#cw gore mention sorry

[lifesver]

u ever watch a horror movie like hmmm [adds another potential trauma to the character]

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[wickjump]

i love cross so much it’s not funny anymore. i want him to be brutalized beyond recognition. i want him in a meatgrinder. i wrote him being disembowled once. he is my favoritest boy. he deserves to be dehumanized and treated like a dog. he deserves to have his loyalty used against him. he deserves to act stoic and then cry in his bedroom like a child because he hates feeling small and sometimes nightmare reminds him of xgaster and he hates it and he wants to die actually. and he misses his old life and his friends and xtoriel was like a mom to him and he misses her and he misses his siblings and frisk before he knew what he really was and he wants stablility and to be loved but he doesn’t know how to get it and the one time he did with epic he forgot him and now he’s friends with someone who gives him imposter syndrome purely by existing because cross feels bad that he’s not the cross epic knew but epic doesn’t care and cares for him the same. and killer is mean to him and makes digs because he wants to see cross snap but instead cross just cries because he’s canonically a huge fucking crybaby and he cries over everything including when he can’t put on a shirt right he cries so much and then killer goes ohh uh shit you good man and cross hates it even more because he wants his anger to be taken seriously but he can’t stop the tears so he storms off and xchara taunts him and cross hates everything

[serasfanfiction]

CW: blood and mentions of gore. Alastor being Alastor and never let us forget he's in Hell for a reason.

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Lucifer stared at his bed. Took stock of himself. Realized he was too wound up and any attempt at chasing sleep would futile.

He ran a hand down his face as he groaned. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under his nice, soft comforter and to fall into the forgetfulness of sleep, but with the weight of his new little accessory, he knew his sleep would be nothing like forgetful.

Glancing out the window, he could see the first hints of what passed for daytime in Hell. It was so late, evening had transitioned into early morning.

He frowned in distaste. He had stayed up all night talking with Alastor. Yeah, yeah, they had been talking business, but he knew what it could look like from the outside. It didn't help that Alastor had been helpful. He had an eye for reading people and getting a basic feel for their character at the drop of the hat. Lucifer didn't have to imagine very hard to know it had gone a long way towards helping him lure in his victims.

The question remained: Was the King of Hell going to allow himself to become another one of this serial killer's victims? The idea didn't leave a much better taste in his mouth than the time currently glowing back at him from his bedside table.

This was a shining example of why he didn't interact with sinners anymore.

Leaving through his door, Lucifer made his way downstairs. Early morning it might have been, but there was still some time before the other hotel residents started filtering down. Everything was quiet in a way that held the promise of noise, if only one caught it at the right time.

It felt lived in in a way the palace hadn't in years.

Knowing he was going to actually encounter people at some point led his feet unto the kitchen. As it turned out, Lucifer Morningstar actually liked to cook. He had found it to be a great stress reliever. Perhaps it was because the urge to create was always just below the surface. Perhaps it was an innate desire to make people happy. Whatever it was, throughout most of his marriage and while he was still interacting with the Sins and Ars Goetia, he could often be found working in whatever area was set aside for meal prep. It was something he'd been teased about, but no one had complained about his food, yet.

As things began to fall apart, as he lost faith in humanity and began to withdraw from everyone and everything, there had been less and less opportunities to fall back on the practice. He didn't necessarily need to eat and he didn't want to waste food when there was no one to make it for.

Making toys, especially duck themed ones, had been a secondary fixation. When his marriage had reached the point that not even even trying to keep up appearances for Charlie's sake could hold things together (tenuous as that had been from the start), it had felt like making the toys had been the only thing he was good at anymore so he had become, well, a little obsessed.

Here, now, in the hotel built from his daughter's dreams and the hard work of the hotel's residents, he had been feeling the urge to give into the impulse to try his hand at cooking again. The stress of his new accessory seemed like it was going to finally be the thing that pushed him to do it.

The kitchen was empty, as to be expected. It was also as well stocked as he'd left it. Upon moving in, Lucifer had taken one look at what the others had been living off of up to that point and had put his foot down immediately. Where before it had looked like the pantry of a bunch of young adults who had just moved out and hadn't quite figured out how nutrition worked, with the odd exception, now it had a much more healthy variety of foods. Some of it came from various rings throughput Hell, imported through Lucifer's connections. Some of it came straight from Earth, those through Ozzie's connections.

Lucifer had seen various residents taking advantage of the wider variety of offerings, but he still held it as a victory the one time had come in to find their resident radio celebrity cooking. When pressed, Alastor had replied that he was currently putting together a shrimp gumbo, with the preparation of the roux being just the way his mother had made it. He must have been feeling particularly nostalgic and in a good mood because he had shared it with the rest of the hotel's residents.

Lucifers hands knew what to do, even though he didn't have a larger plan in mind other than 'make breakfast foods.' This sort of approach often led to way too much food being made, but he was sure they'd eat it all eventually.

As the hour progressed, foods such as muffins, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and a few pre-made breakfast tacos took shape. Fruits had been cut up and placed in dishes so that anyone interested could take their pick.

