#i finally wrote this omg

[megafreeman]

Saints Taxi

Several months after the Third Street Saints have re-established their presence in Stilwater, the gang started conducting their own criminal activities within the city. The deal was very simple, set up a stronghold in one of the neighborhoods and use it to run a local operation in that district.

This seemed simple on paper, but the problem arose in practice. While the strongholds did a great job giving the Saints a strong presence in those neighborhoods, they struggled spreading the operations outside of Saints controlled territories; especially when the Saints controlled neighborhoods weren't next to each other.

As the leadership of the Third Street Saints struggled to figure out how to solve this issue, Boss (Zack) realized something about the city. After Ultor gentrified a large portion of the city, Stilwater became a tourist trap of sort, and the taxi industry has been booming, with there never being more taxis on the streets.

So what if the Saints started their own taxi service in Stilwater, and used the taxis to blend into the Stilwater's traffic as they smuggle the goods all around the city unnoticed. Boss then made a call to his cousin Jamie O'Connor (pictured above) (full bio), who for the most of his life worked as a cab driver in London, and offered him to move to the United States and run the cab business for the Saints. He agreed, marking the start for the new era of the Third Street Saints.

[crybaby-bkg]

I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.

“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.

“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.

you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.

you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.

he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.

“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.

“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.

[hanrinz]

THE EGOIST NEXT DOOR.

pairing. isagi yoichi x gn! reader ( word count. 1.0k ) genre. boy next door

synopsis. wherein the guy next door often borrows things from you and then he asks for something different.

content. fluff, just isagi your handsome neighbor, loser isagi lol, use of the word 'pretty', word vomit. minimal proofread.

notes: after a month of no post i finally posted smth :') omg i miss writing sm </3 omg first real fic?? lol :x isagi is a loser no one can change my mind.

a knock sounds through the hallway, six in the morning, you were woken up from your slumber.

who could possibly be up at this hour, on a weekend too? other than your grandmother who you think is the only person who can possibly do so, no one else comes to mind.

swinging your feet off the mattress and dragging yourself to the front door. the knocks haven't ceased down and it only adds to your annoyance.

"coming!" a frustrated huff leaves your mouth as you unlock the door.

only to be met with deep blue eyes and a sheepish smile that accompanies his face.

oh.

"isagi?" brows knitted in confusion, your newly moved neighbor isagi yoichi, who's around your age and often passes by your door by night coming home from practice.

if you recall correctly, a month has already gone by since he had occupied the door next to yours. and a month since he has been knocking at your door whenever he needs something.

or moreso in borrowing something from your home.

most of it being ingredients that should never be gone inside a kitchen. the last thing he had borrowed from you, was your sugar that he still hasn't returned.

the last time you checked your apartment wasn't a convenient store, just for him to knock at and get things as he pleases. you might as well charge him for everything he's been borrowing in your home.

"hi, pretty," a hand comes up as a greeting. curse him and his face, isagi yoichi was too pretty to be smiling at you on this god-forbidden morning.

"sorry to bother you this early, but i need to borrow something, again." he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"isagi, this is the seventh time already." you reminded him.

isagi is nice, yes, unfortunately. it can't really be helped for you to be mad at him long, not when he always makes sure to drop by some cookies that you love, with little notes that are sticked on it.

a way of his compensation to the troubles he had caused.

isagi is nice, but this growing routine needs to be put to a stop—for your sanity and to your pocket that is on the verge of crying.

you're sure, soon enough the both of you would really need to run to the grocery for a restock—also the very thing that isagi had been forgetting to do, you wonder how he's even surviving.

his embarrassment only grew, his cheeks deepened to the shades of red and he clears his throat with a response. "i know, sorry."

you lean onto your door frame, sighing as you let him borrow something from you one last time, "fine, but this will be the last time."

his eyes were now brimming as he smiled so brightly, it might as well rival the sun itself.

"really?" disbelief and excitement evident in his voice. "but promise me first, y/n. you won't be mad, okay?"

you look at him with suspicion, one brow raised, eyes squint in question. "isagi.. what is it?"

"you won't be mad though, right?" he asks once more.

"just get on with it, yoichi."

for someone who is shamelessly borrowing a lot of things from their neighbor, isagi is losing all the confidence to ask you one thing right this very moment.

the pep talk he had with bachira the night before didn't even help with the ever growing anxiety that he feels on his chest. it's funny though, if he wasn't in this position he would've laughed at the situation at hand.

isagi is stupid and an idiot—what rin would've said to him, but lukewarm might just be the perfect word, for what he is about to do.

he reckons he could even possibly recover from this moment ever again, but to hell with it. what is he if not an egoistical striker who can't even get the number of his pretty neighbor next door?

possibly a loser, but let's be honest. he kind of is.

but we can excuse that because of his boyish charms, can we?

the silence that hovers over the atmosphere was rather foreign, uncharacteristically from all the comfortable stillness you had with him.

the anxiety that swirls within was contagious, isagi and this newfound silence was not helping with it.

and in the middle of all the uncomfortable reverie and this consuming tension, with hundreds of practice and perfection in his head, he still managed to fuck things up.

"can i borrow your phone?"

fuck.

isagi yoichi is a loser. even after all the countless talks and encouragement insults he had received, isagi yoichi had made a mistake once again.

you looked at him with confusion painted all over your face and to be honest, yoichi might have died a little on the inside.

but what's a man gotta do? he's more determined than to let his already blown away ego and his thoughts, back down from this.

"my phone?"

"..yes.. please?"

you look at him incredulously, doubt was much apparent, but you acquiesce to his plea. grabbing your phone from the bedside of your room, leaving isagi to contemplate every decision he had made.

coming back to him not long, with the device in your hand, handing it to him without any clue to what he needs it for.

an idea comes to mind onto what he is using it for, it may have been he was locked out of his apartment, or maybe he lost his keys, or maybe his phone was dead and his charger was nowhere to be seen.

a lot of possibilities, but it remained to be a mystery.

isagi returned your phone to you without a word, you look at him with much more confusion and he only gives you a sharp grin before running off.

what a way to save himself from this scenario.

leaving you puzzled, as you look at your phone with your contacts left open and noticing a new one added to it, with a name you're very much familiar with.

yoichi ;)

maybe, yoichi isn't here to borrow from you anymore.

© fallenssun 2023. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[berryliciousjam]

🎼🖤Let's Dance!🤍🎼

Through varied beats and rhythm,

We danced along its catchy flow.

Blessed by neons, your eyes land upon me—

Oh my beloved, you twirled me to the doors!

Did parties bore your mind at all?

Or was it me in monochrome, turned you on?

[1/2]

[crovoroh]

Shy old man isnt hip with the lingo

Im putting a million postage stamps on them, gonna ship em everywhere

My friend and i plus like 3 people on tumblr shipping these guys, the rest of the fandom is the exasperated npc not caring about this rare pair

[nullsleepy]

Hero to None, Savior to All

Maribat BioDad!Batman

“Oh, like you’re any better, father! Or should I say Batman?” Ladybug whirled around, staring the man in the eyes.

“Mari, I-” Bruce kept his face blank, looking down at her. What was she doing? Playing hero?

“Oh don’t ‘Mari’ me! I am, and will always be, Marinette DUPAIN-CHENG to you, Wayne!” She spat at him, taking a step forward towards him.

“Marinette…”

“I am the LADYBUG, savior of Paris, savior of France, savior of this entire FUCKING WORLD! And you think you can just show up and change that?” Marinette heaved, rage burning in her eyes.

“Ma-”

“OH DON'T YOU INTERRUPT ME NOW, MR WAYNE! YOU’VE HAD FIFTEEN YEARS TO SPEAK UP SO IT’S MY TURN!” She snarled, her mouth straining at the ends from how wide she had to open her mouth to scream.

“…” Bruce swallowed, facing the girl. He could hear the pain in her voice.

“I have tried, AND TRIED, to reach out to you, to anyone! But none of you supposed heroes want to get your heads out of your asses long enough to listen! So I did your job, every single one of you all’s job, and SAVED THIS PLANET, THIS GALAXY! HELL, I’VE SAVED THIS TIMELINE MORE TIMES THAN YOU’VE BREATHED IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE THREE TIMES OVER!” Tears streamed down Marinette’s face, leaving red ugly lines when she wiped them away. “So go ahead, tell me what I’ve done wrong! Tell me I’m just a kid in an adult’s costume! Won’t be the first time I’ve heard, nor will it be the last! But you will not erase all of the pain my citizens have gone through, nor will you erase everything I’ve done! I am Marinette FUCKING Dupain-Cheng, savior of all that exist and don’t exist! I am the champion of PARIS!”

“….” Bruce’s eyes softened, watching the trembling girl- no, the trembling hero. Her stare told stories of tragic losses and unwavering pain. She wasn’t a kid, no, she had long since lost that title. She was someone who had faced more than anyone could handle, but here she was, still standing. She was a symbol of hope.

“WELL? Is that all you got to say now? ‘Cuz you were quite chatty EARLIER!” Marinette pointed a finger at the man, stabbing at his chest. She was breathing heavily, anger the only thing filling her movements.

