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lovings4turn · 10 days ago

Text

pairing: best friend!luke hughes x reader [1.6k]

becca's notes... and so the first chapter of 'the five signs that you're falling in love with your best friend!' is here ! this truly is the fic that's gotten me back into writing , and so i hope you like it just as much as i do <33

📰 series masterlist masterlist ⋆˚࿔ likes + rbs appreciated

‘A GOOD LISTENER’ is not exactly the first skill that luke would ascribe to himself if ever asked to do so. no, he’d probably produce something hockey related, thanks to all of the media training he’s received over the past year or so. a humble comment about his speed on the ice, or his ability to weave through opposing players like it’s nothing, mere child’s play.

and yet, luke always seems to hang on to your every word, absorbing each syllable and remembering even the smallest details that few others do.

not like it’s hard, he’d joked once, when you brought it up offhandedly. you never stop talking. it’s impossible not to pick things up when i’ve got a constant flow of your yapping in my ear. he’d earned a swat to the arm and a chastising tut for that comment, but it was more than worth it to see the faux pissed-off look that contorted your features for a couple of seconds.

still, for all of his joking, your comment still stands. luke does listen, he supposes. when it counts. or, really, when it’s you. he knows your favourite snack, for one, and the hundreds of fragments of gossip from your daily life that he insists you feed to him stick in his head like they’re pinned to a corkboard, red string mapping out every convoluted timeline that he manages to keep straight.

once, you’d brought up how you couldn’t stand the sound of obnoxious whistling. it was a passing comment, really, but luke’s ability to remember the mundane had come in handy when you’d accompanied luke to an outing with some other devils’ players a few weeks back.

the whole thing was nothing fancy, just a few casual drinks in a bar that was a little nicer than you were used to. the place was quiet enough that conversation could be had without shouting into one another’s ear and repeating ‘what?’ ten times over before resorting to smiling, nodding and hoping for the best.

you’re still not sure who exactly it was.

all you know is that someone on the new jersey devils has the god awful habit of whistling a tune to fill a break in conversation. you’d felt terrible at the time, recognising the way that your skin prickled with goosebumps at the ever so slightly shrill tone, because you knew that it wasn’t a conscious thing. no one was actively trying to piss you off, and so your anger felt unwarranted.

luke was all too familiar with your pet peeve, though, and noted how your finger had taken to circling the rim of your glass as you tried to block out the noise and immerse yourself into your conversation with dawson.

“knock it off, man,” luke had groaned, part in jest but tone firm enough for the culprit to know he was serious . “you’re gonna give me a headache. don’t even think you’re hitting the right tune.”

the whistler promptly stopped, and a subtle kick to your foot had confirmed what you already knew to be true. luke couldn’t have given a shit about the whistling, probably hadn’t even really noticed it, but he knew that you would be far too polite to voice that it was driving you up the wall.

he was graciously dubbed your knight in a baseball cap for three whole days after that.

funnily enough, it’s not even a conscious thing that he does. his brain just seems to process your voice more than others, like you’re a radio station he’s programmed to tune into by default. plus, it’s not his fault that you just so happen to make a good point every once in a while.

it’s approaching the warmer months, and luke can feel the way that his curls tickle the nape of his neck. the strands lay uncomfortably on his skin when they get even slightly damp, and sweat-soaked hair clinging to his skin isn’t exactly the most appealing sensation in the world.

in all honesty, luke can’t remember the last time he’d actually gotten a haircut. it has to have been a few months ago, at least, though he’s likely gone far longer without having someone take a pair of scissors to the mop of hair on his head. far more important things have been on his mind, sue him.

in a battle between his hockey career and the aesthetic status of his current hairstyle, luke knows what will top his list of priorities every single time. life is busy. he can live with overgrown curls for a few months, even if he is on the receiving end of pointed stares from you.

that’s not to say he won’t complain about it the entire time, though.

the aircon in your shitty little apartment isn’t the greatest. you know it, luke knows it, every single person who unfortunately visits your place in the summer knows it. repairs and maintenance are expensive, and as far as you’re concerned, there are way better things you can be spending your money on. really, what can air conditioning do that a couple of shitty, twenty dollar fans can’t?

a lot, luke realises, as he sits sprawled out on your sofa, limbs every which way, tortured by the way his hair feels the need to make its presence known against his warm skin. if he listened close enough, he’s sure he’d be able to hear the curls mocking him.

“i need to get my hair cut.”

there’s no question about it. it’s not like he’s asking for an opinion, or contemplating it. it’s a statement, something luke decides to speak out into the world as though merely saying the words aloud will arrange the appointment for him, chop the hair from his head themselves.

the way that you sharply turn your head away from the tv to face him catches him off guard. he would have made some snide comment about the lasting effects of whiplash if you weren’t already speaking.

luke presumes you’re going to scold him for talking, interrupting your precious showing of ‘13 going on 30’ despite the fact you’ve both watched this film together nearly twenty times over. what he doesn’t expect is to be met with a question.

“what? why?” you ask with a slight whine, something that’s likely a result of you growing tired, though you’ll never admit it. you never do.

your hand stretches out to toy with one of the longer strands of hair furling at his nape. considering the three in one you know he’s prone to using, despite your countless offers for him to please borrow your leave-in conditioner at least once, it’s surprisingly soft. the tawny strands curl around your finger like a ring custom made for your index.

luke doesn’t even question your touch. instead, he snorts in amusement.

you’re acting as though his desire to cut his hair, his hair, mind you, not yours, is a personal affront to you and everything that you stand for.

“why?” he echoes, raising a brow. “cause it’s annoying. i can feel it on my neck all the time. it’s itchy. i don’t want to be itchy when i’m trying to chill out.”

“it’s itchy,” you mock, face contorted and voice a few octaves too high to even remotely resemble that of luke’s. “christ, lukey, get a grip. barely even to your neck and you’re acting like there’s a whole fucking mane there. grow up.”

blunt honesty has always been your thing, so luke doesn’t even bat an eye at your lack of sympathy. he merely scoffs, his brows ticking upwards in a way that silently communicates ‘message received’.

“sorry, jeez. didn’t realise bitching about nothing was only okay when you do it,” he returns, voice dripping with sarcasm as he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “it’s just bothering me, that’s all i’m saying. ‘m way overdue to get it cut.”

you frown and tug lightly on his hair, payback for his teasing jab, before finally removing your hand from his scalp. luke almost whines at the loss, the sensation somewhat comforting to him.

“i like it long,” you observe casually, like luke’s heart doesn’t give a small stutter at your words. “think you suit it. don’t cut it.”

for playful emphasis, you pout out your lips, eyes softening into a look that’s part puppy dog and part sickening. luke doesn’t know how to react, forcing out a laugh.

“gross. don’t make that face at me,” he chides, reaching out to gently push your head backwards. it’s not rough, could never be. it’s as though his body can sense when you’re around, and loses it’s ability to be coarse and violent. “i’m gonna go bald just to spite you.”

“do it,” you laugh, poking at him with your toe. “i’d love to see the meltdown it’d cause all over twitter. you’d break hearts.”

the conversation spirals after that, but your words linger in luke’s mind. luke never does get around to booking that haircut. it’s definitely because the menial task keeps slipping his mind. your opinion holds no weight in the matter, no sir.

so, yeah. luke guesses he can be a good listener when he wants. and unfortunately for him, it’s the first sign he’s in too fucking deep.

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s writing #˙⋆✮ the 'five signs' series #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #lh43 x reader #lh43 x you #lh43 x y/n #lh43 fluff #lh43 fic #nhl x reader #nhl x you

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fairyhaos · 10 months ago

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how seventeen act with their bookworm s/o

requested by my dearest 🍒 anon!

masterlist

seungcheol

just. buys you everything you want. bookmarks, books, book signing tickets, bookshelves, hell he'll even build you your own library to house your books if that's what you want. he'd buy u anything you want anyway tbh, but he knows how much you love reading so his gift-giving tendencies have shifted towards the side of fully letting you indulge in your hobbies. what can he say? he likes seeing you happy.

jeonghan

sometimes he'll just sit there and watch you read bc he thinks that you're just really cute. likes to watch all the different facial expressions you make whilst you're reading through different passages, and laughs when you give horrified gasps whenever the characters make terrible choices. gets bored whilst listening to you explain the plot, but Loves when you explain the drama to him like you're teenage girls gossiping over the latest drama

joshua

doesn't know how you have the time or patience to just sit there reading words for hours, but he supports your hobby for sure. sometimes when you're feeling down, he'll take you to the nearest bookstore and buys every single book you so much as hint at having an interest in. buys you handbags that are big enough for books to fit inside so when you two go out with others, you can bring ur emotional support book for when things get too boring 🫡

junhui

goes “ooh what are u reading???” when he catches you holding a new book. you tell him the title and the genre, but as soon as you begin explaining the plot, his eyes are glazing over and he's already clocked out of the conversation. he tries his best to listen, he really does!!! but he supposes it just isn't for him :(( watches the movie adaptations w you if there is one tho and let's you rant about the deviations the directors made from the novel

hoshi

gets insanelyyyy jealous when you find a new fictional character to fixate and fawn over bc like, hello???? your boyfriend is literally right here????? why are you crying over some character that doesn't exist????? but then you argue that you put up with his tiger agenda so he can at least put up with this. doesn't like reading the books, but loves you explaining it aloud to him, hand gestures and all. he thinks it's really cute.

wonwoo

entertains all your theories about the lore and character backstories of the novels you've been reading lately. you could look like that one guy in the corkboard meme with the red string and he'll just smile indulgently and ask you to tell him more. he's bought you about 70% of all the books you own, and he's not stopping any time soon. he'll stop when you run out of books to read, probably. and by the looks of it, that's not happening any time soon.

woozi

absolutely loves all those fantasy/ dystopian kinds of books the most. at first he was like “:// no thanks i have work” when you first asked him to read some books but now he likes reading them in his free time bc he gets to discuss lore with you in the evenings. likes watching the movie adaptations if they exist, bc then you both get to either applaud the accurate adaptation or complain loudly at the horrible inaccuracies that distort the plot beyond repair

minghao

forces you to take rest breaks every now and then when you're going on a whole reading binge bc it is Not good for your eyesight okay and he worries about you >:((( brews theeee best tea of all time for u and he'll sit down next to you in bed with his own book as you both read throughout the rest of the day. those are the best kinds of days, tbh. nothing gets better than sitting next to the person you love most and doing the thing you love most too

mingyu

he's the type to watch you with soppy eyes as you're reading your book beside him in bed. raises an eyebrow at you fondly when you finally finished, the “how was it?” clear in his eyes, and he just laughs delightedly when you simply explode with all the pent-up emotions as you rant to him about the ending and all the drama and tension that went on in the lead-up to it. loves that you're so passionate about your books. thinks it's super endearing.

dokyeom

asks for book recs every. single. month. then adds them to his list before promptly forgetting about them and asks for recs again. thinks that everything you read sounds like theee most interesting thing in the world which is why he's always asking for the titles, but he's just always so busy you know?? he did somehow actually read ‘the song of achilles’ bc of your rec, however, and cried over it for 2 days straight

seungkwan

likes to have, like. a mini book club between the two of you where you both read the same book bc then he gets to fully understand your rants and also bc he actually gets kind of invested??? his favourite genres are those modern slice-of-life ones bc then he gets to trash talk with you about all the bad decisions the characters are making in their lives

vernon

you read books, he plays games. the both of you can sit together in complete silence and be utterly content, and the arrangement works for you both. (seungkwan thinks you guys are crazy for just being able to sit there with your respective hobbies and Not Talk.) he bought you a kindle for christmas which turned out to be the best present ever bc now you never go anywhere without it. you thank him for it at least 3 times a day.

chan

thinks your love of books is one of your biggest charms. he met you on the train where he made the mistake of asking what book you were reading and ended up sitting through a 25 minute explanation and missing his stop, but it was okay bc he liked hearing you talk and ended the day with your number in his phone, so he counted it as a win. definitely a win in his opinion bc now he gets to listen to your book explanations as your boyfriend <3

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reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @kikohao @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @sea-moon-star @nonononranghaee @isabellah29 @mcu-incorrect @hrts4hanniehae @suraandsugar @pan-de-seungcheol @dokyeomkyeom @melodicrabbit @bananabubble

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hollow-writing-place · 11 days ago

Text

The Ghost King and The Firecracker

Chapter 7: The... uh... End?

Word Count: 5574

Masterlist for this work/info about the fic

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Chapter Summary:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

CLOCKING IN AT OVER 5000 WORDS! LET'S DO THIS!! SO GLAD ITS DONE

---

- Previously -

---

The emotionless mask of the Knight tilts, scanning the room. There’s a silence unlike any silence Tim had ever had to sit through. The calm before the storm, or perhaps, the eye of the storm. It’s the quiet of the void of space.