He was just finishing up the yogurt and turning around to place it with the rest of the hoarde when he abruptly became aware that someone was standing just inside the doorway. Startled, Lucifer yelped, jumping, and incidentally dropping the yogurt. It was only pure instinct (and a little magic) that kept it from hitting the floor and going everywhere.

He placed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his rabbitting heart. "Oh my Father, don't scare me like that. I could have set you on fire!"

Which he had done to multiple people who'd startled him in the past. Purely on accident, of course.

Husk stared back at him, watching. His fur was unusually messy. The bags under his eyes were particularly pronounced. His shoulders were hunched and and he was gripping his arms in a posture that screamed discomfort.

All in all, he looked how Lucifer felt.

The angel's brows furrowed in concern. As he set the yogurt back to rights, he asked, "Are you alright? Because - please don't be offended - you look like shit."

Husk's ears twitched at the observation. He glanced around, as if he was searching for something or someone. When he didn't find whatever - whoever? - he was looking for, he said, gruffly, "He's not a good person. Making deals with him is dangerous."

Lucifer blinked, for a moment not comprehending what the cat demon was talking about. All at once, he realized that he'd gotten so into cooking he had actually managed to forget his deal.

His near jerk reaction was to pretend he had no clue what Husk was talking about or to laugh and make light of it. As the immediate panic of the fact that keeping secrets in this place was apparently impossible wore off, the blonde was able to pick up something else in Husk's demeanor: worry.

Lucifer's expression softened at what appeared to be a genuine warning from someone who had been burned by Alastor before and was trying, in his own way, too keep someone else from doing the same. It was especially meaningful, as Lucifer doubted Alastor would be thrilled if he heard Husk warning a potential mark.

Was this what Charlie saw when she looked at their people? Husk wasn't innocent by any means. His hands were bloody both in life and in death, and it would be so easy to be blinded by that, but look deeper and there appeared to be a too big heart under it all.

It was a stark reminder that not everyone in Hell was a total lost cause, even if the sinner wasn't seeking redemption.

Lucifer placed the yogurt on the table with the rest of the food. Feeling the need to reassure Husk, but not wanting to tell the whole truth, he explained, "I'm only paying Alastor back for helping me with something I'm looking into. It's a one off thing."

Husk's deep sigh indicated he found that far from reassuring. Lucifer remembered Alastor saying he dealt predominantly in favors and figured it probably wasn't. Hands tightening around his arms, he added, "Well, be careful. Charlie's a loud, messy crier when she's happy. I don't want to see what she's like if anything happens to you."

Lucifer resisted the urge to scoff at the idea Alastor truly posed him any threat in favor of: "Charlie cries when she's happy?"

When did that started? Since when?

Husk gave him a side look, some major judgement going on in that look. He still took blantent pity on him, more likely wanting to take the opportunity to change the subject. "She and Angel got into a tiff. She was happy when he forgave her."

Something about the way Husk said it made Lucifer suspicious there was more to that story, but Lucifer let it drop. "Aw, I'm glad they made up."

Husk grunted, clearly at the end of his tolerance for mushy talk. He reached over to the selection of food, snatching one up in repayment for his good services. As he was retreating out the door, Lucifer called over, "I appreciate the warning. I'm sorry we disturbed you last night."

Husk didn't respond, opting to make off with his prize before the conversation could devolve into anything more uncomfortable.

The conversation left him in a mood that was both uplifted and off balance. He wasn't able to fall back into the rhythm of cooking, which was perhaps for the best, as there was already more than enough food laid out. He didn't have to wait long before Vaggie - looking wide awake despite the early hour - and Charlie - much less put together - trickled their way in. Both were delighted by the spread of food that awaited them.

Angel, unsurprisingly, would not be done for several more hours, but there was more than enough goodies waiting for him.

Alastor, on the other hand, never made an appearance that day. Nor did he call in his favor.

He did not make an appearance the next day either.

By the third day, Lucifer was beginning to feel a little twitchy. It was a touch bit daunting, knowing one was on the menu, but having no clue how famished the host was. Not that he usually paid attention to the redhead's eating times. Alastor was one of the only members of the hotel that had his own private feeding grounds right in his own room. He could just as easily treat all of the Pride Ring as his hunting grounds, if he were in the mood.

Lucifer didn't think the little shit would starve himself so he could he could have a bigger menu when he did call in his favor. He wouldn't put it past him, either.

By day four, Lucifer was on the verge of putting the whole thing out of his mind, figuring that Alastor was just letting him stew for a bit. Spitefully, the blonde was refusing to give him another minute of his time until the redhead deemed to make himself present. He was also getting used to the weight of their deal and could go several hours without ever once thinking of it.

Which of course meant that's when Alastor gave the chain a little tug.

Lucifer froze mid step. He'd been on his way up to his room, inspired with the idea of a new duck he just couldn't wait to add to his collection. The hallway lit up with a green flash as the chain came into existence and then just as quickly disappeared.