“…..” He lowered his gaze, unable to stand looking at the once child. Reaching forward, he took hold of her hand.

“Oi! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU-” Bruce yanked her forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “LET GO!”

“….” Bruce held her tighter, silently crying his own tears for her.

“I SAID LET GO! LET GO OF ME!” She struggled against his hold, slamming her fists against his shoulders.

“LET GO!” She continued, using every last bit of strength she had left to try to claw out of his hold. “I SAID LET GO.. let go of me…let.. go..”

Marinette could feel as her body went limp, weighing down heavily on her very bones. Her strength left her completely, her muscles going slack. She couldn’t even control her tears from staining her face.

“…et go…” Her eyelids grew heavy as her legs shook, giving way to the weight of her body. All she could hear was her own whimpers as everything blurred together.

As her eyes closed, a pink splash of light over took her body, leaving her in her civilian clothes. Bruce looked over the unconscious body of his daughter, able to see the scars covering her body more clearly. He didn’t even hold back his small gasp at her injuries. His little girl… could he even call her that anymore? She was so different from before, from the pictures and videos he was sent. She was so small, but so large. She had the presence of someone who would do anything to save those she loved. She was…

His little girl was a hero.

[deepfriedpaddymayne]

girls when they remember that wilfred owen was killed in action A WEEK before the armistice was signed

[askinkiskarma]

I may or may not have just received the best present i will possibly ever receive. My two soulmates, @sulieykte and my bf got together behind my back to work on making my first baby, illicit affairs, into an ACTUAL BOOK, a hardcover BOOK. A BOOK! i now have a book and i can put it in my bookshelf and hope nobody picks it up and reads it cause that would be an awkward conversation to have. I am so so grateful and so unbelievably bewildered, so i will need some time to process this, but how incredible is it??? :((((

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

The limo in front of them finished releasing it's cargo: a family of lessor Goetia consisting of a pair of blue and red Macaws and their primarily blue offspring. They posed here and there as they made their way up to the front doors. The limo rolled away, leaving room for Asmodeus' limo to roll up.

The limo rolled to a stop. It was their turn to get out.

Lucifer's entire body froze up. Etiquette dictated that he should get out first with Alastor. Not that he cared about etiquette. Etiquette could go screw itself for all he cared. It still dictated he go first.

He really did not want to go first.

He opened his mouth with every intent of telling Asmodeus and Fizzarolli to go first, only to be cut off by a shrill voice screaming: "WE LOVE YOU FIZZAROLLI!"

All eyes inside the limo went to the source of the scream. It was the fan from before, having managed to break free of the barrier that had been erected to allow. Eyes crazed and pants half undone, he rushed the limo, fully intent on throwing himself at it.

Disgusted, Lucifer snapped his fingers, the fan disappearing in a burst of red and gold dust.

A long silence followed, both inside the limo and outside. Fizzarolli gaped, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Uh, what did you do to him?"

Lucifer blinked, eyes moving uncoordinated of each other. "I dropped him into a volcano."

Somewhere in the Wrath Ring, the little fan was getting a very hot bath. He may or may not survive the experience.

The retired actor of the group gave into the impulse and grinned. "If it wasn't rude, I'd beg you to play body guard."

Lucifer huffed, the mental image absurd. Just image: the king of Hell acting as body guard to an imp. It would be a silly sight.

No more silly than hiding behind his younger sibling, he supposed.

He drew in a deep breathe, held it, then let it out. He reached for the door handle. "Alright, better get this over with."

"Sire, if I may suggest?" Alastor tapped this side of his king's mouth, his own smile picture perfect. "Perhaps a little of that devilish charm might go a long way, in this case."

Lucifer, feeling stressed and spiteful, threw him a smile that was more aggressive than charming over his shoulder as he opened the door. As expected, the moment he cleared the car door, the stunned crowd, understandably not expecting him to show up - forget stepping out of the Sin of Lust's limo - completely lost their minds. Fixing his grin in place, he reached back into the car. "I believe that's our cue, Mr. Radio Demon."

It was like watching the shift change in his radio station. Alastor rose up out of the limo like he regularly showed up in luxury vehicles at high profile venues. Every move was full of lethal and gentlemanly grace. Without missing a beat, he tucked the hand Lucifer had used to lead him out of the limo onto his arm, as if it were perfectly normal for him to have the King of Hell himself on his arm. As he made his way towards the entrance of the manor, one might have thought he had been the one to receive the invitation.

For all that Alastor claimed that he only had a face for radio, he knew how to put on a show for a crowd. As few photos existed of him, the paparazzi could be forgiven for taking a moment to recognize him. But when they did, they went wild all over again.

"Your Majesty! Are you and the Radio Demon having an affair?" One sinner, a shark based one, tried to shove his microphone as far over the barrier as he could.

Another reporter grabbed the collar of her cameraman, nearly choking him as she aimed him in the direction she wanted. "How long has this been going on?"

"Does this mean that the Queen is gone for good?" A small raccoon sinner ducked under the rope barrier, holding onto it as he leaned out to try at a response as they passed.

At least one of them must have been Vox's people, as she threw her hands in front of the lens, shouting, "Stop recording, you idiot! You'll damage the camera!"

Sure enough, everyone who had attempted to either take a photo of Alastor or to film him over the last several moments began to make horrified, dismayed, or angry cries, or some combination of the three as they discovered their cameras were all beginning to ominously smoke.

Lucifer laughed, despite the tension, as they made their way up to the entrance. "Oh, I don't know why I keep forgetting you can do that." He covered his mouth in an attempt to be serious. "The rumors are still going to be messy."

Alastor was surprisingly silent, giving no comment on his opinion on the matter.

An imp, dressed as a butler, met them at the door. He took one look at Lucifer before dropping into a bow. "Your Majesty. May I take your coat?"

Lucifer shook his head. "No, no that won't be necessary." He turned to Alastor. "You want to hang onto yours or ditch it?"

The muscles of Alastor's arm flexed under Lucifer's hand. He appeared to be considering if he could handle seraphim's ongoing touch without his multiple layers. After a pause, he stated, "I'll keep my coat as well, good sir."

Lucifer was tempted to feel insulted. The feeling was banished when the redhead placed his hand over the captive one on his arm and gave it a light squeeze. It reminded him that if Alastor truly didn't want to be touched, he would be more than willing to shake him off, King of Hell or not.

The imp rose out of the bow. "The name of your plus one, your Majesty?"

"Alastor," the blonde offered. Weighed which of the redhead's titles might be more suited for this audience. "The Overlord."

The butler nodded. He led them into the manor and towards an elaborately decorated ballroom. At this door, he announced to the room at large, "Presenting, his Majesty, King Lucifer Morningstar and his plus one, Overlord Alastor."

The guests already in attendance fell into a hush. Everyone stopped what they were doing to either catch a peak at their king, the sinner he had shown up with, or both.

Father, why had he thought bringing Alastor would be less stressful?

A pat to the hand grounded him, subtle enough not to be noticeable from a distance. Alastor wasn't directly watching Lucifer, but was still keeping an eye out for any escalation in his stress levels. It would have felt nice, having that kind of attentive partner, had Lucifer been certain the redhead was doing it because he actually cared about Lucifer's wellbeing.

A tall figure, taller by several feet than Alastor, dressed in silk and velvet and a cloak that reflected the cosmos, approached them. An owl Goetia, whose black top hat was styled with a crown. "Your Majesty." He bowed the exact amount necessary for both their statuses. "We're honored you could attend my daughter's ceremony."

"Stolas!" He could really be no other Goetia. Stolas ushered them from the door to allow the continued flow of guests. "It's been a while!" Nearly eighteen years, in fact. "You look..." Lucifer trailed off.

Goetia were vain and sticklers about their appearances. Never a feather out of place or an errant thread in sight. Stolas, on the other hand, was too frayed around the edges to hide it. He had been a lanky teenager, not quite twenty when Lucifer had met him at the announcement of Octavia's birth. He had seemed tired, but happy to be a new parent.

He looked beyond tired, now. Bags under his eye, thin in a way that suggested a loss of appetite, and soul heavy with a life full of pushing everything down, down, down until it all threatened to explode or implode.

"Um... good?" Lucifer finished, lamely, kicking himself for making it sound like a question.

Stolas didn't appear offended. His pupilless eyes were just as effective mask as Alastor's smile, making him hard to read without paying attention to the other cues. "And you as well, sire." He blinked, once, a slow thing. His head was turned enough to indicate his attention as on the radio host. "Oh my word." In a move that spoke of a life of extreme isolation from people, Stolas leaned down and forward until he was almost in Alastor's personal space, "This is one of those Overlords I've heard so much about?" It was the sort of tone someone took when spotting a lion out on the plains from the safety of their car, not while encountering one up close and personal were it can quite easily sink its claws into them. "I've never seen one so close."

Alastor's ears twitched like they wanted to flatten and his smile took on a malicious edge. Stolas' height forced him to look up at him, something Alastor likely didn't have to do often. "Come now, good fella," he said, not a hint of whatever he was feeling in his voice. "Surely you're not one to judge someone based off their class." With all the grace of a viper going in for the kill, he added, "Not with the company you keep."