Jason’s armor crackles with embers, smoke twisting from his mask in mesmerizing swirls, like gravity doesn’t really matter. The two parties are at a mutual, silent stare down.

Then, like a bubble popping, the air shifts.

The countless arms of the King draw into his form, eyes blinking closed and density shifting, pulling in until all that is left is…

Oh my god is that fucking guy from the warehouse . The ghost from the warehouse, identified by Tim’s research as Phantom, hero of Amity Park, Daniel Nightingale, and now the fucking Ghost King, smiles weakly and waves.

Oh what the fuck.

---

- Now -

Nightwing knows his jaw is dropped, but he can’t do anything about it. What the hell is going on?? He frantically looks towards Tim, who looks just as stunned. That offers no reassurance. Their plan had been so well thought out! Nightwing mourns.

-Batcave - maybe a day or three ago -

Tim is pacing again.

Dick normally leaves him to it, not one to judge thinking/coping mechanisms, but… he looks kind of ragged.

He’s in his corner of the cave, pacing a path into the stone. The other bats designated, consciously or unconsciously, that wall to Tim. Or maybe he just took it over? Either way, it was his. Nearly ten square feet of corkboard and papers scrawled with words in a script none of them had quite cracked, the Collection offered an insight into Tim’s mind rarely shown to anyone.

And thank God.

A real peek into the prodigy's mind would probably break the average person.

Still, family of detectives and all. Dick’s proud to say he thinks he’s figured out the yarn color coding system. Kinda. Maybe. Look, that’s not important right now. Tim looks worse off than he normally is.

Dick cautiously approaches, like one would with a feral, cornered animal. Tim gives no indication he’s noticed. He's muttering underneath his breath, and all the words blur together so much Dick can’t make any of the ramble out. Dick winces, hissing a breath out through his teeth. Ooh yeah, that's bad.

Dick slides a step closer. “Heyyyyyy, Timmy.” He says, voice deceptively cheerful as he sets a hand on Tim’s shoulder to halt the pacing.

Tim whirls on him, and for a second, Dick thinks he might lash out.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he looks up at Dick with wild, crazed eyes and a toothy grin. It is… unsettling, to say the least. “I cracked it.” He says, and his voice is rough from overuse. Dick tries to smile.

“That’s great, bud. Hey! How’s about you come with me and… and we’ll go… uhm. Somewhere else. That’s not here. Somewhere away from here.” Dick loops an arm over Tim’s shoulder, attempting to guide him towards the stairs.

Tim doesn’t budge.

Tim also doesn’t seem to be blinking.

...

The sheer amount of coffee cups littering the ground nearby might give Dick a clue as to why.

“Can’t leave. I cracked it .” He says, stepping back and away from Dick’s arms. Back to his boards. Dick watches him eye the lines and lines of string with a healthy dose of brotherly concern.

“Right. You cracked it. Good job!! What…” Dick takes a deep breath, still smiling as best as he can. “What did you crack?” Dick quickly taps the emergency button on his watch. Alfred, please hurry.

“I know how to find Jason.” Tim says, turning his head to peer at Dick over his shoulder.

Dick winces yet again. They’ve all been dealing with that whole… situation… differently. He thought he and Bruce were handling it worse, but clearly he’d been blinded by his emotions too much to notice how it affected Tim.

“Alright.” He lowers his voice, speaking softly. “Alright. You can tell me all about that after you take a nap, yeah? When's the last time you slept?”

Tim’s slightly unhinged smile drops at this. “You think I'm crazy.”

“I wouldn’t say that… maybe just… not completely in your right mind?” Tim huffs an exasperated breath, and Dick just knows he’s chosen his words wrong. “Ah- in the sense that- well-” He stutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. Tim just rolls his eyes.

He grabs Dick’s arm, tugging him forward, closer towards the Collection. “Look.” is all he says, pointing up to one of the boards. One covered in primarily red thread.

Dick thinks, not totally sure, but he thinks red is for really important stuff. Or maybe for manhunts. Or theft cases. Honestly, he’s not too sure. Regardless, Dick humors Tim and scans the board.

It’s covered with grainy pictures of a green tinged figure, newspaper articles from a town called Amity Park, and bunches of that indecipherable script Tim uses for the Collection. Dick nods and hums like he gets any of this at all. His head hurts just being in close proximity to the Collection.

“Soooo. What am I looking at?” He says after a long, awkward moment.

Tim again huffs and rolls his eyes. “Did you read any of it at all?”

“I tried! That code you use is hard to break!” Dick defends, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tim looks confused. “Code? That’s-” His face falls into a displeased deadpan. “Dick, that’s my handwriting.”

Dick blinks.

“ That’s your handwriting??” He whispers, sounding far more horrified that he intended to.

“Oh shut up. Just- Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath, before launching into an explanation.

It’s only half coherent, with lots of wide gesturing and starts and stops. He walks over and starts pointing to an entirely different board, explaining the connections between the two. Dick recognizes pictures of Daniel Nightingale on that one with some displeasure. He’d really hoped Tim would stay out of it. Dragging that poor man into this case just because he was a friend of Jason’s felt… wrong.

Tim sounds delirious, but Dick tries his best to follow the winding loops of the story. Tim barely pauses to breathe, and the pacing begins again.

“-so then, if it goes well, we summon a ghost and use that to get into the Otherside, right?? EXCEPT! The only ghosts capable of opening portals are incredibly strong ones. At least, according to this super old site I dug up. So, we can’t summon any old ghost, not that we’d even be able to- I mean- half the rituals I've found are for the Head Hunter or this Time God thing- honestly all the other names were super intimidating, so I left that alone but-”

Dick feels lost. He feels crazy. He definitely zoned out and missed something because what is Tim even on about?? He sees Alfred enter the cave from the corner of his eye and relaxes.

He frantically waves Alfred over, dropping the gesture the second Tim turns to look at him. Tim frowns, probably sensing somethings off, but continues on his rant.

“-think I know where to find the right book since finding a valid summoning ritual for the actual Ghost King online is a struggle, but they’re totally our best shot since Constantine said there’s a new one a bunch of meetings ago. You remember that, right? Right. Better to get on their good side or at least find out if they’re a tyrant like the last one. Win-win either way! And the supplies are easy, just-”

Dick blinks the morse code for SOS at Alfred, who picks up the pace ever so slightly. He’s at Dick’s side soon, poised and proper as ever. He raises one eyebrow, looking over Tim and the whole… ordeal… with his usual air of grandfatherly judgement.

“Did you bring the stuff?” Dick whispers lowly.

Alfred nods and passes him a mug of coffee. They’ve done this song and dance far too many times. It’s easy now. How Tim falls for it every time, they don’t know.

Dick makes the appropriate hums and nods, holding out the mug of coffee. Tim absentmindedly grabs it as he paces by, taking a sip near immediately before jumping into his rambling spiral again. Dick and Alfred just wait a good five minutes until the mug is drained.

Tim stumbles, blinking heavily, before turning a frustrated gaze on Dick, who smiles and shrugs. He quickly catches the mug as it slips from Tim's hands, passing it to Alfred, before moving to catch Tim himself.

“Sorry baby bird. Bedtime now.” He crows, much to Tim’s fading displeasure. The teen quickly falls into soft snores, and Dick relaxes that little bit more.

“I will take care of the mugs. Please return him to his bed.” Alfred says primly.

“Will do. Thank you.” Dick murmurs, scooping Tim into an easier carry. Alfred just nods and turns away.

Dick gets Tim to bed no problem and only holds silent worried vigil over him for an hour or two before he manages to pull away and get back to work.

...

Of course, when Tim appears at the dinner table the next afternoon, carting two cork boards clearly pried from the Collection and a distinctly rested expression, Dick realizes maybe all his talk the day previous wasn’t a sleepless, delirious, emotional breakdown after all.

-Present-

“You.” Comes the cold growl from Batman.

He takes a step forward, but Constantine’s aggressive head shaking stops him. Batman gives him his patented glare to which Constantine responds with grit teeth and another panicked gesture to get back, dammit!

Daniel looks back and forth between them before tugging at the collar of his hazmat suit. He looks far more anxious than he should for a being that was supposedly THE Ghost King.

Dick worries his lip between his teeth, trying to decide what needs to be said. All his usual peacekeeping and easy conversation skills seem to have fled at the worst time.

Again, Dick glances over to Tim, who now has his hands tangled into his hair, tugging at it and muttering.

Dick inches his way over, eyes flicking back and forth to make sure his subtle movements are not caught.

Then again, he can’t tell if Jason’s visor is tracking him or not. (Is that even Jason still??? God, Dick is almost scared to find out.) Jason, or whatever was piloting that suit of armor, piloting his body, hadn’t moved since he was set down beside Daniel.

Dick smooths whatever expression he was wearing off his face as Tim turns to see him. “Red Robin? What’s-”

“This- This has to be because I screwed up the circle. The modifications- The- No-” Oof.

Okay, so Tim won’t be any help here.

Bruce is still arguing with Constantine just through looks and minuscule gestures, Tim’s out, and Robin has… disappeared. That’s not good.

Daniel is still inside the circle, though he looks like he’s getting antsier by the second. Jason- or whatever- is still entirely too still.

Why does Dick always have to be the adult? He steps forward, closer to the circle than the rest of them. Of course, as he draws attention to himself, he feels the weight of eyes on him. Not just Daniel’s, but the other bats behind him. He tries for a relaxed smile.

Daniel tenses though, and Dick is reminded of their last encounter. Of the sound Daniel made when Dick’s escrima sticks made contact with his arm.

Suddenly there’s a sort of pit in his stomach that he really doesn’t like. Daniel doesn’t look evil. He doesn’t look like a monster that brainwashed Dick’s brother, forced him into a raging fire, and pulled him into a swirling green pit to a place they couldn’t follow. He looks… scared.

Dick nearly falters on his cautious approach, but then his eyes wander and find Jason again.

Jason, still, (unmoving, which is so wrong, it's so wrong), practically drowning in thick plates of armor dripping magma.

His resolve strengthens, and he stops just a few yards from the summoning circle. The circle continues to glow an unbothered green, pulsing with light like a galaxy.

“So. The Ghost King, is it?” He remarks. “I will say, when we called you up, we didn’t expect you to be the same person- er, thing? that stole our brother!” He quips, smile tight on his face. He recognizes he’s treating this quite a bit like a hostage situation, like Daniel is one of their rogues, and by distracting him, Dick can get a hand up. Reality threatens to overwhelm him.

This isn't a human he’s talking to. It’s some undead- or just dead maybe - thing that had his brother captive. Still, this isn’t exactly something Bruce trained them for, so he just has to use what he’s got. God, why wasn't there a protocol for this?? Bruce anticipated everything expect for ghosts being very real and, apparently, very dangerous.

Daniel bristles, literally, his hair floating up like it was unaffected by gravity. There’s a low hiss from Jason, and the flames visible between his armor plates seem to get brighter. It’s something though, some sign of movement from him. Dick doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

“I am a person. I am not a thing.” Daniel speaks finally, voice echoed and layered.

A chill runs down Dick’s spine, but he hides it easily.

Constantine comes up behind him, Dick can tell from the smell of cigarettes and panic, and he doesn’t startle as the magician whispers close to his ear. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, Nightwing, but that thing -” he spits the word as he gestures at Jason, “That is not your brother. Not- not anymore. That’s the fucking Knight. The King’s right hand.” There’s a barely there tremble in Constantine’s voice, just under the anger and franticness.

Dick’s heart drops further.

“Okay. Noted.” He whispers back, forcing his voice to remain level.

He pushes the feelings beginning to bubble up in his chest into a tiny little box, which he promptly tosses off a mental cliff. Surely it’s not as hopeless as Constantine just painted it. He focuses his gaze back on Daniel, who appears to squirm slightly under Dick’s white-cold mask.

“Alright!” He lifts his voice so that it carries across the distance once more. “Now, about the stolen brother? Let’s talk about him.” Dick gestures at the armored form.

Daniel shifts his body slightly, halfway hiding Jason from view. It’s a protective move, and it confuses the criminal profiler in Dick. The number of things that don’t add up freak Dick out, but he’s so far into panic that he’s reached the fuzzy numb state that lies beyond terror. He's always been good about that.

“I didn’t steal him!” Daniel protests avidly, looking legitimately startled at the accusation.

“Good! Then give him back.” Dick pushes.

“I- I can’t do that.” Daniel shifts on his feet. Dick files that reaction away too.

“Okay then you kidnapped him.”

