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loftylockjaw · 18 days ago

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: A dive bar in town PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw), Owen (@apaininyourneck), & Emilio (@mortemoppetere) SUMMARY: Wyatt confronts Owen in a bar about him snooping around the Grit Pit, and tries to get him to talk about what's going on. Owen refuses and it gets heated. Wyatt is removed from the bar after hurling death threats, and Emilio, who was quietly watching the whole thing go down, approaches the shifter with an offer. CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of emotional abuse

—

Being approached by someone he had pissed off at some point was by no means a new experience for Owen. Quite the opposite actually, it was more of a given by the time he’d spent just over a few months in this godforsaken town. People were easily insulted and a lot of them dumb enough to try and start shit with a 6 '3'’ hunter. Granted, a lot of them didn’t know just what sort of strength the lithe figure actually contained but most ended up finding out in some way or another. Or they got verbally torn to shreds, depending on the amount of frustrations Owen needed to vent on that particular day. Either way, there had been a commonality between all of them and that was enjoyment. It probably didn’t come as a surprise that these conflicts amused him, stoked the fire in him that tended to rub people the wrong way.

What might have come as a surprise was just how little he was going to enjoy this particular confrontation, though.

Maybe it was a good thing that Owen was ‘room starting to spin just a little bit’ drunk, or maybe that was the reason he hadn’t noticed Wyatt’s presence before it was too late. Fucking Wyatt. It was hard to really remember where things had been heading before shit blew up, somewhere weird definitely but… well, he was finding it hard to muster up any sort of emotion other than ‘pissy as all hell’ when dealing with the people who were part of the reason he was in this current mess. Unwitting participants or not, Owen was still perfectly torn between pure hatred and the reason he was filled with hatred - the fact that he’d been foolish enough to let himself care. No surprises on which emotion was easiest to put into words and actions.

So, there was no room to run. Not that he wanted to run, Owen didn’t think of himself as someone who ran away from shit (god, did he want to run away from all of this) and maybe this confrontation would even be good. Not in any sane way, it would completely and utterly suck but that was good. His attempts to feel nothing towards the shifter that had accidentally witnessed more of Owen than any other living person had been pathetically useless. Getting yelled at might help. Even though he felt his whole body tense when Wyatt was actually looming over him - not that this tension was visible from the way Owen leaned back in the small booth, a lazy but mostly drunken grin greeting the other man.

—

Being the one who got cast aside was a familiar role, though it usually involved a bit more fanfare. Until Xóchitl came along, the reaction had always been the same, too. Wyatt was angry for having been kicked to the curb like last week’s trash, and the dumper was pissed off at his anger. With Xó, Wyatt had done his best to not let the hurt transform him into a hateful, miserable thing, and it’d gone well, hadn’t it? In the weeks following her decision, his kindness and understanding had earned him her favor (maybe—hopefully) and she wanted to see him again. But such grace could not be extended to Owen, because Owen would never willingly admit that anything had been happening between them. So the anger was allowed free reign, the lamia falling back into old patterns that Owen himself had witnessed back in Boston, from the perspective of a friend. He knew what this kind of thing would do to Wyatt, and he’d done it anyway. Worst of all, now he was being an ass about it. It was expected to a degree, but still managed to sting.

Hearing Felix’s recounting of a recent, bizarre interaction with the slayer in the alley by the Pit was like adding fuel to an already-burning fire: Owen had been looking for him? Hoping to talk to him? Why? It only managed to create a million more questions in the shifter’s mind, and he’d never been great at letting things remain unknown. That’s why, when he happened to spot the slayer in some dive bar in town, he didn’t retreat. He narrowed his eyes at the man, taking his time and keeping an eye on him, getting a drink before approaching the table Owen was sitting at. The smile he was greeted with made Wyatt’s skin prickle and start to feel warm, the anger getting confused with something else where it swirled in his gut and made his heart rate quicken. Still he kept his expression even, coming to a stop in front of the slayer and giving him a thorough once-over, like a butcher deciding which cut to make first in a carcass.

“Lurkin’ ‘round the Pit now, are we? That’s a pretty pathetic move, if you ask me. Ain’t you got any better ways to spend your time?” Wyatt took a sip of his drink, hoping that the liquor would steel his nerves, as he might not be able to mimic nonchalance for long.

—

For a while, things had mostly worked out in Owen’s favor. Not really, things had gone to shit plenty of times but he’d developed a knack for insisting, whichever way things ended up going, that it was the outcome he’d desired or planned for all along. Those had been simpler times and there was no pretending that he wanted any of this. Granted, this thing with him and Wyatt had always been doomed to end here - Rosel had just sped up the process. The cracks had already begun to form even before Owen’s sudden departure, the foundation of a decent friendship made weak once they’d inevitably fallen into bed together and then even flimsier once the domesticity had settled in. In a way, his bitch of an ex had also sped up the process of combustion by way of forcing this proximity with Wyatt, making it feel, for a moment, normal to share a space with someone who occasionally made you breakfast and moaned about the lack of gratitude for it.

Probably not a good thing that Owen’s mind was drunkenly, and very unhelpfully, conjuring up further memories from the time spent at the inviting house. Even the knowledge that Wyatt was shacking it up with some undead scum of the earth wasn’t enough to keep other knowledge at bay, the kind that still lived in his skin and could remind him how it felt to be truly close to the man currently staring down at him with disdain. He was warm with it, both in the familiar way that had him wondering just how badly trying for a quick round somewhere secluded would go, as well as in the much more disturbing way of feeling comfort, or the ghost of it. The familiarity of a passing touch or knowing grin or for fuck’s sake, a scaled tail wrapped around his midsection for a night of sleep better than most others he could remember.

So no, Owen hadn’t been expecting things to go his way after the mishap at The Grit Pit with the squirrely fighter. He’d definitely shoved it into some dark corner of his mind and hoped it wouldn’t come up again but that was also expecting too much from this fucked up hand he’d been dealt. How much of the pitiful display of lies and truth all garbled together had reached Wyatt? Had the fighter repeated it all, word for word, maybe added on a flourish of desperation for the dramatics of it all? Not that Owen cared except he fucking did. “Sure I do. And for the record, I wasn’t actually there for you. Your nervous friend just had no business knowing why I was really there.”

It sounded entirely unconvincing, which was hilarious in its own way considering it really was the truth, and now he was simply unraveling (or trying to unravel) the shit lie made up to cover something that would cause plenty of trouble if it reached the wrong people. Somehow, Owen was honestly more comfortable with telling Wyatt he’d murdered a hunter in cold blood rather than have him think he’d been there to grovel. “So don’t worry about it, don’t have anything to say to you.”

—

He knew the smart thing to do would be to turn around and walk away. He could finish his drink in peace and leave, and just hope that whatever was keeping Owen in this fucking town would be done soon, and the man would move on. The smart thing did not involve prodding him for more information to get answers he really shouldn’t care about, but the anger was winning out over reason. Owen had threatened Caleb (thankfully without knowing it was Caleb he was threatening) ((yet)), and that fact sat in the back of Wyatt’s brain like a bag of bricks ready to drag him to the bottom of the lake. This hunter was a danger to people he cared about, and he wanted to know why.

So instead of taking Owen at his word that they didn’t have anything to discuss, Wyatt decided that they did. “Seems you do,” he started, not sitting opposite Owen but instead deciding to continue standing, preferring having the height on the hunter for as long as he could. “You still ain’t told me why the fuck you’re here.” The question had been posed in private messages at least twice, and each time it had gone unanswered. If there was something that Wyatt could do to get him out of here (not a favor, of course), then he wanted to hear it.

—

Obviously there were things Wyatt should have been worried about, telling him otherwise was a stone cold lie, but the shifter only knew half of it - the part that involved a zombie or a mare or a vampire (Owen really fucking hoped it wasn’t a vampire) that had managed to earn a spot in Wyatt’s heart. Which in retrospect, clearly wasn’t that hard of a task if someone as prickly as Owen had somehow managed it and obviously, he was aware of the hypocrisy of judging the other man’s caring and blatantly ignoring it. No, Wyatt got to be blissfully unaware of the looming threat to his life, a threat kept at bay by so much spilled blood and humiliation. Wyatt could allow himself to stand there and demand answers as if he wasn’t inadvertently responsible for the carnage of these last few months.

“Why should I? I don’t owe you shit,” Owen scoffed, neck craned to meet the full force of those angry, blue eyes. It was possible they contained something more than just anger but everything in his line of vision was slightly blurry and his chest burned with the consequences of caring and the last time he’d seen Wyatt, he’d had the luxury of being able to reach out and touch which was muddling most of his coherent thoughts (there weren’t too many to begin with at this point). “If you’re worried then that’s your fucking fault for messing around with some nasty, undead fucker. They’ll get theirs eventually and it will have nothing to do with why I’m here, that part will just be for the fun of it.”

Owen had long since decided that anyone Rosel had made him play lapdog for would meet their gruesome end when the time was right but whoever Wyatt thought he was here protecting? Well, that one would be personal. Or more personal. Far from fair but Owen had never claimed to not be a petty son of a bitch.

“But definitely do try to talk me out of it, that sounds hilarious.” Green eyes searched blue for any sign that the (mostly) calm facade was about to crack - speaking of fair, it only seemed right that Wyatt lose his shit at least once considering the drunken hissy fit Owen had thrown over Rosel’s return. The one where Wyatt had been a calm beacon of understanding followed by the perfect way to vent frustrations and yeah, Owen really needed this to turn into an altercation soon before his treacherous mind was allowed further reminiscing.

—

Still no answer, and he was threatening them again. It didn’t matter that Owen didn’t know exactly who he was promising to kill, because Wyatt knew he meant it. Whatever business had him back in Wicked’s Rest and acting against his own will had him angry enough to lash out at anyone he perceived as responsible, and there was no doubt in Wyatt’s mind that Owen would first turn on the undead he’d been forced to protect out of spite. When and where that would happen Wyatt couldn’t even begin to guess, but he didn’t have the luxury of waiting around to find out. Not when he knew Caleb’s name would be on that list, and god love him, he also knew that Caleb wasn’t exactly prepared to defend himself from a slayer. At least not in a way that wouldn’t end with him turning feral and dangerous to everyone.

The anger flared, intermixed with fear, and it made Wyatt feel sick. He wanted to yell at Owen, wanted to grab him by his stupid neck and slam his head into the table, wanted to tell him he was a mistake. He wanted to kill him, truthfully, even being aware of the agony that would follow. All sorts of violent scenes ran through his mind and the shifter was fighting tooth and nail to not act on them, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight as his teeth ground together. He was quiet, listening to those venomous words spill from lips he’d once been able to draw much more pleasant sounds from. He needed to be smart about this. For once in his fucking life, he needed to not act on his instinct to hurt and maim, and instead consider the option that had the best chance of getting him somewhere.

He drew in a long, slow breath, hoping that it would calm him (it didn’t). Instead of throwing a punch like he really wanted to, Wyatt sank into a squat, one arm propped on the edge of the table, the other resting on his thigh. “I don’t think you really wanna do that to me,” he tried, his voice quiet. It wasn’t even, though — despite his best efforts to mask it, the shifter still pretty much wore his heart on his sleeve. His anger was palpable, but so was the fear and pain that convinced him to try and be civil. “I think that whatever’s got your hands tied behind your back is makin’ you meaner ‘n usual. And I think you’re tryin’ to take it out on me, ‘cuz some part’ah you still cares.” His eyes narrowed. “Now I could and I should take your head clean off for threatenin’ to kill someone I care about. I can take care’ah myself, but I know people that can’t, and I ain’t about to just sit back n’ let ‘em fend for themselves. But I’m also tryin’ to be less impulsive these days, so why don’t you just go ahead n’ tell me… what’s goin’ on? And stop makin’ promises you ain’t never gonna keep.”

—

Silence dragged on and despite the haze of alcohol, Owen didn’t miss the telltale signs of frustration, a confirmation that he was finally getting under Wyatt’s skin, the visible tension in every muscle Owen was reluctantly familiar with. If it came to it, he’d probably even allow those clenched fists to get in a hit or two before reacting - granted, Owen didn’t like his odds against the real Wyatt but the full ten foot gator probably wouldn’t be called on inside a crowded bar. Probably. Owen found he didn’t much care either way, the thought of sharp claws or teeth tearing into his flesh one that provided quite a neutral reaction, maybe even a hidden sense of calm. He wondered if Wyatt would regret the taste of his blood afterwards, seek comfort from the undead creature whose protection would be guaranteed with the single act of brutality.

Owen doubted it would be regret that lasted too long, if his death (or murder) even managed to inspire any emotion at all.

The taunting smile didn’t betray any of that, such an easy expression to maintain after years of practice, but it faltered when Wyatt willingly gave up the position of physically standing taller. It took a moment for the quiet words to really register, to break through the expected reactions Owen had been preparing for - anger or avoidance. This was neither, this was… it was tempting is what it was. Owen had been pulled taut for over a year now, no reprieve to be found in the usual ways or the unusual ways, no relying on the slivers of emotional connection that had gotten him into this fucked up mess in the first place. It was a soft offer, a genuine one to unload the horrors of this past year, maybe even accept a helping hand.

If only there was a part of him left that believed such a kindness to actually be a viable option, instead of one that would inevitably make things worse or, and that part stung, simply a manipulation to ensure the safety of someone who mattered more than Owen.

“Must have gotten knocked on the head a few times too often if this is what you see as someone caring.” Owen finally spoke, hoping the venom in his voice made up for the very obvious hesitation, the moment of weakness where he’d wanted nothing more than to give in to pretending someone cared and that it wouldn’t end up ruining him. He leaned in closer, practiced smug turn of the lips back in its place, even if it lacked all emotion. “That’s pretty fucked up, Barlow.”

Owen rose to his feet, wanted - no, needed - Wyatt out of that condescending crouch, needed to crush any and all misconceptions that a few soft spoken words in that ridiculous accent were enough to break him (they almost were - was there anything left to break?). “You don’t know shit about what I want or what I won’t do. You really think you know me?” His laugh was clipped, cold. “No wonder you’re going to end up alone, being this fucking delusional.”

—

The patience that Wyatt had been clinging to was gone like a flash in the pan — igniting an inferno as it made a quick exit, stage left. Fine. If Owen wanted to be an insufferable shitstain, let him. If Owen craved Wyatt’s anger that badly, then who was he to deny him? He’d fucking drown him in it.

There was nothing more to say as he stood, knowing that no words he could conjure would make a difference to the hunter. There was no reasoning with him. All attempts to appeal to his better nature were wasted, because he had no better fucking nature. He was a miserable, wretched thing, and it left Wyatt with one option: kill him before he figured out who the lamia was protecting. End this before it had a chance to get any worse, and spare whoever else in the process. Wyatt didn’t know (because Owen wouldn’t fucking tell him), and he didn’t care. Not anymore.

Only… he did. It was a convincing act, though, as he let his fist do the talking for the first time that night. “Go fuck yourself,” he snarled, wasting no time winding up the second punctuated statement of knuckles-to-face-justice. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly justice, but it sure felt good.

There wasn’t time to deliver a third, violent point as his arm was caught by someone, and he felt more hands pulling on his jacket. Remembering the time he’d tried to attack Inge in public and the strangers around them had defended her, pinning him to the ground until the police arrived, his panic spiked. But of course instead of being reasonable and displaying submission to the people pulling him off of Owen, the fighter did what he did best: he made the situation worse. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” he bellowed, tears stinging his eyes. There were too many people dragging him toward the door for him to manage to stay on his feet enough to get away from them, so all he could do was yell and scream until his back met the cold, snowy pavement outside.

It was actually infuriating to realize that Owen wasn’t getting tossed out alongside him, where he very much would have liked to finish the job. Blinking away the snow that tried to collect on his eyelashes as it fell from the sky, the shifter gave a grunt and rolled over onto his side, pushing himself upright. There’d be time. He didn’t know where Owen was staying these days, but he knew the kinds of places the slayer was liable to crop up. And when he found him again, he was going to rip his fucking throat out.

—

Mission accomplished with none of the satisfaction. Wyatt could throw a punch but in this form, only with the strength of a competent human, so it was far from the heaviest hit Owen had received, barely even stung through the blanket of booze and thrumming of whatever fucking emotion was currently wrestling for control. Physically, Owen was fine, this would only leave a bruise that would be gone by tomorrow evening. The metaphorical gut punch of the genuine murderous intent in Wyatt’s eyes, that one did leave a mark even if it had been the intended effect of Owen’s scathing remarks and threats. If a part of him had been clinging onto some pitiful hope that it wouldn’t work, well, that was a part he needed to work harder still to squash.

The third wind up for a punch was foiled and Owen watched with detached interest as strangers started pulling Wyatt away. Remembered a time years and years ago when either of them had been the one to hold back the other, or sometimes done the opposite and provided backup for whatever brawl their big mouths had started. It was a curious thing, wondering what might have been if he hadn’t let Rosel run him out of the city. Of course, Owen was tired of ‘what if’ scenarios, too many of them to count but essentially all of them boiling down to the only constant in his life - the person that had irreparably sharpened his edges and shown him the consequences of caring.

Wyatt’s face, contorted in rage and desperation as he screamed out his threats was a pretty good visual for the consequences of caring, too.

As soon as Wyatt had been forced outside, the quiet only lasted for a second, business as usual resuming. People luckily had the common sense not to approach Owen once he’d sat back down, washing down the mouthful of blood with what remained of his drink. It was cold out, the shifter wouldn’t last long trying to wait him out so Owen probably wasn’t getting torn to shreds this evening. Rubbing at his face, at sore spots he would barely feel in the morning, Owen was quick to open his eyes again, banishing the image of absolute betrayal on Wyatt’s face. Maybe with a few more drinks, he’d be able to swing a couple of hours of dreamless sleep. He wouldn’t but it was all he could do to pretend it was an option as he waved for a refill.

—

Restlessness was a familiar thing for Emilio. He’d found sitting still difficult since childhood, despite his mother’s attempts to correct it. He wasn’t good at waiting for the opportune moment to do something, wasn’t good at utilizing things only when it was most beneficial to do so. When he found something exploitable, he was impulsive. He moved right away. If he saw a weak spot in his opponent’s form, he didn’t wait for an opening — he aimed his next hit directly at the target. When he got information that could lead to a result he wanted, he rarely found himself capable of sitting on it long enough to make a plan. Instead, he acted immediately. He dug his fingernails in, he carved out a path for himself even when an easier one might have made itself available had he only waited. It wasn’t always effective. It wasn’t always smart. But it had gotten him this far.

Now, he just needed it to get him a little farther.

They’d learned plenty from Owen’s apartment. With the information he’d already had pooled together with what Eve had known and what he’d learned through his scooping, Emilio almost had the full story. All that was really left, all he really needed was a name. There was someone pulling Owen’s strings, someone else in charge of what he was up to. And, as much as Emilio would have loved to take Owen out, taking out whoever was really behind the behavior was the priority. After, if Owen was still a problem, he was one Emilio would be happy to solve. But killing him without taking care of the woman calling the shots would only fuck things up for everyone.

He could have waited things out. He could have given Eve a chance to do her digging, and she probably would have found something eventually. They might have had to break into Owen’s place again, might have needed to do some more surveillance, but Eve’s methods were the kind that usually got results sooner or later. If he waited, he’d probably know more soon. But Emilio was bad at waiting. Thirty-odd years later, and he’d still never quite mastered sitting still.