Slowly, Lucifer looked behind him, irritation and panic heightening his senses. There was no one else in the hallway, a perk of being one of the only two residents on this floor. He didn't hear anyone on the landing below. Nothing to suggest that anyone had seen the flash. To his knowledge, Husk was the only one that would recognize Alastor's brand of chains the best. It was possible that even if someone had seen it, they might not have known what it was.

With a forced nonchalance, the blonde made the rest of his journey to his room. When the door was closed and locked firmly behind him, he leaned back, head lightly knocking against the wood as he rested against it.

Knowing something was coming and actually being prepared for it was always two very different things.

Regardless, he had made his bed. It was time to lay in it.

Before Alastor could get impatient and drag him out, Lucifer reached opened a portal to just into the deer demon's room. Not allowing himself to hesitate, he stepped through.

The room was warm, green and black flames flickering in the fireplace. Various lamps lit the room, casting the area into a golden gloom that countered the light of the flames. The unmistakable sound of music filtered out into the room from the radio on the shelf.

At the center of the room was Alastor himself. There was a slight flush to his cheeks and his hair was just a touch out of place.

It was almost enough of a distraction from the fact that the room looked ...bigger? Could it do that?

Alastor drew all attention back to himself with a clap of his hands. "Ah! Right on time. I do so love a date that's punctual."

Lucifer resisted the urge to cross his arms, feeling the posture might be seen as defensive. Instead, he opted for placing a hand on his hip as he casually sniped back with, "Do people want to date you? Willingly?"

The redhead laughed, waving it off. "Now now, none of that, my dear. You'll ruin the mood."

The blonde glared back. Confusion more so than anything else held his tongue. He had been expecting the violence of their previous encounter. Not... whatever this was.

Alastor crossed the room, bending at the waist ever-so-slightly and holding out his hand. The familiarity of the pose did little to prepare the shorter of the two for the question of, "Do you dance, your Majesty?"

"Er," Lucifer said, intelligently. "What?"

Alastor merely raised an eyebrow at him, hand never wavering. "Do you dance?"

Lucifer blinked, frown deepening in confusion. Was Alastor messing with him? Slowly, cautiously, and curious despite himself, he raised his hand to place it in the redhead's. "Yes, but not recently." When had been the last time he'd danced? He didn't think he'd done so since it had been announced that he and Lilith were expecting a child. They had gone out to celebrate that very night. It had been a good night.

He cleared his throat, banishing the memory. "Um, I think the waltz," at least he thought that was what it was called. It had been a minute since he thought of it's name, "Was just becoming a thing at the time."

The redhead nodded. Grip firm, but gentle, he lead the smaller man out into the center of the room. Turning until they faced each other, Alastor guided Lucifer's free hand up to his shoulder, before resting his own hand in the proper position. Over on it's shelf, the radio changed channels, seemingly on it's own, until it landed on a more appropriate song.

Seamlessly, Alastor took them through the beginnings of what was unmistakably a waltz. Lucifer, having learned both rolls, was more surprised that he remembered the steps than he was to having been delegated to the following role.

Lucifer chuckled, a touch of nervousness making it through despite himself, as they made their way around the room. "Um, what are we doing?"

Alastor tsked, the response obvious. "Can't you tell, you Majesty? We're dancing."

Clearly. "Yes, but why?"

The redhead sent the blond into a impromptu spin, likely just to hear the latter yelp, before pulling him back in, just a touch closer than they had been before. "Because it's fun!"

Lucifer grumbled. Fun for Alastor, perhaps. Lucifer felt more like he was on a roller coaster with no clue where it was going. "You know how to do this sort of stuff?"

"Waltz made a bit of a come back during the 20s. I personally preferred dance that didn't require any physical contact, but it was good to know some for when I had a partner." The music changed, shifting to something a bit more upbeat. "Such as this little number."

Before Lucifer knew it, Alastor was guiding them through what was called the 'Fox trot.' "Not as fun as the Charleston, mind you, but still entertaining."

It didn't escape the King of Hell which role he was being taught. "And can you teach from the following role?"

"Ha ha!" Alastor's look was knowing. "Perhaps next time. Always have to leave them wanting more."

Well, two could play at that game.

The blonde exerted enough strength to steal control of the dance, pulling, spinning, and then forcing his taller dance partner into a dip. The radio screeching with static was the only sign of Alastor's alarm at his situation. The new angle brought their faces significantly closer together. Grin sly, Lucifer drawled, "You never know, you might giving up a little control sometimes."

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, smile all teeth. "Sounds dreadful, really. How do you stand it?"

The blond rolled his eyes, but let the little shit up anyway. The music started up again as the Alastor set himself to rights, drawing Lucifer's attention to the fact that the radio seemed far too in tune with their dance to be coincidence. "You can control radios?"

"I'm not called the 'Radio Demon' just because I prefer the medium." To demonstrate, the little device cycled through various channels, stopping briefly on a few here and there (a news channel, a cooking show, a top hits countdown), before settling on a jazz station. The dance they feel into was more freeform, than anything structured. "Why, they're practically an extension of myself!"

Oh, and there was a terrifying thought, the blond thought to himself. Even more reason never to put one if his room.