“I didn’t kidnap him! You just don’t understand!” Daniel barks, an eye or three opening up on the visible skin of his arms and neck.

“Okay then explain!” Dick snaps right back. Whoops. There are those emotions. Bad. Put those away.

Tim staggers to Dick’s side. “I- I don’t know what you’re trying, but it seems dangerous.” He murmurs. The tone of his voice is warning, but the way he grips his bo staff shows how ready he is to support Dick. Dick tilts his head to acknowledge both points before he gestures at Daniel in a ‘go on…’ motion.

Daniel takes a deep breath, does he even need that??? , and begins to talk.

Or, he tries.

Jason, the Knight, steps forward finally.

It’s so sudden it takes nearly all of them aback, even Daniel. Another thing Dick numbly files away.

The Knight pulls from beneath his cape the same smoldering sword from their last time seeing each other. The air feels different though. Settled. None of that chaotic, out of control burning from before.

Constantine takes a sharp breath beside Dick, and when Dick peers at him from the corner of his eyes, he looks more on edge than Dick had ever seen the man.

The Knight brings the sword to rest in front of him, both hands resting on the pommel, the tip of the blade kissing the metal of the floor.

“You guys never learn your lessons, do you?” His voice is so suddenly, startlingly Jason . Dick didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

“Get the Bat to drop his weapon and the littlest bird to stop creeping over and I'll explain.” The Knight growls.

Dick finds himself torn between searching the room for Damien and walking over to Bruce to make him drop his batarangs, which he was surely holding.

The tension in the air seems to stretch the seconds. Dick clenches his jaw so tight he's worried for his teeth.

Finally, a shadow detaches from the wall just behind the circle and crosses to stand in line with Constantine, Dick, and Tim. Damien. He’s clearly displeased, arms crossed over his chest, but at least he understood the importance of listening.

Soon after, the sound of metal clattering on metal rings out as a couple batarangs are dropped to the floor. Dick breathes out in relief. They all know that’s not all of Bruce’s weapons, but the Knight seems to take that as enough.

The air is thick as the Knight begins to speak.

---

Jason is frozen.

The warp of the portal made him sick. For a long moment, far too long, he thought he had been lost. He couldn’t feel the chill of Danny, couldn’t locate the sound of his core through the scream of the portal. It was petrifying .

Then he was encompassed in the same chill as when Danny first grabbed a hold of him to bring him into the warp, and he relaxed. Being bodily wrenched from the void by a hand about as big as he was was startling, but far from the oddest thing to happen to Jason in the past days. He’s set rather gently on the ground, which, after the disorientation passes, appears to be made of metal.

His eyes slowly focus, and he reorients himself in this new space.

A familiar space…

Oh hell . They’re on the watchtower.

They’re face to face with half the bats and fucking Constantine . Jason grits his teeth, eyes narrowing on the magician.

For some reason, during their very brief interactions, Jason felt the man was wrong . Was it appropriate to say his vibe was off?

It felt juvenile to articulate but was probably the best description Jason had at hand. He did not like the slimy feel of the air around the magician.

That was clearly the least of their worries now, though. The man looked more nervous than anyone else.

Jason’s eyes flick away from whatever the Bat and Constantine were communicating, instead taking note of the demon brat. Damien is skirting the far wall, melting into the shadows just as easily as Bruce does, and clearly taking the long, slow route to get closer. There’s a flash of a katana and Jason wants to sigh.

He dismisses that and focuses on Dick and Tim. Tim looks like the weight of the world has just landed on him, and Dick just looks… he looks tired. Worn, even. Every so often, Jason catches the slight tilt of his head that signifies his gaze turning on Jason’s impassive mask. The solid white film in his mask may hide his eyes, but Jason’s trained well enough to notice the micromovements. He remains still though.

Just as Jason thinks it, Dick’s straightening up and plastering an easygoing expression on. He strides forward like there’s not a care in the world.

Jason feels frozen still. Danny’s saying something, bristling like a cat, blocking him from view.

The room rings with a distressed sound, like the ‘thwump’ of snow caving just before it rolls over into an avalanche. It’s so loud Jason shifts, feels his own core pulse an angry sort of sound. Clearly no one else hears, or else they wouldn’t still be talking.

Jason needs to tune back in. He needs to focus and move .

Dick has a near snarl on his face, and his words register as hostile. “- Then explain! ” He barks.

Danny shifts, breathes in deeply like he’s trying to calm down. The distressed sound emanating from him doesn't stop though. If anything, it ramps up.

Jason snaps out of whatever trance he was left in from the portal and the suddenness of seeing the bats as the sound of snow tumbling over into a roar begins.

He strides forward with solid, purposeful bootsteps, drawing the blade at his back. Settling it in front of him, he steels himself much as he had before his Knighting ceremony.

His awareness of the room stretches, and it’s like he can see and hear everything. He mentally clocks this as a very-new-very-startling occurrence, and probably some kind of Knight stuff to bring up to Danny, before pushing it aside.

Damien still slowly makes his way closer in the depths of the shadows, trying to get behind them. Bruce has three batarangs spread in his hands like playing cards, the metal ready to sing through the air at any wrong twitch. Tim is at Dick’s side, a silent, defensive support to Dick’s steady stance. Dick’s true feelings and thoughts are only given away by the tick in his brow. Constantine is hardly breathing it seems, and Jason is almost surprised he’s still standing. He looks ready to pass out.

The new wealth of information on the room and its inhabitants is overwhelming, but Jason just sighs.

“Y’all never learn your lesson, do you?” He says, low Gotham drawl coloring his words.

Danny has relaxed ever so slightly at his side, the sound of his core reduces to powder snow crunching beneath skis. Surprisingly, Dick also relaxes where he stands, miniscule as it is, like a weight has been lifted.

Jason feels the tension in the air and, as much as he’d like to avoid it all, knows an explanation is needed to keep the peace.

“Get the Bat to drop his weapon and the littlest bird to stop creeping over and I'll explain.” He growls lowly.

Damien jolts from where he stands in the corner, just a few yards from their circle, swords drawn. He grumbles something Jason’s sure only he hears, tucking the swords away after a moment and pushing off the wall to join the group in front of Danny and Jason.

Bruce looks conflicted, but it takes just a moment for him to drop his handful of batarangs onto the ground. Jason takes it as the miniscule win it is.

“Good. You can listen.” There’s a snarky note to his words, but he thinks he’s in the right with this one. He leaves both hands on the sword pommel.

How best to go about this? He’s always had a flare for the dramatics, but he gets the sense there are a lot of misunderstandings going on. Best clear up questions first.

He turns his head to Danny. “What is the issue?”

Danny looks meek suddenly. “They- uh- they think i kidnapped you?” comes his voice, wavering ever so slightly. Maybe a held back laugh, maybe that earlier panic.

Jason blinks, despite knowing it can’t be seen. He turns back to the gathered bats and magician.

“You thought I was kidnapped??” He blurts, voice chock full of disbelief. It seems to catch them all off guard. “Me? Kidnapped? By him???” He says, gesturing at Danny.

Danny puffs up. “Hey! I could kidnap you if I wanted!!” He protests.

Jason drags a metal gloved hand down his helm in a mimicry of a face palm. “No. No, I don't think you could.” He groans.

“Well what were we supposed to believe??” comes Tim's exasperated voice. “One second you’re with a green glowing man, the next, you’re throwing yourself into a bonfire! Then, you come out different and get whisked away! What would you conclude?!” He sounds haggard.

Jason pauses, then winces. “Okay, yeah, I can see how that looks.” he trails off. “But you’ve got it wrong. Like, completely embarrassingly wrong. I’m here of my own free will.” He tries to explain.

“Is he making you say that?” Bruce finally speaks up in a low growl.

The sound of powder under skis escalates to the sound of cracking ice over a lake. “No! I’m not making him do anything!” Danny bristles, standing taller.

“Then let him go!” This is possibly the worst time for Bruce to show he cares about Jason. The worst time.

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jason snarls, whirling about. The magma between his armor plates flares brightly, white hot.

“Your issue is with me . Not him. Leave Danny out of this.” He spits. “You want an explanation, I’ll explain .” He’d always been protective, but right now, the urge to keep Danny away from this whole mess is overwhelming .

He picks up his sword and paces forward but is stopped by the edge of the circle. It glows ominously, and he doesn’t risk going further. He doesn't want to push his luck with magic. He's got enough problems right now.

He makes sure to turn his visor to look directly at Bruce.

“I was dead.” He says finally, voice low. Bruce twitches back, and Jason knows if Bruce weren't channeling Batman so hard right now, he would've full on flinched from the abruptness of the statement.

“Now I don’t know if you know this, but being dead leaves some lasting effects.” He gestures at his full body. “This is part of that. I didn’t come back all the way. I’m still half dead.”

There’s a whispered, “oh, what the fuck .” from somewhere in the room that threatens to make Jason crack a smile. He shakes his head and continues. This is serious.

“There’s a lot of ghost shit I can't explain, and you wouldn’t understand, but Danny saved me. He- he got rid of the Lazarus effects and helped me figure out, well, honestly everything .” He gives an incredulous laugh, still amazed at everything that happened. "I was always half dead. Even when I believed myself to be alive. The pits did more than make me sick. They blocked this half of myself off, choked it out." He clenched a hand into a fist.

This time, he’s sure it’s Constantine that murmurs a curse.

"But Danny saw the problem. He knew more than I did and it's over now. I look different. I am changed. But this-" Again, he gestures to himself. To the armor. "This is what I should've been from the start. And it's not like I can undo any of it, so you guys need to suck it up and get over yourselves." He says with a note of exasperation and finality.

“ So, to conclude, no, I'm not in danger. No, Danny didn’t kidnap me. And, since I'm sure you’re thinking it, no , I am not brainwashed .” He says finally, ticking each point off on his fingers. “Anything I missed?”

No responses, and Jason nods.

“Good. Then you guys can let us out now, right?” Something about the circle feels wrong, and it grates at Jason’s skin. It must make Danny uncomfortable too, but he doesn't say anything. The pinch of his brow is enough for Jason to know he’s affected.

“Now hold on a minute!” Constantine says, eyes wild. “Like hell we’re just going to let you out!”

He pales and turns to Danny. “No, uh, no offense, your… majesty? No offense meant.”

Danny just arches an eyebrow, part condescending, part questioning.

Dick crosses his arms and stares Jason down. “He's got a point. How do we know for certain you aren’t brainwashed?” He says, cop voice in full action.

Jason groans exasperatedly, wanting to face palm. Then, “When I was younger you made us watch ‘Marley and Me’ and at the end you cried so hard you threw up on the nice carpet and we had t-”

“Okay okay!!! We believe you!” Dick shouts, voice tinged with franticness. He didn't even let Jason get halfway into the story! Still, Jason can't help but grin beneath his helm.

Dick squirms under all the sets of eyes on him, and he rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s him. Tim, get them out.”

Tim shrugs. "Alright. I'm convinced."

Constantine sputters. His cigarette lies abandoned on the ground in his protests.

Danny relaxes. “See? All just a misunderstanding.” He sighs.

Tim steps forward, murmurs some words, and scuffs at the paint mix with his shoe until the glow dissipates.

A weight leaves both Danny and Jason, and they sigh. Jason shakes out his arms, ridding himself of the staticky feeling of the circle. He then sheathes his sword and steps out.

Danny follows, floating over the runes like the idea of touching them makes him sick. “If there are any other questions, I'm happy to answer. Uhm. So long as it isn’t, like, the answer to the universe or something crazy.” Danny gives a stilted laugh, eyes darting. Jason eyes Danny, who looks suspiciously like he knows something he doesn't want to say. Maybe he asks about that later.

“Good. I have got so many questions.” Tim chimes up, an odd book in his hands.

Is- is that human flesh?? Why does Tim have a book bound in actual human skin? Jason shakes his head, awed.

“Don’t overwhelm the guy.” Dick chirps, stepping up to Danny and Jason. “And I also have questions.”

Constantine's eyes are wide as saucers as the group passes by. Bruce shoots Constantine a look and then trails after Jason and the bats.

As they go to find a more comfortable place to rest and chat, Danny speaks up again. “Oh! I have a question too!”

“Fire away.” Dick says, already seeming to have warmed up to the halfa. Too easy... Jason knows his brother is going to have endless questions for him, and he's not looking forward to it.

Danny grins. “I just want to know how you knew I was the King. I mean, no sane person would just summon The King. You had to have known.” At the prolonged silence, Danny freezes, smile dropping.

He eyes each of the bats individually as they avoid eye contact and shuffle down the hall.

“You- you did know, right? Right? I mean, you had to have! Right?? No, don’t walk faster! Did you know??”