But he had gotten a little better at blending in. Granted, it wasn’t hard when Owen was several drinks in and swaying in his seat, paying far more attention to another familiar face than Emilio hunched in a corner at the opposite end of the bar watching him. Wyatt took up all the other slayer’s attention, first in quiet conversation and then in angry blows. Emilio tensed as he watched it all go down, half-tempted to join in just to get a few shots in himself. But… Wyatt’s name was on that list, and Owen clearly knew him well enough to get pretty firmly under his skin. Emilio could punch Owen later. (He was planning on it.) Right now, a conversation might do him a little better.

He ducked out of the bar as everyone, including Owen, remained distracted with the aftermath of the fight. It wasn’t hard to find Wyatt sitting in the snow, looking angry and pathetic and probably exactly the same way Emilio looked half the damn time. The slayer pulled his jacket a little tighter around his midsection as he approached the lamia, standing back far enough so that Wyatt wouldn’t get the idea that he was offering to help him to his feet. (Emilio didn’t think either of them had any interest in that.)

“That seemed to go well,” he greeted dryly, nodding his head slightly. “You at least get a few good ones in? Ought to try stabbing him next time. More fun that way.” He let the words hang, let Wyatt grow used to his presence like one might do a wild animal before continuing. “We should talk. I think we’ve got a couple common goals between us.”

—

The reaction to Emilio’s voice was made more pronounced by how raw he felt right now, his head snapping up to meet the slayer’s dark gaze, teeth clenched in a scowl and eyes wide. His heart hammered in his chest, blood roared past his ears, and he nearly flew at the other man out of instinct, ready to unleash this anger upon the first living thing stupid enough to engage with him. But there wasn’t a cage here, nor a jeering crowd. No cattle prods, no sickly stench of old blood and poorly sanitized floors where viscera had been smeared across it like a meaty fruit preserve on burnt toast. Something was ringing, drowning the other’s voice out with a high-pitched wine, and his vision blurred.

“What?” Wyatt was panting like he’d just run a marathon, eyes squeezing shut. When he opened them again, the world was in focus, and it was quieter. Car tires hissed on the road as they drove through wet slush, headlight beams sweeping across the pair as the vehicle turned at the intersection. He could see Emilio’s face with more clarity for just long enough to settle his nerves, muscles relaxing as he sighed and heaved himself up onto his feet. “The hell you wanna talk about?” He almost made a snarky comment about Emilio’s impeccable timing, or perhaps his lack of assistance — but he wouldn’t have wanted the help, of course. If everyone had just let him, he’d have wanted to snuff Owen’s light out himself, to watch that smug smile fall slack as his eyes became unfocused and cloudy. (No, he didn’t.) ((Yes, he did.))

—

It was comforting, in a fucked up kind of way, to know that he wasn’t the only person who Owen had this kind of effect on. Emilio disliked the way the other slayer always seemed to know exactly what to say to get under his skin, hated knowing that Owen’s words still echoed in his head over a year after he’d first said them. Now, having spoken with Eve and understanding that it had been an incredibly intentional move on Owen’s part, he was even angrier. There were few things he hated more than being manipulated, and hadn’t Owen done exactly that? Emilio wanted to march back into the bar and punch the guy at the thought, and given the expression on Wyatt’s face, he was far from the only one. But there were other factors at play here. Emilio wasn’t good at sitting still, but he could control the direction in which he moved.

He rolled his eyes as Wyatt’s anger turned towards him, though he wasn’t surprised by it. Wasn’t it the same thing he would have done, roles reversed? Even now, part of him wanted to snap back at the lamia just for getting short with him. He did his best to stop himself… at least for the moment. He could snipe at Wyatt later. (He probably would, knowing himself.) “The asshole in the bar whose face you just bruised your hand on,” he replied. “Bet it felt good. Bet I can give you something that feels better. If you like punching him, you’ll really like fucking him over.” Or… maybe he wouldn’t. Wyatt’s name was on that list, the one of people Owen… apparently gave some kind of a shit about. (But so was Emilio’s. He still couldn’t figure out why.) “Guessing you know something’s going on with him. I’m… one puzzle piece short of knowing what. Hoping you might be able to help.”

—

“I don’t wanna fuck him over,” Wyatt snapped, “I wanna fuckin’ kill him.” He heaved another sigh, trying to encourage himself to calm down rather than get more worked up — what good had charging into a non-work-related fight headfirst ever done him in the past? It’d gotten Felix in trouble with Leo, is what it’d done. And while there certainly wasn’t anything remotely near the same stakes in this situation, maybe Emilio knew something he didn’t. Obviously Emilio knew something he didn’t, but it kind of sounded like Wyatt might know something Emilio didn’t, from what he was saying.

What was he saying?

“But yeah, no shit something’s goin’ on with him. Fucker won’t tell me what, I done asked about twenty times, now. Fuck.” Dusting snow off his ass, the shifter dragged his chin up again to squint at Emilio. The last time they’d crossed paths, Emilio had given him a hell of a whack in the head with a tree branch. Threatened to throw a knife in his ass. All because of that stupid, nosy girl — point was, they weren’t on the best of terms. Not the worst, either… even if the bar was practically on the floor. “What? What’s this puzzle, huh? What you need to know so damn bad?”

—

That was good news. Emilio’s expression shifted just a little, some of the tension melting away at the idea that he and Wyatt did have a common goal here. “Well,” he said slowly, “we can do that, too.” He ignored the strange churning in his gut at the idea, ignored the way his fingers itched. He wanted Owen dead, just like Wyatt did. If that meant letting Wyatt do the deed, that was okay. Wasn’t it? (Maybe that was the source of his sudden discomfort; maybe Emilio disliked the idea of not getting to kill Owen himself. He clung to the thought, declared it the truth in the privacy of his own mind for the audience of one uncertain hunter.)

He watched Wyatt warily, trying to decide if this was going to be a conversation or if the lamia was going to start throwing punches again. The former would be better for both of them, but he wasn’t sure he’d mind a fight, either. Wyatt seemed willing to talk, though, and Emilio shrugged at his response. No shit Owen wasn’t talking. Owen never talked, unless his dynamic with Wyatt had been… something wholly different than what Emilio knew of the other slayer. It was rare for any hunter to open up about their problems; he couldn’t imagine Owen partaking in it. But if Wyatt asked twenty times, didn’t that mean he’d expected an answer? Didn’t that mean Emilio was on the right track, asking him about all this? It was a good sign. “Someone’s pulling his strings,” he said, cutting right to the meat of things. “Holding a list of people he cares about over his head, using them to make him do what they want him to do. Shit he wouldn’t do on his own. Killing allies, protecting enemies. Shit like that.” He paused a moment. “Your names on the list.” He left out the fact that his was, too. “I figure maybe you know who might be calling the shots.”

—

The expression Wyatt wore was wholly unimpressed as Emilio spoke of some kind of puppet master. That couldn't be right, could it? Short of brainwashing (Owen was acting differently, sure, but not like he was brainwashed) what the hell was there for someone to hold over his head that he'd care enough about to do what someone else told him? It sounded like a load of crap. He was rolling his eyes in disbelief when Emilio said it was a list of people — yeah fuckin’ right. Owen didn't give a shit about anyone. “Sounds to me like you got bad info,” Wyatt griped, pointing a finger toward the interior of the bar he'd been so unceremoniously removed from. “That couyon in there don't give a flyin’ fuck ‘bout nobody but himself.” As he said it, his voice damn near cracked. The hurt came slamming into him full force all over again, and he tried to cover it by clearing his throat and straightening out his winter jacket, avoiding eye contact with Emilio in favor of glancing down the street in the direction of his parked car. “Look, I don't wanna fuckin' hang out in the cold no more, so if you got more to say, say it while we walk.” He stepped around Emilio, head down and shoulders hunched, begging his emotions to stop flaring up like that before something really embarrassing happened.

—

In a lot of ways, Emilio was inclined to agree with Wyatt. Seeing his own name on that list made it seem impossible that it was something being held over Owen’s head, because hadn’t Owen made it pretty goddamn obvious that he’d like to see Emilio in a shallow grave? Maybe the idea of someone else killing Emilio would be enough to make Owen hesitate — after all, Emilio had decided that he’d be a little bitter if he wasn’t the one to deliver the killing blow to Owen, and it’d make sense if that was a thing that went both ways — but not enough to turn him into this. Maybe the added weight of names like Wyatt’s (whose reaction definitely seemed to speak of something deeper than anything Emilio had ever had with Owen) and his family back home were enough to add to it. Emilio tried not to let himself think of the younger siblings whose names Eve had uncovered, tried not to let himself remember the way their ages so closely reflected the ages Flora and Jaime had been when they’d died. It was hard to think of anything else, so he focused on Wyatt. On the expression on his face, on the anger that could only really come from a betrayal from someone close. It was a good move, asking Wyatt for thoughts. It seemed like he might actually know something.

“That’s what I thought, too,” he admitted with a small shrug. “But shit’s been coming together, and I can’t think of any other reason for it. Unless you’ve got some idea of what might make him hang out with vampires, protect them.” If Wyatt knew Owen as well as he seemed to, he probably knew how he felt about the undead. Eve’s discovery of dead hunters was a big one, but Emilio got the feeling that Owen’s newfound chumminess with people he’d been out to kill before his disappearance would shock Wyatt a little more. Glancing to the car, Emilio felt some quiet semblance of relief. He didn’t want to be out in the cold either… but he didn’t like admitting things like that. “Sure,” he agreed, falling into step beside the lamia. “I don’t know much, but I know enough. Last time I saw him, it was at a bar full of vampires. He was being a prick — not something that’s much of a surprise, I’m sure — and let slip that I’m who I am. One of his buddies mentioned that she wouldn’t like it. So… I know there’s somebody pulling his strings. I just don’t know who. Figured…” He trailed off, glancing back to the bar. “You know him better than I do. He and I never talked much.”

—

Wyatt was silent as they walked to his car, mostly because he was trying to dissect what Emilio was telling him. It was a lot, and piecing it all out was proving to be too much of a task for him while he was this fuckin’ cold. So he just listened, unlocking all the car doors and silently circling around to the driver’s side to drop into the seat and turn the key in the ignition, swiping the temperature dial all the way up. He looked confused and annoyed when he finally turned his attention to Emilio again, staring at him blankly for a second before shaking his head and opening the center console between them, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He held the box out to Emilio for a beat, then shook one out for himself and pinched it between his lips.

“He’s protectin’ vampires?” he spoke around the grit. It was somehow both a surprise and not — Wyatt had known that Owen’s information was being given to zombies, at least, as some sort of protection… but vampires? He’d always hated them the most. So much so that Wyatt had once found himself in a dodgy situation with a vampire, and rather than seeking kinship with a fellow supernatural being, he had wondered if Owen would smile when he heard Wyatt had killed a vampire. He’d wondered if the slayer would be proud of him.

So no, it made no fucking sense that he’d be protecting them now. Not unless Emilio was right, which barely made any fucking more sense.

Lighting the cigarette, Wyatt set the lighter on the center console and cracked his window just enough to let the smoke escape the vehicle. “You said it’s a she? Whoever’s got him in a bind?” And she wanted him to protect the undead… He couldn’t begin to fathom why, but now that vampires were on the brain and Emilio was talking about a mystery woman, Wyatt felt his hand start to tremble.

“She… there’s… one, I guess. That I can think of. She was… or is… a vampire.” And she’d arrived back in town just after Owen’s apartment had been overrun by the goo, and he’d moved in with Wyatt. “I practically begged the idiot to let me eat ‘er for ‘im, but he kept sayin’ no…” And then he vanished without a trace.

“... ah, fuck, I’m a god damned idiot.” Pressing a palm over his eyes, Wyatt let out a long, weary sigh, then took a drag of his grit. “Yeah. Yeah, I know your girl.” He nodded and then shook his head, disappointed in his own inability to ever connect a single fucking dot without having all the clues laid out for him like a toddler with a fit-the-shapes-in-the-holes puzzle box. “Name’s Rosel. Never knew her last name, sorry. She n’ Owen were sweet on each other, years ago, back when we was both livin’ in Boston. Ended bad. Obviously he never forgave her, n’ he’s been takin’ his anger out on vamps ever since.” Which meant the list of people Owen was protecting was real, and his name was really on it.

He felt sick again.

“I don’t really wanna kill him,” the lamia added in a small, defeated voice. “I’m pissed, n’ he’s an idiot, but… if it’s really… fuck. Fuckin’ god damnit.”

—

Emilio settled into the car, refusing to let the relief show on his face as Wyatt blasted the heat. He took the offered cigarette, sliding it between his lips and pulling a lighter from his pocket as the lamia got settled. It was clear that he wasn’t the only one put off by Owen’s strange behavior, and that came as something of a relief. Though he’d never admit to it, he was well aware of his habit of letting his emotions get the better of him from time to time, and Owen had proven that he was very capable of manipulating this habit. Hadn’t Eve implied that that was why he’d shoved Emilio against that wall and ripped him open by flinging his own insecurities in his face? Wasn’t that what had landed him here to begin with? Even with Wyatt, the first time they’d met, Emilio had let what he felt get in the way of what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to be. If he couldn’t trust his own thoughts on Owen’s behavior, the fact that Wyatt seemed to share them was invaluable.

“More than once now,” he confirmed, feeling a little more vindicated at the shock Wyatt expressed in response. Killing hunters was jarring, of course. Emilio knew Eve was put off by it, knew she was shocked by the revelation. And it wasn’t as if Emilio wasn’t shocked by that tidbit himself, but… at the same time, Emilio was certain Owen would kill him given half the chance. It seemed far less out of character than protecting a group of people he’d always been vocal about hating.

Wyatt might have been the only person out there who could clue Emilio in on the why. Owen had clearly taken measures to distance himself from everyone in his life, but the closeness he’d shared with those people before that decision could prove to be all they needed now. Whatever Wyatt and Owen had shared, it was clearly something deep enough to inspire a very personal anger in the lamia. Emilio watched the gears turning in his mind, nodding his head at the question. “That’s what the vampire at the bar said,” he confirmed. “Didn’t get to ask for details. Owen ran after him and killed him right after. First halfway normal thing he’s done since he got back to town, actually.” It was the why behind that particular slaying that brought up questions.

And Wyatt might just have the answer to that question. He seemed to be grappling with something, and Emilio leaned forward a little as he puzzled it out. There was a woman who had apparently been in Owen’s life just before his disappearance. He’d had some kind of problem with her, but hadn’t let Wyatt solve it with his teeth. The timing added up.

It took a lot of self control not to react when Wyatt confirmed he knew who they were looking for. Part of Emilio wanted to clap, or pound a fist against the side of the car, or cheer, but he grounded himself with a neutral nod instead. “Never would have taken him for the type,” he commented, taking a long drag of the cigarette. Rosel. “Don’t need much more than that. I can find out the rest with a little digging.” And with Eve’s help, probably. Knowing Rosel’s name wouldn’t make her motivations fall into their laps; Eve’s skills on a computer were far more likely to be the thing that made that happen.

He wasn’t really expecting Wyatt to say anything else. When he did, Emilio felt a rush of… something wash over him. Maybe it was disappointment; maybe it was relief. He thought it was a little odd that he couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. “Then you won’t kill him,” he replied. He wondered if he would, wondered if driving a knife through Owen’s heart would feel as good as shoving that stake into his side had or if it would only leave him feeling empty. (Wasn’t there only one way to find out? Shouldn’t he give it a try? The thought made his stomach churn; he didn’t know why.) “But she has to go. Lot of names on that list. Kids. Long as she’s around, they’re in trouble. If you still want to take a bite out of her… I wouldn’t say no to another person on my side here.” There was no way of knowing whether Owen would help them take out Rosel or whether they’d have to fight against him, too. And while Emilio was (perhaps foolishly) confident in his ability to take out both on his own, it’d be a hell of a lot easier with someone like Wyatt on his side. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do here. But this is what I’m doing. You can help if you want to.”

—

Maybe it was foolish to let sentiment get in the way of reason. Well, was it reason? All Wyatt had known up to this point was that Owen seemed to want nothing to do with him anymore, and that he’d been told by someone to make himself available to play bodyguard for Caleb. But that someone was Rosel, which he should have figured out months ago, and the reason was blackmail, and it seemed to be any undead that the woman deemed valuable. That wasn’t Owen’s fault, was it? His attitude was his own fucking fault, but feeling like he didn’t have a choice…? Wyatt was reminded of that night in the ring with Samir. He’d begged his handler to pit him against someone else and his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t say no. (He could have, but it would have cost him something he couldn’t quantify, and he was too much of a coward to face that unknown.) Really, Owen’s situation here was less his fault in some ways (he was trying to protect people he cared about, and wasn’t it nobler to sacrifice his own happiness and safety for their sake? Though it just meant different people were dying—) and more his fault in others. Wyatt had offered to help him kill Rosel more than once, and the slayer had let his pride get in the way of accepting. Now look where they were! This could have been dealt with a long time ago, but no! Of course it fucking wasn’t! The anger was building in his chest, and he couldn’t rightly decide if he was more pissed at Rosel or Owen. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to kill Owen, but he couldn’t be certain about how he’d feel in the moment. Part of him worried that if Owen had the chance to hurl one more insult at him, he’d fucking snap. And if he was there with Emilio… there wasn’t going to be anyone to hold him back. It didn’t matter that Owen was doing it to protect him. He didn’t have to be such a cunt about it.

Killing Rosel, though, that much he could agree to without any weight on his conscience. “Sure,” he muttered, sucking on the cigarette like his life depended on it. “Find ‘er, show me where to go, n’ I’ll make sure she don’t fuckin’ get back up again.” He thought about Owen sitting in that bar, alone and shiftfaced, and he wanted to march back inside and grab him by the shoulders and shake him. This ain’t how you protect people, he wanted to shout at him. Stupid idiot. Stupid fucking idiot.

Flicking the half-finished cigarette out the window, Wyatt rolled it back up and gripped the steering wheel tightly, leaning his head forward onto the backs of his hands. He wanted to rip the mechanism from the dashboard, wanted to shred the seats and kick out the windshield. He also wanted to cry, and he didn’t need an audience for that. “We done here, compadre?”

—

Wyatt was clearly having his own kind of crisis, and Emilio tried not to let himself focus on it. It was easier for him to think of Owen exclusively as he had been lately, as he had been in that empty apartment when he’d shoved Emilio against the wall and dissected every thought he’d ever berated himself with to voice them aloud. He didn’t want to think of the circumstances that might have encouraged Wyatt to offer to kill Rosel on Owen’s behalf, didn’t want to think about the conflicted expression on the lamia’s face or the fact that the list of names being used to hold Owen in line included his own. He wanted things to be simple, because they used to be. Both with Owen and in general. He missed the time when Owen was just a guy he fucked around with every now and then, missed the time when killing the undead was a thing he didn’t have to think about. He missed the certainty he used to carry with him. He couldn’t make slaying simple again, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t make morality an easy thing to tackle, couldn’t make himself forget the complicated churning of emotions that had lived in his gut since the day Flora was born or the way they’d outlived her just as he had. Life couldn’t be black and white, so he needed things with Owen to be. He needed this situation to be easy so that something was. Focusing on Wyatt’s reaction, on the obvious turmoil surrounding him, would make that impossible. So Emilio, like the coward he always had been, looked away. He focused on the glass of the window and the way it fogged with his breath, focused on the cigarette between his fingers and the way it felt just a little different than his usual brand. If he could make things simple, he would be fine. If he could make it so he didn’t have to think, this whole thing would be easier. He wanted, so badly, for it to be easier.