Lucifer's lips parted, someone still caught off guard by how audacious this sinner could be. He tensed, ready to interfere if necessary.

It proved to be unnecessary. Stolas' spine straightened, bringing him up to his towering ten feet tall. Everything retreated behind a wall built from a lifetime of locking everything because it was easier to suppress than feel. "Touché."

"Dad?" A smaller figure, closer to Lucifer's height, appeared at Stolas' side. A teenager, an owl-peacock mix Goetia, was dressed in a gown as black as the night sky. Littered throughout the bodice and skirt were numerous constellations made from crystals that twinkled as she moved.

Stolas followed her voice like the moon follows Earth. Where before he looked weary to the bone, he came alive at the sight of her. A deep warmth that spoke of unconditional love colored his voice as he said, "Via, come." He held out his hand and she came with only the slightest pause. "Meet his Majesty. You were only a hatchling when you saw him last."

The teenager, who could only be the star of the ball herself, blinked at Lucifer, her lips twisted mullishly. She clearly wasn't thrilled with being at this party. "Um." She blinked again, and then fell into a curtsy, the movement familiar but not used often. "It's nice to meet you again, your Majesty."

"Stolas, she's lovely," Lucifer responded, honestly and without hesitation. "And she's gotten so big!" Not as big as some of her relatives, but a healthy child was a healthy child.

The pride on Stolas' face as her gazed down at his daughter was impossible to miss. "She's my pride and joy," he said, sincerely. "What is it, my owlette?"

Octavia rolled her eyes as she didn't quite pout, finding the nickname childish. She pointed off towards a door in the back that likely led to the kitchens. "There's an issue with one of the guests. They're demanding to speak with you."

Stolas' eyes narrowed. "And they asked you to deliver the message? Honestly!" He patted his daughter's cheek. Octavia pulled another face, but it was obvious she secretly enjoyed it. Watching the exchange made Lucifer ache for the time his own daughter was this age. That time where children were learning the extent of their independence as they came into adulthood, but still wanted a degree of parental attention. The pain of the missed opportunity was another reminder of how much time had passed and how fast it had gone.

When he'd left, Octavia turned back to Lucifer and Alastor. "Sorry about my dad," she said, addressing Alastor. "He's still learning." She gave them both another nod, before retreating back into the throng of people.

Lucifer watched her go. She had a good head on her shoulders. After she disappeared from view, he began herding Alastor towards the end of the buffet. The sinner must have been curious about the offerings, because he let himself be pushed along. "Do you just know everyone's dirty laundry?" Lucifer grumbled under his breathe, smiling a little too widely as someone paused to watch them a little too intently.

Alastor stared at him, surprised by the question. "Why, of course, your Majesty!" He dug his heels in at a seemingly random spot at the table, bringing them to a stop. He looked to and fro, assessing his chosen spot. "Information is currency, and nothing is more valuable than things people want kept secret."

Alastor stepped behind Lucifer, his hands settling on the monarch's shoulders. Into his ear, the redhead stage whispered, "Take our host, for instance." He directed Lucifer to where Stolas had reappeared from wherever he had disappeared to. "It caused quite the scandal when it came out that he cheated on his wife, and with an imp no less!"

From the door they'd entered through, the butler announced, "Presenting his Highness, Asmodeus and his plus one, Fizzarolli."

The guests broke out into chatter anew, everyone having an opinion on the pair. "And then there's your little brother." He spun Lucifer until they were could easily see the Sin in question. "Fizzarolli was his business partner, before they fell in love and started their romantic entanglement. They tried to keep in on the down low, but no one was surprised when his Highness spilled the beans last month."

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli moved through the crowd, drawing mixed responses from the crowd as they passed. No one was saying anything to their faces, but they weren't trying to hide what they were saying very well either.

The butler appeared again, a little frazzled. "Presenting her Highness, Beelzebub, her plus one, Vortex, and her other plus one, Loona."

If everyone had an opinion on Asmodeus' choice of date, it was nothing compared to the Sin of Gluttony showing up with a pair of hellhounds she was in a polygamous relationship with. The taller, male hellhound was in a sharp black and white tuxedo, while the slightly shorter female was in a blood red sleeveless gown. Beelzebub herself had her arms around both their shoulders while rocking a cotton candy pink cocktail dress.

"Well, that's an interesting development," Alastor murmured. He sounded like this was genuinely news to him.

Lucifer wasn't sure if he wanted to know. "What?"

Alastor nodded to the female, Loona. "She is the adopted daughter of the imp our host is sleeping with."

Lucifer wasn't certain if he was being serious or not. "Really? What is this, some kind of soap opera?"

Alastor snorted. He withdrew from his perch, turning to inspect the offerings laid out on the table. "It certainly seems so, does it not?"

Off to the side, a live band began to play. Various couples made their way to the dance floor. A brave soul was already making his way over to Stolas and Octavia, likely to attempt to ask for a dance. Lucifer grabbed a drink from a server as they passed, silently wishing the kid good luck.

Judging from the sour mood Stolas was in, he was going to need it.

Over the first couple of songs, Lucifer alternated between watching Alastor and the crowd. The sinner weaved up and down the buffet, never straying too far, seemingly interested in the food. Every now and then, he would pause to taste something, an ear twisting around. Lucifer guessed it was to hear whatever gossip was being said near him. He noted when the redhead would linger he would pretend he was grabbing more than one morsel to snack on, but never actually ate anything.

Several of the Goetia pattered around Lucifer, but none approached. As the third song came to an end, Alastor prodded a passing imp. There was too much chatter around Lucifer to hear what he was saying, but the imp nodded and then ran off in the direction of the band.

Lucifer eyed him suspiciously as he made his way back over to him. "Bored already?"

Alastor hummed at him. He held out a hand, reminiscent of that night in his bedroom a couple weeks ago. "Care to dance, your Majesty?"

Lucifer stared out into the crowd. Across the room, the imp Alastor had flagged down grew closer to the band. Each step felt like another grain of sand falling through an hour glass, ticking away the seconds until this moment disappeared into the ether, lost forever.

If he accepted, this would be his first dance in public in nearly twenty years.

It would be the first time he had ever taken his first dance at a formal event with anyone other than Lilith.

The imp reached the band, chattering with them. They nodded at each other, the band fiddling with their instruments as they prepared the song. Lucifer eyed the held out hand out of his peripheral view.

Lilith had already made her choice. Had made it when she walked out the door to the home they had shared for almost ten thousand years. Had made it again when she disappeared somewhere not even her daughter could reach her.

Perhaps it was time for Lucifer to do the same.

He took Alastor's hand.

Alastor's eyes glinted with dark promises, his smile deceptively welcoming as he led them out onto the dance floor. The other attendees drew away, curiously murmuring to themselves as they gave them space until they were surrounded by a large circle of people.

A violin strummed a single note through the ballroom, testing it for accuracy as Alastor brought them both to a stop in the center of the dance floor. He rested his palm against Lucifer's waist, drawing him in closer, but not close enough to touch. "I'm sure his Majesty is good at improvising, no?"

As he wasn't sure where to put his hands, Lucifer left them out at his side. He grinned widely, delighted by the prospect of a partner giving him a challenge. "Do your worst."

A violin began to strum out the first notes. It wasn't a song that Lucifer recognized. Alastor started out with a simple sway in time with the music. Soon, he began to incorporate movement, such as turns and spins into the dance, following in time with the violin. It wasn't anything that Lucifer had ever danced before, although he noticed immediately that Alastor was using subtle pushes and pulls of his hand to indicate where he wanted Lucifer to go and when he planned send the blonde out for a spin.

The onlookers were forced to make a make more room as the circuit of their dance got wider, slowly picking up pace with the music. He could pick up subtle influences from the waltz in the dance, as he was drawn in, hands instinctively going into their proper places. When Alastor began to spin them around, Lucifer leaned back subtlety into the spin, enjoying the feel of a strong arm keeping him from toppling backward with the momentum of the spin.

Alastor sent him out to the left, connected only by a single pair of hands, until their arms extended out as far as they would go. Without missing a step, the redhead drew him back in, sending him off into the other direction, exchanging hands as they went. When Alastor pulled him back in, he spun Lucifer around until they were back to front, right hand holding right hand and Alastor's left sitting on Lucifer's hip.

For a split second, Lucifer was aware again of the people around them, staring at them with wide, judging eyes.

Everyone was watching them.

The sight was lost as Alastor spun them around again, ending with them facing each other in the default position for a waltz. Alastor, perhaps picking up on his distraction, leaned in closer than the dance usually allowed, voice pitched low as he said, "Eyes on me, your Majesty." His hands tightened, a physical reminder that the sinner had him figuratively and literally. "This dance is only for the two of us."

That wasn't true. Alastor wanted everyone to see this. Lucifer's hands gripped Alastor's tighter than necessary. Forced himself to focus only on his partner. He released the breathe he'd been holding in a shaky laugh.