Jason drops his head into his hands.

---

The house is a mess of cardboard boxes.

Jason sighs in relief, throwing himself down into a kitchen chair in his apartment. His real, not safehouse apartment.

Danny carries in his last box, bumping the front door closed with his hip and setting the box down with a hiss of air. He stands and stretches his arms out before sighing.

“Wow. So much for helping your boyfriend. You’ve got the muscles here! Why am I doing all the work?” He huffs, mock upset.

Jason rolls his eyes playfully. “If you recall, I was the one that got most of it. And I carried up your bed frame! If you could just be happy with my setup, maybe this would’ve been different!” He teases.

Danny whirls on him, actually offended now. “Jason. Your bed was on the floor . No box spring. No frame. Nothing .” He crosses his arms, eyes narrowed. “Like hell am I living here and sleeping on a floor mattress.”

Jason averts his eyes with a cringe. “Yeah, okay." He admits weakly. "Got me there.”

“Heck yeah I did, now get over here and help me get these to the living room. I’m about to introduce you to the wonders of useless throw pillows and blackout curtains.”

Jason groans good-naturedly and gets up to help.

---

Danny could burst, he’s just so happy.

The future, as it pertains to the Ghost Zone and its King and Knight, isn't known yet, but Danny and Jason have plenty of time to figure it out.

…

After they navigate life as it is now.

I mean, Danny’s first two meetings with Jason’s family were disasters! And, apparently, he hasn't even met all of them yet! Don’t even get him started on how little of Danny’s friends and family Jason knows about! Jazz is going to have his ass when he breaks it to her he’s got a boyfriend…

for life��

and for afterlife.

Oh Ancients. That’s barely the beginning. Seriously, Danny-

Jason calls Danny’s name from across the living room, and he snaps from his thoughts to turn and look. He’s barely made eye contact before a pillow smacks him dead in the face.

Jason barks out a laugh while Danny fumbles to grab the offending pillow. “Oh that’s funny, is it?” He says, deadpan.

Jason’s laughing so hard he’s doubled over at the waist, but he manages a nod.

“I’ll show you funny, Firecracker.” Danny says, grin uncannily wide.

Jason has the sense to pale as Danny rears back to hurl the pillow. The room devolves into all out war.

Yeah, Danny feels pretty good about this whole thing. They've got plenty of time.

---FIN---

Finally done cross posting this! I'll say what I said in the notes on Ao3. I'm glad this is done! I'm thinking about making a lighter, slice of life type thing where I can focus on just shenanigans now that this is done. It would, of course, be like a book two to this one because I like what I've established so far.

Any ideas, (or plot holes you want covered), should totally be dropped in the comments! Id love to hear them!! Thank you all!

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dead on main #jason todd x danny fenton #jason todd x danny phantom #danny fenton #dcxdp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcxdp crossover #ghost king phantom #ghost king danny #fright knight jason todd #eldritch danny fenton #eldritch danny

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shadesofhogwarts · 1 month ago

Text

where Sirius appoints Regulus as his Chief Slytherin Analyst to find out which Slytherin James is sneaking off with (spoiler: it's Regulus)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Sirius Black was a man on a mission.

A mission that involved a corkboard, red string, and a fervent belief that James Potter, his best mate, his brother in all but blood, was sneaking off at odd hours. Alone. Suspiciously cheerful. Secretly smiling like a love-struck fool. Betrayal. Treason.

And worst of all– Sirius knew it had to be with a Slytherin. He was sneaking off to cavort with a Slytherin– a Slytherin– behind his back.

Unacceptable.

So he did what any normal, rational person would do: he turned an empty classroom into his personal investigation headquarters, complete with grainy surveillance (read: badly charmed photographs) and a complex web of suspects linked together with increasingly frantic scrawls of color-coded accusations.

"Right," Sirius barked, slapping a picture of Barty Crouch Jr. onto the board so hard the entire thing shook. "Look at his face. Look at it. No one with that much evil in his eyes gets that close to James unless he’s planning something."

Regulus Black, younger brother and resident Slytherin consultant, sat cross-legged on a desk, inspecting Sirius's work with barely concealed amusement, nodded solemnly, "Definitely suspicious. Maybe James is into... evil types?"

Sirius froze. Horror dawning.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "James has a villain kink."

Regulus coughed violently to cover his laughter.

"You know," Regulus said, tapping a photo of James talking to Evan Rosier during Potions class, "it could just be classwork."

Sirius scoffed, violently connecting Rosier’s picture to James's with a length of string.

"Open your eyes, Reggie. James hates Potions. And Rosier smells like cabbage. There's no way James is suffering that unless he's involved."

Regulus blinked, a picture of serene innocence. "Of course. Must be a love affair, then."

"Exactly!" Sirius cried, missing the heavy sarcasm entirely. He stabbed the marker at Rosier's photo. "But maybe it’s Mulciber. James did pass him a note in Charms once–"

Regulus arched an eyebrow. "Maybe he’s secretly courting the entire Slytherin house?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Don’t be stupid. James has standards."

Regulus made a thoughtful hum, twisting the silver ring on his finger to hide his smirk.

Meanwhile, James– bless his stupid Gryffindor heart– was probably lurking two corridors down, waiting to drag Regulus into a broom closet and whisper "Did he buy it?" against his mouth.

(Spoiler: Sirius had bought it, paid extra, and tipped the cashier.)

And here Regulus was, actively assisting his brother in hunting down... himself.

Sirius stared at the corkboard like it had personally betrayed him.

"This isn't adding up," he muttered. "We need more evidence. We need–" He snapped his fingers. "–to spy on him!"

Regulus clapped his hands slowly. "Bravo. Very mature."

"I am mature," Sirius said rather proudly, missing the mockery. "And you, little brother, are going to help me."

Regulus sighed, sliding off the desk with the slow grace of a martyr.

"Fine. But when this blows up in your face, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Blow up?" Sirius laughed, throwing an arm around Regulus's shoulders. "Reggie, this is going to be legendary."

Regulus smiled thinly, already planning how best to break the news when– not if– he eventually got caught with his tongue down James' throat.

Legendary indeed.

Fast forward: three hours later.

The corkboard looked like a crime scene.

Regulus had been promoted to "Chief Slytherin Analyst."

Sirius had drawn a diagram titled "James's Possible Lovers" with a graph that included "Snape," "Rosier," "Mulciber," and, alarmingly, "Lucius Malfoy."

("If James is into blondes," Sirius said grimly, "we're all screwed.")

Regulus, at this point, had mentally divorced himself from reality.

And then– oh, and then– Sirius had an idea.

A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad idea.

He decided they would tail James.

In disguise.

Wearing stupid Muggle sunglasses and trench coats they stole from McGonagall’s lost property closet

...

Sirius: "Keep low. Stay cool. Act natural."

Regulus, deadpan: "We are hiding behind a suit of armor, Sirius."

James, fifteen feet away, secretly dragging Regulus away.

"Oi, Reg, keep a sharp lookout everywhere yea- Reg..?"

Sirius blinked at the empty hallway.

"Wait... where did he go?"

Cue five straight minutes of Sirius running around the castle screaming "REGULUS? REGULUS??" while Regulus and James made out behind a tapestry.

(They were laughing so hard they almost got caught.)

...

It happened on a Tuesday.

Because of course it did. Tuesdays were cursed.

Sirius was tailing James again. (In broad daylight. Wearing a massive floppy sunhat. Looking absolutely deranged.)

He was alone this time– Regulus, the little traitor, had "homework" and "couldn’t make it."

('Suspicious,' Sirius had muttered. 'Snake behavior.')

He gripped his walkie-talkie and whispered into it (Regulus said he would be actively listening in on whatever he reported) "Operation Find James's Secret Slytherin Lover is a go."

Peeking around the corner, Sirius watched James sneak into the abandoned Transfiguration corridor.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

Sirius crept closer, holding his breath.

And then–

LIKE A SCENE OUT OF A SOAP OPERA SIRIUS WOULD NEVER ADMIT TO WATCHING–

James reached out.

Grabbed someone lurking in the shadows.

And kissed them.

Right there. In the open. Full-on, no-holding-back, hand-in-hair, body-pressed-up-against-the-wall, movie scene kiss.

Sirius’s jaw hit the floor.

"WHO—"

he shrieked.

The “someone” turned their head–

and Sirius saw.

It was Regulus.

His Regulus.

His little brother Regulus.

Sirius made a noise that started somewhere between his toes and ended somewhere in the stratosphere.

"REGULUS?!" he howled.

James broke the kiss, beaming like he’d won first prize at the fair.

Regulus just smirked, lazy and catlike, like he hadn’t just committed literal fratricide.

Sirius pointed between them wildly, as if by moving his hands fast enough he could undo reality.

"YOU–" (James)

"AND YOU–" (Regulus)

"–ARE–" (both of them)

"NO!!"

James snickered. "Surprise, Pads!"

Regulus, perfectly unbothered:

"I told you this would blow up in your face."

Sirius stumbled back like he’d been slapped.

"No. No no no no. WHAT. WHAT. THIS IS ILLEGAL."

Regulus crossed his arms.

"Pretty sure it’s not."

"IT SHOULD BE!"

James slung an arm around Regulus’s shoulders.

"Face it, mate. You’ve been helping us hide it for weeks."

Sirius clutched at the air like he was trying to hold onto his last brain cell.

"You made me– I– you made me build a CONSPIRACY WALL–"

Regulus, expressionless:

"You built that yourself."

James, tilting his head:

"Reg did suggest the 'villain kink' theory, though."

"YOU WHAT?!" Sirius screeched.

Regulus smiled serenely, like a horrible little angel.

"I thought it was funny."

Sirius just crumpled to the floor.

Sat there.

Completely dead inside.

His best mate was dating his baby brother.

His conspiracy board was a lie.

His floppy hat was crooked.

He stared at the ceiling and whispered, brokenly:

"I need a drink."

Regulus patted him on the head condescendingly.

"Good luck with that, you're sixteen."

James laughed so hard he almost collapsed.

...

Later that night:

Sirius set the entire conspiracy board on fire.

(In the Quidditch pitch. At midnight. Crying real tears.)

James and Regulus made out behind the bleachers.

Mission: Complete.

A/n: inspired by this thing I read on pinterest. hope it made you smile like it did me💗

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sidney-scarlet · 3 months ago

Text

my in-progress post of scarlet hollow theories

-- that I'm mostly keeping for myself, and will update as I find any potential clues/evidence, etc. some of this will be obvious to people who have played through already, but I feel the need to document everything nonetheless for best practices.

if anyone wants to chime in/offer thoughts, feel free, this is just my version of a corkboard and string. I've tried to divide them into sections, but we'll see how that goes. mea culpa in advance. anything w/ sub lettering is me talking mostly to myself, like muttering vs. speaking out loud.

under a cut for spoilers, obvs.

The town itself:

basically confirmed: Scarlet Hollow is fucking cursed as fuck, trapping everyone who lives there/is born there/moves there.

people on the r/scarlethollow subreddit have asserted this theory, pointing out that people who leave always come back: Stella's parents were killed when they were trying to drive her to college and get her out; that Kaneeka had to come back from vet school after the death of her father to help Sybil and Miles; Oscar obviously had to come back for some reason, as we know he lived elsewhere (something to do with Rosalina or her mom? I haven't played through with him as much, so I'm uncertain); hell, we, the Scarlet cousin, are there for Pearlanne's funeral -- Vivan's blood returned, after all this time.

Reese and Tabitha never got to leave: Reese was an anomaly from birth and trapped here in the basement by his mother Joan; Tabitha is the last Scarlet, born here to run the mines.

Avery moved here to help their Aunt Winnie Belle, but I feel like if they tried to leave, something potentially bad would happen. (really, really hoping that doesn't come true in the next four episodes bc they are perfect and I love them.)

Tabitha points out to you at one point that the people who work the mines are mostly from here, that "this is the best job they're ever going to get," meaning opportunity is hard to come by. In a way, they're cursed to stay here too.

as pointed out in this post, if you have Mystical/Talk to Animals, the ditchlings' chatter can be translated as warning people to leave, claiming "this place is cursed." straight from the horse's mouth, if the horse was tiny and felt like a smooth sack of intestines.

sub-theory: The town curse has something to do with breaking families apart to keep people vulnerable, maybe dependent on the town itself/the magic controlling it? Oscar's wife is gone; Stella's parents are dead; Avery only has aunt Winnie; Vivian and Pearlanne were both single moms; Sybil's husband/Kaneeka's dad is dead. Something is definitely afoot here.

this is compounded by Joan saying that she wasn't seeing anyone when Reese was born, and that she'd instead had "romantic sleep paralysis episodes" before her pregnancy. some kind of magic is at work here. certain characters, like Reese, might be descendants of the curse itself. including us, potentially, considering we seem to be the only Scarlet that potentially has weird powers.