For the first time, it suddenly occurred to Lucifer that something was missing from Alastor's person. He'd only seen it during their first meeting, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen it at all. He wasn't sure, but it had seemed like it was permanently attached to the redhead's hand at the time. It hadn't seemed like an ordinary walking stick, what with the power it had been giving off.

Glancing around the room, he didn't see it anywhere. "By the way, where's that microphone of yours? I haven't seen it in a while."

Alastor went rigid. The music abruptly cut off, dousing the room in a frigid silence.

Lucifer looked up at him, intuiting he'd stepped on a hornet's nest, but not certain why. "Um, Alastor...? You okay there-- Whoa! What are you doing??"

Alastor had abruptly dropped both hands to Lucifer's waist. Using his new grip, he effortlessly lifted the small king. Somehow crossing the room in two steps (and furthering the theory he was messing with the room somehow), he just as abruptly dumped Lucifer onto his desk. Papers and a pen went flying to the floor with little care where they landed.

Lucifer caught himself before he fell over and potentially knocked his head against the wall. He had been sat down so that his seat wasn't precarious, but his legs were dangling off the side. Alastor was standing between them, crowding him. The grip on his waist slid down to his hips in bruising holding pattern. Gone was the easy, playful mood of the dance, now replaced with something near manic.

Cautiously, Lucifer pushed himself up. He didn't dare attempt to reciprocate any touch. "Alastor?"

This close, he could see the way the deer demon's composure was likely being held together by the threads he's stitched himself up with. Something was clearly wrong, but it was just as clear that Alastor did not want to talk about it.

Indeed, the Radio Demon, because that was indeed who was currently out to play, called forth the chain that represented their deal, pulling on it just enough to drag the King of Hell a touch closer to the edge of the desk by his neck. "I think it's time you uphold your end of our deal."

Getting the feeling all of this was to divert attention from whatever might have happened to the microphone (and a seemingly extreme one, in his opinion), Lucifer raised his hands, palms out, in a calming gesture. "Easy there, big boy. If you didn't want to talk about it, you could have just said so."

When the redhead failed to respond, the blond sighed. It took little effort to bring about the change, since he had done it a couple times before. The sitting position was much nicer on the tail, but the hat wasn't so great with the ears. This thought had just crossed his mind, when said hat was being lifted off his head. He had enough time to spy a shadow tentacle spiriting it off towards the chairs near the fireplace, when a nose buried itself in his hair.

His ears twitched at the tickling sensation of his hair moving around them. He made a face at the sound of a deep breathe being taken and wondered what it was with this guy and smelling him.

As if he could hear the question, Alastor said, "As I thought, your scent changes." He sounded a little too delighted for all the wrong reasons with this information.

Lucifer endured it, as it seemed that the redhead was calming down from whatever had set him off. He made a mental note to ask about the microphone at a later time. At present, he was more concerned about the mood of the person who was about to sink their teeth into him. He could almost feel the way that Alastor's whole body was slowly relaxing with each breathe he took. Could just barely feel the thumb of one of the hands still on his hips rubbing back and forth through the fabric of his pants.

Alastor continued the journey down from the top of the head to where the ears would sit on a human. Lucifer was aware that this was all about scenting - that Alastor's sense of smell likely was as enhanced at a real deer's - but he couldn't quite hold back a hitch in his breathe.

It was about the point when he felt nudging his neck that he remembered that bucks could leave scents behind to mark their territory just by rubbing their foreheads against things.

Lucifer's hand took hold of one of the little red ears that had started this whole mess in the first place, just shy of the point of pain.

He could feel Alastor's smile against his skin, just above the collar his coat. "You promised no retaliation," he admonished.

Lucifer growled. "I said you could have your fill of my blood. I never agreed to be your property."

The redhead shrugged, but didn't repeat the motion. Likely, the scent had already been left and the damage already done. The blonde resolved to make certain to remove all hints of this little encounter the first chance he got. He released the captive appendage, the poor thing flicking itself as Alastor assessed any damage.

Alastor finally pulled away, giving his temporary captive a once over in consideration. As if merely commenting on the weather, he suggested, "You should take off your coat and shirt."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending for several seconds. When it sunk in, he sputtered, flushing. "What? Why would I do that?"

Alastor leaned forward, finally releasing the blonde's hips and moving them to the desk to brace himself on either side of the before mentioned hips. "I'm not picky, but clothing doesn't taste that good," he explained, still in that matter of fact voice. "This is also likely to get messy."

Lucifer's whole body was frozen. He didn't think in that moment he remembered how to breathe. The inherent intimacy of their position and the remembered violence of their previous encounter was wreaking havoc on his body's responses. It didn't know if it wanted to get away or to lay down and take what it was receiving.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him outside of a hug or chaste pat on the hand that his signals were getting muddled at a time like this? Even more pathetically, it wasn't even getting confused for sexual signals! Was he really so touch starved he was enjoying being manhandled by a known psychopath who enjoyed playing with his meals?

Something hot and ugly rose in his chest. Survival instincts told him it wasn't safe to look at at the feeling in front of such a predator. It was a doomed endeavor, however. They were too close and Alastor was too good at reading people. Lucifer knew from the moment Alastor's smile widened, every single fang on display as he nearly salivated at the sight. That he could smell the blood in the water.

