dylanohara

[dylanohara]

”Consider yourself excused,” Dylan said with an air of insincere benevolence as he approached the desk, a streak of oil across his cheek and his hands covered in grime. “Have you never used a bell before, or are you just particularly enjoying the sound? Most people find one ring is completely adequate.” Naturally, he’d heard it going about five minutes before, but he’d half hoped whoever was ringing it might give up and go away. He was alone in the workshop today, and not particularly in the mood to engage with the general public. But alas, it seemed today’s clientele was persistent enough to stay. “I suppose you are quite blonde,” he added. “You must not have realised where the noise was coming from. Let me help,” he slowed his voice down so that every word seemed to take an age, “press …… button.” Slapping his hand down on the bell, he glanced around exaggeratedly as it rang, before pointing to it. “Bell ….. go ……. ding.”

@dylanohara

Lilith missed her BMW Series 3 to death. Unfortunately, she had to leave it on the side of the road back in Iowa, last week. The engine had been pushed to hell as she made her escape, overheated several times, and finally, one of the back tires had blown out. Was there a spare? Yes. Did she know how to change a tire? No. And since her husband could be on her at any second, she made the decision to abandon it altogether.

Better that way, anyway. Harder for him to track her down.

But now it meant, she was trapped in Cardinal Hill with no way to get around other than her own two feet, a cab, or worse yet, public transportation. That was what she had just gotten off now, and Lilith wiped her arms as she walked quickly away from it, feeling as if she was now somehow carrying the body germs of everyone else on those seats. Eugh. As soon as she was able, she'd be taking a long, luxurious bath.

Tossing some hair over her shoulder, she pushed through the grimy door of Romano's. The only reason she was even on this greasy pavement was because someone had let her know they occasionally had vehicles for sale. That one worker, in fact, had one he'd take cash for. "Excuse me," Lilith called out, dinging the bell several times as she leaned into the counter, trying to see where anyone was. The door that lead to the garage area was open, she could hear the sounds of mechanical work going on, but they were out their minds if they expected her to risk her life going back there. "Helllooooooooo?" Ding, dingdingding, ding.

[dylanohara]

"Everything's funner," Dylan mused, “when you pretend you’re sneaking around.” Or maybe that pointed towards him having a childish streak, one that felt rewarded when he engaged in behaviour that made him feel like he was misbehaving, even when in reality he was an adult and fully permitted to go out at night when he chose. “It’s like, two or three in the morning? I don’t really know,” he admitted with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep, so.” And here he was now. Maybe it revealed too much that simply being unable to sleep rendered him in need of a big enough distraction that he wouldn’t be stuck in his own thoughts for too long. But he wasn’t about to think about that, either. “I’ll take a cig though, thank you legend,” he stuck it in his mouth and lit up almost immediately, inhaling and exhaling a puff of smoke before he spoke again. “You wanna go down to the river?”

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They rubbed at their eyes, turning toward the window and wondered if they were hallucinating, or if some force was finally there to take them away. The reality was nothing so grim, however, as they wandered toward the source and pushed the glass open. When they saw Dylan, they blinked a few times, eyebrows furrowed, and then grinned. "Totally. I gotta get changed. One sec!" Hopping back into their room, they donned a pastel shirt and short black skirt, and then grabbed their keys. Yawning, they pushed the window open further and then started crawling down their wall - but not before pushing the glass closed with a click. When they got to the bottom, they said, "Felt like I should match the whole sneaking around vibe." Hana reached into their pocket and pulled out a cigarette, then said, "You want one? What time is it, anyway, dude?"

[dylanohara]

"Glad I got that right then," he admitted with a soft laugh. "Be fucking embarrassing if I'd been here long enough to start forgetting what my own people sound like." Although it was something that crossed his mind the longer he was in Cardinal Hill - the thought of whether he would lose those parts of himself, the parts tied to his homeland, that recognised others accents and felt connected to them. He'd already noticed that after five years away, his accent was softer than it once had been, coming out stronger on certain words. Maybe one day it would be gone entirely. "Wish I was, but no. I guess it's better than a leprechaun joke, though."