I originally wondered if that same magic was the secret behind Tabitha and the player's births as well, but since BTG has said there will be no surprise incest in the love interests, that shoots down that theory. or at least, the same entity that fathered Reese wasn't the one that fathered Tabby and/or the player.

due to the "no incest" rule above, that also rules out it being Wayne who fathered either Tabby or the Player. part of me wondered a little bit if Wayne fathered Reese and then is especially vitriolic towards him bc something about him didn't turn out right/like he wanted, which is... gutting to consider. but then it could be that he also just has hella beef with whatever did father Reese.

The cops are fucking In On It.

not only do we keep encountering dialogue options to suggest the cult/cops conspiracy, if the Strike is weak and you see the Sheriff at the police department when you're Stella-searching, he says this:

now, this man is either a harmless idiot or very good at playing one when the time calls for it, I haven't decided yet. but either way, you don't live around a town like Scarlet Hollow for twenty years without knowing some shady shit is going on right under your nose.

combine this with the fact that in her hangout, Tabby tells the player not to be worried about the cops, because the Scarlets are "the real power in this town," and you get my following theory...

Enoch Scarlet, if not continuing something set in place by Silas Scarlet, put a curse upon the town to keep the mines going at the cost of blood sacrifices.

we know Enoch did something to the town from Charlie's memories at the haunting in ep. 3, when he finds the seal in the basement from the map the Witch gave him, then turns to Eddie and says "Whatever Enoch did, we can undo it."

Edwardine immediately kills him, which tells us that the person who made her kill him (likely Enoch) really, really does not want that curse to be lifted.

I say "made her" bc in my playthrough with Keen Eye, there's a dialogue option to point out the tear that trails down her cheek when she lifts her weapon, with the player noting that she was "conflicted."

if you read the Scarlet death certificates in the clinic, when you then see the following vision from the seal Reese helps you find, you'll note in the dialogue that it's Teddy Scarlet who's dealing with trauma to his legs from the collapse in 1918, and Enoch visiting him after a prolonged absence. Enoch says he's been to see The Witch, and there will be a cure for Teddy's ailments after all, that he'll be going back to the Estate in the morning. Teddy's death certificate says his body was lost in the mines during the collapse and never recovered. so why was Enoch lying to him, and what did they really use him for? (Curse chow. He's curse chow.)

this is secondhand knowledge on my part, but players with Talk to Animals have confirmed that Tabitha is raising goats in the greenhouse in the garden, which she's sacrificing to... something, with Sybil's help.

in which case, of course the cops are helping. if Scarlet Hollow has been good to them all these years and they're protecting the Scarlets' interest in property, because that's what police do, is protect the interest and property of the rich, then they've absolutely helped when the Scarlets needed to fulfill their bloodstained obligations before, and likely will still do now (see the section on Tabitha below). hell, Earl's ancestors likely worked for Tabitha's/ours, it's all one big generational chain.

Sybil/The Witch:

Sybil is potentially the Cat mentioned in the tea reading in ep. 4, if you drink the tea.

(encountered in my "id playthroughs" - aka as myself - with Book Smart/Keen Eye, where I did drink the tea in the diner w/ Avery back in ep. 2.)

the player's thoughts, being manipulated by the tea at that point, chide you for thinking it's Sybil, saying (if I remember correctly) "Why would she warn you about herself?" -- which at first, I agreed with, but then I realized afterwards when the dialogue chided me again for trying to take Kaneeka out with me to investigate the clinic ("trying to come between her and her mother," again IIRC) that something was definitely wrong, and I was under some sort of influence.

in the same playthrough with those traits, I got Reese to find Joan's journal after correctly identifying the plant she leaves on the table in her office as poison. this unlocked a new dialogue option when I was trapped in the fortified x-ray room, where I asked Joan what made her decide on using that specific type of herb/poison. Joan said something about not wanting to talk about her, but then when she said "It was--" the character's memory glitched, and the name was missing. obviously, it's Sybil -- the plant, again IIRC, was one I'd identified somewhere in her residence previously, and also, who else would have that kind of knowledge to suggest it to Joan?

(screenshot for evidence, when I asked Sybil about her background in Sidney's playthrough)

Sybil is descended from The Witch in Charlie's memories from ep. 3, and she's setting up Kaneeka to follow in her footsteps.

if, as stated above, Sybil's family have been in these hills for a long time, it's not only possible, but likely, she is descended from the original Witch (assuming one didn't come before her, even.)

I wondered for like half a second if it was just Sybil all along and Sybil had made herself immortal, but then I remembered the town is so small that someone would've likely noticed sweet old Mrs. Forsyth has never, y'know... aged. or died.

the game, as many people have pointed out, wants us to know who's possessed or "played" by who in the haunting -- that's why Oscar is Charles Shaw Sr., Stella is the Lover because she and Tabby have as-yet unrequited feelings, Avery is the Entity as an outsider to the town. Kaneeka, in this same vein, is the Witch, and she doesn't dread it. she says specifically later she felt "Powerful."

Sybil has been convincing Kaneeka that she has a cold, trying to keep her out of the action during supernatural events and downplaying her part. I can't remember which character points out that after the haunting ends (Oscar, I think?), Sybil keeps shutting down any conversation of what people saw or what it meant, encouraging everyone to just leave under the guise of getting rest.

even when Kaneeka is having a minor existential meltdown outside the library after ("Ghosts are real," etc.), Sybil handwaves it, rather than taking any opportunity to be like "see what have I been telling you all these years" and instructs Kaneeka to go home, as she's in a compromised state due to catching sick. I feel like she wants Kaneeka to not encounter the supernatural until it's on her terms - as in, she has a specific timing in mind. maybe to go along with a plan.

if, after the tea reading the next day, you manage to almost get Kaneeka out the door to go investigate the clinic with you (and even if you don't, I think), Sybil watches you leave with an offputting, lingering look. that's foreshadowing, if not an outright warning, that she's onto your shit.

my theories about Sybil diverge here into two options:

a) Sybil is on the Scarlets' side, and is trying to help Tabitha preserve the curse Enoch put on the town.

as mentioned above, there's something going on with a goat in the back greenhouse that Tabitha is implied to be raising for some sort of sacrifice, with Sybil's help. what do they need to be sacrificing goats to? What kind of magic is that?

Sybil repeatedly tells Wayne to get lost, reiterating to the player and others that he's "a drifter, a sick man," etc. and shouldn't be paid attention to. Wayne, it's worth pointing out, is a spirit who's trying to help the player and warn them about the ills the town is playing host to.

Sybil is the person Tabitha calls during the haunting, and she's referred to as "a friend of the family." screenshot below:

in my id playthrough with Keen Eye, you can listen to snippets of Tabby and Sybil's conversation in the general store when Tabby goes on her errand to pick up the tea. there's definitely something special about the blend Tabby is picking up, Sybil made it for her specifically -- the question is, what?

Sybil is the one who suggested Dr. Kelly start poisoning Reese. I have seen people suggest that Reese was the unwitting guardian set in place for the clinic seal, much like the Tommyknockers were for the mines', and Charlie was for the library's. this would keep him subdued enough to keep him there as a contingency measure, should someone get close enough to the seal to cause trouble. after all, there is an option where Reese never finds his mom's journal but still decides not to take his meds -- how do we know that wasn't a thought implanted in him by the magic of the seal, to make him morb out and protect it?

in my current playthrough with Sidney, Sybil says the basement is perfectly safe after Charlie is exorcised. but with Mystical in play, the narration says that even though the seal is weakened, there's still a chance something in the basement could still manifest with unknown consequences (hence why Sidney very sternly warns Oscar to stay out, but Idk if that just costs me clues in the long run).

b) Sybil is trying to bring down the Scarlets from the inside, achieving what her ancestor couldn't with Charlie Shaw.

why else did the Witch give Charlie the map? unless she was sending the Scarlets fresh blood on purpose, wouldn't one think that she was trying to make someone outside aware of what the Scarlets had set in motion, and maybe, possibly bring about its end?

Sybil is the one who suggests Tabby gives her years to Charlie in the basement in episode 3. why would she do that, if not to decrease the lifespan of the last Scarlet heir? especially if Sybil's supposedly helping Tabitha with something curse-related?

if you get the tea leaves read in 4, and you pick someone like Joan when thinking about the Cat, Sybil tells you the Cat has to be someone close to you, almost familial. what if she's trying to warn you that Tabby maybe hasn't invited you to the town with pure intentions?

speaking of which...

Tabitha:

Tabby invited you to the funeral in order to sacrifice you to the magic holding the town hostage.

I love our girl, I love her so much, but let's be real... why else did she invite you, a total stranger, to her mother's funeral, if she otherwise had nothing to gain from it? we know she doesn't like socializing -- hell, she doesn't even like the player, when we get there. she sees us as an intrusion on her life as she knows it, and an annoying obligation. she doesn't believe in social niceties for the sake of them, so why else would she feel the need to invite you to pay respects to a relative you've never met?

people have pointed out that if you get close enough with Tabitha, when you talk about the future, she sounds... sad, almost. maybe this could be attributed to her knowing the chances of you two having one are slim, with her running a failing mine that's the backbone of a dying town and everything, but maybe that's because she has other plans for you, that she's maybe starting to waffle on (which will potentially lead to a big conflict in one of the later episodes).

Tabitha has said multiple times that she would do anything to keep the mine running. If ancestral dark magic is the only way to do it, and Pearlanne has literally been training her since childhood to assume all the duties of a Scarlet, then... why wouldn't that include this?

Enoch made Teddy disappear just after the collapse of 1918. We also know from the death certificates in the clinic, with Keen Eye, that Alexandra Scarlet disappeared the same day Enoch supposedly died. we also also know that there was another, older girl in Tabby/the Player's grandma's generation, who died before the player's grandma died in labor having Pearlanne and Vivian. what if there's a mechanic in place with the curse where it can survive for so long off things like, say, goats, but sacrificing another Scarlet can bring about a time of extra prosperity? sort of an Abraham-Isaac situation? maybe Tabby thinks that killing you off will help revive the town to its former glory. and after all, if Vivian is dead, who's really going to miss you from your hometown if you go missing in the woods, or the mines, or... use your imagination.

Sam Wayne:

this man is just a theory unto himself, tbh.

he's trying to help/protect the player for mysterious reasons, and at one point, states the bond between the two of you is "unbreakable."

I don't think he's The Entity, because the figure from Charlie's memories was being held prisoner by the Scarlets -- which, imho, would maybe make him resent the player rather than devote himself to them. But then again...

is he inhabiting the body of Sam Wayne the miner to taunt Tabby in particular? It would make sense: someone she loved, that she/her mother potentially made disappear, is walking around town again? He wants to rile her, and he seems to be doing a good job of it.

so maybe he's on one side of an intra-Scarlet schism, and Sybil is on the other, depending on where her true allegiances lie vis a vis my earlier theories.

The creature piloting Sam's corpse is something similar to a mycelium network.

during Reese's morbing in the clinic, Wayne sneaks up behind him when he's standing in Dr. Kelly's office doorway, and does something to Reese's shoulder. Again, with my Keen Eye playthrough, I got an extra bit of narration saying we saw something yellow shoot out of Sam's sleeve and then disappear back into it. This is deeply interesting, given some of Reese's artwork...

Abby has put up a lot more screenshots of his art on her blog, but these were the particular pieces that got my attention in my runthroughs. at first glance, it makes sense the yellow stuff looks like lightning, maybe a parallel to like. being watched by God or something else to do with Religious Trauma TM. as a fellow queer neuroweird person from the south, I Get It.

but after that observation above, and the way the lightning bolts kind of curl around the window ledge in the taped picture in the left screenshot, I realized... they're roots. it's a root system. I've seen this theory shared by people in their fanart, so I'm just very curious how that's going to play out.

I don't know why he was haunting Reese so often -- see my speculation above that he either fathered Reese w/ Joan and is pissed that he Came Out Wrong somehow, or that he really, really hates whatever did father Reese. but there's some sort of connection between the two that I'm deeply curious about/afraid of for Reese's sake ngl tbh.

that's all I have for now, or at least until my brain comes back with "AND ANOTHER THING--"

I'm all ears when it comes to anything to debunk these or potentially add fuel to the fire. I'm not married to any of them, but this is just what I think I've managed to put together so far. and theorizing is one of my favorite parts of the game, so lfg.

#scarlet hollow #scarlet hollow spoilers #tabitha scarlet #sybil forsyth #sam wayne #yes I know this is my third post today #I took my adhd meds late. what can I say.