Alastor lead them through another circuit around their stolen space. It repeated much of the same steps and movements of the first part of their dance, picking up speed as they went. Lucifer allowed himself to fall back into it, let his senses focus on the cues Alastor was giving him until there was nothing but the music and and the movement of the dance.

Lucifer let out a breathless laugh as Alastor used the momentum of their spin to pull him in and lift him from the side. The lift was small, more a tentative testing of weight. Now that he knew what to expect, when, several moments later, Alastor's hands went to Lucifer's waist, the king was ready.

The music hit a crescendo as his feet left the ground. Lucifer unfurled his wings, using them to help with the lift. For a moment, he was weightless, held down to the ground only by the hands on his hips. He laughed, a real laugh, exhilarated.

And then he looked down at Alastor.

Alastor stared up at him, eyes alight with something too dark to be called wonder. Alastor was looking at him like he wanted to join him. Like he wanted to tear him down and ground him forever.

Like he wanted to tuck him away in his bayou and never let him leave again.

Red tipped hands tightened around his hips, a warning, and Lucifer allowed himself to be pulled down, wings gently flapping to slow his fall. As he came down, his and Alastor's faces came within inches of each other, so close they were almost sharing a single breathe.

If he had wanted to, he could have leaned forward that mere inch or two and sent them down an entirely different path.

Lucifer's feet touched the ground, his wings disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Alastor sent him out for one last spin, as if he were trying to regain his distance before he was drawn in too much. Left hand met left hand, both going up and over Lucifer's head as Alastor dipped him, only Alastor's right hand across his body keeping him from falling. Lucifer's own hand came up to catch his hat before it could tumble off his head.

Alastor pulled him back up. Both of them were flushed and breathing harder than the dance warranted as he stepped back and away from Lucifer. As the violin sang out one last note, signifying the end of the song, Alastor startled him by doing something he hadn't done a single day since they'd met.

Alastor leaned forward, one hand crossed over his chest, in to what could only be called a bow, even as every inch of his posture showed no subservience. Even in this, he was defiant.

In that moment, as he stared at the top of the head of the head of this sinner - this sinner who had half driven him mad with frustration, who dared to challenge him where no one else dared, who had waged a campaign to win him over - Lucifer knew he was caught.

Taking his own step back, he lowered the rim of his hat, hiding behind it like he could hide away from this revelation. "Stand up."

"Sire?" He could almost believe Alastor was actually concerned.

The roil of that uncertainty had Lucifer taking another step back. "I need to step away. Don't... don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." Without giving the sinner the chance to respond, he turned and fled.

The manor had been updated over time, expanding as needed. It was far older than every living Goetia combined. Once upon a time, it had been like a second home, when relations had been better. He remembered the layout enough to find a guest bathroom far enough away from the party not to be immediately found, but not close enough to the private residences to be intruding. They wouldn't have kicked him out, but it would have still been awkward.

Lucifer shut the door behind him, heading straight for the tap. The water was only ever able to get barely below room temperature in Hell. He chilled it as it hit his palms, splashing the icy water across his face. Repeated it once, and then twice. Held his palms over his face to hide from his reflection.

What was he doing? Did he really want to peruse a relationship with Alastor? Alastor, who was likely only playing with him for power? Who was certainly going to be furious when he found out the consequences of drinking angelic blood of Lucifer's caliber?

He didn't require utter devotion from his partners. He didn't require them to lay themselves bare before him. He merely wished that they want him for him, because he didn't think he could lay out what was left of his heart and survive having it destroyed all over again.

And that was the ultimate question: could he trust Alastor with his heart?

The honest answer? He didn't know.

Lucifer turned off the tap, grabbing a towel to wipe off his face. He pointedly didn't look in the mirror, unwilling to see what was staring back at him, unable to face it just yet. This wasn't the time nor the place to have a melt down. He could have it when he returned to his rooms, but for now, he needed to hold it together.

The hall outside the bathroom was empty, the noise coming from the ballroom barely audible down the hall. He had every intention of making his way back to the ballroom - to Alastor - when he caught sight of a figure disappearing around a corner. Lucifer might have brushed it off as staff and carried on, had it not been for the distinctive flash of what could only be angelic steel.

Now why was an imp skulking around a party full of Hell's highest royalty with angelic steel?

Keeping light on his feet, Lucifer trailed the figure. The figure moved from room to room, peering into each before moving on to the next. At random, the figure would look over his shoulder, forcing Lucifer to occasionally get creative with hiding spots. Stopping before a seemingly random room, the figure glanced around one last time, and then ducked inside.

Lucifer crept up on the room. A simple thought and he had transformed into mouse, tiny enough to allow him to keep low to the ground where no one would think to look for him. He sniffed at the entrance of the room, picking up on the scent of someone who had spent some serious time in the Wrath Ring. Could it be the figure he had been trailing?

Entering the room, the first thing he noted was the lights were out. The light of what passed for late afternoon/early evening filtered in through windows, whose curtains had been left wide open. Not much by way of furniture littered the room, leaving it mostly bare. It didn't appear to be in use, more of a spare room. The only thing of note about it was the high ceiling, where bare beams crossed from one side of the room to the next. Glancing around, he couldn't think of a single reason the figure would have come into this room.

Unless he knew he was being followed.

Lucifer transformed back into his normal form, rolling out of the way of a boot intent on coming down on top of him. He came up into a crouched position, noting right off the bat that the figure was standing between him and the exit to the room. The new position also gave him his first look at who he'd been tailing.

The figure was indeed an imp, one on the taller side for his species. He was dressed in what looked so stereotypically like a cowboy outfit, it almost looked like a costume, were it not for the fact that the cloth was clearly lived in and his weapons were very real. Sinister yellow eyes nearly glowed in the dimming light of the room, widening slightly as the figure got his own good look at who had been following him.

"Well, I'll be damned," the figure drawled. He flowed into a standing position like water running up a statue, tail whipping around behind him into into a coil. Utter contempt dripped like poison from his tongue as he said, "If it isn't the King himself come down to grace us peasants with his presence."

Lucifer stood up, swiping at his sleeves to dislodge any dust. He shot the imp a winning smile as he quipped back, "Well, Char-Char has been getting on me to get out more." He placed his hands together, one over the other. "So why don't you tell me what's got you sneaking around and I'll see what I can do for you?"

The little cowboy's grin was as contemptuous as his tone. "Hm, pass." He paced his side of the room, edging closer without ever coming into arm's reach. "You royals like to talk like you care, but none of you actually give a rat's ass about us."

Lucifer said nothing, letting him talk. It was obvious this guy had beef with the ruling classes. Let him talk long enough, and he might let something interesting spill.

The cowboy crossed his arms, body language deceptive languid. "And I don't think you'd like what I had to say, anyway."

Lucifer shrugged. "Don't know unless you try."

The cowboy tapped his fingers to one of the holsters at his hips.

The seraphim eyed the gun. It was a beautiful thing, as much a work of art as it was a weapon. The white parts of the barrel glowed, giving away what it was made from. He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He placed a hand on his hip, using a single finger of his other hand to do a little circle in the air to encompass the entirety of the imp. "You're really going to attempt to fight me?"

The imp had ego, Lucifer would give him that, and confidence in spades. He wrapped his hand around the grip of his gun. "I always wanted to try and kill the unkillable."

Lucifer tilted his neck from side to side, cracking it as he went. Maybe this was what he needed to burn off a little anxious energy. Even with some holy weapons, an imp wasn't much of a match for him, but he might be entertaining. He made a 'come hither' gesture with his left hand. "Then show your king what you're made of, little imp."

The imp struck with the speed of a rattlesnake. His gun was out in the blink of an eye, two shots fired in quick succession.

Lucifer side stepped both. The bullets hit the wall behind him, sending out a spray of dust. He tilted his head to the side. "That all you got?"

The imp grinned. "I'm just getting started."

Lucifer was surprised the imp would dare attempt to get within arms reach, but that's exactly what the cowboy did. He rushed forward with that same deadly speed, a knife as pretty as the guns appearing in his hand. Lucifer side stepped the attempt, grabbing hold of the imps extended arm and tossing him effortlessly towards the wall behind him with enough force to stun, not kill.

The imp twisted like a cat in free fall, hitting the wall feet first. He used the wall to catapult himself back at the seraphim, landing partially on Lucifer' side, partially on his back. The imp's knife flashed as he brought it down towards the the seraphim's back.

Lucifer laughed at the attempt, transforming into a snake. The imp gave off a rattlesnake's warning rattle, hitting the ground as his support suddenly disappear. He was already wrapping a hand around Lucifer's body, tearing him off just as Licifer was about to sink his teeth into the imp's neck. The imp sent him flying off to the side.

Lucifer transformed in mid air, flipping over backwards and using his wings to slow his fall. No sooner than he touched the ground, did he have to duck as a piece of furniture went flying over his head. He caught a glimpse of an actual rope, which was far better than anything he could have hoped for. This imp was seriously committed to the cowboy shtick!

Lucifer let him throw another large piece of furniture at him before the blonde decided it was time to put a little fear of the Devil in this imp. He leaped over the armchair, coming down on the other side. As the armchair was released, he grabbed hold of the rope. The imp pulled the rope tight, tugging it hard against Lucifer's grip.