Lucifer forced himself to ignore it. Force it down and smoother it. Dealing with this revelation wasn't for here and now, in this sort of moment, where any weakness was a weapon Alastor could and would use against him. His fingers shook with minute tremors as he brought them up to pull off his coat.

Alastor backing off enough to let Lucifer remove his upper cloths felt like coming up for air. Being physically exposed had never bothered him. He had long since made peace with the way angelic, alabaster skin gave way to blackened, demonic skin along his arms. His beauty was unquestioned, even tens of thousands of years after his fall from his father's favor. A heavenly creature might have been repulsed by the unavoidable evidence of the taint of Hell, but no sinner, hellborn, or demon had ever blinked twice.

Alastor took it all in as more and more skin was revealed. Each piece of clothing sent off to join his hat. There was no heat to his gaze, something Lucifer found himself unreasonably thankful for. He wasn't certain he could have handled that on top of everything else.

He thought he might have caught a glimpse of appreciation, but he had little time to dwell on it as one of Alastor's hands took hold of his wrist, bringing it up to inspect his arm the way a butcher inspects a prospective slab of meat. Grip tightening and head tilting to the side, the Radio Demon clamped his teeth down and bit.

Lucifer hissed through his teeth, digging the claws of this free hand into edge of the desk. Those teeth drove in mercilessly, until they encountered what passed for bones in seraphim. Only then did they stop, pulling back and out. He shuddered when he felt the what could only be a sucking sensation. His arm would not be as ideal for drawing as much blood as Alastor would need to sate himself. It would be likely he would need to bite down multiple times to accomplish his goal.

But Alastor did not bite down again. After several minutes, he pulled back, black and gold fluids dribbling down his chin.

Arm throbbing even as it knitted itself back together, Lucifer exhaled. He forced himself to focus, studying his attacker's expression.

The redhead's gaze never left his arm, expression calculating. He seemed to be waiting for something and Lucifer blamed the pain for addling his brain that it took as long as it did for him to figure out why.

"Are you trying to see how fast I heal?!"

Alastor watched the skin knit back together until there wasn't a single trace of damage. Instead of looking frustrated, he seemed to only be delighted. Alastor turned his head until they were eye to eye. An unholy and fathomless hunger stared back at Lucifer, and it was all he could do not to look away, even if his captive wrist didn't allow him any retreat. Alastor's free hand came up to run a single finger down from Lucifer's collar bone to navel, pressing just short of hard enough to draw blood.

"I want to slice you open and gorge myself on your organs." Alastor's horns extended and he gained another foot in height, loosing his grip on his demonic self a little. "I want to see how many times I can devour them, watch each and everyone one of them grow back, and then do it all over again." His hand slid back up, reaching around and grabbing a fistful of the short hairs at the base of Lucifer's skull. "You're the perfect meal."

Lucifer went limp just as Alastor yanked his head to the side, pulled on his captive wrist, and then sank his teeth into his neck. Sweat broke out across his skin in response to the pain as he was reduced in that moment to little more than a royal juice box.

There was no telling how long they'd be there. He had no gauge for how hungry Alastor was. Could only ride it out until the other was finished.

After a while, Lucifer hit a tipping point. He could feel himself going a touch floaty, detaching from the pain in the only way available to him. Without giving it much thought, his free hand rose up to run a hand through the hair mere inches from his face in something akin to a petting motion. His jaw finally relaxed and he was a little surprised he hadn't bitten his tongue off.

He barely noticed when Alastor finally withdrew his teeth, allowing the skin to begin to repair itself. Barely noticed when the tight grip on his wrist began to loosen. It took effort to focus, but the still odd feel of a tongue chasing the last drips of blood helped.

When he became aware of his body again, he noted that his spine wasn't thrilled with the position he had been forced into. Noted that the room had started to go cold (or as cold as Hell ever got) as the fire had gone out at some point. Noted the softness of the hair under his fingers.

He blinked as Alastor pulled away, shuddering as he fully came back to himself. His hand dropped away to rest back on the desk. His shoulder throbbed, but it had already stopped bleeding. As he glanced down at his chest, he noted that indeed the amount of blood that had been spilled would have made quite the mess.

Alastor hummed to himself contently, releasing his grip on both Lucifer's hair and wrist. From a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the mess lingering on his chin as he stepped back away from the desk and the individual sitting on it. Despite the mess he'd made of the Devil, he himself had gotten away without a spot on his clothes.

Lucifer mustered up enough energy to glare at him. "Satisfied?"

Alastor's grin, partially hidden by the handkerchief, was lazy and bemused, some of that manic energy that always seemed to follow him calm for once. It was similar to the look he'd had that first night. "Oh, no, sire. I'm never satisfied, but I am full. Thank you ever so much for the meal."

Around Lucifer's neck, the green chain that was their deal came into being just long enough to shatter, signifying that their deal had been over. Alastor watched it go with something akin to remorse.

