal.       ❞ a pause. ❝        for me, i mean.        ❞

a thin, humorless smile tugged at her mouth. ❝        i’m used to rules. jurisdictions. things that wait their turn.        ❞ her head tipped back against the wall, eyes finding the narrow slice of sky above them. too open. too loud. ❝        it didn’t even hesitate.        ❞ she swallowed. grounded herself with the small awareness of her fingers curling, then stilling. a reminder that she was still in her body. still here. still human. technically. ❝        and you—        ❞ her gaze slid back to him, curiosity threading through the exhaustion, ❝        you showed up like you’d done that before.        ❞ not accusation. not gratitude exactly. just fact. ❝         ⸺        i don’t actually know what category you fall into,        ❞ she admitted, quieter now. ❝        which is… new for me. unsettling, even. i thought i had it all figured out by now.        ❞ a breath. slower. ❝        i mean, usually i can at least tell which rulebook i’m supposed to be breaking.        ❞

the devildom didn’t cleanse the house. it just relocated it. transported brick and timber steeped in human tragedy into a realm where emotion has mass and memory has teeth. it didn’t make the house malevolent, but it made it sentient in a way human grief rarely gets to be. now it listens. it shifts its weight. it groans like something dreaming. most beings assume the house is called the house of lamentation because of who lives there now, but the truth is the brothers moved into the name, not the other way around. the sorrow wasn’t theirs originally. they just resonated with it so strongly that the house accepted them. angels fallen and a house built on human tragedy... the symmetry was too perfect to ignore. like, yes, the brothers joke about the house’s quirks, but they never deny its moods? lucifer knows when the beams creak in warning rather than weather. satan can tell when a room is restless because it’s remembering the unsolved. asmo claims the mirrors sigh at night. belphie swears the attic narrows when he’s lying about something. they’ve all learned, in their own ways, that the house reacts to emotion the way some creatures react to blood. not hungry for it; just receptive. too receptive.

xuě blinked slowly, as if waking from somewhere far beneath her own ribs. darkness had been pressing against her edges, quiet and patient, the way a tide waits for the moment a shoreline forgets to hold itself together. she hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until mitsuri’s voice cut through the quiet like the first warm note of spring. her words landed soft, but they struck something deep, an old bruise under her sternum that throbbed with memory. she hated how easily devotion undid her. how easily kindness pried apart the little cages she built inside herself. xuě stood very still, the way a deer stands still when it isn’t sure if the hand reaching for it is offering salvation or a blade. she wanted to laugh. she wanted to tell mitsuri that no one ever stayed, not in any way that mattered. but something about the flame-bright girl before her made the words lodge behind her tongue.

mitsuri tasted like rosewater and raw sincerity, the kind that had always been lethal to her. xuě had survived monsters and gods and the gnawing hunger of her own mind, [ … ] but softness? gentle promises? those undid her more violently than any horror could. her fingers curled, knuckles whitening. she felt the tremor of her pulse in her wrist, a wild creature trying to escape. ❝    i don’t…        ❞ her throat closed around the truth. she swallowed. tried again. ❝ people say things like that. and then they disappear.        ❞ she didn’t say and i break with them. she didn’t say i wouldn’t blame you if you ran. but the confession hovered between them, invisible and trembling.

xuě’s gaze drifted to mitsuri’s hands— warm, steady, capable of crushing demons and cradling fragile things in the same breath. she imagined, for one terrifying moment, what it might feel like to be held by someone who meant their promises. she could almost sense it: the soft scrape of calloused fingertips, the warmth radiating through her bones like fire catching on old paper. her body betrayed her before her mind did. the tiniest step forward. barely a shift in gravity. but enough. ❝    you… shouldn’t promise things like that,        ❞ she whispered. her voice carried the faintest break, a hairline crack in her carefully constructed composure. ❝    i don’t know what i turn into when people stay.        ❞

xuě stilled at the words, though the abyssal wind did not. it moved around her like a living thing, slow and deliberate, tasting her pulse as if deciding whether she was prey or kin. here, light had the texture of bruises; shadows bent the way broken spines did [ … ] everything breathed. everything watched. but nothing watched her quite as sharply as xiao lanhua did now. her declaration hung between them like a blade suspended by a single hair. xuě felt it lodge under her ribs, not as fear but as an old, aching recognition. that stubborn courage — the kind that didn’t know when it was stepping into a mouth — was something she’d once possessed too. before this place burned its sigils into her bones. before pacts rewrote the architecture of her soul. before the abyss learned the taste of her name and whispered it back to her in its sleep.