“Don’t think I’m just sending you off on your own,” he huffed, taking another drag of the cigarette. “I’m going to be there, too. Might be me that takes her out, might be you. Important thing is that she’s dust when this is over.” He was as involved as Wyatt was, though he had no intention of sharing that fact. His name on Owen’s list still wasn’t a thing that made any kind of sense to him. He’d rather forget about it entirely, rather avoid publicizing it even if Wyatt knowing might benefit them all in the long run. Emilio was nothing if not stubborn, after all.

Now that he had the information he needed, the interior of the car felt stifling. Wyatt’s conflict was still there on full display, still making things more complicated than Emilio wanted them to be, still humanizing Owen in a way Emilio hadn’t allowed in months now. When he was alone, it was simple to think of Owen as a monster. When he was with someone like Wyatt or Eve, it got harder. He reached for the door handle with a nod, relieved at the prospect of being released from the complexities of the situation, even if he knew it was only temporary. “We’re done,” he agreed, “for now. I’ll know more soon. When I do, I’ll give you a call.” With one last healthy drag of the cigarette, he opened the car door and tossed it on the cement before stepping out into the cold. Somehow, it was still preferable to the inside of the vehicle with the complicated conflict of a man he didn’t want to think of as having any qualities worth saving. Glancing back to Wyatt, he nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” And then, with little fanfare, he was gone. He had a lot to look into.

#. thread ;#. take your shot ;#. with ; emilio cortez #. with ; owen lundkvist #emotional abuse tw

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thedeerman · 9 months ago

Text

RadioApple Fic:

Do You Want To Know?

Ch4: Notice

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

TW for descriptions of PTSD symptoms.

Niffty wasn’t someone that paid a whole lot of attention to the dynamics between the individual members of the hotel. She scurried around sweeping floors and stabbing bugs most of the day, but always seemed to notice when something seemed amiss with Alastor. How could she not, with how long they've been bound together? She can’t pretend to know quite how his mind works, but when there’s a shift in his moods, it isn’t missed by the little angel killer.

And between Niffty’s keen eye and Shadow’s worried glances, she knew something was wrong. It wasn’t often that the two interacted directly, but they had their own way of communication, a lot like the way an old couple does. Looks, glares, shrugs. Glances when no one else is looking. Not even Alastor seemed to know of the odd relationship Niffty and Shadow shared.

And so it shouldn’t be surprising that Niffty started spending a little more time bug hunting in the general vicinity of the tall, red demon. And maybe doing a little bit more eavesdropping than usual. After all, she might be the only soul in the hotel that could go unnoticed by the radio demon. And what she started noticing was that Alastor and the bad boy king were fighting less and looking at each other more. It started a week or two after the new hotel was put together, and slowly, ever so slowly, it started looking like something else was starting to form. Not hatred, not quite a rivalry even. Niffty couldn’t place it. The little maid shrugged and went back the task at hand: stabbing little bugs and running about the building.

The morning started out like every other recent one for Lucifer. Open eyes, remember where he is, think of his daughter, think of Alastor. That last part was actually getting ridiculous, thank you very much. Coffee time, he thinks to himself as he rolls out of bed. And then, unexpectedly, I miss sharing my bed with someone. He shakes his head. His loneliness really can’t rear its ugly head this early in the day. As he stretches and yawns, he struggles to remember if he was scheduled to be doing something today. Charlie will let me know, he thinks. Snapping his fingers, he changes from his comfy apple patterned pajamas into his usual outfit and glances at himself in the mirror. He decides that maybe today he’ll shake it up a bit, but can’t quite decide on how. He almost gives up, but then has an idea. With a wave of his hand, his plain black bowtie transforms into one that's a deep blood red with black accents. He looks at himself in the mirror again and acknowledges that in all likeliness, no one will notice the change. But he smiles, thinking that it was nice just to change something for himself for once, not to look a certain way for someone else.

As Lucifer gets ready to leave his room, he remembers the envelope on his desk. He looks at it for a moment and thoughts of its recipient flood his mind. He rolls his eyes at himself and stuffs the letter in his pocket. Lifting his hand to open a portal downstairs, he paused. Maybe… I should walk. He thinks. Maybe I’ll run into… His thoughts immediately screech to a halt as there’s a knock on his door. He panics for a moment, wondering if his rogue thoughts really could summon the bastard. But then he hears “Dad! Are you up?” and relaxes. “One second honey!” he responds, taking one last look in the mirror before heading to the door.

Charlie’s surprise visit only took a moment, as she quickly explained that something important had come up and the morning meeting was canceled. Before Lucifer could respond to this, Charlie held out an envelope and piece of paper. “It’s your letter for the day, and the prompt for the next one. I already talked to the person who had your name, so I figured I could deliver it before I’m off! Oh! And do you have yours? I can make sure it gets to you know who on my way out!” Charlie’s smile always put Lucifer at ease, even with the mention of the demon that was always clouding his thoughts. He strode over to his desk to grab the letter he wrote and happily handed her his envelope for the day. “Oh! One last thing before I go- Please don’t forget to check the chore board for the day!” Ah yes, the chore board. Whenever Charlie was going to be out of the hotel for the day, she made sure to fill out a whiteboard with everyone’s tasks. He nodded, still smiling. “Of course. Anything for you, duckling.” With that, Charlie smiled and turned to go off and do whatever else it was she needed to get done before leaving.

Lucifer’s curiosity got the best of him and before he could even get back to his desk, he was tearing open the letter. Dropping the envelope on the floor next to the first one, he sat and read the letter.

“Name one thing that you’re curious about in regards to your person.”

One thing I am curious about is your absence throughout the day. Aside from scheduled meetings and chores, you almost always seem to be missing.

Lucifer’s face drops a bit. Could it be Husk? No, he didn’t seem like the type to make it so obvious, but then again… The fallen angel sat at his desk pondering for several minutes and thought about his recent interactions with the bartender. Remembering his drink. Listening to his woes. Those golden eyes drilling into his soul… Lucifer shook his head. I suppose it doesn’t really matter much either way. Then he looked at the paper for his next letter. His next letter to… Alastor… He’d spent the past couple of weeks doing everything in his power to avoid the radio demon, both physically and mentally. Thinking about him always led to unpleasant thoughts and feelings, so he would just shove it down and out of his mind whenever possible. But when he was forced to acknowledge the guy, there was just no denying his magnetic energy.

He looked at the paper in front of him. The new prompt reads “Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.” The devil groans. There are tons of things about Alastor that interest him. Everything from how he talks to how he slinks through the shadows to his talent on the piano that he’s only very briefly experienced but would honestly like to again and- UGH. Come on, Lucifer. This isn’t that hard. After a few more moments of being lost in his endless thoughts, he decides that this can wait until later. He remembered Charlie’s instruction to check the white board downstairs and opened up his portal, this time deciding for sure against walking, and stepped into the lobby.

Alastor’s night was long and restless. Images of his battle with Adam flashed in his mind one after another, and sitting in the dark and quiet of his room made it so much worse. There were no external stimuli to focus on to keep himself grounded. Instead, despite his best attempts, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Adam’s masked face again. The carelessness of his fighting style. That guitar/ax monstrosity. The blinding light that broke his staff, rendering him defenseless. The swing of the holy weapon that tore through his very being, sending him flying against a wall. Those terrible bright golden wings looming over his damaged body as he melted away into the shadows in his last effort to survive. That laugh. The buffoon’s last words before nearly taking Alastor out of existence may have just been a shitty remark, but for a terrifying moment, radio really was almost dead.

In the early morning hours, the restless demon decided sleep wasn’t worth the effort anymore and got out of bed. His never-failing smile was feeling a bit more strained than it should. He picked up his microphone staff, clutching it in his hands, again remembering the sensation of light tearing through the middle of it. The radio demon closed his eyes for a moment before putting a happy demon face on and snapping his fingers to change into his usual outfit. With that he melted into shadow and made his way down to the kitchen, where a certain mug desperately needed to be filled with hot, bitter, beautiful caffeine.

Before he can get there, however, he hears movement coming from the meeting room. He peers past the doorway to see that Charlie is scribbling names and chores on a board in a hurry. Alastor raised an eyebrow as he considered whether or not he should disturb the girl in the middle of her task, but then remembered his reason for heading to the kitchen to begin with. He continued down the hallway, this time walking instead of traveling through the shadows. After last night, he needed something to wake him up.

And something certainly did. It wasn’t the coffee, or the flurry of demons coming and going as they got breakfast or prepared for their day. It wasn’t the princess, first asking for his envelope from the day prior- to which he reached into a small portal to grab it from his desk- or even the second time she spoke to him a while later when she was on her way out and handed him the newly acquired envelope from his anonymous writer. At the time, he placed the envelope, and new prompt paper, into his coat pocket to bother with later on. But no, it was none of these small events that woke him up. It was an even smaller one. It was when he decided to check his assigned duty for the day. His eyes grew wide and his smile grew tense as he read the board two, three, four, five times just to make sure that he understood what he was seeing.

Unfortunately, his sleepless eyes were not deceiving him. The task itself wasn’t awful- Clearing out a room that had been being used as storage for various things and then redesigning the room in a new layout. The details were left in a folder pinned to the board with a magnet. Simple. Easy. A ONE person job. But no, of course dear Charlotte wouldn’t want any of them taking on too big of a project on their own… Alastor sighed. He may as well accept that the outlook of his day was not great. He took the folder containing the plans for the new room and his third mug of coffee to the lobby, where he waited for his majesty to arrive.

It wasn’t terribly long before the king made his appearance, opening a hole in the fabric of Hell and stepping through it into the hotel lobby. The radio demon watched, silently, as the king started towards the meeting room and the chore board. When he came back moments later, the king’s eyes scanned the lounge area until they landed on the radio demon. Waiting for him. Alastor noticed that the king’s demeanor seemed flustered all of a sudden, and tilted his head to a degree that wouldn’t have been possible were he alive. Lucifer sighed and slumped his shoulders (in acceptance?), as he started walking towards Alastor perched on his favorite chair.

Time to put on a show, the demon thinks to himself. His smile grew and his eyes widened as he made eye contact with the short king himself. Before he could stand, Lucifer held his hand out. Alastor glanced at his open palm and then back up at the angel standing before him. His glowing yellow eyes seem to pierce through his soul for just a moment before Lucifer finally says, “The folder?” Alastor blinks. Lucifer sighs and continues. “The folder with the plans that Charlie left? Mind if I take a moment to look it over?” Alastor blinked once more, feeling completely frozen. He expected the fallen angel to demand that he hand over the instructions and storm off to do the task himself, or at least give the sinner some sort of jab about his involvement being too much, or something, anything- “Uh, hello..?” Alastor is ripped from his thoughts as Lucifer speaks up again. “Why of course, your majesty!” The demon stands up, enjoying how much the king of hell himself had to tilt his head back just to look up at him. Alastor loved looking down at the king. Figuratively and literally.

After supplying Lucifer with the folder of notes, the radio demon started walking towards the room in question. The devil didn’t follow immediately, first looking over the papers left to them by his daughter. Eventually, Lucifer catches up and starts talking. Alastor struggled to keep his face from showing his disinterest in the words coming from the fallen angel’s mouth, and yet his mind fails to wander the way it usually does when he’s ignoring someone. His attention stays firmly in the present, on the voice of the angel walking beside him. The words meant nothing, but his voice was-

“Hey, are you even listening?” Alastor feels his ears perk up a bit at the angel’s tone. “Yes, of course, sire. How could I ever fail to acknowledge the royalty walking beside me? You have my full attention!” His response was heavily coated in sarcasm, but it wasn’t a lie. He was paying attention to Lucifer. Just not to the words coming from his mouth. Either way, he was listening more closely now after being called out. “So, as I was saying,” the king continued, “Charlie wants the hotel staff’s stuff on the third floor, in that room next to the elevator, so we should probably do that part first. The new guests are going to have to keep their things to what they can fit in their room so we can have this space open before we remodel.” He continued listing off the steps to finishing the task as smoothly as possible while Alastor continued walking in silence beside him.

Lucifer wasn’t exactly thrilled at being partnered up with the radio demon for this little task, but the faster they got it done, the faster Lucifer could stop forcing himself to keep his eyes off of one of the most interesting beings in the building. Why was that so hard? They worked without speaking at first, but Lucifer couldn’t get his mind off of today’s writing prompt. 'Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.' First of all, it hasn’t gone unnoticed that these prompts are phrased really weird. 'Your Person?' Who says that? Alastor was far from what the angel would call “his person.” Lucifer’s cheeks warm just a tad as he shakes the thoughts from his head. Secondly, he didn’t want to be interested in this guy, not one bit. And yet…

In the middle of his wandering thoughts, he noticed a slight movement from the corner of his eye. When he looked, what looked back was Alastor’s shadow. Lucifer scanned the room. Alastor himself had left a few moments ago, but his odd shadow thing remained. It smiled, and although it was creepy just like Alastor’s, it was also… Warm? Friendly? Lucifer had to admit, the ability to pick up on the intentions and emotions of beings around him was always useful when it came up. He couldn’t read most souls very easily, but for some reason this shadow was expressive enough to make itself clear, even without speaking or moving. Lucifer cocked his head just a bit and opened his mouth to say something, but before any words could come, the shadow frowned and fled out of the open door. In an instant, Lucifer was left alone in the room again. But now, his curiosity about the odd thing that followed Alastor around was at the forefront of his mind as he worked to sort through boxes of stored items. I’ve already mentioned his shadow, so maybe it wouldn’t be super weird to put that in today’s letter too…

Lucifer’s mind continued to wander further and further as he stood in the mostly empty room, briefly contemplating how to proceed with the task he was given. There were only a few things left that had to be removed from the room, so he used his magic to start gathering them up to move them. It was only after a floating box broke under the weight of whatever was in it that he realized, too late, that not all of the boxes were exactly… sturdy. He rolled his eyes and started gathering up the miscellaneous things that ended up on the floor. He was nearly done cleaning up his mess when something from the broken box caught his eye. A…radio? I wonder if it belongs to Alastor… It was an older style, round on top and made of shiny reddish wood that felt beautifully smooth when Lucifer picked the object up. He flipped it around a few times to make sure nothing on it seemed damaged and went to place it back with the other objects from the box.

Of course, before he could get there, Alastor comes back into the room. Lucifer freezes momentarily, looking rapidly between the demon in the doorway and the radio in his hands. Shit shit shit “Uhh… It fell from a box, but it seems okay, uh, is- um, is it yours?” The demon didn't move at first, only his eyes fell down to the radio in the fallen angel’s hands. After a brutal second of nothing, Alastor speaks. “Well, it was mine, but it seems to have found a new owner.” Lucifer’s mouth falls open but fails to produce any words. The radio demon continues, “I have plenty of them, of course. I’d noticed that you’ve never mentioned my radio show, so I suppose you’ve been unable to listen, hmm?” Lucifer is still in shock. He’s definitely blushing. Why? Don’t ask him, he sure as fuck doesn’t know. But what he does know is that Alastor, Radio Demon Alastor, the batshit crazy asshole that seems to hate Lucifer with a passion, just offered him a gift. And not just any gift, a beautiful old fashioned radio, so he could listen to…

“Shall we move on to the next phase of this little project?” Alastor asks, as if he didn’t just shatter Lucifer’s understanding of him as a person. Why would he give him something, without asking anything in return… “No.” Lucifer frowns a bit at the radio in his hands. “You wouldn’t give me this without expecting something back.” The demon’s eyes opened a bit wider at the accusation. “What is it that you want from me?” Lucifer demands.

Alastor slowly steps into the room, towards Lucifer, never breaking eye contact. The angel does everything in his power not to step backwards, to hold his ground. This is going to end in another argument… At least another week in group therapy if I can’t keep my cool. He stands there, unmoving, until Alastor is only inches away. Please don’t turn this into a thing… Face to face, the two stared at each other for a very long moment. Too long of a moment. Just as Lucifer began to consider fleeing through a quick portal back to his room just to escape the sudden tension, Alastor put a small piece of paper in Lucifer’s hand, careful not to touch him directly. The demon never broke eye contact, not until he quickly turned and left the room.

Lucifer was left awestruck at what just happened. The whole exchange couldn’t have lasted longer than a minute, and yet it felt like it had been a full hour since picking up the old wooden radio. Breaking from his trance, he remembered to look at the paper in his hand. It was a… business card? In a delicate cursive font, it read “Tune in every evening at 4:30 for a broadcast with style” Under that was a number. A radio channel. It took a moment to sink in that this was one of the cards Alastor handed out to some of the guests as an invitation to tune in to his evening broadcast. He’s… Inviting me to listen to his show…? Lucifer wasn’t sure he would be interested in whatever it was Alastor considered to be a “broadcast with style,” but if he took the radio, it was an unspoken deal. He would be expected to listen at least once. He looked down at the device’s shiny surface, thinking of where in his room he could set it. Sighing, he accepted that this might not be a terrible thing. Hopefully it’ll at least help with these damn letters.

It’s some hours later when Alastor retires to his tower to prepare for the evening’s broadcast. He didn’t host a live talk show every night, more often than not his broadcasts were of his preferred music. Tonight, he was planning on throwing on some jazz tunes. Who didn’t like jazz? More importantly, he was also planning on leaving the tower during his show. He couldn’t help it, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had to know.

Earlier, when Alastor walked into the room he and Lucifer were tasked with organizing, he caught the fallen angel holding an old radio, looking over it with care, and the radio demon had an idea. His smile became manic, his eyes sharp. He slowly, menacingly, tried to back the startled king into a corner. But the angel would not budge. He trembled the tiniest bit, holding the radio close to his chest, his eyes widening as he waited for Alastor’s next move. The demon absolutely relished the look on Lucifer’s face. It wasn’t fear, no. That tremble was in… anticipation? Anticipation of what, he wondered? Another spat? Alastor didn’t have the energy today. Besides, he had much bigger ideas…

And now, at 4:45 in the evening, the first step of that plan was put into motion. He slipped through the halls in the shadows, thankfully not seen by anyone on the way. As he reached the other end of the hotel, he pondered what the best option was to go about this. He wanted to be discreet, he only needed to know if Lucifer had taken the bait. The demon sent his shadow ahead, into the king’s room.

Alastor made his way back to his own side of the building after getting the piece of information he needed. He didn’t bother snooping around this time, he’d wait for Lucifer to be out for that. His smile widened as he walked down the long hall back to his tower. He wondered how many terrible things he could put on the air right now, things that would rattle the king, make him wish he had never set foot here. No… Alastor thought. Wouldn’t be worth the effort… Just need to have patience. But right alongside the thoughts of how to get under Lucifer’s skin, how to make the king squirm under his gaze, there was another thought lingering. A thought that just kept repeating itself, over and over and over again. But unlike the more recent times these intruding thoughts had happened, this wasn’t one of fear or panic or death. It was two simple words. Words that meant nothing. Words he shouldn’t even bother acknowledging. But his mind was far from under his control, and the radio demon’s smile slightly fell into a look of annoyance as he allowed the thought to be heard. He’s listening.

Back in his tower, he decided to turn his attention to the letter in his pocket. He had completely forgotten about it in his exhausted early morning state. Alastor removed the letter in the same fashion that he did the day before, once again burning the envelope into a pile of ash as he watched. Opening the folded letter, he read the words on the paper before him.

“Name one thing that you’re curious about in regards to your person”

Alastor,

One thing I’m curious about is your shadow. Is it a part of you? Its own being? Does it make its own choices? Does it have a name?