A strange sort of relief washed over Dove at the other's comment. He was completely right in saying that those who lived alongside them in Cardinal Hill wouldn't be able to tell the difference between their accents, but the fact that he could immediately do it himself sent a sad little pang of homesickness throb in Dove's chest. Dove had a lot of conflicting feelings about home, and he was very glad to be where he was now, but even so, the heart still wanted what it wanted. "Not a city guy at all," he confirmed with a concise nod of the head. "Spent a bit of time a few different places before coming over here, but not for long," he added. "You're joking." Dove knew that he wasn't joking, though - unfortunately. Particularly in small town Washington, there were a lot of people who knew not a single thing about anywhere else in the world.

[dylanohara]

"Romano's," Dylan said with a quizzical look, choosing to totally ignore the true meaning of the question and feign ignorance, despite being fully aware of it. He simply wasn't in the mood to engage, today, in boring discussions of his background. "I thought you would've known that, seeing as you called us and all..." Being a smart ass never ended up serving him, and yet he couldn't quite turn the snark off, his ability to fix an engine barely making up for the attitude.

"It clicking when you try and start it, or nah?" He asked, his voice an uninterested drawl, further making him seem more like a bored teenager than a competent adult, although he took a couple of loping strides towards the truck anyway, opening the right door and leaning in to turn the key himself, listening for a few seconds. "Mm, might be the starter solenoid. I'll stick a voltmeter on there and see if it's a connection issue or if the solenoid's actually fucked. Hey, you got a cigarette?" The momentary professionalism, if one could even call his brief demonstration that he actually know how to do his job professional. "

"Well you ain't from 'round here," Jesse remarked immediately, barely understanding the other for a second as he came to pause before him. It was a blunt, obvious statement; this guy knew he wasn't from around here, duh. But Jesse had at least expected someone whose accent wasn't so thick. Not necessarily new to his ears, because they did get tourists to the ranch from all over the place, but it wasn't like he could pick up where exactly. "Where you from?"

Unaware of the other male's plight about having to answer this question who knew how many times, he was spot-on about the baby-face, too. Jesse had a look of him now, that seemed faintly doubtful of the young man's abilities. This was who they sent to fix his damn truck? He looked around Ocean's age, maybe. Geez.

Jesse didn't have much of a choice in the matter, though. He already tried his usual tricks to get his old 60's Ford truck back into action, and it wasn't cooperating this time. An actual mechanic was necessary now, whether he could afford it or not. "Yeah, it's 'round back." With a nod of the head, he lead the other around to the side of the main building, where the beat up truck sat with its hood up. Like someone had already tried working on it. "It ain't turnin' over anymore, n' I don't think its the battery."

[dylanohara]

"It's more for your benefit, my love. I know how much you adore it. My accent. My mere presence. Simply my existence," he pursed his lips together and made a kissy noise, pretending to twirl a strand of curly dark hair around one long finger as if he were a teenage girl in a movie, before his hands returned to the task in question and he shrugged. "It's true not everyone may have my natural charm, but be assured I'm not just a pretty face. I know it's difficult to not get jealous. Beauty, brains, can he really have it all?" At least this time the words were spoken with enough obvious sarcasm that it was clear Dylan didn't really mean what he was saying, and was joking around with her. He might put on the persona, but his confidence was mostly, if not all, a front.

As he worked, for just a moment the lights flickered. Strange, perhaps, but what was stranger was that out of the corner of his eye, Dylan could have sworn a wrench he'd left on the floor moved just a few inches towards him, without him moving it or reaching for it. But the lights were back to normal in just a couple of seconds, and he brushed it off, thinking it was likely in his head. What wasn't in his head, however, was the growing sensation of pressure behind his eyes. "You got any Tylenol, Harpy?"

