#i have sinned dear father || self promo

[terrcrized]

You've got my name!

And after all you’ve been through-- Good. Good-good-good– I mean how does that feel?  HOW DOES IT FEEL?! Do you enjoy feeling                                      TERRORIZED?!

[terrcrized-a]

How does it feel?   Do you enjoy feeling terrorized? Humiliated? I mean, PANICKED?

selective josh washington from un.til daw.n est. 2021. produced by lexie.

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 4

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor opens his eyes. The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

Hiiiii guys here's my latest chapter!! so excited to share, and made another promo art! next chapter is dropping in a week! 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

Alastor’s consciousness returns in fragmented pieces — the sound of distant footfalls, the ticking of a clock. A warm thumb pressed against his wrist. 

His chest burns; his shoulder aches; his head pounds like the sound of a gun. He groans.

“Alastor?” 

The voice is familiar, but Alastor struggles to place the name. He blinks, but the light is too bright — he shields his eyes with his free hand. 

“Hollis?” he manages. 

“Ah — no,” the voice says. “It’s me. Lucifer.”

Lucifer. Alastor peers around the room: the bloodstained sheets, the tattered curtains, the window cracked open to the red sky. The two figures at his bedside. He blinks to bring them into focus. 

One is Lucifer — a flood of conflicting emotions wells up in Alastor’s throat, mostly in hues of anger. Then the other name swims to the surface: Charlie. 

“Did I die?” 

“No,” Charlie says — at the same time Lucifer says, “Yes.”

Charlie shoots Lucifer a glance, but Lucifer misses it, his attention fixed on Alastor.

“You died almost a hundred years ago,” Lucifer says.

Alastor remembers the dogs now. He takes a deep breath, the air shuddering in his lungs — he brings a hand up to his throat, but the skin is smooth and unbroken. 

Then the hard truth settles over him.

Hollis and his mother — they are both gone. It has been a hundred years since he last saw them, spoke to them — he closes his eyes as though darkness could call back the dream. 

The thumb gently strokes Alastor’s wrist, once. He opens his eyes and follows the hand back to Lucifer’s face. He frowns, and Lucifer at least has the decency to look sheepish and release him.

“Well.” Lucifer claps his hands together. “It looks like the crisis has been averted! So I’ll just — ah — be going.”

Lucifer crosses the room and freezes at the door. He snaps his fingers; the glove on Alastor’s bed disappears and reappears on Lucifer’s hand. 

“Let me know if I’m needed, Charlie,” he says softly, then disappears into the hall.

Alastor’s head is spinning, retracing the steps taken from his arrival in Hell that have landed him here, in this hotel, on the brink of death after a brief, experimental dalliance with self-sacrifice. He grasps for his final moments of wakefulness — he remembers kneeling on the carpet of his room, gasping, struggling frantically to hold his chest together as blood poured between his fingers. He glances down at his chest. 

A thin, purple scar bisects his torso where the angelic wound once festered. 

“It’s gone,” he gasps. 

“My dad spent all night healing you,” Charlie says.

The Lucifer in his dream — worming his way into Alastor’s life, incessantly questioning him about his attachments, his preferences. 

He glances at Charlie sharply.

“What did he do to me?” 

“He healed you,” Charlie says, with obvious patience. “That’s why the wound is gone.” 

Alastor searches her face, but finds no sign of concealment, her wide eyes painfully earnest. Deceit has never been dear Charlie’s strength; whatever Lucifer did to take advantage of Alastor’s moment of weakness, Charlie is ignorant.  

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Charlie says softly. 

It is only at this moment that Alastor realizes he has been speaking without his radio filter. 

“As am I,” Alastor says, and is relieved when the filter comes out smooth — no static, pops, or clicks. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to change into something clean.”

“Oh — of course!” Charlie backs away, toward the door. “When you’re feeling up to it, you should come downstairs! Everyone’s gonna be so glad you’re okay.” 

Charlie slips through the door; Alastor is left to the sound of his own breathing, to the breeze rustling through the curtains, to the ticking of the clock. To his questions.

He sits up in his bed. Phantom pain flickers across his chest, but it is a mere whisper of the agony he remembers. 

Too many questions. The New Orleans of his childhood still breathes in the corners of his mind, nearer than it has felt in any of the ninety years since his death. 

He shrugs his stiff, blood-crusted shirt off of his shoulders. 

How many decades have passed since he last called to memory the fire in Hollis’s eyes when he raised his trumpet to his lips? The way he could speak volumes with a single glance across a dinner table; that crooked smile from some private joke, for which Alastor had gladly razed the earth. 

Lucifer’s unearthly blue eyes, glowing in darkness. 

To what end did the Devil call back these long-dead memories? 

Alastor staggers to his feet, leaning against his headboard. His Shadow follows meekly behind him, cowed, obedient — a promising sign for his other powers. He snaps his ruined shirt and sheets out of existence, and breathes a sigh of relief when the angelic wound does not reopen. 

Still, he is tired. He goes about the remainder of his preparations the traditional way, stumbling about and rifling through his closet of identical shirts and trousers.

With every passing moment, the inevitability becomes clearer. Alastor’s questions are too many — and the answers are vanishingly few.

He adjusts his bowtie, smiles, and steps through the door of his room to seek out the Devil.

[AO3 LINK]

[terrcrized-a]

I'm looking at you and I got a TRICK up my sleeve               And yes I'm peeping your secrets so you get ready to leave          The media's calling oh baby that's TMZ     I'm telling your secrets so best get ready to GRIEVE !

[terrcrized-a]

And after all you’ve been through! Good, good-good-good-- I mean how does that feel? HOW DOES IT FEEL?! Do you enjoy feeling                                      TERRORIZED?!

[terrcrized-a]

Started thinking, am I stupid to be fawning        Over things that’s been HAUNTING me all my life?

[terrcrized-a]

Started thinking, am I stupid to be fawning        Over things that’s been HAUNTING me all my life?

[terrcrized-a]

Started thinking, am I stupid to be fawning        Over things that’s been HAUNTING me all my life?

[terrcrized-a]

Started thinking, am I stupid to be fawning        Over things that’s been HAUNTING me all my life?

[terrcrized-a]

Started thinking, am I stupid to be fawning         Over things that's been haunting me all my life?

[terrcrized-a]

        Hook, line, and sinker                   for every little stinker!

[terrcrized-a]

I'm looking at you and I got a trick up my sleeve       And yes I'm peeping your secrets so you get ready to leave The media's calling, oh baby that's TMZ !      I'm telling your secrets so best get ready to grieve

[terrcrized-a]

And alone, I'm spared !         My sweeter half instead                          All dead and gone                                                             All dead

[terrcrized-a]

I’m looking at you and I got a trick up my sleeve      And yes I’m peeping your secrets so you get ready to leave  The media’s calling, oh baby that’s TMZ !      I’m telling your secrets so best get ready to grieve

[terrcrized-a]

i’m a HEALER, man !             i bring people TOGETHER ! 

[terrcrized-a]

How does it feel?          Do you enjoy feeling terrorized? Humiliated? I mean, PANICKED? All those emotions that my SISTERS got to feel once one year ago!                      Only guess what?                           They didn't get to LAUGH it off!      No!           Nope!                 No, no, no!                                                       They're GONE!