The demon’s face doesn’t give away his irritation, but the shadow notices nonetheless. It looks over his shoulder, reading the letter. Alastor brushes the entity aside, giving it a clear warning glare. The shadow frowned and settled on the floor, unwilling to further upset its master. Why would anyone be curious about this…thing? It was a tool. No more, no less. Of course it doesn't have a name. Alastor paused, imagining all of his possessions being named. His microphone? Coat? Coffee mug? Ah yes, perhaps they ALL deserve a title! The demon chuckled to himself at the thought. The questions in the letter do make Alastor think for a moment, however. The shadow wasn’t him, but it wasn’t not him. And it did make some choices without direct orders. Maybe it was a tad more than a tool. Perhaps it was more like an extra limb that sometimes had a mind of its own. Yes, that was more accurate.

After deciding on that, Alastor turns to the day’s letter prompt. It reads, “Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.” His eyes close for a moment. This shouldn’t be entirely difficult. It would be easy to throw a couple of insults in there as well for good measure. The demon calmly listened to the jazz song playing on his show, glad for some quality music as background noise. He spent several minutes there, leaning back in his desk chair with his eyes closed. He was tired, but not tired enough to fall asleep. He sat there, without a single violent thought, thinking of the angel living on the other side of the hotel. Alastor let his mind wander farther than usual. He let his mind wander towards Lucifer.

His power. His potential. His sudden, (previously absent) dedication to the hotel and his daughter. Ah, yes. That’s a good one for the letter, the demon thought. What else? His likely struggle with being tall enough to ride any of the rollercoasters at his flashy little theme park? Ha, he’s just so small! The demon laughed to himself quietly, thinking of his many ‘short king’ jokes. Such a tiny thing. And without that ridiculous hat it’s even more noticeable. He thought for a moment about being so close to the king earlier today, when he tried to intimidate him into backing away and failed. The way the angel had to arch his neck just to look up at him, their absolutely ridiculous height difference making it impossible for the demon not to look down at him. It was amusing, that’s for sure. But as Alastor’s mind continues to wander, he wonders how else he could manage to get close enough to the tiny king to get to look down on him like that again…

Alastor’s eyes shot wide open. He wanted to hit himself. What the fuck? He could attempt to lie to himself, say that his desire was a simple manifestation of his need to be the most dominant energy in the room. And in some ways, it was. But there was more. More that Alastor just could not figure out. Why was he planning to be around him again? He needed to get this letter done and over with and move on with his evening.

“Name three interesting things you’ve noticed about your person.”

Alastor sighs as he gives in to his frustration and starts writing whatever he can come up with.

On the other side of the hotel, Lucifer fought with the very same piece of paper, barely managing to put the thing together before bed. He attempted to do it earlier while listening to some music, but… Let’s be fair, Alastor’s radio show was distracting! It was… surprisingly nice. Lucifer kept waiting for the calming music to stop and the strange, demonic talk show to start, but it never did. Instead, he slowly drifted to sleep only 30 minutes in.

Lucifer awoke later that night, having missed dinner by at least an hour. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, reaching for the radio now playing nothing but static. After turning it off, he once again remembered that he hadn’t yet completed his daughter’s assignment. Turning to the empty page again, he begins to write.

Chapter five below!

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #fanfic #mine #do you want to know

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eyesofshan-if · 1 year ago

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random but what would the ros be like in a modern au?

answered this before but i'll do it with the new ROs as well!! + ???'s personality has changed a little

hansol: middle school p.e teacher, social worker or firefighter. hansol would prefer a job that allows him to interact with and help others, but also lets him use his athleticism in the process. would be the eye candy of all the old ladies in his neighbourhood

yongsun: art/history museum curator, specifically one that is involved in preserving fading cultures and heritages. that or a fashion designer. probably would be a polyglot who has an irrational hatred of duolingo.

wooyoung: freelance photographer. loves living as and how he likes, according to his own schedule, meeting new people. he enjoys capturing happy moments for others, whether it be weddings, festivals, events. would run a travel social media on the side with a pretty large following (for both his content and personality)

raon: something in STEM. a pharmacologist, software engineer or data scientist. she's a logical person by nature, and leans towards jobs that reduce direct interaction with people. drinks three coffees a day (no, it's not an addiction)

no-eul: competitive martial artist, sportsperson or bodyguard. no-eul needs a job with risk and a constant change in environment to stimulate them. legendary for displaying bad sportsmanship on live television and being completely proud about it

????: lawyer. that or a veterinarian for dangerous animals (like steve irwin without the wholesomeness). they'd excel at debate and arguments, and with their stone cold demeanour they'd be pretty excellent at winning them too. wouldn't mind using underhanded methods to win. has a thing for leather jackets

#asks #o: wooyoung's letters #hansol #yongsun #wooyoung #noeul #raon #????

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beanghostprincess · 1 year ago

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Sanji and his rat sprinkles in his pocket. She's always on his shoulder. It's his baby that rat is his child???? He makes miniature dishes and put someone little plates for her to eat like a little person??? Everyone seems to like sprinkles except for Zoro. They don't interact with each other. Chopper will translate what she's saying sometimes and She really says anything positive about him. (They will warm up to each other and will slowly start tolerating each other's existence, but that's it)

It took a while for Nami to get used to it but she warned up eventually now she picks her up and pets her like normal. Luffy tho he is not normal about it, he will put her on his head and have her chill under his hat. He will put his hat on top of her trapping her and watches her try to escape. He will grab her by her paws and make her dance or use her as an action figure or something. Sanji always ends up yelling at him saying that she's not a toy.

Robin let's sprinkles sit on the table next to her when she's reading. One time they couldn't find her and sanji was freaking the fuck out. They looked for hours, turns out she climbed into Franky's stomach chamber and took a nap, he put a little pillow in there after. Her other hiding space is Brooke's hair it's a nice little pillow, she also climbed in and out of his eye sockets it's adorable for everyone on the ship but terrifying for everyone else. Jinbe is so gentle with her he's so worried he's going to harm her he bought her a little robe like his. She's so cute

The new member of the red hair pirate is tartar sauce. A 16 lb sun bleached tuxedo cat around 2 or 3 years old, he hates almost every one he's come across. He was the only cat that cost 1 berrie, when given to yasopp he was attached instantly. He loves tartar sauce and tartar sauce loves him. He's on his shoulder all the time he's on his lap whenever he sits and on his chest waking him up every morning. He makes the sweetest little noises when running up to him after an adventure with his crew. With the other crewmates it's indifference or hatred. He hates shanks the most (birds also dislike shanks. They're just certain animals that don't fuck with him for some weird reason) he can't go near him without being swiped at. He doesn't like uta either (because why not) she forgot something on the ship once she went back to get it and ended up being trapped in a room with tartar sauce every time she tried to move closer to the door to leave he would make the worst howling and hissing noise. She was stuck for 45 minutes.

He's very indifferent to Benn. He will walk past him ignoring his presence even if he makes noises to get his attention he doesn't care. Benn doesn't try to pick him up or pet him he just knows it's not a good idea. He loves buggy when he met him shanks tried to warn him about the ship's cat. All buggy head was cat and was on the prowl for it. He cradles tartar sauce like a baby petting his stomach while he purrs he's such a sweetheart why are you so scared of him? He likes to play with the frills on his hat and will head butt his nose.

Other people tartar sauce likes or tolerates is usopp He smells like yasopp not just like him but he's similar in sent, he's associated with him somehow so he's fine. He will sit on his lap occasionally but there are no pets, with sanji he exists and he will allow him to be in his presence as long as he doesn't try to touch him or look at him for too long. He likes zeff (I love shipping no matter how "cracked" it is) he can pet him and give him food that's all he's allowed to do with his hissing. Zeff thinks he's cute very picky and mean but cute nonetheless. He wishes he would leave when they want to be alone it's awkward having him there staring at them It kills the mood.

Yasopp was terrified he wouldn't like him and would attack like he did with his other potential partners but it worked out. he's allowed in the restaurant If someone has something to say they can fucking leave or get clawed that's up to them. He's not allowed in the kitchen but will roam around the baratie hissing at people. He hisses at the marines that come in the most out of everyone.

The straw hats have a rat and the red hairs have a cat they're both looking for the one piece. It is quite literally a cat and mouse game

These are all so accurate and cute 😭😭 I want them to have a pet rat so bad now. They'd love her so much. And Yasopp with his cat is just so fucking hilarious, help. Maybe the One Piece was the pets we found along the way.

#THIS IS SO FUNNY PLEASE EVERYONE READ IT AWKEGNLKESFNKLEWENKWFWN #i love sprinkles and tartar sauce so true #one piece #red hair pirates #strawhat pirates

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amynchan · 6 years ago

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This whole time I’ve been rereading the HP series, I’ve grown more and more of a dislike/hatred of Severus Snape. And I told myself ‘I’m supposed to hate him right now, there’s a redemption at the end, remember?’

I’m at the redemption. And I literally cannot believe that this is what made most of us go ‘aw, poor baby!’

9 yo: Stalks the girl he has a crush on for months and does not hide his contempt for her sister while barely keeping a lid on his own prejudiced beliefs about muggles (while simultaneously congratulating her on being ‘better’ than muggles’)

11 yo: Finally gets a chance to talk to girl he likes, tells her things that are contrary to what he believes because he thinks that she’ll like that (ie that being a muggle doesn’t impact wizardry [it doesn’t, but he doesn’t actually think that and it shows]), and then proceeds to hurt her sister for interrupting them

also 11 yo: convinces Lily to spy on her sister because he’s bewildered that a muggle actually managed to get a reply from a great wizard (his motivations here are p obvious)

also 11 yo: attempts to comfort Lily (who is v heartbroken about Petunia being mad at her) by telling her that ‘She’s only a--’ and muggle is left unsaid.

13-14 yo: is visibly jealous of James Potter’s success and the rescue (while we can attest that James is ‘an arrogant toerag’ in his younger days, this is about Snape’s reaction to what he perceives as James’s superiority) and tells Lily that he won’t let her do something because he is jealous and it is obvious to him that James has a crush on Lily. [note that this doesn’t work because Lily has shown herself to be an independent human at this point and doesn’t necessarily need Snape to show her the ropes of how to witch anymore]

also 13-14 yo: finds dark magic funny

15 yo: his true beliefs rise to the surface when he calls Lily a mudblood and he still tries to backtrack out of it without trying to change his base beliefs (note that he has known Lily for about 6 years at this point. More than enough time to know that muggle-borns aren’t inferior in any way. Or at least Lily.)

20 yo: Dumbledore states this perfectly “You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die as long as you have what you want?” Snape only asked for everyone to be hidden as a last resort. His actions weren’t fueled out of love for Lily and her happiness, but as a last, desperate plea to save the object of his affections.

21 yo: Snape’s vow to protect Harry isn’t because he loves Lily so much. His first instinct was to die like she had, because she wasn’t in the world anymore. Dumbledore talks him out of it and makes him uphold his promise by protecting Harry.

32 yo: Not much here, Snape’s bitterness raises its head.

35 yo: Probably the most striking moment for me is when Snape refuses to run when Kakaroff decides to. This is the one moment where I can say ‘...Snape, you’re an ok dude’. Not when Lily was alive, not when she died, but when he chose on his own to stick around.

38 yo: This is the year with the most on Snape’s character as an adult (cunning and reckless; angry and brooding; moody and sulking forever; still follows his word, though). But I still find his love for Lily disturbing. Now that he hasn’t interacted with her in 23 years, his obsession with her is fixed and honestly creepy. Y’all wouldn’t find it ‘endearing’ or ‘sweet’ if he still had this fixation while she was living.

39 yo: His actions for the Order (giving the idea of decoy Potters) are more honorable than his love for Lily, personally. Steals a signature that was never meant for him and tears a picture of Lily and her family in half, keeping Lily for himself and disregarding her husband and son, the very reason she was laughing with such joy in the first place.

On the plus side, he actually admonishes Phineas for using the word ‘mudblood’ regarding Hermione, whom he has never really liked. That is the one good thing out of his obsession.

(also, brief note on Dumbledore--the George Weasley mishap?? The boy’s ear is gone!)

so for Snape, his actions do admittedly get more courageous and cunning for the side of good as he goes along, but this doesn’t actually begin until Harry’s fourth year of Hogwarts, long, long after Lily was gone. In fact, his obsession with Lily is really, really creepy.

I just don’t get how people can moan and gripe about NiceGuys and then turn around and forgive Snape of every horrible thing he’s ever done (and believe me, I still hate him for the many horrible things he’s done) because he turned out to be a NiceGuy.

#HP #long ish post #Snape's redemption doesn't start until year 4 #but even now he's not Redeemed to me #he's left a lot of trauma in his wake #because he couldn't 'have the girl he always wanted'#he's threatened to poison animals #he's the worst nightmare of a boy who has literally been raised in an abusive household #I'm talking about Neville Longbottom ofc #he was absolutely a prejudiced prat who didn't examine his own belief system for the sake of the girl he claimed to love #he let old hatred run his interactions with a new person #I am literally rereading the book as I write this #I'm sorry but #Harry #What the HELL were you thinking?#Snape makes me mad #he doesn't deserve all the good hype he gets #his love for Lily is an obsession and a creepy one at that

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coeluvr · 2 years ago

Text

A New Interactive Novel

Links :

✧ Play the game

Last Released: Chapter 4

Total Word Count: approx. 192.8k

Last Updated: 2nd of September 2024

✧ Bonus Content

Total word count: approx. 16.7k

✧ Ko-Fi / Patreon

✧ Discord

✧ Report a Bug

✧ Ask Guidelines / FAQ

✧ Character Descriptions / Official Character Art

✧ Pinterest References

Crown of Ashes and Flames is a fantasy interactive fiction game, free to play on pc and mobile. You play as the only remaining member of the royal family of Vesphire; living in the home of the man who took away everything from you.

It is currently in development and each chapter will be released as they are finished.

The war had taken everything from you.

King Luceris had taken everything from you.

You were just nine years old when all of this happened. One moment you were in your room sleeping and the next you were walking through smoke and ash trying to find your parents.

Love, he said, was the reason he started the war. Ironically, you lost everything you loved but you also lost yourself when he let you survive and dragged you away to his home.

In a new Kingdom with no one on your side what choices will you make to survive? Who will you become?

Inside of you, there’s something burning for revenge and there’s only one thing I want to tell you. Let it out.

Content Warning: This game is rated MA-17. Depictions of violence, injuries and blood, and death; trauma, depictions of mental health challenges, child marriage, psychological horror, animal cruelty, and optional sexual content. Player discretion is advised.

The story starts in the Kingdom of Vesphire, a fictional kingdom within a fantasy universe, but it truly begins in the Kingdom of Rosea.

The two kingdoms are situated in a world that was blessed by the gods, the lands were filled with magic and beasts of wonder. For unknown reasons the gods abandoned the realm taking everything they had brought with them while the beasts moved to forests and the sea. Anywhere that was far from civilization.

You were born and raised in Vesphire until tragedy struck and you were taken away to Rosea. Contrary to the snowy lands of Vesphire, Rosea was tropical in the north and temperate in the south with mountains surrounding the lane.

The Kingdom is a colorful land with green scenery contrasts to its large white buildings. The streets are always busy from early mornings to the late nights, and filled with calls from the shopkeepers from their wooden stalls with sun-faded striped fabric or blue tarps above it. It is truly a lively place.

The ruler of this kingdom is none other than Luceris De Rosea. He is the man who led destruction right onto your home, he is the one whom all of Rosea admire. The land is immensely beautiful but many of it's people harbor great hatred towards you due to you being the last royal of Vesphire.

✧ Play as the royal of your own making:

Name [including nicknames]

Gender [male, female and nonbinary options]

Pronouns [choose a preset or set your own]

Personality [develop personality traits that will influence event sequences and the behavior of other characters towards you]

Appearance [including scars and tattoos]

✧ Develop deeper relationships with the characters, each with their own themes and stories, and find romance if you wish for it.

✧ Build rapport with characters from all over the continent, aid them with their problems or use them as a pawn in your story.

✧ Build a codex as you explore the world that surrounds you; encounter people, places, history and magic.

✧ Encounter important timed choices with alternative results if time runs out or you choose to abstain.

The characters in this list are those with whom you can form a deeper relationship, whether it be platonic or romantic. While all characters are available to everyone, only Hunter is gender selectable.

It is important to note that these characters are not the only ones of significance.

Fadiya Akter - The Royal Mage’s daughter, and one of the only people that doesn’t have something against you. She’s cheerful, talkative and kind - like a fairy. Fiercely loyal to you, to the point that she gets into trouble just to defend you even in court. She is a powerful mage just like her mother. She is one year younger than you.

Helios De Rosea - The Crown Prince of Rosea, and the child of the man that destroyed your home. He has a radiating smile that instantly brightens up the room, like sunshine itself. He is the hero of all fairytales, the boy with a golden spirit full of light and hope. He keeps his distance from you, after all you are the last royal of Vesphire. He is one year older than you.

Hunter Oakes - Crown Prince’s shield and Sir Lancelot’s ward. Easygoing and reckless; their serene smile puts everyone at ease. They’re loyal to the hand that feeds them but understand what you went through was an injustice. They are four years older than you.

Soarine De Norazaan - Eldest daughter of the King of Norazaan, and an envoy to Rosea. Her smile is charming and practiced, she has a vixen-like personality. Soarine wishes to take the throne and better her kingdom, her desire for the throne is underlined by a thirst for revenge against the people in her kingdom who have forgotten their own history. She is one year older than you.

Vincent Annora - Son of the current General of the Imperial Army and the one who will take her position in the future. The perfect example of what a knight should be. He is very guarded and passionately protective of the people he cares about, he may seem rough around the edges but has a gentler side to him at times. He dislikes you due to his mother’s own hatred towards you and your late family. He is two years older than you.

Thank you for reading!

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #if game #twine game #crown of ashes and flames #crownofashesandflames #coaaf if #twine interactive fiction #twine #twine if #cyoa #promo post #if wip

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drtenebres · 4 years ago

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who are the most developed/most focused on characters right now??

Thanks for the ask!! It’s hard to say who is the most developed character right now, due to so many brain cells trying to work together, but we’ve all got our own individual ones we’re working on that we feel the strongest about !

@shslstraws :

blah blah blah this is where jude talks about oumota -Snelly (SHAAAAADDUPPPPP -Straws)

Kaito (My beloved) - A commonfolk who was oblivious by the magic world around him until he inevitably is pushed to it, by living his new life as a Tenebroso werewolf. The cause for how he became a werewolf is unknown, and he tries to keep away from his friends and family to protect them from this “curse”. Kaito gets in a mix of mages and eventually meets with Kokichi, a plague doctor who claims he can cure him. He slowly realizes and comes to face the reality that is Tenebres.

Kokichi (Most developed??) - A mage who lived in an orphanage until he gets adopted by two mages, Nagito and Hajime. Kokichi dreams of being far powerful than both his dads and going back to recruit the other orphanage kids to his upcoming organization. Until he gets a set back when he takes things too far with the magi academy, he gets demoted to a Plague Doctor; a low status of a mage. It is until he meets Kaito, on one of his duties, and believes if he figures out the mystery behind Tenebrosos, he will earn the right to regain his place back in the academy.

Shuichi (Most Focused on ATM) - Born from the great Kyoko Kirigiri and Makoto Naegi, there are a lot of expectations put upon Shuichi since he was very young. The expectations were too high and too heavy to carry that Shuichi decided to leave behind that life and the Kirigiri name. He meets up with Rantaro who gives him the ability of a werewolf, and thinks he can finally start anew. Until he faces the same problems with being a werewolf and being part of a pack, Shuichi decides to live amongst the commonfolk with his new friends Kaito, Kaede, and Maki by his side.