༝༝ 🖤 ༝༝

Her face stayed unamused in its straight, serious nature at his cooing. The last thing she was going to do was entertain the narrative he chose to make up. Dylan had his own way of getting under her skin, and she was just lucky enough to work with him every day. "Do you talk to hear your own voice or because you actually have something useful to say?" The girl looked at his work, arched her brow, and turned back to the mechanic himself. For how cocky he was she didn't think his work owned up to it. Harper clocked him for the type who didn't bother to double-check anything or believe he did something incorrectly. He had yet to prove her right, but he also had yet to prove her wrong. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night." The girl glanced at him through furrowed brows before exhaling into her usual monotone expression. "If you think you look sexy doing it, you're probably doing it wrong."

[dylanohara]

"Oh Dante," Dylan said with an air of woe, letting his lower lip jut out in a show of childish disappointment, "you really never noticed my complete adoration for you? I've been painting Dylan Reyes on car hoods for weeks now. I'm absolutely pining. My usual spark for life is completely gone, all I can do is write poetry by candlelight..... roses are red, violets are blue, Dante's quite fit and he's got a nice car too." His grin following the deadpan delivery of his "poem" belied his joke, and he took the can, taking a slow sip before widening his eyes in mock offence.

"I would never make eyes," Dylan said, piously. "I'm an innocent soul. Such thoughts have never entered my sweet Catholic brain. They say Jesus himself chose to be crucified once he realised he couldn't be as holy as me."

✿ Closed starter for Dylan (@dylanohara) somewhere in Cardinal Hill.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like me or somethin’,” Dante said with a crooked grin, elbow resting on the back of the bench like he had all the time in the world. “And hey, I ain’t complainin’. Just sayin’. You makin’ eyes, or is that just how your face works?” Something he’d come to learn about himself was that he loved fucking around with Dylan. The two of them were absolutely ridiculous, seeing how far they could take it before the other broke. He took a sip of his beer before handing it over to the other. It was way too fucking early in the morning, but he couldn't sleep, and he knew that Dylan would come hang out with him.

[dylanohara]

He caught the lighter with one hand, bringing it up to his lips and lighting the cigarette in one swift motion, although he took a long drag before he threw it back, exhaling slowly, leisurely. The habit wasn't one he found particularly attractive on anyone else - not even himself, if he was being honest, he disliked the smell of smoke and could often be found sucking on a polo after the fact to freshen his breath - but he found it difficult to quit, and he'd never been the type to bother with anything he found too hard or unenjoyable. Life was, after all, short.

"Oh, Jesus yes," Dylan's words came out as an equally sarcastic drawl, but he allowed himself to thicken his accent ever so slightly just to drive the point home as he glanced up at the abysmally blue sky. "There's actually nothing I love more than turning myself into Rotisserie Dylan. I hope someone's started off the mash and gravy, I reckon I'll be pretty fully cooked soon." A quiet snort indicated his joke despite his deadpan tone, and he shrugged. "Yeah, you and me both. There's a reason I've not seen any cartoons of leprechauns in bikinis, put it that way."

Vale was going to quit smoking. He really was. That was what he kept telling himself, and he avoided all other vices and substances. But smoking was the one he still occasionally gave in to. He told himself he wasn’t addicted because he didn’t smoke everyday. That being said, if he could quit anytime, why didn’t he? Because you can’t, not on the really hard days, he thought bitterly, leaning against the wall of a building in the downtown section. He took a cigarette out of the pack he kept in his back pocket, lighting it and immediately feeling that calm that came with his first puff. Yeah…he probably couldn’t quit. 

Today was a hot day too, but Vale wasn’t going to be one of those people who smoked inside. He drew the line at that. So he just leaned there against the wall in the sun, closing his eyes as he took another puff. That was when he heard someone talking, and Vale opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar man with a head of thick, dark hair just like his own. Shit, he was probably roasting too. “Yeah, I do,” Vale said, tossing his lighter to him. “I bet you’re loving this weather,” he said sarcastically, running his fingers through his hair and making a look of disgust - it was damp with sweat. “I don’t think I’m made for the heat,” Vale stated. 