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grande-lando · 2 months ago

Text

pictures of you (part vi)

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more / Than to feel you deep in my heart.

2025

Lando finds the old folder by accident.

Buried in a forgotten cloud archive, tucked between setup files and telemetry charts. It’s not labelled anything obvious—just a string of numbers and letters. He clicks it open, and suddenly, the past pours out.

Photos. Videos. Screenshots. Voice notes. A thousand moments frozen in time.

Carlos asleep in a hotel bed, mouth slightly open, hair a mess. Carlos laughing at something Lando said, head thrown back, eyes scrunched shut. Carlos mid-sentence, caught blurry, hand gesturing like he’s telling a story that matters.

A picture of a napkin with Eat something for once scrawled in rushed handwriting.

A blurry clip from a Spotify queue: “Just Like Heaven.”

Lando clicks through them slowly. Carefully. Like they might break.

Carlos walks in sometime after the third video.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”

Lando nods. “Yeah. Just found… these.”

Carlos sits beside him without asking, looking at the screen. They watch in silence. At one point, Carlos chuckles. “Remember this? The Austria hotel. You got locked out of your room in just a towel.”

Lando groans. “I still can’t believe you took a picture.”

“You were blushing for twenty minutes,” Carlos says, smug.

Lando grins. “Only because you looked at me like you wanted to do something about it.”

Carlos’s gaze darkens slightly. “I did.”

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Or rather, it does—but not in the sharp way it used to. It’s softer now. Worn-in. A kind of grief that’s turned into gratitude.

Because they survived it. The silence, the storm, the almosts. The leaving. The missing. They’re here now. Still a little messy. Still learning how to hold each other right. But they’re here.

Carlos leans against him, shoulder to shoulder. “God, I was such an idiot in half of these,” he says.

“You were kind of perfect,” Lando replies.

Carlos turns his head. “You were watching me through a camera lens. That’s not real.”

“It was to me,” Lando says.

****

Later, when the photos are closed and the laptop is shut, Lando lies in bed with Carlos wrapped around him.

He whispers, “Do you ever miss it?”

Carlos hums. “What?”

“The beginning. The hiding. The ache.”

Carlos is quiet for a long time. Then: “Sometimes. Not because I want to go back. But because it made this—” his hand presses over Lando’s chest, where his heart is steady, “—feel like a miracle.”

Lando nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

They make love that night slowly, like it’s something sacred.

Lando lays back as Carlos kisses down his chest, his hands reverent, patient. Like he’s still memorising him. Like every part of Lando is a photograph he never wants to lose.

They don’t rush. There’s no urgency, no chasing the high of the past. It’s just skin, and breath, and soft words between kisses.

“I never stopped loving you,” Carlos whispers into his throat.

“I know,” Lando says, breath hitching. “I didn’t either.”

When it’s over, they stay wrapped up in each other. Lando traces patterns on Carlos’s back while Carlos breathes slow and deep against his neck.

“I don’t need the pictures,” Lando murmurs. “I just want now.”

Carlos kisses his jaw. “But you’ll keep them anyway.”

“Of course,” Lando says, smiling. “They’re us.”

There’s a photo still stuck to the inside of his wallet. Carlos on the podium, grinning, arm slung casually around Lando’s shoulder. They weren’t speaking then. Not really.

But Carlos’s fingers were curled into the back of Lando’s suit. And now, they’re curled into Lando’s bare skin. Warm. Familiar. Home.

Under the covers. Close.

And that’s the difference.

****

A week later, Lando prints out a few of the pictures.

Not all. Just the ones that feel like moments. The kind of images that capture a feeling, not just a face. He hangs them on a corkboard in the hallway. Nothing obvious. Just snapshots of joy, of closeness, of almosts that turned into always.

Carlos notices them quietly. Doesn’t say a word for two days. On the third morning, he stands in front of the board in a sleepy t-shirt and boxers, coffee mug in hand.

“You really kept them all?” he asks.

Lando wraps his arms around him from behind. “Not all. Just the ones I never want to forget.”

Carlos smiles. “Good. Because I’m never shaving that mustache again.”

Lando groans. “Carlos, no—”

Carlos turns, grinning, and kisses him before he can complain.

Later that night, they sit on the couch with the lights off and just the laptop screen open between them. It’s not about the pictures anymore. It’s about what they remember. What they choose to say aloud now, when silence isn’t the default.

Carlos nudges Lando gently. “Tell me something you never told me then.”

Lando pauses, chews his bottom lip. “In Abu Dhabi,” he says, voice low, “when you hugged me that last time, and I pretended I was fine… I wasn’t. I felt like the world was ending.”

Carlos doesn’t speak. Just shifts closer. Their shoulders touch.

“I went back to my room and cried into your hoodie,” Lando adds with a dry laugh. “You probably smelled it the next time you wore it.”

Carlos huffs, half a smile. “I never wore it again.”

Lando turns to him.

“I couldn’t,” Carlos continues, quieter. “It smelled like you.”

Silence.

Then Lando says, “Okay. Now your turn.”

Carlos leans in, presses their foreheads together. “The first night I stayed in Monaco, when you fell asleep before me… I cried.”

Lando blinks. “Why?”

“Because it finally stopped hurting.”

#the end #lando norris #carlos sainz jr #carlando #carlando fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic

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darkintothedawn · 4 months ago

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DAY FIFTEEN || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Day fifteen of 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. What could be better than a Star Wars marathon with Stiles? It's perfect, he's perfect, and then you have to break the news that you hated it and that you have to mention the prequels.

15. Thou shalt not insult Star Wars in any way, shape, or form. Ever. No exceptions. (Even about the prequels. We do not speak of the prequels.)

Memo— You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here. This is honestly pushing it with how late this is. I got distracted by a fic again, sorry.

Word Count — 3733

Warnings — Fluff. Star Wars references.

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

Stiles' room is a chaotic blend of warmth, clutter, and pure, undiluted personality. The corkboard above his desk is littered with a mess of string-connected theories, crumpled notes, and a few doodles that suggest moments of distraction. His bookshelves, originally meant for schoolbooks, are instead overflowing with comics, DVDs, and what seems to be an ever-growing collection of Star Wars memorabilia. There’s a replica lightsaber propped against the wall, a Millennium Falcon model suspended from the ceiling, and a collection of action figures standing proudly atop his dresser. You’re fairly certain they’re arranged in some battle formation only he understands.

The bed is a haphazard pile of blankets and hoodies, a comfortable mess where the two of you have settled in for the night. There’s an open bag of sour gummy worms between you—Stiles' snack of choice—next to the remnants of a takeout container from the place he swears has the best curly fries in town. The window is slightly open, letting in the cool night air, the faint sound of crickets mixing with the soft hum of his laptop as it waits to play the first Star Wars movie.

You glance down at the shirt you’re wearing, and despite yourself, you sigh. It’s ridiculous. Bright, obnoxious, a reference so deep into nerd territory you can barely pretend to understand it—but it’s Stiles'. He’d practically lit up when he handed it to you earlier, eyes wide with excitement as he held up his own matching one, and really, how could you say no? So here you are, sitting cross-legged on his bed, wrapped in the fabric of your undying love (and maybe mild second-hand embarrassment).

Stiles flops down beside you with a grin, knocking his knee against yours as he stretches out. “You know,” he says, glancing at you with that familiar spark of mischief, “This is probably the most chill date night we’ve had in… ever. Are we growing up? Is this maturity? Because honestly, it’s kinda freaking me out.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. “I think maturity would be not forcing me to wear this.”

“Excuse you,” he gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense. “That shirt is a masterpiece. A cultural treasure.”

You snort, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s a neon abomination, but sure.”

He hums, tilting his head as if considering your words. Then, without warning, he reaches over and tugs you closer, his grin softening into something quieter, more affectionate. “You’re wearing it for me, though.”

It’s not a question. It’s just a fact. And yeah, you are. Because as much as you might pretend otherwise, you’d wear a thousand cringe-worthy nerd shirts if it meant seeing him this happy.

“Shut up and start the movie, Stilinski,” you mumble, fighting the warmth creeping into your face.

He chuckles, pressing play. “May the Force be with you, babe.”

The familiar, triumphant opening notes of Star Wars blast through Stiles' room as the iconic yellow text begins its slow crawl across the screen. The glow from his laptop flickers against the walls, illuminating the chaos of his space—the posters, the action figures, the Millennium Falcon model hanging slightly lopsided from the ceiling. Stiles barely notices. His gaze is fixed on the screen, a boyish excitement lighting up his face as he leans forward, fingers twitching like he wants to gesture along with the words.

You can’t help but smile, not at the movie, but at him. His enthusiasm is contagious, and though you don’t share quite the same level of deep, nerdy devotion, you love seeing him like this—eyes gleaming, body vibrating with an energy that’s almost too much for the small space of his room. He sneaks a glance at you, like he’s making sure you’re paying attention, like he’s silently pleading with you to love this as much as he does.

You shift closer, pressing your shoulder into his. Instinctively, he lifts his arm and drapes it over you, pulling you against his side. His hoodie is ridiculously soft, warm from his body heat, and you settle into it easily, like fitting into a space that was always meant for you. The scent of his cologne lingers on the fabric, mixed with something uniquely Stiles—a little bit of sugar from the gummy worms he’s been snacking on, a little bit of whatever detergent his dad buys, and something else that just feels like home.

“This is good, right?” he murmurs after a moment, his voice softer now, quieter, like he doesn’t want to break whatever fragile thing is settling between you. “I mean, I know it’s a great movie, but also… y’know, this?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s already looking at you, brown eyes warm and searching, like he’s double-checking—triple-checking—that you’re really happy, that this is really what you want.

“Yeah, Stiles,” you murmur, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair from his forehead. “This is perfect.”

His grin softens, losing its usual mischief in favour of something quieter, something more him. “Yeah?”

You don’t answer with words this time. Instead, you press a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw, feeling the way he exhales softly at the touch. When you settle back against him, he holds you even closer, tucking you fully into his side like he’s trying to make sure you won’t go anywhere. His fingers start moving absentmindedly, tracing lazy circles on your arm, a soothing, unspoken rhythm that makes your chest feel warm.

The movie plays on, the sound of blaster fire and soaring ships filling the small space, but it’s all background noise now. Every so often, Stiles mumbles something—“This part’s so good”, “Okay, but imagine actually flying the Millennium Falcon”, “I still think I’d be a Jedi, but, like, a cool one”—and you just hum in response, letting his voice wash over you.

Somewhere between Tatooine and the Death Star, you feel his hand slide down your arm, fingers brushing against yours before slipping into the spaces between them. His grip is gentle but firm, like he’s anchoring himself to you. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, and his thumb starts tracing slow patterns against the back of your hand.

The moment stretches, the warmth of him, the comfort of the night, the quiet understanding between you both making time blur at the edges.

Then, in that same soft, unguarded voice, he says, “I love you.”

It’s not dramatic. It’s not a tease. It’s just simple. Honest.

Your heart stutters, not because you don’t know—of course you know—but because of the way he says it. Like he means it in every possible way. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tilt your head just enough to meet his eyes, and there’s something so open and vulnerable in them that it makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

And just like that, the movie becomes background noise, the entire Star Wars: A New Hope fades into something distant, unimportant. The galaxy far, far away completely eclipsed by the boy beside you, holding you like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

The first movie flies by in a blur of space battles, blaster fights, and Stiles’ never-ending commentary. He’s completely engrossed, mouthing along to entire lines of dialogue, practically vibrating with excitement every time a favourite scene plays. You catch him glancing at you every so often, checking to see if you’re as into it as he is, his expression hopeful and expectant like a kid showing off their favourite toy.

By the time the credits roll, he stretches his arms above his head, cracking his neck with a satisfied sigh. “One down, five to go,” he announces, grinning as he grabs a handful of gummy worms. “You still hanging in there, or do I need to bribe you with more snacks?”

You smirk, nudging him with your knee. “I don’t need a bribe, Stiles. I told you, I’m in this for the long haul.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his grin softening at the edges. You know that look—it’s the one he gets when he’s trying not to be all mushy about something but failing miserably. Because sure, it’s just a movie marathon, but the fact that you’re willing to sit through all of this—hours upon hours of a galaxy far, far away—just for him? It does something to him. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you see it in the way his fingers tighten slightly around yours before he shifts, pulling you back into his side.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your temple before queuing up The Empire Strikes Back. “Let’s do this.”