Lucifer himself didn't realize how much control over his own body he'd lost, how compliant it had made him, until the deal was complete. He breathed in deep, feeling the last of the fog fall away like the clouds parting. Slowly sliding off the desk, he waved a hand, using a bit of magic to clean up the blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw those shadow tentacles holding out his clothes. Wanting nothing more than to hide away from that butcher gaze, even just superficially, he reclaimed his clothes and dressed as quickly as he could without looking like he was in a hurry.

Once he felt as put back together as he was going to get, he turned his attentions back to the other occupant of the room. "Our deal is complete. I don't think I need to mention how beneficial it would be to you not to mention this to anyone?"

Alastor's whole posture was smug. "Oh, I'm happy to keep this little rendezvous to myself."

Lucifer refused to deign that with a response. Without so much as a goodbye, he spirited himself away with a wave of red smoke, just barely hearing, "How rude!" before the room disappeared.

Reappearing in his own room, Lucifer simply stood there for a long, long moment, blankly staring at nothing. Slowly, he sank to the floor, allowing his legs to finally give out under him. Everything that had happened over the last several hours crashed over him in a wave and he shuddered as it threatened to pull him back under.

In the mess of it all, he finally allowed himself to acknowledge the terrible little thing Alastor had dragged into the light, even as he loathed himself for it.

Despite being surrounded by others. Despite his reunion with his daughter and the joy of creating new bonds with her. Despite the friendships he was slowly creating with the members of the hotel.

Despite all of it all, he was still lonely.

tbc

Part 7

[preyduo]

something something cquackity ripping off cdreams flesh with his sharp teeth in the prison something about a metaphor something something cquackity eating cschlatts heart

[sxilor-1010]

How does Egon being a robot effect the plot of Ghostbusters? Asking as someone with very minimal peripheral understanding of Ghostbusters, but wants to give you an excuse to Go Off. Please educate me about this, I will read the response and be nodding appropriately throughout, even though I have none of the context

Thank you for giving me a chance to go off, and apologies if this ask was answered a few hours late! I got distracted rewatching Frozen Empire with some friends while multitasking on answering this ask- XD TW that there will be mentions of gore at the very beginning. While not shown any images or references (for obvious reasons), I want to put this here so people wouldn't get upset for not putting a warning in the first place.

To sum up a quick basis of this AU During a bust with a pretty nasty Class 7 Demon in a robotics factory, there was... a fatal accident in which Egon was brutally killed. (I'm talking sliced in half horizontally with a decapitated head to rub ectoplasm in the wound.) Out of the other injuries this ghost caused on the guys, (the least injured was Winston while Peter almost getting his eye sliced out of his skull) they were for sure traumatized seeing Egon's head croak with his last living breaths. It was hard to break the news to Janine once they got back, and the funeral was hard to sit through after seeing the stitches on Spengler's body and head in an attempt to make him look like a normal corpse. Safe to say things were awfully quiet around the Firehouse for a good while... Until the four were called to the robotic company by the people running it. The entire thing felt like a Faustian bargain, a promise that seemed too perfect to be true, but it was the least the company could do to make up for the fatal loss of Egon Spengler. It took a bit of convincing and effort in trying to electrically transfer memories and thoughts into a machine while working on the most humanoid body the company could. All the Ghostbusters could do was wait. Then, a delivery at the firehouse doors and a giant human wooden sized crate sat at the front of the door. All of them carried it up to the lab, and opened it. Laying in a heavy amount of packaging peanuts and styrofoam was Egon Spengler. The 'skin' on his body was merely realistic rubber, every detail of any freckles or birthmarks was nailed right down to the bone. His hair, while a bit shiny for any normal human being, remained its beautiful dark brown while looking curly as sheep's wool. It's only when the sounds of whirring and the brightness of blue eyes shined on the four. A couple clicks from Egon's eyes as his head turned to look at his surroundings, his friends... "...Well, this is certainly different."

[r4inyclouds]

Sigh... sometimes I forget where my heart should actually lay in the wonders of horror art instead of my obsessive need to draw stucky. I refuse to live in 2024 istg

Anyways !

Little horror doodles, I did try to play with the new TikTok trend brush, 'bromine' I believe it is called which is also a chemical! 🤓☝️

...and then I got a little bored and went off script and started adding smaller doodles... oh hey and Rain made it in!

I need to mention my OC's more.

...How was I listening to Ayesha Erotica and still took it so seriously? Goddayum

[skribblez]

WHY ARE PEOPLE FETISHIZING AND/OR ROMANTICIZING GORE AND MURDER ON MY DASH

NO YOU ARENT FUCKING "reaching the closest level of intimacy by being literally inside of them 🥰"

YOURE FUCKING SICK

[dashflashy-arts]

...uhhh yeah they'd be good friends me thinks

thanks to @kooki914 and @meowchela for sharing funnie ideas when I talked about these two!!!

How they met in my purgatory AU is under the cut! [WARNING: slight gore and body horror but pretty bloody, at least in the last image. You've been WARNED]

First thing Arthur does waking up in the realm, he literally went and unintentionally saved some guy™'s butt lol

(I actually drew the last image last year. Just thought of reusing it here bc it fits.)