[dylanohara]

closed for @angstfactory jesse

Callouts weren't Dylan's favourite. He liked working in the comfort of Romano's, where he could usually be found with one hand in an engine and the other holding a cigarette, or perhaps a can of shit lager if the hour had gotten late enough. And even putting the comfort side of things away, he felt cursed with a baby face that often had clients questioning, when he arrived, if he could possibly have the necessary level of experience to deal with their issues. (Not to mention talking about his accent. Ireland might be his proud homeland, but jesus if he had to answer any more questions about where he was from he might burst.)

But it was his job, however reluctant he might be. So here he was, on the ranch, overalls on and scowl somewhat removed from his face as Jesse approached, although the cigarette was still tucked behind his ear, ready for him. "Got a call saying you had a truck that needed seeing to, or something?" He'd never dealt with the ranch before, and his eyes had a hint of curiosity as he looked around, having little experience on such a thing. Galway wasn't exactly overrun with ranches. He'd seen a few farms in his time, but this seemed wholly American.

[dylanohara]

closed for @blackcatxmagic vale

It was hot, but not just hot. Humid. Dylan could feel the moisture in the air, making him feel sticky, uncomfortable even. His skin wasn't exactly suited to these conditions, he could feel new freckles developing as he sat in front of the lake, but it was a better option than staying inside. He'd never admit it, but being stuck within four walls had him with little better to do than sit in his own brain, and his thoughts weren't a place he was currently happy staying. Instead, he'd gotten out.

He'd left in such a hurry he hadn't brought the bare essentials though, and he was about to cuss himself out rather floridly before he noticed another man walking along, noting the dark curly hair, rather similar to his own. "Hey," he said, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight, holding out the cigarette in his hand to demonstrate his point. "You got a lighter I can use?"

[dylanohara]

closed for @livrelcvande opal

"You're telling me you're a maid? So like, you wear the sexy costume and everything?" Of course that was the first thing in Dylan's man pig brain when he heard the occupation title, but regrettably he didn't stop there. "What's the job interview even like for that? Do you have to do all the yes my lord, no my lord....?"

[dylanohara]

"What're you running from?" Dylan repeated, eyes wide with curious energy. "Because like, I can't imagine anyone actually does this shit for fun. And don't tell me it like, quiets your thoughts or some bullshit, because I definitely don't believe in that crap." Perhaps he should. Maybe he would be a more tolerable person if he found a sport or activity to help get rid of any negativity. He was, alas, too cynical for all of that. "Early for you," he said with a one shouldered shrug, "late for me, I'm still waiting to go to bed."

Elias's morning running was the closest he got to practicing meditation. His day couldn't properly start until he went for a run and cleared his head for the day. Elias had always been an early riser and he had to be so he could get a couple of miles in before work each morning. Today was no different for Elias as he set out for his morning run. He ran virtually the same route every day that he felt he could probably run it with his eyes closed so he was really on auto pilot as he came around the bend. There usually weren't people out this early and while Elias had caught himself before he'd collided with him he had cut it close. He'd muttered a quick sorry as he ran passed only to pause when he heard the man say something to him that he didn't quite catch. Elias jogged back to approach him. "Pardon me?" He began. "Sorry, I don't usually see people on this trail this early," he apologized still unsure what the man had just said to him but he wouldn't be surprised if it had to do with nearly running into him.

[dylanohara]

closed for @wcirdo elias

Six am, a time where most functional people were either waking up or sound asleep. Not Dylan, though. Instead he was traipsing along the path of the park at a speed which could be beaten by a particularly tired snail, each step making it clear that he was annoyed to be walking - an annoyance which only increased as he had to stop dead in his tracks, almost colliding head first into a runner coming from the opposite direction. "Hey, the fuck you even running from? A bear?"