@baylardian-1 :

Kyoko (Most focused on) - A detective who grew up working under a large magefolk entity in the specific branch that deals with magic-based crimes. Kyoko is telepathic with a hindered use of magic due to a strange curse covering both of her hands. Because of her ability to read minds and the overwhelming loudness many voices can create in her head, Kyoko prefers working alone. Eventually she retires from her occupation and becomes a private investigator alongside her husband Makoto.

Hifumi (Most developed) - A hamster familiar most closely resembling a smitten patsy for Celestia Ludenberg. Not having many friends he impulsively chose to follow a pretty girl one day and has never ceased. Initially out of threat, Hifumi would perform healing spells for Celestia after her hunts in addition to take care of her every beck and call. Nowadays their relationship takes on a more unspoken respect and fondness for one another.

Mukuro (My beloved) - A Tenebroso werewolf nearing closer to being 400 years old in age. Born a mage alongside her younger twin sister Junko, many events surrounding their past are shrouded in mystery. As a Tenebroso she has an unnaturally extended life. Mukuro is naturally covered in scars and physically looks to be reaching her mid 50's-early 60's. She is most often however seen to be disguising herself as a young girl.

@snellymain :

Kiyo (Most developed) - A socially reclusive vampire with a guilty conscience and a sworn duty to feed by killing swiftly rather than turning anyone else into a vampire; since he hates his vampirism and his sister that cursed him with it. Has a huge fondness for humans and anthropology after his controlling sister's hatred for them caused him to have extremely limited interactions with them. Ends up committed to a mage named Angie while the unwanted spirit of his sister began haunting him after many years of being dead.

Mahiru (Most focused on) - A standard mage with very little powers and a high respect for her non-mage mother, matching her disdain for her mage father. She got into photography as she had no attachment to her underwhelming magic, until her mother urged her to go to an academy so she wouldn't let her powers go to waste like her father did. After doing so, being out in the world more, she met Hiyoko and Hiro; in which she happily adopted the former and angrily married the latter.

Angie (My beloved) - A healing-based blood mage raised communally on an island, she heals others wounds with their own blood and often secretly takes their blood for her own use while doing so; mostly to feed her partner Kiyo, but she also has a fascination for blood of her own, initially being a result of her village's blood sacrifices and now a result of her blood magic. Generally a loud nuisance, though a medically helpful nuisance, in her academy.

@samsquatchem :

Doodle + blurb done by Snelly ♥

Yasuhiro (Their beloved) - A nomadic powerful mage with a wide variety of powers, mostly focusing on clairvoyance and near-limitless telekinesis; generally wanders around getting money wherever he can but spending it horrendously, ending up in a constant flat circle of time. He’s basically homeless; not out of poverty but what he considers convenience and tax evasion, for the most part and bums around Mahiru’s place. Close friends and a father figure to Hiyoko, (much to Mahiru’s initial dismay) the two bond over their shared tendency to wander and be in a new place every week + magic that neither know how to use properly, she became quickly attached to him due to him being the first person to talk to her after she ran away from home. Hiro is able to see the future but unable to speak it verbatim or else the opposite outcome will come to fruition, he can only nudge clients in the right direction of his visions. Most people think his magic is a scam and he’s the most useless mage ever.

@sutexii :

Chiaki (My Beloved) - A wooden mask enchanted with a human soul, powered by dream juice and magic robotics. Created by Chihiro to live in the dream realm (where u go when u sleep + also where the killing games take place) to gather data on it for Chihiro’s research, and help those in it travel safely. Has a deep fascination with the unpredictable and strange, and enjoys seeking out new knowledge wherever she can. Still likes her games, and while originally given access to some to help entertain those she’s traveling with, she just ends up hoarding them herself.

Tenko (Most Focused On ATM) - Commonfolk w/ a smidge of monster that comes out when her anger peaks. Abandoned due to said anger issues as a child, and taken in by Aoi and Sakura. She had a very Ghibli idyllic childhood, having adventures with friends and delivering donuts for her mom. Learned martial arts from her mom, taking a particular liking to Aikido, and through it learned to control her anger. Follows childhood crush Himiko around to protect her, leading to her entering the less than legal artifact smuggling trade with her later in life.

Aoi (Most Developed) - Water elemental with a love for baking donuts and raising/rehabilitating carp. Married to Sakura, having met when she wandered into the pond in her family’s abandoned dojo and decided to stay to fix it up, motivating Sakura to fix the rest of the place up in turn. Very carefree, friendly, and laid back, loves kids and taking on the “fun auntie” role. Never worked on her humanoid appearance much at all until motherhood, Tenko enters their life and it became hard to hold back a feral monster baby with fins.

@Soupcifer_ :

Nekomaru (Franken-maru) (most developed) - A reanimated corpse who was brought back to life thanks to the help of Kazuichi and Mikan. Unfortunately, he has amnesia and thus no recollection of his past friendships and family. He's a lot more quiet and mellow in comparison to his old self which makes him seem pretty dull, but in actuality he's being rather attentive and simply trying to understand everything that's happening. He does a lot of behind-the-scenes work when no ones looking like cleaning up after Kazuichi and setting reminders for Akane (still a team manager at heart).

Gonta (My beloved) - A vampire raised by werewolves. He only recently came to terms with being a vampire as he lived most of his life assuming the form of a wolf. He has an obsession with bugs, classic literature, and vintage clothing. Gonta likes to follow around a few of his friends, Angie and Korekyio (wink), and be of assistance whenever he can. He unfortunately has trouble dealing with his vampire nature sometimes due to only having lived with werewolves, so he often turns to Korekiyo for help.

Chihiro (most focused on) - An electric elemental! Chihiro is the creator/parent of Chiaki and Monomi. They have a passion for creating things that run on electricity and magic and as a result created their two lovely daughters (that and to investigate the dream realm). Chihiro also has the ability to possess electronics and machinery! Despite being incredibly small, they can emit a surprisingly large amount of energy which makes possessing large or complicated machinery an easy task.

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kaylans-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

0. i hate her

pairing: peter b. parker x fem! reader

synopsis: in which y/n hates everything about peter parker, especially the way she can’t really hate him

↳ loosely based on the movie with the same title

warnings: cursing, fluff, a generous amount of angst, peter's an asshole, y/n's an asshole, familial death, incarceration. i don't know if there's more.

chapter warnings: cursing, starts off slow, flash.

series masterlist

*gif credits to the rightful owner*

The brisk air of the changing seasons accompanied Peter as he made his way to the school entrance from the train stop. His headphones sat snuggly inside his ears, playing a song that made the usually lonely journey to school less so. Ned didn’t take the same route as he did, so he had no one to talk to or make the trek to school less boring. He didn’t mind it; it gave him time to think and even finish school work. Still, sometimes he wanted someone by his side so he could discuss whatever was on his mind that day or ask questions whenever an assignment didn’t make sense.

The long ride to the school did give him time to people watch. There were times when he would deduce who could be a possible threat. Other times, he would simply look at people and try to figure out their stories without actually talking to them. The old lady who brought her cat onto the subway had severe separation anxiety caused by her estranged son. The man with exhausted eyes who looked like he was on the brink of passing out on his seat had a newborn daughter at home. And Peter was just trying to get to school, along with the other teenager on the subway. He didn’t talk to him, they were on entirely different wavelengths, but there was an understanding between the two of them. Whenever they saw each other, they would nod their heads in greeting. They would always sit one seat away from one another, and if the other was running late, they would wait.

He made his way up the stairs and towards the school, turning up the volume as a way to tune out the sounds of high school that he hated. The cheery rhymes that left the sounds of the cheerleaders to the arguing of students over who was right; he hated them before the bite, and he especially despised them now that he had hypersensitive hearing. Sighing in annoyance, he looked both ways before crossing the street only to rush forward as a car came barreling down the road.

“I swear to god, Y/N!” he heard her sister, Juliette, shriek, “we almost killed him!”

“But we didn’t. If you’re going to complain about my driving, then you can take the bus, Jules,”

“You almost killed someone!” Peter heard her exclaim. He could feel the way Y/N rolled her eyes.

“It’s only Peter,” she stated, making eye contact with him through the rearview as she let students pass, “who cares if he gets slightly scuffled?”

“You have literal issues,” Julie gasped. The car sped down the road, leaving Peter alone with a slightly elevated heart rate and irritation laced in his bones. It was the first day of school, and he nearly got run over. And by his ex-best friend turned enemy at that. He couldn’t wait to complain to Ned.

Their dynamic had changed, and Peter blamed her. They became friends because of Y/N’s grandmother and May in kindergarten. They were two birds of a feather until halfway towards seventh grade when Y/N became snippy and ruined what Peter thought was their perfect friendship. They drifted apart, and he blamed her for it breaking apart. He watched as she became someone he didn’t know anymore and left him behind. He just didn’t think it was fair for her to act self-righteous when she ruined their relationship.

“You okay, Pete?” Ned questioned as he fell into step with Peter, who was fuming with irritation.

“Yeah, just almost got run over by Midtown’s resident ice bitch,” he gritted. Ned nodded in response. He was friends with both Peter and Y/N once upon a time. Still, after everything she had put them through and the abrupt way she ended their friendship, he sided with Peter and subsequently lost a friend. He figured it was for the best. He wasn’t as resentful as Peter was—his friendship with Y/N hadn’t been built in kindergarten—but he still didn’t appreciate her actions.

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding, “are you okay at least?”

“Yeah, but it did sorta ruin my mood,” Peter confessed. He was having a pretty good morning until his reflexes were put to the test. He woke up on the right side of the bed and had time to eat breakfast with May before she went to work. The walk towards the subway station was nice; he said hi to everyone he usually greeted and even got a muffin from the lady with the three-year-old daughter. Then the subway wasn’t as busy as it usually was, so he wasn’t squashed next to the man with the foul body odor and could actually sit down. All of that happiness came crashing down the second he saw her in her car, looking unapologetic for nearly killing him and then dismissing her sister for chastising her.

“Well, get happy, my arachnid friend, because I heard some exciting news,” Ned smiled, poking him on the arm as they walked to their first class.

“What?”

“You’re top of our class, which means you’re a shoo-in for valedictorian,” Ned said excitedly. Peter grinned at that. All of his hard work would finally be noticed and celebrated. He had been working on greeting his class for four years, doing extracurriculars, and taking on extra projects for grade boosts. Sometimes he even stayed after school to help his teachers grade papers or help the librarian sort the books back into their respective spots on the shelves. It would all be worth it in the end after he finally reached the goal he had set for himself his freshman year.

There was a snag in his plans. While he may have been top of his class, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be pushed from his place. Y/N Y/L/N was the smartest girl at Midtown. She was everything he wasn’t. She was popular—if the excessive amounts of clubs she was part of were any indication. She was social—everyone talked about the interactions they had with Midtown’s princess. She was everywhere, and nothing Peter was. She was the head of the planning committee, and everyone knew that any school party planned by Y/N Y/L/N never disappointed. Peter couldn’t compete. He found peace in knowing that he was slightly better than her at academics.

The two continued walking in silence, content with the atmosphere they had created after finding out that Peter would finally have something go his way for once. He figured it was the least the universe could do for him. He had lost both parents before he could make memories with them, then he lost his best friend, and then he got bitten by a spider that changed his life; for better or for worse, he didn’t know. Being valedictorian wouldn’t take away the hurt the world inflicted on him, but it would make him feel somewhat better.

With a skip in his step, he walked into class with a grin so large, he didn’t think anything could bring him down. Of course, he thought wrong. His English teacher had to make a day he felt he could turn around into one he wished would end faster.

“It’s about time you all had a project—the topic of discussion, poetry. You will be partnered up and tasked with reading and creating your own poems by the end of the month,” she paused, waiting for her class to stop looking at one another and whispering amongst themselves, “I’ve already chosen your partners, so it would do you all some good to stop getting your hopes up and listen.”

With that, the high schoolers shifted in their seats and gave their attention back to their teacher. She was good at pairing up students who were cordial with one another and worked well together. Friendships usually sparked from her partnering, sometimes even relationships. So Peter, and the rest of the class, weren’t as annoyed as they wanted to be. They knew she wouldn’t let them down. Peter waited eagerly as she listed off students who would be working together. He hoped he got paired up with someone who matched his work ethic or someone he got along with.

“Peter Parker, you will be with Y/N Y/L/N,” and just like that, he hated English class and lost all faith in his teacher. He looked across the room to where the said girl was seated. She was writing in her planner—Peter was sure she was planning Ms. Ingrid’s death—but she looked up when her name was called. She turned her head and met Peter’s eyes, unamused and bored. She shook her head and looked at her planner once again. Peter took that as a sign to do the same and focus on anything other than his rising anger.

Peter watched as everyone moved to meet their partners, many of them happily talking to one another. He was stubborn. He decided that if she wasn’t going to make an effort to push aside whatever hatred she had towards him and talk to him for the sake of their grades, he wasn’t going to. He was going to sit in his seat and read a poem from the packet his teacher had handed out. Just because he had a lousy partner didn’t mean his grade had to suffer. He would complete the project by himself if he had to.

“Mister Parker, last I checked, you were to be working with Miss Y/L/N,” Miss Ingrid quipped as she walked to Peter’s desk with a teasing smile.

“Actually, Miss, I was hoping I could talk to you about that?” He asked. He liked Miss Ingrid. She was understanding and compassionate, and she didn’t talk down to her students as if they were children.

“Something wrong, Peter?” she asked, concerned. Peter felt bad. He knew he was petty, and his favorite teacher didn’t need to be pulled down to his level. But he couldn’t bring himself to work with someone who didn’t want to work with him. That usually meant he was left to do the work by himself and watch the other person still get credit. It infuriated him so much he would rather do the project himself from the start.

“Yeah, um, I can’t work with Y/N,” he muttered, smiling at her with an embarrassed smile. Peter admitted it sounded stupid and childish when said aloud, but he had his reasons.

“And, pray tell, Peter, why not?”

“I just don’t think we would work well together,” he confessed. Seeing the look on her face, Peter was quick to defend himself more, “and I just don’t want to do the work for someone else and have them get credit for doing nothing. So, if it’s alright with you, Miss Ingrid, I would like to work on this on my own.” He was practically begging. Hoping she would agree.

“I’m sorry, Peter, but this is a partner project. To lessen the workload,” she sighed, “besides, I don’t think you have anything to worry about with Y/N; she’s very good at doing her share.” She stood up with those final words and tapped the table before standing up and sending him a smile. He sighed, putting his head down and looking at his desk in annoyance. He looked up when a book landed on his desk. Closing his eyes to keep himself from exploding at whoever shattered his tranquility, he was met with eyes he used to find joy looking into. Now, he never wanted to look into them ever again.

“We’re partners. I don’t like it, you don’t like it, but we have to do it otherwise, our grades will plummet, and you can’t afford that if you want to be valedictorian. So, we’re going to push our difference aside for this one project and do it, so we never have to talk to again,” she said curtly.

That left no room for argument, which caused Peter to nod his head in agreement. She was right; he couldn’t afford to lose the one thing he was looking forward to being. Sighing deeply, he motioned for her to sit down and opened the book she threw on his desk. She took a seat beside him and opened another poetry book, focusing on the words written on the paper and trying to plan their poem out. They had to get a good grade; she didn’t want him to blame her for something else.

Despite his annoyance and hatred towards her, he couldn’t help but glance up from the book he was reading. Of course, he had seen her around, it was hard to ignore one of the most known girls in the school, but he had never taken the time to admire her. His anger and betrayal kept him from doing so. She still had the same gleeful look in her eyes and the confident aura around her. Time had done her well. She had lost her kidlike features, and it was evident that she had matured. He would be a liar if he said she wasn’t pretty, and even that didn’t truly justify it.

When the bell signaled the end of class, Peter quickly grabbed his belongings and left the classroom. He didn’t stop to wait for anyone, much less Y/N. Their only interactions would be in the English room, a controlled space where she couldn’t kill him for so much as breathing in her direction. Walking towards his locker, he heard the noises of people as they navigated the busy halls of the school. Stopping at his locker with a sigh, he leaned his head on the cool metal. The day had been long, and he shrill had six other classes to go to.

A tap on his shoulder made him pick up his head. Y/N stood in front of him, bouncing on her feet as she played with her fingers.

“You left before I could ask when you can meet up. The faster we get this done, the faster we can stop being around one another,” she quipped. “I’m free on Friday after school.”

“I’m not. I have the Stark internship,”

She rolled her eyes at his response, “okay and? We need to get this done so we can go back to never speaking to each other. I’m sure Tony Stark will understand that you need to take one day off to do a school project.”

“Not happening. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re not worth losing the internship over,” he jibed. He missed the look of hurt that flashed on her face. She shook her head and scoffed.

“Well, we need to get this done. Either we work on this stupid project on Friday, or we’re both failing,” she reminded before walking away. Peter groaned and banged his head on the now open door. He ignored the looks he got from his locker neighbors and kept his head buried in the empty space. Friday’s were the days he went into the Avenger’s compound and actively worked in the lab with Tony after he finished his Spider-Man duties; the last thing he wanted to do was infect the compound with her hatred and bad vibes.

He didn’t want to invite her, but he had been working on something with Tony for the past two weeks that he needed to finish. He figured he could get some work done while someone gave her a tour around the facility—probably Steve. He was easy to convince—then he would work on the English project with her and beg father time to go faster. She was right; the quicker they finished their work, the faster he could go back to hating her. With another groan, he picked up his head and closed his locker, rushing after Y/N and grabbing her by the wrist when he caught her before she slipped into her next class.

“Friday. We’ll meet after school in the parking lot and go to the Avenger’s facility. You can drive, right?” she nodded and pulled her hand out of his grip, glaring at him.

“Don’t ever grab me like that again,” she sneered, “but fine, whatever. I have to drop Jules off at home first though, is that gonna be a problem, Peter?” He knew she wasn’t asking him.

“No, whatever,” she nodded curtly and walked in, not sparing him a glance. He shook his head and walked away. Anger seeped into his bones, and annoyance clouded his head. The following weeks were going to be torture. He just knew. There was nothing worse than being forced to work with someone the person despised.

“Hey, Penis Parker!” there are worse things, apparently. He breathed out through his nose and turned around, meeting his eyes. He knew if he ignored Flash, he wouldn’t give up. He was relentless, and his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

“What, Flash?” he ground out. Flash skidded to a stop beside him with a sick smile on his face.

“I heard from a little birdie that you were partnered up with Midtwon’s resident Princess,” he started.

“Yeah, so?” he questioned. He wanted out of the conversation as soon as possible. He didn’t want to talk to his bully about his enemy. That didn’t sound like a fun Tuesday.

“So, you can help me,”

“One, why would I help you with anything?” he questioned, “and two, I’m going to regret asking, but what could I possibly help you with?”

“Because I have something you might like, and you’re going to help me get Jules Y/L/N to go to the Fall Dance with me,” Peter paused in his step and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Okay, so what does that have to do with me being partners with Y/N? Can’t you just ask Jules?”

Flash snorted, “you’re an idiot, Parker. You don’t just ask the Jules Y/L/N out, okay? Everyone knows that Y/N tells her every negative thing about the guys at Midtown to keep her uninterested and that they’re always together.” He stated.

“I’m still not sure where I fall into this or what you could possibly offer me in return,”

“I’m glad you asked,” Peter rolled his eyes but continued listening, “if you can get Y/N to, I don’t know, fall in love with you so she eases off her ‘I hate the men at Midtown’ rhetoric, then I can swoop in and take Jules to the dance without a hitch.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Two hundred bucks does wonders for the poor, no?” Flash snarked.