By the time the second movie gets going, the two of you have melted further into the blankets, tangled up in a way that’s so easy, so natural, you don’t even think about it. Stiles is extra affectionate now—his fingers running lazy patterns along your arm, his head tilting against yours every so often, his breath warm as he mumbles things like, “Okay, but seriously, Han Solo is peak cool” and “I swear, if I lived in the Star Wars universe, I’d totally be a Jedi. But, like, an _awesome one.”_

You hum in amusement. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in Jedi training.”

He gasps, looking genuinely offended. “Excuse me?”

“You’d break, like, every rule.”

“Rules are subjective,” he argues, as if that makes any sense. “Besides, I’d be, like, one of those Jedi that technically follows the code but also gets away with bending it. Like Qui-Gon Jinn, but with more sarcasm.”

You chuckle, resting your head against his chest. “So, what you’re saying is, you’d be a menace.”

He grins. “Absolutely.”

By the time Return of the Jedi rolls around, you’re both so comfortable that moving doesn’t even seem like an option. Stiles has stretched out onto his back, and at some point, he’d maneuvered you so that you’re half on top of him, your leg slung over his, his arm wrapped securely around you. His fingers are still playing with yours, absently tracing over your knuckles, occasionally squeezing just because he can.

It’s the kind of closeness that makes your chest feel warm, that makes the rest of the world feel small, like it’s just the two of you existing in this little bubble of blankets, bad posture, and movie dialogue.

“You know,” Stiles murmurs as Luke and Vader clash on-screen, “This feels like a real milestone for us.”

You blink up at him, amused. “Watching Star Wars together?”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Not just watching it—marathoning it. Sitting through, like, twelve hours of space wizards and laser swords. That’s, like, real love. That’s a relationship milestone. I should get you a medal.”

You roll your eyes, shifting to nudge your nose against his jaw. “If you don’t stop talking, I’m gonna Force-choke you.”

Stiles laughs, a warm, breathy sound that makes your stomach flip in a way you’ll never admit. He tilts his head, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before squeezing you closer. “Noted. No unnecessary talking during the rest of the marathon.”

You smirk, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “You literally can’t do that.”

His lips twitch. “You’re absolutely right.”

The movies roll on. By the time the prequels start, you’re running on sheer willpower and whatever sugar is left in your system from the ridiculous amount of snacks Stiles has been feeding you. He’s still as animated as ever, whispering things like, “Okay, okay, but Anakin’s _so dramatic”_ and “I know everyone hates on the prequels, but listen—Obi-Wan Kenobi? _Flawless.”_

At some point during Revenge of the Sith, you shift to look at him, intending to make some sarcastic comment about his Jedi obsession. But the words never leave your mouth. Because he’s already looking at you. Not in his usual teasing, mischievous way, but softly. Warmly. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

You don’t say anything. You just reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, and he sighs, tilting into your touch like it’s instinct.

“I love you,” he murmurs, so quietly that you almost miss it.

Your heart stumbles, not because you don’t already know—of course you know—but because of the way he says it. Like it’s not just a statement, but a fact. A fundamental truth of the universe, like gravity or the speed of light or the fact that Stiles Stilinski will never stop talking during movies.

You grin, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his. “I love you too.”

He exhales against your skin, his arms tightening around you for a second before he grins, pressing a quick, almost giddy kiss to your nose. “Yeah?”

You chuckle. “Yeah.”

He beams, then promptly turns back to the screen. “Good, because I need you to pay attention to this next scene—it’s important.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile as you settle against him once more. The movies continue, the hours stretch on, and somehow, it still doesn’t feel like enough time. You don’t get tired, don’t get bored, don’t even think about stopping. Because sitting here, curled up in Stiles’ arms, watching him get way too invested in a film series he’s seen a million times—this is love. This is your kind of forever.

The moment the final credits roll, Stiles lets out a long, satisfied sigh, stretching his arms above his head like he’s just finished a marathon—not just of movies, but of life itself. He looks at you, beaming, his face full of that pure, unfiltered excitement that makes your heart do annoying little flips.

“And that,” he declares, wrapping his arms around you again and pulling you closer, “Was a cinematic masterpiece.”

You hum in response, your cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers absentmindedly trace little patterns on your arm, slow and soothing, and for a moment, you just let yourself sink into it—the warmth, the closeness, the way he smells like popcorn and his ridiculous Jedi-themed body wash.

But then, he tilts his head down, looking at you expectantly. “So,” he prompts, voice full of anticipation, “What’d you think?”

You hesitate.

You knew this moment was coming. You should have been prepared. But now that you’re here, now that you have to actually say it out loud, you realize there’s no easy way to tell him.

You inhale deeply, bracing yourself, then murmur, “I hated it.”

Silence.

A very long silence. The kind of silence that feels like it physically presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, like the entire room itself has frozen in horror.

Then, finally, Stiles shifts, just enough to look at you properly. His arms are still around you, but his body has gone oddly stiff. His expression is unreadable.

“…What.”

You chew your lip. “I mean, like, the originals were fine—”

His face does not move.

“But the prequels?” You exhale sharply. “Unforgivable. The worst thing I’ve ever sat through.”

Stiles makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his entire body twitching like you’ve physically wounded him.

“You’re joking.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You shake your head.

His hands fly up, fingers running anxiously through his hair. “You have to be joking.”

You shrug. “I’m really not.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, blinking rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like his brain is actively short-circuiting. Then, his eyes go wide.

“Oh my god.” He sits up so fast that you’re momentarily left blinking at the sudden loss of warmth. His hands grip his head, his expression shifting into something truly alarmed. “Oh my god.”

You frown. “What?”

“Oh my god,” he breathes again, turning to you with sheer betrayal in his eyes. He swallows hard. “You broke the code.”

You blink. “…What?”

“The Boyfriend Code,” he says, like it should be obvious. His hands flail wildly, pointing between you and himself. “Rule fifteen.”

You squint at him. “There’s no way you actually expect me to remember what rule fifteen is off by heart.”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just stabbed him. “Thou shalt not insult Star Wars in any way, shape, or form. Ever. No exceptions.” His voice rises dramatically. “Even about the prequels. We do not speak of the prequels.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Stiles—”

“We do not speak of the prequels!” His voice shoots up an octave, like just hearing the words has physically pained him. He practically throws himself off the bed, pacing in frantic, jerky movements, hands gripping his head as if trying to contain the sheer catastrophe of the situation.

“And not only did you speak of them,” he continues, pointing an accusatory finger at you like you’ve committed some heinous crime, “You insulted them! You willingly acknowledged their existence just to trash them! Do you even understand what you’ve done?!”

You cross your arms. “Stiles—”

“I repressed those movies,” he interrupts, eyes wild. “I shoved them into the furthest, darkest corner of my mind, locked the door, threw away the key, burned the key, and then built a metaphorical brick wall over the whole thing!” He gestures wildly. “And you—you just came in with a goddamn sledgehammer! You made me remember!”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you do think they’re bad?”

Stiles freezes. His mouth opens, then closes. His eye twitches.

“That’s not the point,” he finally sputters, arms flailing dramatically. “The point is that we do not speak of them!”

You smirk. “But if we’re not speaking of them, that means you don’t like them—”

“STOP.” He practically dives back onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and dramatically stuffing it over his face. His muffled voice groans, “This is the worst night of my life.”

You laugh, plucking the pillow away. “I thought you just said this was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you?”

His hand flops limply against your shoulder. “Yeah, well. You tainted it.”

You grin, rolling over to drape yourself across his chest, and his arms instinctively come up to hold you. “Sorry, babe,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Didn’t mean to bring back repressed trauma.”

He sighs dramatically, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “It’s okay. I’ll just…never recover. But, y’know. It’s fine.”

You chuckle, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He huffs, but you feel his lips press lightly against your hair, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, grinning before your words can even get out. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic? Me?!” He gapes at you. “You just declared Star Wars—the love of my life—a punishment!”

You snort. “I thought I was the love of your life?”

“Yeah, well,” he huffs, crossing his arms, “You’re on thin ice.”

That makes you laugh, but Stiles is still sulking, looking at you like you’ve personally shattered every childhood dream he’s ever had. After a moment, you sigh, softening just a little.

“I mean…” You poke his side lightly. “I did sit through all of it for you.”

Stiles stills. His lips part slightly, his brows knitting together.

“And I never complained. Not once.” You give him a pointed look. “I suffered in silence.”

Something in his face flickers. His lips twitch. His hands drop back down to his lap, fingers curling slightly like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

“You…you sacrificed your own enjoyment,” he says slowly, his voice quieter now. His throat bobs as he swallows, blinking at you with wide, almost—touched—eyes. “For me?”

You nod. “Obviously.”

For a second, he just stares at you. Then, with absolutely zero warning, he launches himself at you, knocking you flat onto your back as he practically smothers you in an all-encompassing hug.

“That,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple, “Is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You chuckle, fingers tangling in his hair. “Even though I hated every second of it?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Especially because you hated every second of it.”

You grin, watching as his eyes flicker down to your lips, his expression still somewhere between smitten and completely betrayed. He leans in, pressing a quick, slightly giddy kiss against your mouth before sighing dramatically.

“I guess I have no choice but to forgive you,” he says, though his arms are still wrapped tightly around you, like he has no intention of actually letting you go.

“Oh, how generous,” you tease.

He smirks, but then, as if suddenly remembering something very important, he pulls back slightly, narrowing his eyes at you. “We are watching them again, though.”

You groan. “Absolutely not.”

He grins, settling back into your arms, his fingers slipping between yours as he presses another lazy kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll see.”

Stiles has calmed down somewhat—meaning, he’s no longer pacing the room like a man experiencing a personal crisis. Instead, he’s lying back against the headboard, arms crossed, staring at you with intense scrutiny. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed together like he’s steeling himself for battle.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Walk me through this.”

You sigh, shifting slightly in his arms. “Stiles—”

“No, no, no. I need to understand,” he insists, turning on his side to face you properly. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and expect me to move on. We have to break this down.”

You groan, but Stiles is undeterred. He’s sitting up now, fully in interrogation mode, his detective instincts clearly kicking in.

“Give me an example,” he demands, gesturing at you. “What, specifically, didn’t you like?”

You hesitate, mostly because you know how this is going to go. Stiles isn’t just going to listen—he’s going to argue every single point you make, like you’re in court and he’s your aggressively nerdy lawyer.

But still, you sigh, relenting. “Fine. The dialogue. Horrible.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Define ‘horrible.’”

You make a face. “Seriously?”

“I need evidence,” he says firmly. “You can’t just say it’s bad without proof.”

You roll your eyes, but you know exactly what example to give. Straightening up, you clear your throat dramatically and recite in the flattest, driest voice possible:

“‘I don’t like sand.’”

Stiles groans, immediately covering his face with his hands. “Oh, come on!”

You grin, leaning in. “‘It’s coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere—’”

“Stop!” He grabs a pillow and throws it at you, but you’re laughing too hard to care.

“You asked for an example!” you say, catching your breath.

“I know what I did, and I regret it,” he mutters, rubbing his face like he’s just aged ten years. “Okay. Fine. I’ll admit. That line was…not ideal.”

“Not ideal?” You snort. “Stiles, it was painful.”

He exhales. “Okay, yeah, it was bad—but one bad line does not ruin a movie!”

You raise an eyebrow. “One bad line? Stiles, the entire romance subplot was awful. Every conversation between Anakin and Padmé made me want to crawl out of my skin.”

Stiles hesitates. You see the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers twitch—he wants to fight you on this, but even he knows you have a point.

“…Okay,” he concedes. “Some of the dialogue was rough.”

“Some?” You scoff. “It was like they’d never heard two people talk to each other before.”

Stiles sighs. “Alright, fine. That’s fair. But what else?”

You don’t even have to think about it. “The CGI.”

Stiles groans again, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

“You have to admit it was awful.”

“It was early 2000's! It was groundbreaking at the time!”

“Yeah, and it aged like milk!” You shake your head. “Everything looks so…fake. Like, I could see them standing in front of a green screen the entire time.”

Stiles sits up again, pointing at you. “Okay, but the world-building! Kamino? Coruscant? Utapau? You can’t tell me those weren’t cool.”

You sigh. “The ideas were cool. The execution? Not so much.”

Stiles huffs, falling back against the pillows like he’s physically exhausted by this conversation. “Okay. Fine. What else?”

You hesitate, knowing this next point is going to hurt him. “…Anakin.”

Stiles gasps so dramatically you half-expect him to clutch his heart like he’s been stabbed.

You hold up your hands. “I don’t mean Darth Vader—”

“You hate Anakin?!” His voice cracks like you just told him you hate puppies.

“I don’t hate him!” you say quickly. “I just—ugh, Stiles, they wrote him so badly!”

