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YOU WANT, UH, A TISSUE? MAYBE SOME SOAP? NEW CLOTHES?
![]() COVERED IN BLOOD MEME So you're a bit of a mess. Or you're stumbling upon a mess. What happened? There's blood everywhere, what the hell? Is it your blood, animal blood, the blood of someone you murdered? Hell, maybe you ran out of tampons. Anyway, no matter how it got there, you're (or someone you know is) covered in blood. Can it be explained away? If not, is someone going to prison? The hospital? Going to die of blood loss? Get in trouble for playing catch with the blood bags? Man, we don't know. The point is you have a mess to clean up. Or roll around in gleefully, you nasty fucks. |
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The laughter stopped immediately, and his entire body locked up. Fight or flight had long ago solidified into "freeze in sheer panic". His breath caught in his throat, and his chest ached. If that was because he had stopped breathing or because of the panic, he had never quite figured out.
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He remained perfectly still, waiting for the pain to come. Because he knew it was going to, he had already prepared his mind for the agony that would send him to the ground. Every muscle was tense in waiting for it, nerves hyper aware of everything.
Michael didn't make him wait, Lucifer enjoyed it.
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A small shiver rocked him, and after a long delay he blinked. "What..?"
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He blinked again, licking his lips and flexing his hands, confused. "What?"
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Confused, he fumbled for the door handle, still not sure what to make of anything that was happening. But he got the door open, and slid inside. Automatically, with a reflex he didn't remember, he pulled the belt on.
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He crossed to the driver's side and got into the truck. "Is there anything you need?"
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He played with the belt, head down, tugging on it quietly. "Need? I don't....." There had to be some hook here, something he was missing.
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"It always tastes wrong..." He whispered, leaning against the window.
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He said nothing, staring out the window. This was a very persistent illusion, he still couldn't make sense of it.
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"No. Nobody needs anything in hell." If he asked for something it would not work, and it would hurt. Disappointment always did.
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He grunted rather than argue with the guy, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.
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He grunted softly in response, half dozing, it was quiet enough and the window was warm without being too hot.
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He cracked an eye open, some trace of wry humor curling his lips. "Are we making time on the Oregon trail? What if we get Dysentery?" He took the water though, even if it was a lie, taking slow, careful sips of it.
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"You never get my jokes." He complained softly, still slowly drinking the water. It tasted fine. No after taste of sulfur, no sharp, sour tang that characterized Michael's creations. Either Michael was getting better at it or he was getting immune.
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