Lucifer didn't budge and his grip held fast.

The shadow cast by the brim of his hat cast his face into shadow, leaving only Lucifer's grin visible, the sight of it more reptilian than humanoid. The imp swallowed, a single streak of sweat rolling down the side of his face. He was caught between attempting to reclaim his tool or abandon it. Lucifer made the decision for him when hellfire caught between his fingers, taking to the rope like tumbleweed.

The imp released the rope mere seconds before it could touch him. Lucifer let the rope fall, cutting the power to the hellfire and dousing it as effectively as pouring water over a candle. As the fire winked out of existence, nothing remained of the rope, not even ash. Dusting off his hands, Lucifer taunted, "Ready to give up and start behaving?"

The imp retorted with a derisive sneer. He pulled his gun, firing off a shot that sent Lucifer airborne. Feeling like a nuisance, Lucifer didn't just dodge the next bullet, or the one after that, or the one after that. Oh, no.

He started pulling faces and silly poses, all to show off how utterly and completely he wasn't taking the imp seriously. Eyebrow twitching, the imp took a run up the side of one of the walls, twisting around at the height of the run. Using the momentum of the twist, he sent his pretty blade flying at Lucifer.

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer barely put any effort into his dodge. "This is getting sad, you know." He sighed and clicked his tongue. Shaking his head, arms out in a 'what can you do,' pose, he lamented, "And you were showing such promise!"

It turned out the imp had one last trick up his sleeve. Lucifer felt what could only be rope tightening around his ankles a moment before he was being yanked across the room. He barely felt the impact with the wall - the imp didn't have the brute strength necessary to cause him that kind of damage. He did feel his stomach drop as he fell to the floor, his wings suddenly as useful as a penguin's. He twisted so that he came down on his side, his wings safely between his body and the wall.

His pride smarting, he shoved himself up onto his elbow, seeking out the offending object around his ankles. He knew what he was going to find even without seeing it.

"Blessed rope?" He couldn't keep the incredulous lilt out of his voice. Guns, bullets, and knives made sense. Angelic steel could be reforged. None of that explained how an imp got his hands on blessed rope. "Where did you get blessed rope?"

He didn't wait for an answer, contorting in an effort to reach his ankles and free them. To his frustration, the imp yanked on the rope hard enough to keep them out of reach, pulling him across the floor several inches in the process. Lucifer's wings flared as he hissed, not unlike a snake warning an unwary soul that they were about to get bitten.

"Ah, ah," the imp laughed at him, breathless. His eyes were a touch too wide and his smile too full of teeth to be anything like real humor. "Gotta keep some of my secrets." He wrapped the rope around his hands to secure them, eyes darting around the room as he sought out a place to secure it.

The imp's upper hand was paper thin, the rope currently a double edged sword. They were both very well aware of the fact that if seraphim freed himself, the tables would turn.

"Looks like you caught me." Lucifer levered himself up until he was half sitting on his side, held up by one of his arms. The imp tensed, ready to pull on the rope if he went for his ankles again. Lucifer merely waved his free hand at himself, the restraint, and the imp. "What now, cowboy?"

The imp's golden tooth glinted as he pointed up to the ceiling. "Now I'm going to string you up like a pig for the slaughter." He mimicked Lucifer's earlier 'what can you do' pose. "Can't have you interfering."

Lucifer glanced up at the beam in question. It would be undignified, going up, but he would be able to free himself easily enough. Unbothered, he threw the imp a flirty wink. "Kinky, but not my thing."

The imp gave off that distinct rattle, his tail thrashing. His fingers twitched towards his holstered gun.

Curious. He wasn't smiling anymore. Did he not like innuendo? Oh, Lucifer could work with that. "What's the matter, cowboy?" His eyes fell half lidded into his best set of bedroom eyes, tilting his hips to show off the body that had tempted quite a few human's to their damnation. "Got me all trussed up and now you're getting cold feet?"

The imp's eye twitched, his self control hanging on by a thread. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he seethed, "That everyone in this hell hole is a sex crazed maniac when we're being ruled by some two bit whore."

Yup, this was a tetchy one.

The insult rolled harmlessly off Lucifer's shoulders like rain water. He opened his mouth to truly send the imp off the deep end, when the door suddenly burst open.

"Oh my, this is quite the scene."

Lucifer resisted the urge to slap his face. Of course Alastor would show up now.

Whoever the imp was, he was quick witted. Alastor was forced to dodge as the imp decided to shoot first and ask questions later. Lucifer took advantage of the distraction to go for his ankles, only to narrowly miss taking a bullet through the back of his palm as the imp let off a warning shot right at it.

All three parties paused to regroup and reassess. The imp left his gun pointing at Lucifer. "Stay right where you are, Red, or I give our leader a brand new hole to yap out of."

Alastor stood up, tugging his suit back into place. "Hm, please do," he said. Raising his voice to be heard over Lucifer's annoyed protest, he tacked on, "I should point out all it's going to do is annoy him."

Lucifer was hardly mollified by the additional warning. It wouldn't kill him, sure, but it would still hurt!

Realizing that threatening the life of their king was pointless, the imp decided on a different strategy. In an impressive feat of strength Lucifer hadn't thought him capable of, the imp swung around, dragging the seraphim across the floor and sending him flying at the Overlord.

Flightless as he was with the blessed rope locking away his powers, Lucifer's wings were still quite large. They were more than enough to slow down his momentum so that he landed hard on his hands and knees at Alastor's feet rather than colliding with him.

Alastor watched the imp escape through a vent without making a single move to stop him. "Oh dear. It looks like he's escaped."

Unhelpful jerk.

Lucifer grumbled as he was finally able to untangle his ankles. He glared as he found himself in a tug of war for the rope with one of the redhead's shadows. "Nope, you're lucky I let you keep the dagger. You don't get the rope, too." He yanked it out of the shadow's grasp, having to put his back into it.

"Let me, sire?" Alastor leaned over him, the angle having him peering down at him upside down. A shadow wrapped itself around Lucifer's waist, lifting him up and setting him on his feet, back to the sinner. The seraphim's wings puffed up as a claw toyed with one of the feathers. "You don't even have the slightest clue where I hid it."

Lucifer tucked his wings away to keep Alastor from getting any ideas, like ripping a feather out.

The deer demon placed his hand beneath his back, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

Not for the first time, Lucifer questioned his sanity over his choice of this sinner. He set the thought aside for a more pressing matter: "We should probably tell someone about that imp fella." He walked past Alastor to the door, without looking to see if the redhead would follow. "He's here for someone at this party." Normally, Lucifer could have cared less about assassination plots, but this little brat had irritated him.

He paused several feet down the hall, pivoting suddenly. He nearly ran into Alastor's chest, the sinner not having expected him to stop and not having stopping himself. The blonde poked him, lightly, in the center of his chest. "How did you even find me, anyway?"

Alastor took hold of his elbows, gently but firmly forcing him to take a step back. He pointed a single finger down at their feet, his expression bemused. "Haven't you noticed something odd with your shadow, your Majesty?"

Lucifer had not, in fact, noticed anything odd with his shadow. He followed the direction the finger was pointing, finding himself staring at what looked like nothing more than his shadow at first glance.

His shadow, which proceeded to wave at him completely independent of him doing anything.

"You had your shadow follow me?" He stomped his foot - lightly - over the face of the thing, causing the shadow to detach from him. It returned to it's master's form, shaking a fist at him and frowning dramatically.

Alastor reached out, running a finger under Lucifer's chin, imploring him to look up at him. There was nothing like mocking on his face as he stated, simply, "You looked distressed. I promised to look at for you."

Lucifer felt the soft rush of heat to his cheeks. He ducked his head low, hiding his expression - futile as it was at this point - and about faced. "And who's fault is that? All that bowing nonsense!" He resumed his marching down the hall back to the ballroom. "It doesn't suit you."

Alastor didn't respond. His amusement was nearly audible anyway.

They found their way back to the ballroom without further incident. Stolas wasn't hard to find. He was hovering off to the side, watching as his daughter danced with the female hellhound who had come with Beelzebub. He took one look at the blessed rope hanging from Lucifer's hand and was instantly on alert. "Your Majesty?"

The little king gestured for their host to follow him. He led the owl Goetia out of the room, Alastor keeping a leisurely pace at Lucifer's side. When the blonde was certain it was less likely they would be overheard, he held out the rope. "You have an uninvited guest. Likes weaponry of the angelic kind."

Stolas peered down at the rope. He tilted his head to the side. "Was this assassin by any chance a sexy little imp dressed like a cowboy?"

Lucifer blinked at him, blankly. Sexy? Had the imp been sexy? He squinted as he considered it. "I... guess?"

Stolas sighed, taking the rope. "Striker is a very... persistent foe." He tucked the rope away in the folds of his cloak. "My wife hired him to kill me." He bowed his head. "I apologize his Majesty was caught up in all of this."