[dylanohara]

closed for @hearthandhallows hana

It was the middle of the night, potentially past that - one in the morning, the completely dark sky despite it being the middle of summer indicating the lateness of the hour - and yet Dylan seemingly had no care in the world for the sleep of Hana's neighbours as he launched another pebble at their window, grinning as he saw them finally open it and look down, likely in confusion as to what exactly he was doing. "Hey. I'm bored. Wanna do something?"

[dylanohara]

"Yours is a little different, though," Dylan noted. Although it was strangely comforting to hear an Irish voice, in a sea of unfamiliar accents that sounded nothing like his own. "You don't sound like a city guy. I doubt anyone here'd notice the difference, though," he added with a shrug. To those around them, the two probably sounded interchangeable, the slight differences in regional accents totally indistinguishable. "I had a guy ask me if I was Scottish one time. True story."

Closed starter for Dylan O'Hara @dylanohara

Located at Hometown Grocers

Dove was tired; he'd stayed up far too late working on a project, and even when he had finally crawled into bed, he hadn't been able to fall asleep for some time. Dove was no stranger to sleepless nights, but that didn't make it any easier for him to deal with the fatigue. But still, life went on; he lazily sauntered through the aisles of the grocery store, and that was when he heard it: the voice was familiar, so much so that it threw Dove for a loop in a way he hadn't experienced for some time. Against his better judgement, and against the manners he had been taught, Dove stood and stared at the owner of the voice for a moment. Only when their eyes met did Dove finally snap out of it. "Goodness, sorry," he shook his head, realising how rude he was appearing. "Heard the accent," one that matched his own, as his own speech proved. "Thought I'd woken up back home for some reason, had a long night," he chuckled.

[dylanohara]

"You think I'm funny and you think I'm delicious looking enough to eat? Oh, Harper," Dylan cooed, batting his eyelashes obnoxiously just to drive the point home. "Don't make me swoon now." The comment was accompanied by a snort, as if he found his own joke funny enough to react to it, but he leaned back to let her look, moving over to give her a better view. "Please, take a front row seat. Watch a true artist at work. I've been told the way I handle a simple oil change is sexy enough to start the Trojan War all over again."

༝༝ 🖤 ༝༝

The second she returned from lunch Harper was greeted with the snarky comments of co-worker, Dylan. He seemed to find amusement in his antics, but her simple pleasure of a turkey sub was wiped clean by his teasing. Not that Harper took offense to the nickname, but more so annoyed that he always had to add the theatrics. Dylan seemed to thrive on over the top, and she was quite the opposite. “Oh you’re soo funny,” the raven-haired girl remarked as she pulled her locks back into a low ponytail. “If I really were a monster, I’d eat you first.” A snap of her jaw gave retaliation to his jokes. She came around the hood, giving the top a smack as she did to rattle her co-worker. In some ways, Harper could very well be a beast of sorts, her magic being misunderstood by the witch herself. After so many years of being confused by who she was, she felt like she was finding some clarity in a small town with an unfamiliar name. "What're you workin' on, Dylhole?"

[dylanohara]

closed for @batteredbruises

“Hath the harpy returned?” Dylan widened his eyes in an expression of faux terror as his coworker - the so called harpy he had so rudely referred to - entered the garage, before pretending to duck behind the open hood of the Honda Civic he was currently working on. “I thought we had vanquished the terrifying beast already. Please, spare me. I am but a young man, with so much life left to live……..”