“Three hundred, and you’ve got yourself a deal, Eugene,” Peter smirked. Flash blinked in anger but nodded his head anyway, reaching his hand out and shaking it. Flash walked away and left Peter in the empty hallway, rethinking everything he had agreed to. It was cruel and harsh. Sure, Y/N had stopped being his friend and became a bitch towards him, but he would be playing with someone’s feelings. Then again, three hundred dollars could help May with the bills, and it would be retribution for all the shit Y/N had put him through.

He was going to do it, and he wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty for it. Because it was her, and she deserved to feel some of the pain she had put him through.

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masterlist

taglist: @jackiehollanderr @multiholland @hommyy-tommy @visualhollands @wicked-starlight-collector @coni-martina @dummiesshort @nearlydanger9 @selenitawars @slytherinbth @misshale21 @y0ungandfuckingdumb @livinglifethroughfanfic @racheldon @popluckbih @ephemeral-limerences @tomshufflepuff @petersasteria @justafangirlduh @jayhlstead @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @savcks @sahi-raa @xeniarocks@hunnybunimdun @lou-la-lou @aussie-holland @parkerpeterparker2004 @adayasgeorgia @organicpurplepants @sadxaries @bagelofthelord @marlenetough @xxxxdelenaxxxx @racheldon @itsallyscorner @quaksonhehe @slutforsr @stillfindingmyway @determined-overthinker @chipot-lol @alwaaaysadream @tomsgf @thesunflowergirl @Heyitsmeyabitch2004 @noonelikesori @ bxby_riah @woopwoopwoop222 @marauders-whore @Sarcasticallywitty15 @cutesparker @saraintherain @okaybestfriend @lehmehgeh @joyleenl (if your name is crossed out, its bc i couldnt tag you D: lmk if you want to be taken off the general masterlist or have any name changes ;D)

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redwinterroses · 3 years ago

Text

I’m doing my very best not to format this as a literary analysis paper but that’s basically what this is so forgive me if I slip back into those old habits at all. And I'm going to tag @betweenlands and @fluffy-papaya in this because guys look what your fic made me brainrot. XD

(This is a long one, y'all. We're talking 2k words. Sorry.)

That said:

Hey, let’s talk about the bead curtain in Dog at the Door.

That dang bead curtain, and why I’m currently fixating on it, and how I think it has symbolism that may or may not be intentional.

(At this point, I’m assuming it’s intentional. Everything about this fic is intentional. Including the pain. Heh. “The only difference between a running gag and a recurring theme is how seriously you take it,” says Solar. Cool. I’m taking it seriously.)

The curtain first shows up in chapter one. It’s one of the first things we see in the van, and the first thing we know about it is that Doc finds it obnoxious. Ugly. Revolting. Renbob loves it, obviously, but Renbob has odd tastes. Doc, on the other hand, literally uses his hatred of the curtain to motivate him to get out of bed in the morning.

The Red King, when he shows up, also has similar dislike of the thing, but his reaction is a little more measured, a little less extreme. More distaste, less disgust. He finds it “distasteful” and compares it to wearing a labcoat without a shirt (lol). But he doesn’t loath it like Doc does, and when Doc suggests (in chapter 13) that they take it down and use it for friendship bracelets, he’s as displeased with that idea as Renbob is. He has an ambivalent opinion, overall.

And then Ren. Ren actually reacts the least to the curtain—but ends up with the most dramatic interaction with it, which we’ll come back to in a second. He simply says (chapter 24) that normally he’d find the beads hideous, but that the light of Doc’s eye reflecting off it into the shadows makes it oddly peaceful.

There’s exactly one other use of the word “curtain” in this fic, and it’s this line right here:

“I haven’t done anything but possess him and lead his soul back to the controls.” RK throws his hands up in the air. “He’s put himself behind the curtain because he thinks I’m out to get him. My only crime is the original contract I made with him, doctor.”

In this instance, RK is talking about their “imperfect metaphor” of Ren being behind the curtain that separates the “driver’s seat” from the rest of the van that is Ren’s mind/soul. He’s saying that Ren has deliberately put himself in a position of defeat and surrender because he (Ren) doesn’t think there are any other options.

M’kay. Right about now, any sane person is going, “Red. Why are you so fixated on this bead curtain. It’s a running joke at best.”

And... I mean, sure. Kinda. But also definitely not.

This is the part where I really step out on a potentially-shaky limb with all the confidence in the world, because here’s what I'm seeing: the dividing line between life and death is often portrayed in literature as a curtain.

(And it’s interesting to note that the curtain is a barrier, a separation, but it’s only a curtain, and this one is made of beads at that. It’s a flimsy and fluid barrier, easy to pass through. Back and forth. Surrender and control, life and death.)

In fact, even in this fic it’s used that way: RK may be referring to the metaphorical bead curtain in their van of an explanation for how his and Ren’s relationship works, but in the story at that point Ren is convinced that he’s dead. Or is supposed to be dead. And by putting himself “behind the curtain,” he’s surrendering to that. Almost insisting on it, because that’s the truth of how he sees the world right then and he can’t process any other possibilities. He’s basically saying “I’m supposed to be dead, and this side of the curtain is death, so that’s where I’ll stay.”

So if the curtain in the metaphor represents the two sides of that, it’s really interesting to look at the various characters’ reactions to the literal bead curtain and see how it reflects their attitudes toward death—and specifically Ren’s death.

Renbob is... chill. He has an entirely comfortable relationship with the bead curtain, with life and death, with his own emotions—even with dealing with the emotions of the others he’s chauffeuring across the universe. While he isn’t immune to the grief of losing (or thinking he’s lost) Ren, he deals with it in a relatively healthy way—at least as much as we see. I think there was a possibly-canon ask at some point that said he was journaling and meditating so... yeah. Renbob’s got this. And 50 other bead curtains in storage. He’s the only character in the fic who passes in and out of the curtain regularly and without it being a big deal.

To put it simply: Renbob is on good terms with whatever happens in life, up to and including the end of it. (Renbob is arguably the equal and opposite of Grimdog. Two sides of the same coin in more ways than one.)

Contrast that now with Doc. Doc is... not a fan of the bead curtain. It represents a loss of control to him, (“freakin’ hippies”) and a separation from what he loves. In the past, he and Ren were on opposite sides of that conflict, and the beads still somewhat represent that tension (though in a mostly nostalgic, and not actively-antagonistic way.) But the language Doc’s narration uses to describe the beads is strong. “Obnoxious.” “Accursed.” “Horrendously evil.”

Nearly as scary as his best friend trying to kill him.

It’s played for laughs, obviously, and it is funny. But if we project the symbolism of “the curtain represents death” onto Doc’s reactions, it gets a bit less amusing. And it really fits with Doc’s attitude toward Ren’s death in the whole fic. It’s the worst thing he’s ever faced—to the extent that until RK’s seemingly-permanent presence forces him to, Doc doesn’t even try to process it. He goes right to work on the prosthetics, growls at anyone who tries to make him do anything he doesn't want to do, accepts RK as “New Ren,” and pretends that he’s going on with life.

He refuses to look at how weird the whole situation is, because if he does that he has to deal with Ren being gone forever. He ignores the thing that’s right under his nose and pretends it’s not there until a moment of quiet or actually having to interact with it brings it back to his attention, and then his reaction is vitriolic.

Doc hates that curtain, and he hates the concept of death, the concept of losing control. Even in his nightmares, he holds tight to what little control he can take, even if it’s just taking the initiative to sit in the snow and let it kill him faster. Hold onto that thought, because I’ve got more to it, but we have to talk about RK and Ren first.

RK holds both distaste and acceptance of the curtain. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want it destroyed either. The distaste, notably, is when he’s with Doc, and the acceptance comes from being around Renbob. The Red King, as a blood god, is not exactly unfamiliar with death. It’s literally in his job description, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. A necessary evil, if you will.

It doesn’t hurt either that, at least up until Ren, RK has always been the one on the other side of the curtain, completely in control of the situation. He goes back and forth on his attitudes, but in the past he has been the one in control and the bringer of death. His reaction is negative, but not emphatic—the way someone who has plenty of indoor plans might react to a rainstorm.

Ren... now, Ren. Ren has, like I said, the least recorded reaction to the actual, physical bead curtain. But. But. While he normally would call it hideous, “there’s something oddly peaceful about watching light fractals spin off the walls, cutting off into the shadows.” The shadows, it’s worth noticing, are specifically implied to be RK/hiding RK in this moment. Doc’s light and RK’s shadows interacting with the curtain bring peace to Ren. He passes through it easily to find Renbob.

Ren has already accepted his death—he accepted it long before the fic even started—to an extent that he’s actively insisting on it for a large portion of the story. It’s only when he realizes that Doc is in potential danger that he starts fighting RK for control of the situation again. (“Stay away from Doc, you bastard. He wasn’t part of our bargain. Leave him alone.”)

He dislikes the bead curtain, but he doesn’t hate it, and when seen in the (literal) light of Doc’s protective, watching eye—even if he is asleep at the moment, bless—even the shadows of RK’s presence are suddenly beautiful and peaceful to him in a way that, without the “reflecting fractals” of the beads, wouldn’t be possible. Again: this is the chapter where Renbob’s influence is felt, and his peace with life and death directly affects Ren and his reactions. (“It’ll all sort itself out, eventually, and I’ll be here for you while it does.”)

And then...

And then Ren rips down the curtain altogether.

The separation is gone. For better or for worse, that divide between control and surrender, between RK and Ren, between life and death... it’s gone. It’s scattered across the floor of the van, glittering in Ren’s hair, and in the carpet. Ren has broken through that barrier, and now we just have to wait to see what the consequences of that are for him.

But... we can already see at least one consequence for Doc. Because now there is no more illusion of control and surrender for him to maintain. That division is no longer there, and we see Doc’s first real surrender in the whole story. Even in his nightmares, he was still in control: he knew it was a nightmare, and he fought against it until he “gave up”—in a way that still put him in control. He chooses to sit in the snow so it’ll kill dream-him faster.

He acts like he doesn’t care, but it’s still not that: he takes control in the only way he knows, aware that everything is only a dream and no matter what how it treats him, he’ll still wake up in the end. He looks at the nightmare and says basically “Do your worst, I dare you, but you won’t get what you want from me.”

But now—now he surrenders to Ren. He gives up. His core truth (“I’ll do anything to protect those I love,” which I talked about in this post) looks like it’s not going to be enough to save them. He can’t save Ren—from RK or from Ren himself—and that means he’s lost in the worst way possible. In this moment, it looks like Ren doesn’t even trust that Doc’s core truth—that he will do anything to save his friends—is true.

This is Doc’s lowest point: that Ren seems to think Doc’s loyalty and love have failed. And to Doc... that’s a fate worse than death.

So he gives up. He tells Ren to kill him, and he fully expects him to do so. Doc doesn’t want to die, but at this point he has completely let go of any control of his own fate. Even when facing down Ren with the Skizz blade, he held tightly to his control of the situation. He literally takes the sword in his own hand and removes it as a threat. But now—now the curtain is gone. The illusion of control is gone.

Ren is the one in control of the situation—for possibly the first time in the fic—and he chooses to remember that Doc is his friend, that he’s missed him. But Doc leaves it all to him. Even when Ren backs off, Doc stays in that surrendered state (“I can’t do anything right, unlike [Martyn.]”). He realizes that he's been in the passenger seat the whole time, and he’s now where Ren was before: no longer even trying to take back the driver’s seat.

The curtain is gone. Now we just have to wait and see who ends up on which side of it at the end.

#long post #dog at the door #datd #i got about halfway through this yesterday and then was told that the bead curtain was important to today's chapter #and I thought: okay. I'll wait and it'll probably blow my entire theory out of the water.#and then NOPE turns out I'm pretty sure this is where it was going all along and I'm just a nerd who happened to notice

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holykillercake · 4 years ago

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Heavenly Demons

paring: Doflamingo x Reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: How far down would you go to rise with the person who makes your heart beat stronger?

highlight: ¨Haste is the enemy of perfection, Doffy. We shall have all the time in the world.¨

warnings: implied smut, Doffy himself is already a warning, right?

notes: Hey guys! So, I have read a lot of stories where the main character contrasts with Doffy, but I wanted to write one where the reader kinda shares his ideologies. I really hope you like it!! <3

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath as the salty fresh air cooled your body down. The waves crashed violently, and thunderings cut across the skies, shouting to all eight seas to prepare themselves. You were coming for the throne. You were coming for the golden seat above the great serpent soaked in blood.

Large hands caressed your belly, fingers flirting with the soft skin of your breasts. You felt Doflamingo's naked and burning skin brush against your back, salty splashes of seawater blending with the salt of your sweat bodies.

¨Do you remember what you told me that day?¨ his voice was low and deep, masking the ferocity of a roaring predator.

¨Every word.¨

¨Can you repeat it?¨ you smirked, words already engraved on the tip of your sharp tongue.

He gazed at the ocean with thirst, recollecting all the sacrifices he made, all the breaths he took and raised a glass for all the blood he was yet to shed.

¨One day, you will rule them all. You will stand above their fallen bodies and step on them as they lick the floor you walk on.¨ His grip tightened on your waist, nails slightly craving into your skin.

¨I´m ready.¨

¨You have always been, Doffy.¨

¨Y/N.¨ he called you after a moment of silence.

¨Hm?¨ You hummed in response.

The man behind you struggled, brain fighting the words from coming out of his mouth. He pulled you away from the window, lifting you up while your legs wrapped around his hips. The ship rocked aggressively, rolls of maps and unlit candles rolling across the tapestry.

Doflamingo pressed you against the wall, tongue gliding furiously with yours. You felt his body growing stiff again, moans masked as grunts being muffled by your intoxicating kiss.

Whines came out with each heavy breath, your chest rising and falling when he finally parted the kiss, a single strand of saliva connecting both sinful lips.

You took that moment to look him in the eyes. This time, instead of the glasses adorning his beautiful features, the flashes of lightning from the storm illuminated what he was constantly trying to hide.

The eyes of a monster. A monster for whom you would kill, for whom you would slaughter. The eyes of the man for whom you descended from the Holy Land and got your hands dirty to help him rise above the so-called Gods.

You remembered your words as a child.

¨Those are not the true Gods.¨ he spoke in your ear.

Shivers ran down your spine, and your core twisted when you felt the tip of his manhood touch your sensitive and sore skin.

¨We are the true Gods.¨ a deafening thunder echoed through the structures of the Numancia Flamingo the moment he slipped inside you, covering your cries of lust and pleasure.

<~>

It was difficult to keep up with the man you followed. After all, he was tall and had incredibly long legs. At no time did he help you when you tripped over a piece of garbage and fell or when your legs gave up on exhaustion. On the contrary, he just kept walking.

¨May I ask for your name?¨

That's what came out of your mouth. You knew that shouting and imposing things would not work, not here. This was the territory of humans, and you would have to deal with it if you wanted to get to the boy.

¨May I ask...¨ he mocked you.

Your small hands, balled into fists, clenched while you snorted with hatred.

¨Calm down, brat. It´s over there.¨

Standing on the toes of your expensive shoes, you saw a well-known figure among sheds and piles of metal, with blond hair and dark glasses.

¨DOFFY!¨

¨Y/N!?¨ he sounded surprised to see you in such a filthy place.

Your steps hurried to get to him, ignoring the other people on the scene who looked at you with suspicion.

The ruffles of the skirt were now dirty from the trip, and your hair, always so neat, flew loose with the breeze and even got entangled.

¨What are you doing here?¨

¨Just making sure you got home safe.¨

¨Nyeh, nyeh, who is this, Doffy?¨ a disgusting old man with snot running down his nose asked.

¨She is the girl I told you about. She helped me escape.¨

¨Do not come closer!¨ you exclaimed to the man when he turned to you. The gooey thing swaying with every movement.

Doffy invited you into what he called home and offered you a shabby wooden stool so you could rest from the trip.

Even so young to understand the meaning of love, your heart ached when you saw the precarious situation in which he found himself. No, he was much greater than that.

Your families were neighbors in the Holy Land, so you constantly spent your free afternoons in the company of the Donquixote brothers. It fascinated you how different they were, like two opposite poles of a globe.

At some point, you noticed Rosinante's absence and assumed he had died like their parents. He too was not like you. He would never last.

¨What will you do? You can not accept this, Doffy.¨ you walked over to the boy in front of a window, eyes locked on the piles of scrap metal.

¨I know, Y/N. I am just thinking.¨ He hesitated to ask for your help, even though he knew how much more clever you could be.

The others just watched the interaction between the two children, the boy chosen by the heavens and the girl who spoke to him as an equal.

¨Claim what is yours, Doffy.¨

¨I tried.¨ his fingertips turned white from squeezing the window sill ¨I served my father´s head in a tray for them to feast, but-¨

¨That is not what I meant.¨ He searched your eyes for the first time, knowing that you were planning something. ¨You are a rightful king, the real deity, not them. Those are not the true Gods, Doffy. We are the true Gods.¨

The slimy man got up from the pest-infested couch, squinting at you. The brilliant idea he hadn't had before coming out of your mouth like a prophecy.

¨Dressrosa, the World Nobles, from the depts of the ocean to the six moons... one day, you will rule them all. You will stand above their fallen bodies and step on them as they lick the floor you walk on.¨

Electricity ran through your bodies, and tears of excitement filled your eyes.

¨Nyeh, your name is Y/N, right? ¨ the miry man asked, keeping a respectful distance from you. His voice annoyed you just as much. ¨It looks like you have a plan, behehehe. Tell us more about it.¨

You looked at him with contempt and mistrust.

¨It´s ok, Y/N. They are my family now.¨

That day you shared the plan that would shape the course of the Donquixote Pirates' operations, and everyone listened in silence, bewildered by the strategic mind of such a young child.

¨I will be your eyes and ears up there.¨

¨I´ll be quick, Y/N. I promise.¨ You shook your head.

¨Haste is the enemy of perfection, Doffy. We shall have all the time in the world.¨

That same night you returned to wealth and abundance, but your heart remained between the scraps and the boy, the Heavenly Yaksha.

For the next two decades, you focused on studies, following like a mantra the striking appearances of the Donquixote Pirates in the newspapers.

The World Nobles feared Doflamingo for his knowledge regarding matters that should be kept secret. Secrets you provided, tearing down the wall of the puny Gods, brick per brick.

Over time, your periodic visits to the world below the Red Line have become more intimate, going from an affectionate gesture to a dinner for two and the satiation of carnal desires.

But maybe there was love. Among the sins and horrors committed, there was a lull after a nightmare. When your fingers ran through his blond hair, and he took off his glasses before pulling you to his chest.

When you laughed at childhood memories or projected a future together.

Maybe it was love. But how could two beasts like you know for sure?

Perhaps it was not necessary to know the real meaning. When the sun came up again, you would be there together, ready to conquer, rule, and destroy.

When traitors raised their weapons and the weak perished, they would see the true face of God. Majestic and merciless.

When the weak rulers gave in to pressure, you would take the dirty hands of hopeless people and raise them up. And they would kiss the ground where you walked, freely and willingly.

¨Do you like our new home?¨ he asked, bringing you inside the feathery pink coat.

You stood in front of the window, watching the country over which you would make prosperity reign.

¨It´s amazing, Doffy.¨

¨Are you staying for good now?¨

A smile grew on your lips ¨I am, Doffy. I´m staying for good.¨

His laughter filled the room. He took your hand and guided you to the armchair, where you sat on his lap, already opening the zipper of your dress.