[tomatoclown]

This is how Goncharov (1973) ended right?

[wickjump]

20, 29 and 36 (What’s your favourite colour?)

btw ask game is here cause i reblog SO much it’s kind of annoying probably bc these get lost SO fast. if any of yall wanna ask more of these idk :3

20 - “what’s a totally useless fact you know”

if a giraffe got guillotined it’s neck would become a blood geyser. dunno how they figured that out but yeah the pressure in the neck would make it so the giraffe’s blood would shoot out like 9 feet tall. that is taller than a grown man. you’d be fucking dwarfed by it. giraffes don’t exist im telling you

29 - “what’s your favorite song lyrics right now”

ive got a verse each for two songs. “Rosie told me not to cry / look her in her big brown eyes / hold her tight and feel no pain / her dog breath drives me insane”, which is from Animals by Alex G (reminds me of my dead dog in a way that makes me feel an odd comfort and dereality)

and from my FAVORITEST SONG EVER, “you’re always asking what is up- up with me / could never tell you what happened the day i turned seventeen / the rise of a king and the fall of a queen”. ok i lied there’s another verse i also like from that song. “never felt like a princess / i used to kid myself in this dress / that it was just how things were meant to be”

those are both from seventeen by MARINA which is my favorite song ever. marina likes to leave the songs to interpretation and i interpret this one as childhood sa + being trans which is so quirky not me projecting LOL!!!!!!! 😂😂 love the song and MARINA thoufh because they’re all up to interpretation AUGH.

listen to marina im begigng yku. favorite song is seventeen obv but buy the stars and oh no! are also rlly rlly good…!!!!!!

ANYWAY ya ok that’s my favorite song lyrics SORZ THIS WAS SO LONG i really like both of those songs they mean sososo much to me on so many different levels

36 - free question/favorite color

pink and red are both favorites of mine!!!!! i like them equally methinks,, which is why tiny wick oc is pink-themed but big winnie oc is red themed. it depends on the vibe, i don’t like them together they gotta be separate depending on the theme going on. only one at a time

my intro says yellow is a fave which??!?!?!?!?! no??? how did that get there

[brick-a-doodle-do]

i've had so much lore related thoughts lately because i was deep into the heart of lore after exile with doomsday (pt2?)

i don't rlly know how to tag this cause i have never posted a long lore post... but uhhhh

cw: gore description/implication. also some talk of insanity/mental illness, idk,,

OKAY so one being god damn, the second doomsday with doomsdaytrio. i hate how little of this plot point i've explored or seen! i've seen a few edits and stuff but...it's so climactic. so much more so than wilbur's. i think both of them had their significances and i adore each of them.

wilbur's situation in pogtopia was just straight up insanity. he was not okay. i have seen a few posts about how daunting wilbur's isolation must've been in pogtopia. because he was rarely on the server, but in canon that was not the case. wilbur, while tommy and techno bonded and tommy felt a hint of freedom, wilbur was down. in a ravine. a dim ravine. and whatever mental illnesses c!wilbur had too,,, damn. it was psychologically more impactful as a plot point than the other one was. wilbur sat in a room, scribling incoherent messes into the walls. there was a god damn chair in that room.

and tommy and techno(?) having to physically restrain him in a stone box at one point because of how gleeful he seemed, how troubled he was.

the damage wilbur caused was not colossal, techno and phil mentioned it was just the foundation for emduo's eventual uprising of l'manburgs destroyal. but, wilbur did show that he was completely lost.

as for doomsdaytrio, they presented l'manburgs downfall with more chaos, more external damage and definitely an overrule on wilbur's part historically. they got to bedrock. it was damage, something that made sure that the nation of l'manburg would not return.

also i'm kind of disappointed i didn't see more of the conversation between tommy and tubbo where tommy realizes who he's turned into; worse than the people he didn't want to be.

i've heard "the discs are worth more than you ever were", of course, but i didn't know the context. and tubbo and tommy straight up fighting physically and verbally at the same time while everyone stood around and above them. it was hard to not be reminded of "it stays in the pit" yk?

i had some idea about tubbo but i completely forget it :(

also the issue with loyalty being a common thread throughout the brief doomsday arc- just ranboo being the most unexpected traitor and tommy & techno's conversation about loyalty- their expectations of loyalty are so different yet it goes to show who they both are. and i feel awful for technoblade in that moment because yes, tommy was wearing his helmet, he'd been granted techno's axe because techno deemed him worthy, something so rare. quackity was wearing techno's armor, the set he got for the people he thought were trying to befriend him. and in the end they just used him. and even tommy ended up doing the very same thing because he realized he was an awful person for caring so much about an inanimate set of objects that he would put his best friend's life, his "sidekick", his tubbo behind a couple of music discs.

and yeah, i see where he's the asshole for saying that, and i do feel bad for him because in the grand scheme of his, just as technoblade had made it clear from the start that he was against the government and had intentions to destroy l'manburg no matter who was on his side, tommy had made it clear he wanted his discs. that is the only thing, to him, that would end the chaos.