[dylanohara]

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Dylan O’Hara, the 24 year old mechanic at Romano’s originally from Galway, Ireland. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're witty and argumentative, but what you might not know is that they are a witch, and that they’re hiding something…

full name: dylan thomas o'hara

d.o.b: december 16, 1966 (current age 24)

zodiac: sagittarius sun, leo rising, libra moon

hometown: galway, ireland

current residence: cardinal hill, wa

occupation: mechanic at romano's

species: witch

sexuality: bisexual

personality

positive / witty, loyal, imaginative negative / philophobic, defensive, hot tempered, callous

descript: dylan is an actor. one who is very, very good at portraying one specific character, but he’s been doing it for so long that he can’t quite tell where the character ends and where he begins. the character in this instance is the dylan o'hara most people in cardinal hill know and despise. dylan has created a narrative for himself where he’s the bad guy, and he finds increasingly more excessive ways to display this narrative. dylan is fuelled in this by his own entertainment. what does he gain from each interaction? he has no interest in being liked, no interest in genuine social connections, all he’s doing when he socialises is scouting out ways to entertain himself, whether it’s through casual sex or more often through manipulation, making people think he’s their friend so he can use it against them, through teasing people, low blows, hitting them right where they’re the weakest. because he’s good at delivering verbal punches and making them sound amusing, he’s witty, and he doesn’t give enough of a fuck about his own safety to mind any consequences.

partially, this character is in place for dylan's own self preservation. part of him believes, deep down, that if he keeps pushing people away and never lets anyone in and covers himself with a thick layer of sarcasm and bullying, he’ll never be hurt again. and then maybe a little bit of him wants other people to be hurting as much as he is inside. because truthfully, underneath it all, dylan is wracked with guilt and constantly blaming himself for so much of his mother’s problems and his own abandonment that he can’t quite keep it all inside and needs to throw it onto the world around him. he doesn’t allow himself to have connections, because he doesn’t think he is deserving of them. he has never quite felt understood by another person, and he never thinks he will.

bio

(t/ws for drug addiction, alcoholism, abandonment, overdose, incarceration and death)

dylan thomas o'hara was born in galway, the second child of an irish mother and a father who was never really in the picture. growing up, his early childhood was pretty much defined by his mother's addiction -  she was a teenager when she gave birth to him and his older brother, and an alcoholic, although by the time dylan was five she had graduated to heroin. as a result, he was cared for more by his older brother than his mother, until he went to prison when dylan was 16. he felt abandoned, as a result, and at this point went completely off the rails, acting out at school, engaging in juvenile delinquent behaviour, and being caught one or two times and facing the consequences.

at the same time, dylan began to experience strange symptoms he couldn't quite explain. splitting headaches that left him bedridden for days on end. uncontrollable nosebleeds that seemed to strike out of nowhere. and if he hadn't known better and known that they must be hallucinations, he could have sworn sometimes strange things happened around him, objects moving before he touched them, or strange dreams of things that ended up coming to pass. he went to doctors, who just shrugged and told him he likely was just having migraines, and prescribed a cocktail of pain medication that didn't seem to touch it. but dylan had never been the most open of people anyway, and he settled to just not talk about it with anyone, explain days off of school away with an excuse of bunking off or being hungover. for him, at least, it was believable. what he didn't know, and he still doesn't know, is that he is the first witch born into his family in generations.

by 19, he was truly alone for the first time in his short life. his mother died of an overdose, and with his brother now estranged from his life and his father nowhere to be found dylan had little left in ireland to bother with. his father had been a cardinal hill native, and he figured despite his fraught relationship with the man, he might as well move countries, securing a job as a mechanic having done an apprenticeship back home. he still doesn't know about witches, but the strange symptoms persist....

connection ideas

gimme ANYTHING

dylan will shag anything that moves so hookups welcome, ex hookups, exes he screwed over etc

dylan will also flirt with anything that moves so let ur chara be annoyed at him, find him frustrating, etC!

he has a big mouth. he will get on the wrong side of people, gleefully. he can annoy ur character. he certainly annoys me.

friends i suppose if they can put up w him, bonus for a close friend who recognises that MAYBE sillyboy is witch and he doesn't even know it

distant relatives through his father!

etc etc down for all n anything