¨Twenty years, Y/N...¨ he put a lock of hair behind your ear ¨I have waited for twenty years, and now that we accomplished this, I am not letting you go again.¨

You leaned slowly and torturously, flirting with his mouth, teasing him. You wanted to feel each moment, each touch, and each spasm making your body squirm with pleasure.

¨We have all the time in the world...¨ you whispered, placing a kiss on his lips ¨I want to make this very slow and very pleasurable.¨

This time when the sun comes up, you would not have to leave.

He laughed again, wrapping his hand in your hair and pulling enough to make a moan escape your mouth.

¨I can´t promise slow...¨ his voice was low in your ear, weakening your entire body ¨but I will give you pleasure.¨

The trail of kisses on your neck made your guts twist, and your hips move against him, seeking relief.

¨I´m gonna take you right here and right now...¨ he pulled your hair a little harder ¨and I´m gonna make you my Queen.¨

Hey @vemuabhi! Here I go again hahaha

#one piece doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #op doflamingo #doffy #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote family #dressrosa #world nobles #celestial dragons #mary geoise #seven warlords #warlords of the sea #shichibukai #king #red line #numancia flamingo #trebol #diamante

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hyzenthlayroseart · 3 years ago

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So I've mentioned before that I am NOT fond of the Ice Age sequels (the second one's alright, and even though I don't consider the third canon at all I still can't hate it mainly because I love Buck. Everything that came after that is completely dead to me though) but one character that always stood out to me was Shira. I love her design, but when it comes to her character I just find her extremely BORING. She has no personality, she's just The Tough Girl and that's it. Anyway, I decided to revamp her a little by giving her a backstory. So when she was a young cub, her entire pack was killed by a tribe of humans (not the same tribe from the first movie). Due to this, she lived completely on her own since she was a child. She had to teach herself how to hunt for food from a young age and miraculously survived into adulthood. Due to being alone since such a young age, she's distant, antisocial and hardened. She also harbors a deep hatred for humans and kills any she finds. When she finds Manny and the gang, she assumes Diego plans to eat them and she decides to try stealing his "kill". When he fights her off, she's confused to discover that he's not fighting her to protect his food, he's fighting to protect his FRIENDS. She dismisses him as crazy and again tries attacking them but he once again succeeds in stopping her. She angrily accepts that she won't win this time and retreats. That night when she's on her own again, she can't stop thinking about Diego. Why would a saber-toothed tiger be friends with mammoths, a sloth and possums? The question just kept plaguing her mind. His "friends" would be enough food to last for months yet he never ate them. Could it be that he was making up a ridiculous excuse to get her to leave his potential food alone? She didn't get any sleep that night with such questions running through her head. The next day, Shira decides she wants to find that male and figure out what's going on. Shira never bothers interacting with strangers, but this one was so peculiar she just had to learn more. When she finds him, she assures him that she's not here to kill his friends, she just wants to know what's going on. He explains all about how he met Manny and Sid and how they bonded over returning a human baby to its tribe. Of course hearing about the baby makes Shira even more confused, since she can't fathom the idea of caring about humans. When she learns of Diego's past and how the whole reason he originally planned to kill the baby as revenge for the human tribe wiping out half his pack, she's almost offended since her entire pack was also wiped out by humans. So even after learning how they all became friends, she still isn't touched. Then some kind of external conflict happens that forces the gang to leave their home (idk if it's a new villain or a natural disaster, I'm just writing about Shira, I haven't thought of a full story) and Shira reluctantly follows them to save herself. Shira tags along behind them, and even though the gang try to be friendly with her they still keep a safe distance due to her violent nature (plus Ellie's pregnant with Peaches here so Manny's being extra protective of her). Eventually along the way, Shira begins opening up, revealing that she desperately misses having a family, how she grew up alone so she never had friends and her pack was wiped out when she was so young that she barely remembers her parents. She does something she's never done since her pack died: cries. Diego comforts her, and she lets him. Even as Shira starts to open and befriend the gang, she still never lets go of her hatred towards humans. One day, the gang encounter a human teaching his young son how to hunt. Shira wants to attack them but is stopped by Manny; he recognizes the father. And that little boy with him (about 6 years old) was the same baby he saved so long ago. The father recognizes Manny and lets his son approach them (he told his son from a young age how he disappeared and was brought back to him by a mammoth, a sloth and a smilodon). Shira was told the story and never

understand how animals could possibly want to help a human baby, but while witnessing them reuniting, that deep anger within her softens. The boy notices Shira and goes to pet her; his father tries warning him not to since he doesn't recognize her from before and she might be dangerous, but he goes up to her anyway. She hesitates, but ends up letting him stroke her nose. Soon he starts petting her more, and eventually cuddles with her the same way he did with Manny and the others. Needless to say, but she's now convinced not all humans are bad. Anyway Manny and the gang move on and eventually find a new home, Peaches is born and Shira and Diego become mates. This description went on way longer than I thought it would lmao

#fan art #ice age #shira

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winterwolf0916 · 4 years ago

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Quarrel

Jason Todd x Reader

Requested by anon: hi could you write to jason todd x reader that they fight but don't realize their baby is there? Thanks for the reply:) Warning: Language, mentions of divorce, angst, & fluff A/n: Goodness! This is a sweet request and oooo here comes the fluff! *throws a massive cloud* Forgive me with the writing mistakes here 🤧 wrote it at 4 am my dudes. Happy New Years my dears! Word count: 2.6K

You know Jason is strong. He really is. But there are moments, moments where he can be so reckless in patrol to the point where he could’ve lost his life. It happens so often that you promised yourself to be patient in this. Reminding yourself that he has his family, the Outlaws, and you to help him out in his missions. But last night made your patience snap like a thread. You were worried more than ever about his well being.

What if he doesn’t arrive in the morning?

What if he dies and leaves you and your son?

What if-

Countless and countless thoughts radiated in your mind causing your body to weigh as more and more doubts formed. The sight of him huffing and puffing as he entered his and your apartment bloodied and beaten. You knew you were going to say something. Anything. You were fine with it at first since the job came with this. But more nights like these compressed your patience like a boot on a bug.

‘He shouldn’t patrol alone’ you thought. You should go with him to make sure he’s being cautious. But you couldn’t. You needed to take care of your child.

After patching him up and laying in bed in silence back to back, you heard the springs of the bed cry as Jason left the mattress to retrieve something while hissing as if he’s trying to ignore the pain. After a few minutes, you gave up trying to sleep off your uncertainty and decided to talk to him. The conversation went from small suggestions and corrections into bickering and confusion.

You didn’t mean to overstep boundaries. He didn’t mean to make you worry. But how he hides his pain is what frustrates you. How he would joke about the bullet wound in his shoulder didn’t bother him when playing in the park with Y/c/n. How he would flinch when Y/c/n hugs him after a hard patrol.

“You know how dangerous it is to go downtown alone!” You raised your voice. “You could’ve died again!”

“But I didn’t! Why don’t you trust me?!”

It repeated like this, going back and forth, for a solid 15 minutes. But in the moment, it felt like hours. Yelling and spitting out words that are not even meant. Pointing who’s to blame, cutting each other off, and wanting your haunted opinions to be heard. Caught up in the heated situation that you didn’t realize your 10-year-old witnessing it all in the hallway in his pajamas.

What's going on here?

Why are they yelling?

Don’t they love each other anymore?

Are...are they getting a divorce?

He’s seen arguments here and there but it's a different level now. It’s bigger. The picture playing of anger and hatred boiling from his parents. His two favorite people in the world, showing distaste in one another.

As a child, he doesn’t know what’s going on other than the air filled with loathe by the source of his parents. As a child, he felt the need to hug his parents and ask them about the situation. As a child, he felt his eye sockets sting and his mind not functioning of what was happening in front of him.

-------

You were making lunch for your son trying to calm yourself from the argument that occurred hours ago. The fight didn’t go so well that you and Jason agreed to give one another space after he drops Y/c/n off at the bus stop.

Jason left the living room to wake up Y/c/n for breakfast, acting strong from the awful wounds he received this morning. What confused you was the sound of his footsteps quicken.

“Y/c/n?! This isn’t funny!” There was shuffling in the room before Jason returned to the kitchen. “He’s not in his room.”

You both searched the entire apartment from top to bottom before searching the entire building. Finding no trace of your son made you two imagine the worst. The worst-case scenario and the last thing you would ever expect. Y/c/n being kidnapped.

Quickly changing into your suits and heading to the roof to discuss who is going to check what part of Gotham, you found your son sitting at the edge of the rooftop, his back facing you. As his head turned towards the sound of the door barged open, your heart broke and Jason caught his breath at the sight of your child in tears.

“What the-” He quickly wiped his tears in shock, “Mr. Red Hood and Mrs. Y/H/N? Here on my apartment building?”

“Oh crap uh-Don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here.” Y/C/N added, using the hem of his sleeve to wipe his tears, trying to hide his released emotion and pushing down the temptation to fanboy in front of his favorite heroes. Not knowing, they are his parents behind the masks.

“Hey kid, why are you crying?” Jason asked, taking a couple steps forward while you followed.

“It’s really silly.” He sniffled, not wanting to look back. “My parents fought.”

You and Jason paused in your steps, not believing what came out of his mouth. ‘He saw us?’

“Oh…”

“I know! Pretty embarrassing to say this to you guys.”

“Oh no no! It’s not embarrassing at all.” You said.

“It’s ok to tell the truth. I really need it from Gotham’s second-best couple.”

“Hate to ask this, but who’s the first best couple?” Your husband asked. You nudged him, giving the ‘really?’ look.

“My parents of course.” You and Jason melted at the spot from hearing how much your son looked up to his parents’ relationship. “But I guess not, after last night.”

His face fell and lowered his head in defeat after mumbling the last sentence. You and Jason glanced in each other's direction silently making a truce and putting aside your differences before taking a seat next to Y/c/n.

“Is it normal for parents to fight really hard? Please tell me. You guys are my number one from now on.”

“Honey, people argue every day. It helps us to grow as a person and learn about our partner’s troubles and what's important to them...”

“Even if it’s little things or big things or the harsh words we said, it doesn’t matter. We still love each other. We just step on the wrong foot sometimes.”

“Tell me about it, I remember bucket head over here accidentally left the sink on in our apartment. And guess what happened?”

“What?” Your son’s eyes were filled with curiosity while Jason cringed at the memory.

“It flooded our entire kitchen and I scolded him for an hour before he cleaned everything.”

“How long did it take Mr. Red hood to clean everything?”

“Two hours.” Y/c/n snorted but immediately became serious when he remembered who’s the other vigilante sitting right next to him.

“In my defense, I had to fight off Ra's Al Ghul for two weeks straight.”

“And?”

“Aaand, I wasn’t at total fault here.”

“It would’ve been better to not even open the sink at all!”

“I was tired, woman!” Then you heard your own son snickering before letting out a burst of warm laughter. The kind of laughter that made you smile while Jason gave a smirk.

“Wow-uh thanks. You guys really sound like my parents.” Jason opened his mouth to say something before you heard a hiss of a vehicle and the rumble of the engine fading in the distance.

“THE BUS!” You screamed as you jumped and ran towards the corner of the edge, the vehicle traveling away.

Your son’s face went pale at the sight of his transportation turning a corner before disappearing the block. Mostly afraid of his parents giving him a lecture for missing the bus rather than attending class.

“Oh shit.”

“Language.” Jason stated and pinched Y/C/N’s cheek as punishment for adding another curse word to the jar.

“Well! It was great knowing you guys! Ah, I would really love an autograph. Especially from you Y/H/N.”

“Me?”

“My dad has a fat crush on you, but don’t tell him that. He says it’s a secret between us men.” Surprised by the news, you glanced at your husband who then avoided your gaze and set his focus on a far off building, pretending he didn’t hear a thing.

Oh, he’s never going to hear the end of this from you. Your son quickly snatched his backpack that was resting by him and sprinted towards the door. As he opened the door to the stairs and was about to leave, he was lifted from the floor by his backpack, his legs still swinging as if he was running.

“Whoa there.” Jason placed your son down to his feet before gesturing between you two. “Why don’t we drop you off?”

“Really!?” Y/C/N’s eyes glittered with excitement that he’s going to receive the experience of traveling like a vigilante until a realization dawned on the boy. “But wait...I need my parent’s permission for that.”

“Don’t worry. All of the parents in Gotham trust us with their kids.”

“Wait really? You sure they won’t mind?”

“Crystal.”

“Yes! Ah, we gotta hurry. My bus might be a little far from here now.”

“Who said anything about taking you to the bus?”

-----

You and Jason were more than positive to never patrol in broad daylight unless it was an emergency. There are two reasons why. One, anyone can track you easily. Villains and crooks in Gotham don’t rest. Not only that, they have henchmen and machines that can detect vigilante activity which means a higher rate of danger to kidnap or take those who you interact with as hostage.

Two, the nosy journalists trying to snap a picture and give an odd headline to the Gotham press. It wasn’t anything new. This happens occasionally without the masks. So the Batfamily wasn’t bothered much by it. But it is rather important to not make the headline. Depending on what is put, it would falter the trust and hope that civilians have in the heroes of Gotham. Also, they would interview those who interacted with the vigilantes therefore more problems would complicate.

That’s when you both gave a conclusion of dropping off your son in an alleyway close by the school. As he was placed down from you, with wobbly legs and hair out of place, it took a load for you from fixing Y/c/n. But as a mother, you couldn’t help it. You bend down to his level and fix his hair and his shirt in place.

“There. All better.” You smiled at your bewildered son before pulling him in for a tight hug. “Have a great day, baby.”

“You really act like my mom,” you pull away from him, “she’s always picky that I would look nice for school.” You resisted the urge to pinch his cheek from that comment.

“I am not picky.” You stated with a serious tone and face.

“You are.” You heard your husband say.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Not.”

“Are too.”

“You’re not helping, Red.” You motioned at your son who is internally debating to join the small argument or leave it between the two of you since you remind him so much of his parents.

Your husband glanced at your son before winking at him, motioning that his wife is definitely picky. Y/c/n snickered before going silent as your focus landed on him.

“Ok, Y/c/n. Time for you to go to school.” Jason pats Y/c/n’s shoulder

“But...But I don’t want to go.” He wrapped his arms around yours and Jason's legs.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to face my parents when school is over. I’m really scared. What if they want to split up?”

“That won’t happen.” Jason’s tone was serious now.

“How do you know?” It was now Jason’s turn to crouch down to Y/c/n’s level, similar to what Y/c/n’s dad does.

“I’ll say this fast because you need to leave but if I were your dad, I would be an as-” You cleared your throat indicating to Jason to watch his vocabulary, “-idiot to even divorce your mom. Let alone to think of it. I love your mother so much to the point where I would still love her if she’d turn me into a frog. I would rather die again than to lose my family.”

“Wait, you died before-”

“Ah bap bap. Let me finish.” Y/c/n pouted.

“No fair.” Jason smiled under the helmet.

“I would also lose my precious kid. My partner in crime and a part of me. Even though we fought, big-time, I’d still love you and your mom. Relationships aren’t perfect. And neither are families. They’re rough around the edges but they’re still a part of us and we have our roles in them. And for your parents’ roles, they won’t split. I can assure that.”

There it goes again. Y/c/n’s eyes expressing his emotion. He wasn’t sad at all. More as if he’s relieved and content for someone to tell him that all is well. Y/c/n immediately wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and hugged the living hell out of him. Jason didn’t hesitate to hug back his son. As the two parted, your husband stood back up in his usual height.

“Now, get in there. You don’t want your teachers waiting.” Jason ruffled your son’s hair before Y/c/n left out of the alley and stepped on the school grounds.

As Y/c/n looked over his shoulder, he found the couple on a building waving him goodbye. He did the same and disappeared into the building.

-----

The two of you returned to the apartment. It was silent for the most part since the you both agreed to ‘get some air’ when you found Y/c/n. But none of that occurred when you helped Jason inside through the fire escape. He was slowly stripping from his suit and placing his pajamas on with caution. Another hiss from him caused you to place your mask down and help him pull down his shirt.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” It took you a second to process the meaning of the words. Did he apologize? Wait- He apologized?

“...What?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk with Bruce about patrol and-”

“No, I should be the one who’s sorry… You… You always worked alone and risked yourself to get missions done. I should’ve trusted you more that you can defend yourself and come home safely. It was my fault.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m just afraid. Afraid...That you’ll die and leave me and Y/c/n alone. Like how you passed away and left your family and I when we were in high school.” His eyes widened at your confession. “I know! I shouldn’t even worry because you’re so much stronger now. But damn you. Damn you, whenever you come home ripping my soul from my body by how you suffer from your injuries. I know we have schedules for patrolling and taking care of Y/c/n but I’ll stop complaining and overreacting-”

You didn’t expect yourself to be in his arms, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and your fired up spirit to be calmed by listening to the soothing beating of his heart. What a day.

“I think we have enough stress for one morning.”

“...Agreed.”

“I’ll talk with Bruce about patrols. In the meantime… let’s get some rest before Y/c/n comes back from school.”

“Alright…” Jason pulled away and was going to lead you to your shared bedroom before you stopped him. “I also have something else to say.”

“That is?”

“Well...more like an important question.”

“Ok?”

"How long have you had a crush on me?”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #Red Hood X y/n #red hood x you #red hood x reader #first time writing a big fic #4am my dudes #WHOO #dc x y/n #dc x you #dc x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #jason todd imagine #batboys x reader #batboys x y/n #batboys x you

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fabdante · 4 years ago

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Not to keep on with this but right so I made a post about Vergil and Bernini and in that post I mentioned what art works and pieces I think represent the other parts of the DmC trio, Kat and Dante. And I just wanted to follow up on that with more focused posts because yall have no idea, I’m very into this whole thing.

First up: Dante

So Dante I go into a good deal in the Baroque essay already so some of this is a rehashing but I just wanted to go more in depth about Dante and Caravaggio’s Davids.

(David and Goliath, 1599)

(David with the Head of Goliath, 1607)

(David with the Head of Goliath, 1610)

More about Dante, Caravaggio, and especially that last David under the cut! This one got a little long.

Ok so first things first, like discussed in the Baroque essay, Dante is Baroque and the game is based around Caravaggio’s Baroque to a point where many of his paintings are directly referenced. That last David in particular is referenced directly in the game. See below:

so I’m not really saying anything the game hasn’t really done itself here. Dante is the main character, he is represented by Baroque and Caravaggio. That’s his vibe, that’s the parallel. And it’s a very intentional one I mean in Talexi’s art book he discusses picking Caravaggio as an influence and the overlap between Dante’s whole deal and Caravaggio’s own. But I’m like really into Caravaggio’s David’s and want to talk about that and the neat way this plays with Dante’s whole deal so, let’s do it.

To quickly summarize Caravaggio and the background of his last David: Caravaggio was an angry guy who worked in Rome during the Baroque period until he killed a guy for Reasons (probably a bet, possibly a woman, possibly a tennis match or something, probably the bet). He gets kicked out of Rome, does some stuff (joins a knighthood? at some point then leaves the knighthood?), gets word that the pope wants to pardon him. He goes back to Rome with some art but dies on the way at the ripe age of 38. One of the paintings with him that makes it on this trip is the last David.

What I like about Caravaggio’s David’s is how different they are then other David’s that come up in the art history canon. Just for comparison I’ll share the famous David but also Bernini’s David from the same time period.

(The David, Michelangelo)

(David, Benini. Pain to get a photo of s2g)

The first key difference is I mean, all three of Caravaggio’s David’s are wearing clothes which I think is neat in that I imagine he would be wearing those given the situation. But beyond that, what strikes me about Caravaggio’s David’s is their youth. In the biblical story, David is more the age Caravaggio consistently depicts him at. Which is about approximately preteen or teenage. The second thing that strikes me is the confidence and power displayed in Bernini and Michelangelo’s David’s evoke. But Caravaggio’s are not confident, not the way these one’s are. And especially that last one.