Lucifer winced. Stolas' wife hired an assassin to kill him? He looked to Alastor, who didn't appear surprised by this revelation. Was this why he was surprised over Stolas and his wife throwing any public event together? Awkwardly, he turned back to Stolas. Asked, "Uh... Do you need any help...?"

The Goetia prince shook his head, waving away the offer. Before their eyes, he seemed to age another ten years. "Do not worry yourself, sire. I have dealt with him before. I will deal with him again." He waved a hellhound serving as bodyguard for the event, leaning down until he was near the hound's level. "Mount a search for the intruder. Keep it quiet. We mustn't disturb the guests."

The hound saluted. He scurried off, barking out orders as he passed his fellow guards. Soon a small army was amassed, spreading out to search the premises.

"I will join them in the search." Stolas returned his attention to the other two. "Would his Majesty and his guest like to return to the party?"

Lucifer considered. Did he want to return to the ceremony? To the crowd of vultures? To his siblings and their partners? He tilted his head to the side, looking to his own partner for the night. "Alastor?"

The radio host's eyes cleared, as if he were tuning back into the present. His smile turned indulgent. "I would of course be willing to follow whatever his Majesty is willing to do."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him, knowing what he was doing.

Alastor merely stared back, willing to wait him out.

Lucifer considered extending the evening with this sinner at his side. This sinner he might have been developing some level of affection for, even as he was tempted to strangle him on a daily basis.

"You know what? The night is still young! It's been a while since I enjoyed it." He reached out, telegraphing his intention. The redhead didn't move away, allowing him to take his hand. The blonde monarch tugged him towards the ballroom, calling over to Stolas as they went. "Offer is still open if you need help."

Stolas made a hum of acknowledgement, letting them go.

Without looking back, Lucifer led Alastor back into the ballroom, head held high. His mind was still on the fence on how he felt about this sinner, but he felt a little more like he might be able to face it whichever way things fell.

tbc

Part 17

[that-was-anticlimactic]

this is our place, we make the rules

Kunikida rolls his eyes and takes a couple steps towards them, his gaze never straying from theirs and Dazai’s as they watch with bated breath. “You’re both terrible at this. That isn’t how you ask someone to dance!”

He bows, then holds a hand out to each of them, hands shaking lightly.

“May I have this dance?”

And, shit, how could Chuuya ever say no?

[or, chuuya, kunikida, and dazai dance, make out, and fall asleep together]

💫4,146 words | kunichuuzai💫

a two year anniversary gift for my beloved, @zukkaoru !!! i love you so so soooooo much! thank you for being in my life MWAH <333

[machines-art-shenanigans]

*breaks through the ceiling*

Hey Narry! What's your thoughts on employee 432? :O

Sorry for breaking your ceiling...

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A LONG ASS ONE

+ SOME LORE AND ANGST

[long-suffering-little-spoon]

Not sure how hot a take this is but Twelve had the best regeneration sequence (at least in NuWho) by a landslide like good fucking god

[bigskydreaming]

IWTV season finale (or more accurately the second half of it, from the end of the interview onward) has me positively vibrating with the implications (or at least my interpretation). Midway through the first actual meta I feel like I've written in years lol, but I've always felt like the series' meta narrative was ABOUT the power of narratives and all the ways they can distort the truth, make myths out of past events, turn fact into fiction and reframe and recontextualize things in all manner of ways......

From the editing of Claudia's diaries to Armand's memory manipulations to Louis' unreliable narration to the very format of Daniel's interview to the story Armand tells about Claudia's fate and how that shapes the story of Louis' life with him and on and on and on.....its a hugely sprawling, intricate web whose sole common thread is the reality that everyone's history is only history to THEM....to everyone else, its a story told to them....either BY them, or by someone else ABOUT them, or in some other way rendered mutable by the power of secondhand narration and all the ways intentional and even subconscious biases can reshape it.

I mean, even the facet of this in which Daniel's book IS as factual as possible, and is taken as such by vampires, but to humanity it reads as fiction because they view vampires as inherently fictional, and how this thematically ties back into how easily the lines between fact and fiction can be blurred merely by virtue of what you're willing to ACCEPT as true and capable of existing, vs what you WANT to be true and capable of existing, and what you'll go to any lengths to deny ever COULD be true or capable of existing.....

The paralleling of all this with the beginning of the season starting with Louis and Claudia's quest to find other vampires, whom they weren't even sure existed, and how much Claudia WANTED it to be true that there were others like them, and how quickly the very thing she searched for turned into the very thing she wanted to get away from when the reality of those other vampires turned out to be different from what she'd hoped for....

How much of what Armand said and did was built upon the foundation of knowing it played into what Louis would PREFER to believe had really happened, because the reality of who ACTUALLY saved him would by its very nature challenge certain things he'd long accepted and internalized as fact in order to make his peace with how things went between him and Lestat, ie the idea that Lestat was inherently monstrous, just look at the proof that lay in the monstrous things he'd done, ergo he was predisposed TO assume that it must have been Armand who saved him, because Lestat just wasn't capable of that, would never even WANT to, and the simple truth that regardless, he DID, subsequently required reconciling that with his fundamental perception and understanding of Lestat as of that point in time, and the fact that Armand's house of cards was in reality so, so FLIMSY, and vulnerable to toppling with just the right push but it still lasted for 77 years because it had been built upon the foundation of Armand's awareness of just how badly Louis NEEDED reality to be that simple:

Armand loved him and was there begging for his forgiveness for his part in things, ergo, of course Armand would have saved him when he had the chance.....vs Lestat had never loved him and would never in a million years genuinely apologize for anything he'd done or even admit he was wrong, let alone forgive Louis and Claudia for what they'd done to him, ergo, of course Lestat would never have saved him even if he had the chance.....

Like it really was that simple, that flimsy, and yet that enduring, Armand kept the lie going for almost 80 YEARS because he was confident about having built his narrative on the bedrock of what Louis believed to be true of Lestat, what he accepted as immutable FACT....

I REALLY want to rewatch some earlier episodes at some point, specifically Season One eps involving Claudia's diaries and stuff about Lestat, because I'm very curious how that comes across in hindsight - a lot of people have pointed out how little we really know of what Lestat actually thought of Claudia, and I'm curious now how much of Armand's editing and reframing of things made it a priority to emphasize the take that Lestat had nothing but contempt for Claudia.....like what I mean by that specifically - because none of this of course is meant to excuse or defend anything Lestat has done to either Louis or Claudia in the past, of course - what I mean there is Louis, even at the points where he's MOST prone to viewing Lestat in terms of extreme binaries, still has always been aware that he has complicated feelings about Lestat and that his love for him and his desire to believe that at least some of what he'd perceived as Lestat loving him had in fact been real....

Like, when it comes to him and Lestat, Louis KNOWS that he's an unreliable narrator, that he's never going to be 100% capable of having an objective view of how he truly feels about Lestat and how Lestat feels about him. Which could've made Armand's lies a lot more fragile, if there was even a chance Louis might even just in passing wonder "what IF Lestat had been the one to want to save me that night" and from there potentially sparking upon the possibility that wait....AM I sure he didn't......

BUT. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which are Louis' protectiveness towards Claudia, guilt about anything she suffered as a vampire due to having been the one to beg she be made one in the first place, and seeing Claudia as HIS responsibility......Louis' view of Lestat's treatment of Claudia has always been a lot less forgiving than his view of Lestat's treatment of him. The very things that make him WANT to give Lestat the benefit of the doubt in some cases when it comes to their own interactions, because he wants to believe that Lestat did in fact genuinely care about him.....go hand in hand with the unlikelihood of him giving Lestat the benefit of the doubt when it came to how he felt about Claudia, as interpreted by Louis based on Lestat's interactions with her....

AND Claudia's journals....and what she had to say - and believed - about Lestat's view of her. At various points, Louis has been as prone to outright REJECTING the possibility of Claudia being an unreliable narrator as he is to accepting that his own recollections and perceptions are unreliable....because he enshrined her and put her on a kind of pedestal in an effort to keep her memory at a distance from him, where it hurt less, felt more like something told to him in a story rather than the visceral pain of losing someone he loved like a daughter. You could call Louis a liar, because it was no worse than what he'd accused himself of. Call Claudia a liar, and you wake the revenant of all Louis' most primal, savage (and ultimately failed) efforts to protect her from harm, still haunting the few things left of her like the ghost of Louis' paternal instincts and love, cursed to linger around any mention of her because it would forever have the unfinished business of needing to protect her, even now, long after it was no longer even a possibility.

Point being, I'm wondering now how much Armand leaned into THAT, to shore up the weak spots in his story......how much the potentially (and likely) far more murky, messy, and complicated truth of Claudia and Lestat's view of and feelings about each other got left on the editing room floor of their actual history so that Armand's director's cut of the past could condense all of that into the far more simple - and polarizing - idea that Claudia hated Lestat and Lestat hated Claudia, and no matter HOW complicated and uncertain things might be when it came to the truth of Louis and Lestat's history and feelings....on THIS count, there was no doubt....Lestat would never lift a finger to help Claudia, never have a kind word to say about her, had nothing but apathy with an occasional detour into contempt when it came to her.....