she exhaled. the air here always smelled faintly metallic, like the world itself had been bled out. ❝        you shouldn’t,        ❞ she said. it wasn’t a reprimand. it was a confession, quiet and frayed at the edges, threaded with the kind of honesty she rarely let surface anymore. her voice wavered, not with uncertainty, but with the effort of keeping it gentle in a place that adored sharpness. but even as she spoke, she knew gentleness meant nothing in a situation like this. soft things were often the first to bleed. her thoughts tangled: the abyssal realm was not merely dangerous. it was hungry. it did not kill with teeth alone but with memory, with longing, with truths whispered in the exact voice of someone you once loved. xuě had learned that the hard way— falling through a tear in the mortal sky as if gravity itself wanted to abandon her. she’d landed broken, not physically, but in ways that still cracked open when she slept.

xiao lanhua wanting to walk into this place willingly felt like watching someone step into a tide she knew could turn black and sentient at any moment. ❝        but i understand,        ❞ she added, more quietly. she hated that she did. that part of her still pressed its hand to fire just to prove it could endure the burn. xuě stepped closer, boots sinking into soil that pulsed faintly underfoot. the realm’s heartbeat thrummed against her soles, too slow for a living world, too fast for a dead one. xiao lanhua’s hair fluttered in the unnatural breeze, and for a moment the girl seemed almost luminous against the darkness, like a candle held against the throat of an ancient beast. ❝         ⸺        if you’re going either way,        ❞ xuě murmured, ❝        then don’t lie to yourself about what you’re walking toward.        ❞ her gaze slid past xiao lanhua, toward the vast chasm that split the realm like a wound that refused to close. something moved within it, something that had once whispered to xuě in her own voice. she ignored it.

xuě had known pain in many shapes, but the one in front of her now — the quiet tremor of his question — pressed on something older than memory, older than humanity. it unsettled her in a way that prickled along her spine, as though someone had breathed cold air into the bones beneath her skin. [ … ] does it always hurt like this? the words echoed through her like fingers dragged slowly down the inside of her ribs. she didn’t answer at first. she simply breathed, feeling every inch of her chest expand against an ache she had never truly learned to name. pain was almost a language to her. she had been raised by it, sharpened with it, remade under it.

the devildom had carved its marks into her in ways both subtle and severe. its magic still clung to the edges of her nerves like a stain that couldn’t be scrubbed clean. even now, the remnants of those pacts pulsed faintly at her wrists, like old bruises remembering themselves. ❝ yes,        ❞ she said finally, though the word felt too small. her voice was quiet, but it rippled through the dim room like something wounded dragging a chain. ❝     but not always in the way you’d think.        ❞ her gaze drifted past him, toward nothing and toward everything: the dark corners where old shadows nested, the remembered taste of shattered grace on her tongue, the phantom ringing of pact-marks beneath her skin. she thought of all the ways pain had taught her to live. through hunger. through fear. through love so consuming it hollowed her out in the shape of someone else’s heartbeat.

❝    it shifts,        ❞ she murmured. ❝    it evolves. sometimes it’s sharp. sometimes it’s dull. sometimes it sits under your ribs like a creature waiting to feast.        ❞ a pause, shallow and strange. ❝   sometimes it pretends to leave, but you feel the ghost of it… right here.        ❞ she pressed two fingers lightly to her sternum, as though pinning down something that wanted to claw its way out. she drew a slow breath. the air tasted metallic, like old blood or old memories. ❝   ⸺      i used to think it would disappear, if i changed enough. if i loved enough. if i tried hard enough to be something that couldn’t be hurt.        ❞ a faint, humorless smile curved her mouth. ❝    but it doesn’t really disappear. you just… grow around it. like a tree swallowing a blade.        ❞ her eyes lifted to meet his, dark and luminous and exhausted with truth.

SUMMER.    cold drinks after a long day,  hiking in the woods just outside the city, swimming in a lake,  spontaneous picnics,  the warmth of the sun making you drowsy,  the buzz of insects flying by,  blooming wildflowers,  the scent of bark and leaves,  snapping twigs in half,  a blade of grass between your teeth,  light sunburn on the tip of your nose,  barking dogs,  rosy cheeks,  children laughing in the distance,  sunflowers reaching for the sun,  fresh ice tea,  resting your head on someone’s lap,  warm yellow,  the sound of waves crashing.