but also, he realized he was a bad person for having something that made him a unique person and gave him motivation and he turned into "everyone else" by taking his "friendship" (although their mark on that word had never really been proven nor disproven) and tossing it aside when tommy realized there were other priorities than sticking beside a person who also had intentions.

technoblade is not a bad person for wanting to end the government or destroy l'manburg. frankly l'manburg--the government--was everything that made the dream smp chaotic. and while chaos kept the server alive and well and helped shape relationships, realistically it destroyed the good dream smp.

and tommy thinking that because he cares about something, and when he wasn't thinking said he cared about that something more than his best friend.

and then there's tubbo, who was trying. he was trying so hard to be a better person. he pointed out history repeating itself and the people around him did nothing, they reassured him, telling him that tubbo's guidance would have history be rewritten. they were foolish to say that because how many times has that ever worked? how many times have people rewritten history with a new era of peace? it's a new era of violence and a new era from a mistake. the peace only comes after the storm, and tubbo was right to question it.

the festival was a terrible idea. and technoblade standing over tubbo, tubbo who was in the pit of his late nation, with a crossbow pointing a firework at him, technoblade standing over him saying "look at your nation fall" as the firework is shot. poor fucking tubbo.

quackity too. quackity i think has the best intentions at heart, and he's showing it through other people. quackity is under tubbo's wing, always. he is supportive. he tells tubbo to not let people walk over him and to make sure he make the decisions he needs for the nation's best interest. in a way, going off of later quackity where he's built las nevadas, i think that quackity was trying to let tubbo be the person quackity wanted to be. quackity wanted to be the president, but he got overruled. shoved to the side by schlatt. i think at that point, it was the start of a journey for quackity. because once tubbo took over and quackity got a new ruler to be under, tubbo was so easy to influence, it was easy to turn him into what quackity could've been.

quackity also had the best advice of people on the server. there was phil and others too, but quackity applied his life and his trauma to other people. he never used his advice on himself, and i think that holds up my idea with quackity turning tubbo into what he wanted to be at the core, because if quackity never applied anything he told other people to himself, but his advice came from his own personal and traumatic affairs, then it had to go somewhere, and it was quackity preventing it from happening. he taught charlie everything he knew after schlatt failed, after tubbo failed, after everyone failed. he gave good, long-term, healthy tips. and he died because he didn't use it on himself.

speaking of tubbo not letting people walk all over him, i love the idea of buffbo being born from that, just his realization that people don't respect him causing him to become something that can be respected. be intimidating. and while mentally he wasn't there, i love the thought of him sitting and becoming so strong just because of quackity's advice.

and while i'm at it, i've mentioned it before but i also love the idea of wilbur, in pogtopia, being so wracked with the stress of trying to keep his temptation to press the button, attempted to cut his hands off. the idea of wilbur suggesting the idea to someone else, them seeing the flaw in it but not him.

and in exile (i am going all over the place so sorry) tommy was mining a lot while he was on the track to thriving again, and at one point he found diamonds and mentioned that they were blue, like how his eyes used to be. so just...imagine tommy, after the isolation starts to really get to him, he looks in the water one day and just shoves a diamond in his eye.

[texas-bbq-pringles]

.

[pateretfilia]

"I don't take orders from you." / from cross. unforch

@coveitous

"Pumpkin!" Jack exclaimed, then snickered. "I don't think you understand how this works!!"

He pressed a button on his remote. The Loader Bot lurched forwards on mechanical joints, closing the distance between Cross and Jack and not relinquishing its tight grasp on the former for a split second. The guns on its back could be aimed and fired at any time he chose.

"It's like this: you do now. Or you die. So, are you gonna tell me everything you know? Or am I," meaning, a lolwy grunt or a robot, not himself; how quaint, "gonna need to mop your brains up off the floor? Eh?"

[m-v3nus]

I've come to a plateau in my art and I really wanna try something new. Specifically with expressions and carnal/brutal themes. I've been really obsessed with the texture of things like liquids and guts and brutality. (Think it's because I rewatched carrie for the thousandth time) But there's something so pretty about "realistic kinda on the verge of horror gorey makes your stomach feel ill but flutter but not really" art that I love.

And I really wanna try it out.

[zabreus]

curious about your fascination with gore.

i think most people are drawn to gore the same way we’re drawn to the sun: both an overwhelming fact of life that in some way hurts us to look at directly; our instinct pushes us away from them while our curiosity pulls us in. our bodies are statistical miracles, billions of years of biological refinement, so of course we would want to know what’s inside. i personally can’t stomach seeing real gore, and i’m sure most people who can wouldn’t enjoy it in person, so we filter it through art, writing, so on. it’s our earliest and last taboo, the forbidden fruit hidden inside us all.

personally i think my own interest piqued as my health declined. there’s only so many surgeries, such invasive alterations before you become hyper-aware of the inside of your body. there’s an odd intimacy to being cut open, you learn to find the beauty in it. your flesh is fabric and you are the garment; body horror becomes avant-garde, a fashion of human anatomy. from desecration comes creation ✨🫀