And thus, Armand whispered into Louis' ear for seventy seven years worth of nights spent haunted by her memory and his guilt and belief he should have done better by her - if Louis could be certain of nothing else in this life, its that Lestat would never be on Louis' side if it meant being on Claudia's too, and for that reason alone, he couldn't POSSIBLY have been the one to save Louis that night.

It had to be Armand. Nobody else had ever understood how Louis felt about Claudia. Nobody else had ever cared that Louis had loved her so much and missed her so badly. Nobody else ever WOULD.

And so the house of cards remained standing, because fragile as it was, Louis never saw a need to push at the card at the very bottom.

Until of course, a gust of hot air named Daniel came in and huffed and puffed and blew the whole thing down.

(Largely, imo, because of the power and importance of stories, rather than the actuality of their actual interactions and things Armand had physically done to piss Daniel off and make him hold a grudge, lol. Personally, I feel like Daniel - who prides himself on his ability to see the truth, report the truth, TELL the truth rather than, y'know - "stories" - who is so vehement about his role as a truth teller rather than a story teller that he will not let a single instance of someone calling his book a novel instead of a memoir go unchallenged, someone for whom the distinction between truth and fiction is a line he's staked so much of his life's work and subsumed his very identity in - its not any one THING that happened when Daniel first met them decades ago that really pissed him off, I'd argue.....its the mere knowledge of Armand messing with his mind, muddying his memories, making it IMPOSSIBLE for Daniel to ever fully trust the truth of his own personal history....THAT was the unforgivable crime that fueled Daniel's spite and was like okay, so for Today's To Do List, I'll be wrecking your marriage, your past 80 years worth of machinations, your reputation and just overall blowing up your life in every conceivable way. RIP to this little house of cards you built here, its adorable. I brought a battering ram.)

Anyway. I'm just saying. I think the role OF narratives and their importance and power WITHIN the overall narrative of the show is one of its most fascinating aspects, and is what has me so amped for Louis' arc next season to see if they go in the direction I'm hoping they do based on his final scene, which I interpreted not even so much as Louis throwing down the gauntlet to the rest of vampirekind and saying I'm not scared of you.....so much as Louis recentering himself in his own identity, his own perception of himself rather than Louis-as-depicted-in-the-stories-of-his-loved-ones-lives, and emerging from the wreckage of the house of cards he'd spent the last 80 years living in, with a reignited desire to CHOOSE life, rather than just drift through it eternally like an immortal record of the past with no real desire to partake in the present....

And thus, having every intention of surviving whatever comes next, due to vampirekind's shared focus and aggression towards him. He's not looking to just go down swinging, IMO, the Louis of the final scene took his time getting there. He was deliberate, methodical. He took his time between kicking Armand out of the tower and returning to it and telling the collective children of the night to come at me, bro. He retraced his steps and revisited New Orleans with intent, took in a tour guide turning past events into a mythic tale with a smirk that cast no judgment on how true or not the tour guide's version was, but rather felt instead like he was enjoying the shared joke of how easily something-that-was ended up spun into something-so-much-more-folkloric-than-it-actually-had-been. He repaired his tower and redecorated his personal place of power with actual mementos of someone he loved where once there'd just been the memory of her lying over everything like a funereal shroud, heavy and haunting and unspoken and thus impossible to ever take comfort in or make peace with. He stood there for who knows how long, through who knows how many nights, and just listened to his many would-be-enemies announce themselves and their intentions towards him, all the things they planned to do to him, and then and ONLY then, he picked his moment, took a seat, settled in......

And began to tell a story.

He didn't throw caution to the wind, double down, say fuck it, if I'm going out it'll be on my terms.....IMO, the Louis of the final scene, with the same predatory glint in his eye and devil-may-care smirk he's worn in past scenes where he's given himself permission to be the monster, if he felt the moment called for it, just was past caring, or saw it as necessary to make it through the night....

This is a Louis who doesn't give a shit about any blaze of glory, this man came to win. He chose life over death once upon a time, hell, he chose life IN death, and then he did it again and again even throughout the times when he got lost and weighed down in the inevitable tragedies of life and couldn't make the most of the equally inevitable triumphs along the way.....and I feel like he's finally at a point where he's ready to make that MEAN something. On HIS terms.

There's not going to be another book with Daniel, not about him, anyway. Let Lestat have the next one. If there's a story to be told about Louis now, it won't be told in someone else's book, in Claudia's journals, in Armand's half-truths or even Lestat's regrets.

The only one telling Louis' story from here on out is Louis. And he's going to decide what it says. I feel like this is (or at least COULD be) a Louis who is preparing for a war he has every intention of winning, and he took his time and considered his options before choosing his field of battle. He armed himself with a very specific weapon for very specific reasons. The final scene is Louis issuing a challenge, yes. But its also Louis turning his enemies into his audience, and saying.....let me tell you a story.

This is the story of The Vampire Louis De Pointe Du Lac, he intones, introducing himself with pageantry picked up from those he's met along the way in his journey these past two seasons, but given his own flourishes, said in his own voice. No mere mortal, or even mere immortal....no. This is the story of the Vampire Who Yes, Just As You Accused, DID upheave your whole world by spilling your secrets to the rest of it, who yes, DID break so many of your laws, just like he has in the past and chronicled in said book as though he genuinely gives not a single fuck. Let it be known. Let it all be known! Let his personal sanctum, that private place of power most vampires and covens are zealous about keeping hidden because of how vulnerable even the most powerful of them are when stuck in their coffins at noon, be known. Let his security measures be known. Let everything they could possibly need to enact their judgment, vengeance, fury, and just overall bloodlust upon him....be known.

Because the Vampire Louis De Pointe Du Lac....owns the night, he says.

He tells them a story, that tells them everything but also tells them they know nothing, and turns everything they know about him, think they know about him, every secret or vulnerability offered up in Daniel's book, everything that could be gleaned by any of them going to Armand or Lestat or anyone else for intel on him......into irrelevant details.

Because his story he told - to an audience of jaded immortals, masters of manipulation, mind games, and the various machinations that colored so much of Louis' history with both Armand and Lestat, because they learned them from each other, learned from the same people, taught others, and on and on and on.....the story he told to an entire world of schemers, many of whom have centuries more practice than him in the art of turning fact into fiction, distorting reality into fantasy and making themselves into mythical monsters instead of just people who do monstrous things, just now with Added Years and Also Strong Branding.....

Well, the funny part about it, the thing he could be busting a gut laughing about on the inside.....

Is the story he told is not actually a story. It was fact. Truth. One hundred percent verifiable truth.....just....presented as a story.

And thus, to the practiced and cynical eyes of immortal master storytellers slash liars slash strong believers that all vampires are as prone to truth-twisting as them.....

For everything his "story" told them, the attached implication is there MUST be more he's not telling them. No vampire offers all that up, waves a red flag like that, declares war on untold legions of immortals more powerful, more experienced, more monstrous than him.....

Unless there's something he's NOT saying. Some trick. Some scheme. Some sword of Damocles hanging just out of sight over head, waiting for the first challenger foolish enough to take at face value this relatively young upstart (who nevertheless has survived over a century in the company of some of the most dangerous and unpredictable vampires out there - always a bundle of contradictions, our Louis).....and as much as they ALL agree this heretic must burn for what he did, for what he dares, laying claim to the night like that, like he has any RIGHT, let alone some greater right than THEM....

Well. SOMEONE has to take the first swing, don't they? And suddenly.....they're probably not all that eager to BE that first contender, the first to take a run down the straight shot Louis has invited them to take right to his front door and down the hall to where he can be found sleeping in his coffin incapable of defending himself.....

Because, well. There HAS to be some trick, doesn't there?

And there is, of course. The trick is that there is no trick. The lie is that the truth isn't a lie, its the actual truth. Its a simple, basic, and perilously flimsy house of cards Louis has erected around his tower as his ACTUAL fortification, but if this is his game, he's got reason to be pretty confident in it buying him a fair amount of time and allowing him plenty of maneuvering room while he engineers more of the situation to his advantage.

After all.....nobody knows better than Louis how effective something like this can be.

Its quite literally the exact same sleight of fact and fiction that Armand used to keep him contentedly playing make believe for the past seventy seven years. The more you ground a fiction in lies someone is already telling themselves or is all too willing to believe - because it falls naturally into place alongside similar-seeming and deeply-rooted beliefs - the less you actually have to LIE. The less you actually even have to do at ALL, because they're already inclined to fill in the blank spaces with their own correlating assumptions and just keep going and going from there. The fiction writes itself, because you've just given them the prompt and invited them to use their own history as a map for what makes most sense to come next.

And why wouldn't they? Vampires are natural storytellers, after all. How else does a factual species continually convince the world around them that they're really just fiction?

Armand's lie worked as long as it did because it was never a gamble at all. He knew it would work - at least for a time - because it always works. Vampires do this constantly. We've seen it time and again. They pull this gambit on each other, they pull it on themselves, they turn their own histories into stories that make them feel better whenever they peer into the past because perception is reality and if you have literal mind powers that let you alter perceptions at will its not exactly a hop skip and a jump from there to the belief that you can render reality similarly mutable.