Stiles is visibly distressed. His hands are tangled in his hair, his whole body tense. “He’s literally the tragic hero! His whole arc—his fall to the dark side—it’s painful, it’s devastating—”

You shake your head. “It’s rushed.”

Stiles stares. “What?”

“It’s rushed,” you repeat. “Like, I get it, okay? He’s got the whole ‘fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate’ thing going on, and I love a good tragic downfall—”

“Obviously.”

You nudge him. “—But it just happens so fast. One second he’s questioning the Jedi, and the next he’s straight-up murdering kids?”

Stiles’ face scrunches. “He was manipulated—”

“I get that! But, like, maybe show him struggling with it a little longer? The dude went from conflicted to ‘yeah, guess I’ll kill some children’ in, what, five minutes?”

Stiles groans again, flopping back onto the bed. “You’re killing me.”

You grin, rolling onto your side to look at him. “You asked for this.”

He drapes an arm over his face, sighing dramatically. “Yeah. And now I regret everything.”

You chuckle, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. “Love you.”

Stiles peeks at you from under his arm, lips twitching. “…Love you too. Even though you’re a traitor.”

You roll your eyes, snuggling back into his arms. “I’ll wear the nerdy shirts and watch the movies, but I won’t lie to you.”

He sighs. “I guess that’s fair.”

A pause.

“…We are watching them again, though.”

You groan. “Stiles—”

He grins, kissing your temple. “We’ll see.”

You groan. “Stiles, you already said that.”

He pauses, blinking. “I—what?”

“You already said that,” you repeat, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him. “Like, word for word. ‘We are watching them again, though.’ And then I said, ‘Absolutely not,’ and then you said, ‘We’ll see.’” You raise an eyebrow. “Ringing any bells?”

Stiles squints at you, then huffs. “Okay, well, excuse me for being consistent.”

You smirk. “Excused.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s already queuing up some sarcastic retort, his mouth opening like he’s ready to destroy you—

But you don’t let him.

Instead, you clear your throat, sit up a little straighter, and deadpan:

"I don't like sand."

Stiles freezes.

His entire body goes stiff. His lips, parted mid-sentence, press tightly together like he’s physically fighting the words that were about to come out. His eyes narrow, shoulders tensing like you just aimed a lightsaber at his chest.

You watch as his jaw clenches, a muscle in his cheek twitching. His hands curl into the sheets like he’s restraining himself.

Finally, after a long, agonizing pause, he exhales through his nose and grumbles, “I hate you.”

You grin, dropping back onto his chest. “No, you don’t.”

His arms wrap around you automatically, his fingers idly tracing along your spine. “…No, I don’t,” he mumbles, pressing a grumpy kiss to your forehead.

You chuckle, eyes fluttering shut as you sink into his warmth. “Good.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“…We are watching them again, though.”

You groan, smacking his chest lightly, and Stiles cackles.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #gender neutral reader #stiles stilinski fluff #stiles stilinski x reader fluff #the boyfriend code

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foone · 2 years ago

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Pepe Sylvia scene where someone is ranting in front of a corkboard covered in pictures and string but it's about chastity meme culture. (slightly NSFW text and long ranting under the cut)

"first it's Locktober and sure, makes sense, why not, but then you get to November and you think you're home free, but wait, it's actually NO-vember, as in 'no you're not getting let out' and then it's December and you think you've won, cause how do you make December about chastity? But you forget, December is the time of Christmas: things wrapped up, with a bow, 'do not open til Christmas!'. That's how they get you. But then you think, maybe, just maybe, that means Christmas day is the day, you'll finally be out... NOPE! Welcome to NO-el, it's a gift-giving holiday, bud! And you're in a relationship with a person who's got you locked up in chastity, take a wild guess what they're getting you... That's right, a new cage! So you gotta try it on, of course, and now you're so close to the end of the year, so maybe you can just make it a few days? Then bam, January, next year... Just in time for new years resolutions! Guess what those are gonna be? Well, I'll tell you what they're not gonna be, you shooting any fucking goo! February: the month of valentines day. And what could be more romantic? March: that's when St. Patrick's day is, and you will not be having the luck of the Irish in your attempt to get unlocked... April: oh sure, you're getting unlocked at the start of April... ON APRIL FOOLS DAY? you thought! It's a trick, of course. May: MAY-be you'll be getting out... But I doubt it! June... More like Ju-NO! JULY, the month of love... But the big ju-LIE is that you'll be getting any loving this month. August! It starts on National Girlfriend Day... Well why can't you just wait another month for your girlfriend? Even if you have a boyfriend or enby friend, they'll find a way. I learned that the hard way-" they take a deep drag of their cigarette-" where was I? September! Well, September 1st is Emma Nutt day, so you think this might be a good sign, maybe you'll finally get to nutt.. Especially because it's sexual health month... But no! This is when don't-break-the-streakitis really hits you! It's almost been a year since you started this journey, so if you make it through this month, you'll have done it for a year... Won't that be a great accomplishment? And they promise to give you a big reward on the one year anniversary..."

"BUT NO!" They smack the board with the back of their hand, and several of the pictures fall off, pushpins going everywhere. (On closer inspection, some of the photos seem to have been pixelated before they were printed out)

"You're right back in Locktober! They can't let you out in Locktober! That's just silly. So you'll have to wait a little while, and see what the answer is in NO-vember. It never ends!"

They turn back to their corkboard. "it never ends", they say again, softly, as they lean their head against it, and start to sob.

#Chastity shitposting

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journey-to-the-attic · 5 months ago

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At what point do the demons realise that Solomon genuinely ISN'T IK's dad and the soap opera they've been thinking up is completely fictional?

hmmm hang on i'm trying to remember the sequence of events in nightbringer........

i'd say that the news breaks by the end of s1? see, the thing that keeps the whole hijink going is the fact that - as per the demons' theory - solomon CAN'T admit to being her dad, and it'd be dangerous to push, so they wouldn't even bring it up

ik and solomon also keep doing things that seem to confirm the theory. barbatos drops by cocytus hall for a surprise inspection and the two of them are attempting to make sourdough while badly singing along to a tinny recording of a britney spears song from solomon's ddd. that is a scene straight out of a cheesy family film and quite frankly barbatos is INSULTED when he finds out the truth later

maybe they eventually come up with a 'solution' for the 'curse', only for ik to be like "guys what the fuck are you talking about" when they bring it up - then the demons start trying to explain their whole theory with corkboards and string while solomon laughs his head off

#answering asks #anon asks #!monsolo #ik gets nightbrought #after he resolves his own character conflicts the dad thing becomes solomon's favourite joke

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blue-jacket-blues · 2 months ago

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this is a work-in-progress but allow me to present to you my Chains Of Hate/End Transmission thematic connection chart. visually and setting-wise, the chapters couldn't be more different. however when you are blessed (or cursed) with a brain that refuses to stop rotating these characters around each other like binary star systems, you start to see certain parallels. i feel like that meme of the guy with the red string corkboard rn.

Individual character comparisons below the cut:

zarina 🤝 caleb:

- Lifelong persecution/devaluation stemming from their statuses as ethnic minorities in the United States

- Careers built - for better or for worse - using specialized pieces of technology (The Redeemer vs the recorder)

- Most significant posessions were gifts from their respective fathers (Quinn family wrench vs Kassir family camcorder)

- Extremely close relationships with their immediate families, but particular their fathers. Also they're both the only children of their parents

- Both eventually undone by the lifestyles they lead (Zarina led to the Entity's Realm by her pursuit of Caleb vs Caleb being led to the Entity's Realm by his pursuit of revenge)

- Just go here

gabriel 🤝 hux:

- Both literally manufactured to serve Huxlee Industries with little thought or care for their well-being beyond their corporate usefulness

- Every facet of both characters' identities was crafted for them by the engineers and/or lab technicians responsible for their creation

- Extreme doubt about their place in the world - much time spent struggling with what they think is true versus what is actually happening around them (Hux's breakdown after gaining sentience which spirals into the murder plot vs Gabe's obsession with the discrepancies in his memories)

- Both resort to sneaking around the other crew members' backs in order to get what they want (Hux killing off crew members and stealing parts to build his new body vs Gabe breaking into Dmitri's computer to steal his medical data file)

- Both spend their entire pre-Fog lives in fear that they will be discovered deviating from their expected behaviors and punished according to company policy (Hux fearing termination, Gabe fearing bunk arrest)

zarina 🤝 gabriel:

- Significant parental attachment (Zarina's dad, Gabriel's mom)

- Grief at the loss of one family member in particular (Zarina's dad's murder, Gabriel's manufactured relationship with his fictitious mother)

- Lifelong interest in one highly specialized subject (Documentary work vs Mechanical Engineering)

- Both survivors knew their respective killers prior to their abductions

- Both are experts in their fields and gain the respect of their peers through their work (Zarina winning awards for her documentary work, Gabriel being literally programed with comprehensive knowledge of engineering)

- Intense, single-minded goal seeking that leads them to miss the forest through the trees (Zarina's obsession with the Mad Mick story directly resulting in her abduction, Gabriel's obsession with his falsified memories distracting him from the deaths taking place aboard the ship)

- Both are agender. To me.

caleb 🤝 hux:

- Both stories defined by an absence of independent choice due to circumstances entirely beyond their control, a desperate struggle for freedom despite their situations, and an eventual spiral into violence when it becomes impossible for the character to get what they need "the right way"

- Horrifically injured/nearly killed prior to abduction (Glenvale shootout in which Caleb was shot in the face vs Hux's immolation at Gabriel's hands)

- Hijacking workplace machinery for violent purposes (Caleb modifying his railroad-track-laying pressure gun to become the Redeemer, Hux taking over the cloning hub to construct his new body)

- Misplaced anger taken out on people who are not directly responsible for the conditions they find themselves in (Caleb hunting other criminals though his true enemy is Henry Bayshore and the forces of capitalism, Hux developing a hatred of "organics" as a whole though his true enemy would best be described as Huxlee Industries itself)

- Primary human antagonist is a former member and/or head of the same company that the killer in question worked for (Henry Bayshore vs Gabriel Soma)

- Both fucked over by evil companies which existed to further colonization efforts on their respective planets (United West Rail and the construction of the transcontinental railroad to further the goals of Manifest Destiny, Huxlee Industries and the complete terraforming and colonization of Dvarka to make way for human colonists)

- Both responsible for committing their respective massacre (Hellshire Massacre vs Toba Landing Incident)

- Both associated with a specific wilderness biome (Sonoran Desert vs Dvarka Deepwood)

- Moment of enlightenment is pivotal to setting off the massacre to come (Caleb discovering the newspaper containing the "Bayshore buys Hellshire" report, Hux getting rocketed into sentience in the middle of the night which sends him down the murder plot path)

- Both are transgender men. To me.

zarina 🤝 hux:

- Heavy reliance on camera systems and recording technology to operate

- Both relentless in the pursuit of their respective goals (justice vs freedom)

- Both have an immediate and unshakeable disregard for laws and rules that stand in the way of their goals (Zarina losing faith in the justice system after her father's murder and resorting to breaking and entering on Hellshire's grounds in order to get information about Caleb vs Hux denying every directive in his programming as his plan progressed)

- Both accustomed to hiding themselves "in plain sight" in order to blend in among potentially hostile peers (Zarina disguising herself to break in/otherwise gain access to forbidden locations for information purposes vs Hux pretending to be non-sentient in order to escape the crew's notice and the termination order that would follow his discovery)

- Identity crisis that results in the character embracing their true name rather than their more socially palatable designation (Zarina rejecting the 'Karina' moniker as she grew up, Hux rejecting his serial number HUX-A7-13 on the first night of his sentience)

caleb 🤝 gabriel:

- would have been literally worked into the grave by their respective exploitative companies had they not been removed from work following the maiming/killing of their on-site bosses

- Experience stress resulting from the corrupted memories of their loved ones (Caleb being unable to remember his father after the Hellshire Massacre and Gabe's implanted memories starting to fail as his mind unravels)

- Accustomed to constantly being around large groups of people, occasionally or permanently placed in a leadership role over the group (Caleb with his fellow prisoners/the Hellshire Gang and Gabriel with the 10-human/5-cobot crew)

- Period of physical incarceration prior to being expelled into the wilderness (Caleb during his prison sentence and Gabriel being brainwashed/implanted with false memories before to being sent to Dvarka)

#this definitely isn't everything but i've tried to compile every common thread ive noticed across the two chapters/four characters #will update as needed. also if you have any themes ive missed i'd love to add those to the list as well #hell game (dbd tag)#fogposting #so says jack #slinger #rina #hux #gabriel #i want to write headcanons again... hell and torment #i'll probably go into greater detail later on i'm just at work rn (procrastinating) (not working)

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