Caravaggio’s David is unsure. He’s just done this thing, killed this man, but he doesn’t seem to have quite processed it in the first two. But in the third, he is processing it. And he’s not processing it well. This is a David who is unsure. This is a David who seems to pity the man who’s head he now holds by the hair. This is a David who is not strong and unwavering and confident and elegant, this is a child who just killed a man. This echo’s in the games interpretation of the scene, that same worry echoing in Dante’s brow that’s in Caravaggio’s. It’s a sympathetic David in that he seems to be unsure if this choice was worth the personal toll but also in the sense that the viewer is sympathetic to him, they feel bad for this child who has just been forced to make this choice.

Reboot Dante’s life is not one about choice, it’s not really something he seems to be able to do often. Sparda put him into the orphanage and the orphanage put Dante into the foster care system. And ever since then Dante has had to fight. Not by choice, but by necessity. It show’s in his combat style, in his clearly untrained movements focused on power and strength rather then tactics. Vergil, if you watch him fight, he’s much more elegant, his style reflecting practice and technique. Dante, though, throws everything into his movements to kill as fast as possible. That if he just swings hard enough, this’ll all be over faster. He even stumbles in his combat because he’s put so much power into his swings, it’s my favorite little detail.

In the game, it’s mentioned that Dante’s first recorded demon kill was when he was eight years old. It was one of the ‘caretakers’ at the facility he was in. I often wonder if that’s the moment that they were trying to depict in this image, the moment after that. I'm not really sold that he looks eight here but I mean you be the judge of that but bare with me. It’s the mood, that moment right after he’s been forced to enter his new reality for the first time. That he is going to have to fight like this the rest of his life. That bewilderment and regret and just general disbelief that he’s done this, that he’s just killed something. That sorrow for the Dante he was before, like that sorrow that David must be feeling for who he was before as well.

But there’s a second layer here I haven’t gotten to yet. And that’s how Caravaggio’s David is also thought to be a self portrait. No, he’s not David. Caravaggio has painted himself as Goliath. A portrait of Caravaggio for reference:

(Caravaggio as depicted by Ottavio Leoni in 1621)

Usually this is read as a tongue and cheek thing to the pope, like Caravaggio is offering himself in the ultimate repentance for his crimes. He’s sorry, here’s his head on a platter. But there’s something about it being a self portrait coupled with David’s pity for this Goliath that feels kinda...sad in a way.

Further context to this is Caravaggio, on the run or not, did not have a studio. He was a solo artist, which is a bit odd for the period at his level. He did not take students, so his techniques died with him. No one else worked on his paintings, they’re all by his hand. This in particular David was not commissioned either, it was done as a gift. So this was a deliberate thing entirely thought through by him, painting himself as Golith, painting David so full of pity and grief.

It’s sort of this idea of pity for the monster when you yourself are the monster as well as a sort of self hatred. Which reboot Dante is familiar with. Either Dante, preboot or reboot, kind of has this arc about trying to cope with being half demon while hating being half demon. It’s not a part of himself that he likes. The reboot goes further with this though because he doesn’t even have the solace of being half human, he’s also half angel. Reboot Dante goes from seeing himself as a human being to being told no, your not, your the things that you hate and it’s your job to protect people anyway. You are both the out of control monster and a threat, but also their protector.

In either reboot or preboot this isn’t like the most explicit character beat, though it does come up. In the reboot we see it peak through in moments like Dante’s interactions with Phineas. The ‘my father was a demon and I’m nothing like him’ mentality. The reboot makes this more pressing to in that like, the reboot makes it clear that demons are not a hive mind. While they seem to vary in intelligence and free will and all that, the game does not imply that Phineas and Sparda are alone in their grievances where as the preboot paints demons like Sparda and Trish as complete oddities. But part of either Dante’s rejection of Sparda is always rooted in ‘Sparda is a demon, and I’m nothing like the demons.’

This is interesting in the reboot because, unlike Vergil, reboot Dante is always visually contrasted with demon imagery. His world is very red. His color is red. The colors on him, even the blacks and grays, are warm tones. His devil trigger is designed in such a way that the abundance of reds in it are even more prominent then his initial design. The only time he’s not is the scene with the graffiti where he’s positioned on the side with the angels. But visually it’s still made clear. Dante is the demonic twin, Vergil more angelic. On top of that, characters in the reboot love to point out how Dante reminds them of Sparda. Phineas does it and Mundus really does it (the ‘just like your father, too big for your fucking boots’ line). Which further puts Dante at odds with his identity. As much as he thinks he is nothing like Sparda, he’s his fathers son. He’s the demon half of this twin relationship.

I think to like Caravaggio’s David’s just...they don’t want to do this. They’re just kids. They don’t want to kill their Goliaths. But they have to. Which is the spot we see reboot Dante in. He doesn’t want to save the world. He doesn’t want to fight for his life as often as he does. He doesn’t want this. But he has to do it. He might say he doesn’t give a shit, but what’s his choice? When has he ever had a choice? He’s the unwilling savior.

This runs through the game to. Dante doesn’t really want to be here. He makes that clear a lot. And his bravado is constantly a cover to keep him from being too vulnerable, too exposed. But it’s that last fight with Vergil where it all falls apart. He did this because Vergil asked him to, and Vergil didn’t even tell him the truth. And just like everything else, Dante doesn’t want to kill Vergil. He doesn’t want to fight him. But he’s provoked him anyway and got himself in this fight and he can’t let Vergil take the throne. David can’t just let Goliath go.

It’s the end of the game where we finally have Dante completely free of his walls and completely bare and entirely unaware of who he is and what he’s supposed to do next. It’s the same sort of vulnerability that I feel is abundant in that last David. Who is he now after all of this? Does he like this person? What’s he to do now that he knows what he’s capable of, knows what he’s done?

What makes him any different then this head in his hands?

#dmc devil may cry #dmc reboot #devil may cry reboot #dmc reboot dante #devil may cry reboot dante #reboot dante #fab talks meta

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n0wornever · 4 years ago

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Wish You Were Sober - Luke Patterson x Reader

Based on the song by Conan Gray :)

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come?” Alex questions, giving her a quick side hug.

She sighed, leaning into him for a second. “No, I really don’t want to be around drunk people tonight.”

Alex rose an eyebrow “Or is it a particular drunk person...”

She pushed his shoulder back, a smirk sneaking forward on her lips. She shook her head at him as she pushed him toward his car. She watched her friend’s jeep pull out of her driveway and gave him a half-hearted wave.

Her phone buzzed, a new message blasting to the front of her screen. She rolled her eyes as she read his name. She opened the device, reading through the message.

“Alex told me you’re not coming tonight. Bummer :(”

She tried to fight the grin that stretched across her face at how quickly he had figured this out. She had just told Alex no longer than 10 minutes ago. She really wanted to say something witty, but the her racing heart betrayed her and fogged her thoughts. She sat down on her front porch stair, typing a weak response.

“Sorry :(”

Three little dots danced across the conversation, falling after a moment. Left on read. She shoved her phone back into her pocket as she walked back up the stairs to her house.

Y/N wasn’t opposed to high school parties. Give her a few drinks and she may convince you that she actually enjoyed them. It was the overall sinking feeling she got in her stomach as she watched him clumsily stumble around the room with a pretty blonde on his arm that made her dread events. She knew it was petty to avoid social gatherings entirely because of one person, but she had convinced herself that the only way to get over her crush on her neighbor, Luke Patterson, was to cut off communication cold turkey.

They had wandered into each other’s lives three years ago, when Luke’s parents purchased the house next to her own. Their mothers being the hostesses that they were, pushed for joint family dinners and barbecues to get to know everyone. Y/N would usually make herself pretty scarce, bringing her ukelele down and sitting on their old swing tied to the tree in their yard, watching the interactions from afar.

That was until Luke made it his mission to walk over and break the silence. As he approached her, he pointed at the instrument in her hand and smiled. “You play?”

“No, it’s for show,” She said, strumming it again.

Luke laughed at her, placing his hand on one rope attached to the swing. She tried to distance the eye contact, but fell victim to his dark green eyes. “For how long?”

She moved her eyes back to the instrument, fiddling with the third string in her hand. “A few years now...” she trailed off.

“Nice. I play guitar and....” She took note of his wandering sentence, looking over to see his jaw locked as he stared at her. “And you don’t care about anything I’m saying.”

This brought a smile to Y/N’s face, letting her nose scrunch a bit. “It’s nothing personal, just don’t like forced interactions.” She starting to play a soft melody, looking over at her mom, smiling wide at whatever Luke’s dad said.

“Unfortunately my mom is the queen of hosting.”

Luke nodded, his eyes darting from the table back to her. He nodded his head back in the direction of his house. “We could ditch and just jam in my garage?”

Her hand stilled. She looked over at her mom pulling out a phone with most likely a horrible old image of her in pigtails. She met Luke’s eyes again and nodded. “Quickly, please.”

He moved back from the swing, letting her plant herself back on the ground before leading her across the lawn.

From that day, Luke and Y/N had an interesting relationship. They weren’t exactly best friends, but they were able to bond over their love of music and their hatred of family events. Y/N would use his quiet personal refuge in his garage often just to strum her uke in someone else’s presence, the two rarely talking.

That was until Luke would cave and play a part of a song for her review. She always giggled at the boyish glow in his eyes when he played something for any willing audience. She’d give him notes and listened to draft after draft until it was completed.

It was about a month ago when she realized her feelings toward the guitarist had changed. One night she snuck over the fence for a first in-person event that Luke’s new band held. There were only two people in attendance, a pretty brunette who was attached to Luke’s waist, and Y/N. The boys were going to run through a few songs before the next battle of the bands.

Luke’s eyes met hers with his bright smile. “Y/N you made it! Josie will have someone to sit with.” He beamed down at the girl next to him.

She awkwardly planted herself on the couch next to the girl, mumbling a ‘hi’ in her direction. The interaction cut short by Josie turning away from her, the obvious conclusion that the girl was going to gawk at the musician the whole time. Y/N curled her feet underneath her, rotating from scrolling through social media and listening to the boys.

As her eyes gravitated toward the stage, she watched as Luke smirked at Josie, shooting a wink in her direction. She felt this feeling in her stomach that made her want to throw up, shoulders sinking lower. Alex’s eyes met her from behind the drumset for a moment before she moved back to her phone.

As the guys put away their instruments, Luke ushered Josie into the house. His drummer jogged over to meet Y/N at the couch. “You okay? You seem even more disengaged than usual.”

She let a little smile curl on the corner of her mouth as she met his soft eyes. “I’m fine Alex, just felt a little awkward.”

Alex placed his drumsticks in his back pockets, shifting his weight to his left side. “You can just say you don’t like Josie?”

Y/N stammered “It’s not that I don’t like her, I don’t know her I just...I don’t know.”

He eyed her up and down “I think you do. And I think the reason is inside right now with another girl.”

She bit her lip, throwing a pillow at the boy in front of her. Alex dodged it, laughing to himself.

She’d never been jealous before, but she didn’t like how nauseous it made her. This feeling followed her to every party or event that she went to. Luke would always bring some new girl on his arm, and she’d watch as he’d twirl her out onto the dance floor or catch them sloppily kiss each other in the kitchen while blacked out.

So she stopped going to parties. She didn’t expect Luke to notice, they didn’t even really talk at those events. They would say hello and Luke would try to get her drunk 90% of the time because he had determined that she needed to ‘let loose and have fun.’ She would roll her eyes and down a shot so he’d leave her alone.

Instead, Y/N spent most weekends with Alex or Reggie or Julie, and nights by herself in her room with her ukelele and a notebook. She’d started writing music when Luke formed the band, inspired by her friends’ talent and her budding feelings she toward one particular band member. She was happy that she had finally started writing songs instead of just strumming to Colbie Caillat lyrics all the time. It was the first time she felt like a true musician.

She pulled out her notebook and tucked her pen behind her ear, pulling her uke to her chest. She hummed for a moment, staring up into the distance as she thought. A few moments later, she grabbed the pen quickly and scribbled a few lines down on the page. She continued this pattern until she had finished the bridge of her new piece. As she set down her pen, there was a knock at her window.

She grabbed her keys, equipped with a small pocket knife and pepper spray and inched toward the glass. As she got closer she could make our curly brown hair. as she leaned into the futon, she looked out to see a wide-eyed boy staring back at her.

“Patterson, really?” She shook her head as she unlocked the window and pulled it up.

The boy fell into the room heavily, automatically making Y/N worry about her parent’s wandering ears. She held up her finger to her mouth. “Quiet or I’ll kill you.” She walked past him to stop the cold air from seeping in.

She stomped back over to stand in front of the boy, hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

Luke’s eyes were barely open, and she could smell the whisky from her safe distance. He stumbled a bit as he tried to walk forward toward her. She grabbed his hand and led him back to the futon. He leaned his arm on the back of the seat, looking at her with a smirk pulled onto his left cheek.

“Y/N, I missed you tonight.”

She rolled her eyes “Did you really climb on my roof to say that?”

He nodded, moving closer to her “You’re avoiding me.” he said, lip jutting out into a pout.

“No I’m not.”

His eyes tried to widen at her and she pursed her lips. He put his hand her thigh as he spoke again in an animated whisper. “I think you are, and I’m not happy about it. Y/N I thought we were friends.”

Her heart thumped at this statement. She did feel guilty about ignoring him without giving him a reason. He was so busy with school, the band and girls she didn’t think that his neighbor leaving him alone would be an issue. Luke’s hand came up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, giving her a wider smile.

“You look pretty in this light,” He slurred, body moving forward toward her.

She had to shut this down. She felt goosebumps raise on her arms as his hand trailed down her left side. He was drunk out of his mind right now. She couldn’t deal with the very real emotions she was having about this moment, as it was clear that this blank stare and dilated pupils were the only things present on his end. She stood up from the couch and held out her hand for him to take.

“I think you should go,” Luke rose to meet her, hand coming to grab at her waist.

“Y/N, wait.”

She shook her head, moving over to the window. This drunk idiot was lucky she lived on the first floor. She pointed outside as she looked back over at him. His eyes drooped as he stumbled across the floor. He placed a foot outside before turning back to her once more.

“Y/N..”

She cut him off, rubbing her right eye with her hand “Just go, Luke, we’ll talk later.” He frowned at her before disappearing out into the darkness.

She shut the window and moved over to her bed, flopping onto her back. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. She sat back up to pull back her covers before getting underneath them and shutting off her light.

Early in the morning, she woke up to her mother yelling to her from the kitchen. She crawled out of bed, pulling her slippers on her feet before opening her door and moving sluggishly toward the next room. Her mom was hard at work at the stove, making Sunday breakfast. He mom’s eyes met hers with a soft smile, eyes fogged under her glasses from the steam.

“We have a visitor this morning,” She stated.

Y/N gave her a confused look before she saw the small smile on a certain brunette’s face as he sat at her kitchen island. She was tempted to run back to her room, feeling faint from the heat rushing all over her body. Instead, she crossed her arms in front of her as she walked slowly toward him.

Luke looked at her with wide eyes, “can we talk.” She sighed, looking at the way his twiddled his thumbs as he spoke.

She gave him a small smile, pointing out of the room. She looked over to her mom before heading toward her door. “Let us know when breakfast is ready, I just have to show Luke something real quick.” Her mom beamed at the pair, nodding.

Luke trailed behind Y/N as she led them to her room. She pulled the door open and let him walk inside. She shut the door behind them, turned on the light before walking over to sit down on her bed, staring over at him, standing with his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry about last night..” He started in a low voice. “I don’t know what came over me.”

She shrugged “it’s fine Luke no need to make it a big deal.”

He shook his head at her. “But it is. Y/N, you’re avoiding me and I wanted to ask you about it for weeks but only drunk me had the courage to come over and do it.”

Her eyes widened. “Luke, I-”

He interrupted her “Don’t try to make me feel better, Y/N. I can see right through the act.” her shoulder slumped as she watched his eyes narrow at her. “What did I do?”

She ran her hand through her hair, standing up straighter. She watched as his eyes fell toward his shoes, taking a deep breath before addressing him again.

“Luke, I wish I could tell you. I- you never noticed I was there anyway so I didn’t think the distancing would be this complicated...”

His head perked up, frowning at her. “Y/N what are you talking about, we talk like everyday.”

She rolled her eyes “Yes, it was just hard to do so when I have to be around all of your lady friends every time i’m over. Their energy is always weird and I feel uncomfortable.....”

She watched as his expression changed to one of anger “So I can’t have people over to to my own home when you’re around?”

She shook her head, feeling her heart rate rise during the conversation. “No, Luke that’s not what I meant, Jesus Christ, I-”

He towered over her, practically seething as he talked “Then what is it.”

She put her head into her hands, steadying her breathing before looking back up at him. “It’s because I like you Luke, okay? It’s hard to watch you be all over other girls when I’m dealing with the fact that I want to be with you. Are you satisfied with me embarrassing myself now?”

His mouth ajar, he froze looking over at her. She moved from her bed over to the futon near her window to avoid his eyes. She leaned against the back, staring outside. After a silent second, she felt the cushion fall next to her. His hand came up to her shoulder, causing her to look at him again.

“Y/N, I had no clue...I..”

Tears in her eyes, she chewed on her bottom lip as she studied him. “How would you possibly know, I never acted on anything. I’m sorry I even said anything.” She gave him a pointed look as she watched a sad look paint across his face. “Please don’t feel bad for me, just...just forget I said anything.”

He ran his hand through his messy hair “It’s hard to forget a fact like that, Y/N.” They stared at each other for a moment before he moved his hand to her cheek to wipe her tears. She tried to ignore how the closeness made her chest tighten.

“Can it be my turn to be honest now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded, sitting back to get a better view of his face. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before moving his eyes back to hers.

“I had a crush on you the day I met you,” he started, Y/N pulling a confused face as she listened to him. “But you were so distant, I got in my own head and decided that you weren’t interested. I’ve been dating around because I didn’t think it’d affect you, because you saw us as friends. Now I see that I wasn’t as observant as I thought I was.”

She watched as his hand moved over toward hers, touching it softly as he looked at her, waiting for the okay. She nodded slightly and he wrapped his fingers around hers. His smiled grew and he squeezed her hand softly.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, unintentional or not, I never want you to feel like that around me,” He brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles.

“Luke I told you it’s alright. I should have been honest and not iced you out. I promise it’s-”

“Y/N, if you say it’s fine one more time...”

“But it is I-” Her voice was cut off by his lips pressing into hers. She let herself melt into his touch for a moment before they pulled away. As her eyes fluttered open, she was at a total loss.

“I still like you, Y/N.” She felt a familiar feeling rush to her cheeks as he rubbed her thumb against the skin. The right corner of his mouth rose into a smirk, basking in her silence.

“If that’s what it takes for you to shut up, count me in.” He joked, bringing his free hand up to her neck and kissing her again.

Tag list: @xplrreylo @lovesanimals, @anythingandeverythingfandom, @crybabyddl, @oswin05, @themaddies-obx, @lukeys-giggle, @bumbleberry-pie @kiss-themoongoodbye @marinettepotterandplagg, @lolychu, @bathtimejish, @dasexydevitt13 @musicconversedance, @txrii @bestdressedandstressed @daisiesforlacey @epikskool @bookfrog247 @carleywhittaker @princessvader15 @rudysbay @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfiction #jatp #julie and the phantoms

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