Life is beautiful and great and wonderful and also hard and cruel and painful. And the unfortunate truth for many of us is the memories that hurt tend to have more weight than the memories that lift us up. They have an easier time sticking around, accumulating their weight, making the accumulation of decades and centuries more of a curse than a blessing unless you find some way to relieve the pressure, shed those burdens regularly. Or just get really good at telling yourself that weight, those hurts, they just aren't there. Because the things that caused them never happened. Because your immortal life has been wonderful and grand and anyone who challenges that is probably a liar who is invited to defenestrate themselves at the next available opportunity.

Armand wasn't shocked that a few pokes at his house of cards could collapse the whole web of lies. He was shocked that someone poked at it at all. He's five hundred years old. That shit just doesn't happen. That's not what they DO. Vampires only GET through as many centuries of bloody, brutals acts by LYING to themselves about those acts not being bloody or brutal or that they were done by someone else entirely, EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT, what kind of fucking BARBARIAN goes around poking at other peoples' houses of lies to see if they'll collapse when like, no shit, its OBVIOUS that it would collapse, because duh, its made of CARDBOARD, nobody is out here in Vampirelandia arguing that these things are sturdily constructed, but its not like its a problem as long as you just dont POKE at it and like, who even does that? Its RUDE!

*Enter Daniel, stage left, with jazz hands*

The older you get, the more memories you have, the more they all cram up against each other, the lines get blurred, the contents of each memory end up in each other's boxes, and when its that already that hard to tell which ones are still accurate anyway, its that much easier to just go with the stories and decide fiction's an acceptable substitute for fact any day.

Its not surprising it took a relatively young, spry and sassy septuagenarian to remind the two century plus lying liars who lie....that all of that may very well be true.....but that doesn't mean facts don't still matter. Truth doesn't still matter.

Any vampire could see the fragility of the ruse Louis' erecting here based on their own experiences doing the same thing. Most of them won't, because exposing the reality of his ruse requires an admittance of familiarity with it themselves. And that leads to acknowledging when and where they've deployed it in their own lives, with their own companions.....

And vampires, as we all know....rather famously don't spend a lot of time looking at themselves in a mirror.

The ten million Louis paid Daniel to tell his story was well worth it, and not just because it let him see what Armand had done. But because Louis already knew the power of a good story.....but Daniel reminded him that the truth has power too.

Its all in how you use it.

Related but tangential.....not gonna lie, a major inspiration for this take is just Louis fucking SMILING so much more in the last several scenes of the episode than in pretty much any of the present day scenes until now, at least in any kind of way that feels genuine and like he's actually engaged with what he's smiling at and dialed in. Like just....it feeling like being freed from the isolating house of fabrications he's spent the last several decades in has already led to him reconnecting with that fond curiosity he's had in the past, when not being alternately wallopped with Trauma and Tragedy hammers every other scene he's in. Him being able to look around and just take in stuff like "oh hey, that sparks joy. Neat. Forgot I had that emotion."

Like, I just really, REALLY like the scenes in the show (relatively few and scattered as they are) where we get.....playful Louis. The simple sincerity of just finding something amusing.....

Buuuuuut I also like when Louis is being a bitch and also when Daniel is being a bitch and I just think their being a bitch frequencies should be allowed to sync up more. As a treat. Just saying, this interpretation/take was 100% inspired by the thought of Louis finding the effectiveness of his ruse hilarious in an ironic kinda way, and being like, I wonder if Daniel thinks the joke is as funny as I do, since I think he's pretty much the only other person who'd get it without me explaining anything.

Daniel: Oh I absolutely do, except I just think its hilarious and not in an ironic way or anything, its just funny. Plus I enjoy that its at most vampires' expense, because at the risk of generalizing, literally every single vampire I've ever met has been a giant dick. So. There's that.

Louis: You do remember that you're a vampire too now, right?

Daniel: Well yeah. And I've met me, and I'm a giant dick. Where's the confusion here, Louis.

Anyway.

ALSO! The parallel of Daniel writing a fact-based memoir that exposes the truth about vampires to a world that refuses to believe it because it challenges the beliefs they already have about what is fact and what is fiction.....

And Louis armoring himself with truth told as a story to vampires that refuse to even look for the holes in that armor because to do so would risk applying fatal pressure to the fiction painted over the vulnerabilities in their own.....

.....mmmm. *chef's kiss*

So, yeah. I would love it if the above interpretation is where things go. Based on where they left Louis, I feel pretty confident I'll like wherever they take him next season regardless of how well it aligns with this take or not, but I mean. I'm egotistical enough that I'm like yeah, I would in fact like it if the show validated the two hours I just spent haphazardly rambling away in a post that started off with "So this isn't an actual meta but rather a post ABOUT a meta that I'm GOING to write but that is not actually this" and then turned into an obvious meta that didn't even have the fucking decency to be the meta that the post was initially about.

Look, I'm just saying. I would win so hard at being a vampire, I've already finished all the prerequisite courses.

Thus concludeth the rambles.

.....ugh fucking hell, just remembered that now I STILL have to write the actual meta that I was already planning to write before my brain decided hey what if instead of that we did a whole Russian nesting dolls thing that turned that meta into like, nine other metas that don't get you any closer to writing the thing that you originally set out to write hahaha this is fun, I'm fine, the show has absolutely not rewired my brain chemistry at all.

[scoops-aboy86]

what are your thoughts on Steve with a big new belly that he hasn't quite gotten used to yet ..... keeps bumping into things etc

My thoughts on this are very positive. He's just been eating and eating and eating, and how come nobody told him just how big he's getting because of it?

There's this puzzled look that always crosses his face when, for example, he goes to walk alongside someone and bumps into them, or accidentally crowds them of the sidewalk or something. (Or, in the case of his ruder kids, shoved tolerantly back towards his side of the whatever.)

Eddie is weak for this puzzled look. Also gets to see it whenever Steve bumps into furniture, and the one time he was in the Beemer when Steve had to inch his seat back a notch so he wasn't wedged in behind the steering wheel it was all the metalhead could do not to launch himself at the guy. He just. Looks. So. SOFT. And it's becoming a problem, Eddie is clenching his jaw way too much to contain his cuteness agression, he's starting to get tension headaches.

Which Steve notices, of course, and hands-on-hips orders Eddie into the kitchen so he can make him some soup, because obviously he's coming down with something, Steve hasn't seen him this zoned out since the last time he caught a cold.

I can't even decide which kitchen, if it's the Harrington house or the Munson trailer or some as yet unseen government apology bribe of a house for the Munsons. But either it's small and Steve keeps running up against everything, making Eddie want to whine into his hands that are covering his burning face, or it's been a while since he's cooked rather than ordering out so he keeps seriously misjudging distances from memory. Just, like, that and the fact that his shirt is riding up under the apron he's wearing, sorely tested by all the "taste testing" he's doing...

By the time Eddie is served a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup he's already been fed probably a full serving of pasta and Steve has had at least twice that. Same again with bits of chicken, and pieces of carrot or whatever because Steve wanted to make sure they would be exactly as firm or soft as Eddie liked them.

"Soft enough?" Steve asks, and gets that look again when Eddie promptly chokes on his soup and starts hacking up a lung. "Shit, you're not choking, are you?" And, like, he knows first aid, so he starts getting into the position to do the Heimlich maneuver, which means his belly is now pressed against Eddie's back, and—

Long story short, once Eddie gets the coughing under control he turns and basically throws himself at Steve, and their first kiss tastes of chicken noodle soup, and later Eddie is sooooo embarrassed about coming while rubbing himself against Steve's belly before he can think to get out of his jeans. Steve has no complaints though, because Eddie's way of "making it up to him" (Steve thought it was hot, but he can stand to play dumb about it for now and see where it gets him) involves blowing him against the fridge, getting him a bowl of soup while they recover, and then blowing him again on the kitchen floor.

And that's how they start dating, and how Eddie develops a very specific Pavlovian reaction to chicken noodle soup.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @tangerinesteve @chersteddie2

[marmolita]

bonus fic for Halloween!

Back in 2018 I started this Ardyn/Ravus werewolf fic for a kinkmeme prompt and never finished it, because I couldn't figure out where it was going. Six years later, I pulled it out of my WIPs and realized I just needed to change the last paragraph to make it a complete shorter fic, rather than the beginning of an unknown longer fic.

So, even though I literally just posted 32 fics in 31 days, I'm back again with more.

Call of the Wild

Ardyn/Ravus, AU - werewolves + modern + supernatural creatures are known + college + they're still in Niflheim so make of it what you will

Ravus isn't entirely sure what it is about Ardyn Izunia that keeps him coming back for more. Perhaps it's those golden eyes, the color so unusual that they remind him of some sort of wild animal. Perhaps it's his powerful hands, when his nails rake down Ravus's back like claws. Or perhaps it's the jaunty set of his hat and the knowing curve of his smile, the predatory gleam in his eye that changes to laughing glee when Ravus finds himself caught.

Happy Halloween!