AUTUMN.    cool breezes that feel just right,  piles of leaves,  rust red,  oversized sweaters,  knitted blankets,  pumpkin spice,  the scent of freshly baked goods,  open windows letting the fresh air in,  cold cheeks and hands,  rain boots,  carving pumpkins,  soft scarves,  a comforting embrace from an old friend,  the scent right before a storm,  wild mushrooms,  ripening berries,  a cup of hot tea,  purring cats,  blueberry muffins,  braided hair,  wearing your partner’s shirts,  an alarm pulling you from slumber,  burning candles.

WINTER.    the crackling of a fireplace,  hot chocolate with marshmallows,  the smell of fresh cookies,  fuzzy socks,  beanies pulled over your ears,  a strong pot of coffee,  dark clouds gathering on the horizon,  the sound of wind shaking the house,  melting ice,  snowflakes in your hair,  melancholy afternoons,  curling up with a book while the world stands still,  cough drops on the nightstand,  excitedly giving gifts,  long coats with deep pockets,  pale blues,  flour on the tip of your nose,  warm soup,  stubble turning into a beard,  the scent of leather.

SPRING.    the smell after it rains,  waking to the sound of birds singing,  the crack of thunder,  soft pinks,  energy drinks or protein shakes,  the scent of fabric softener,  tidying up,  the sweet taste of fresh fruit,  competitive spark in eyes,  sand beneath your feet,  sweat on your brow,  catching your breath after running,  light green,  frosted cupcakes,  electricity in the air,  forbidden kisses,  the sharp hunger after a work out,  daring romances,  high ponytails,  unexpected storms,  picking flowers,  running barefoot in the grass,  iced coffee.

xuě did not flinch at bonnie’s words. if anything, something in her stilled, as if her pulse had folded itself into a quiet, listening shape. the nature of life. she had heard variations of that truth in the devildom’s many tongues: whispered by demons whose shadows were older than empires, murmured by angels who had never known what hunger tastes like, breathed against her throat by those who loved her with the kind of devotion that made eternity feel unbearably short. she had always accepted it.     ⸺    of course you love with your whole self. how else could she ever love? she did not know how to love carefully, or rationally, or in pieces. when xuě loved, she did it the way fire burned oxygen: completely, necessarily, without an exit plan. but it was the second half of bonnie’s statement that tightened inside her like a thread pulled wrong at the seam. ❝    maybe,        ❞ xuě said softly, though the soft didn’t hide the ache beneath. ❝    maybe that’s what living things are meant to do. love, and break, and love again.        ❞

her breath trembled in the cool night air; human breath, fragile breath. that mattered more here than it did in the devildom. mortality clung to her like something damp and warm— a reminder, always, that she was breakable in a world where most of those she loved were not. ❝    but if i’m being honest…        ❞ her throat worked. ❝    i don’t fear losing those i love. that has never scared me.        ❞ she lifted her gaze, and there was something almost luminous behind her dark eyes, like a lantern held between ribs. ❝    what scares me,        ❞ she went on, quieter now, ❝    is the thought of someone losing me.      ❞ there it was. the truth peeled open like a wound. ❝ i’ve seen it happen,        ❞ she confessed. ❝   not hypothetical. not poetic. i’ve watched what it does to them— when i go, when i fall, even for a second. i’ve seen their faces when they think i’m gone, and the… devastation of it.        ❞

her voice shook, not from fear, but from the unbearable memory of devotion made monstrous. ❝    you don’t understand what a pact does,        ❞ she whispered. ❝    breaking one is like ripping your own life out by the roots. and i have… so many pacts. so many people who have tied pieces of themselves to me— immortal, ancient beings who should have been untouchable. but they aren’t. not when it comes to me.        ❞ it was the cruelest paradox: she, the human, the fragile one [ … ] she was the weak point in the chain. xuě’s fingers, pale and fine-boned, curled in against her palm as if she were trying to hide the truth inside her own skin. ❝    i fall in love easily,        ❞ she admitted, a confession offered like a pulse. ❝    i don’t hold myself back. i never have. i can’t.        ❞ a bitter laugh, thin as a paper cut. ❝ maybe that’s the curse and the blessing both.        ❞