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another-lost-mc · 1 year

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"Circumstances have forced me to accept a wager that I want no part of. It’s against the owner of The Fall. If he wins, we have to let him stay at the House of Lamentation for a month." – Lucifer (A Roll of the Dice Devilgram) Or, the AU where Lucifer loses a bet and a new resident comes to stay at the House of Lamentation.

Good Fortune | AZRA x gn!Reader 5.7k words | SFW | Canon Divergence | Developing Relationship Content warnings: Demon OC x Reader. Cursing, references to violence/illegal activities, minor threats, awkward flirting and fluff, gossiping, social anxiety. A/N: The Fall and its owner are referenced in a lot of OM events/Devilgram stories so I got a little creative with the details.

The owner of The Fall, the Devildom’s most popular club, is a powerful demon that represents the best and worst parts of upper class Devildom society. Under the Demon King’s rule, Azra used threats and violence to secure his position and achieve his ambitions. Falling into line with Diavolo’s new vision for the Devildom simply means his methods of dealing with nuisances are less deadly - and he’s more cautious if he does have to resort to bloodshed.

When he visits Devildom’s other prominent establishments, it’s about business as much as it is about pleasure. He spends money and builds connections with other influential business owners, offering gifts or gestures of goodwill to demons of strategic value so he can call on them later to return the favour.

He’s at the casino one evening and feels especially bored, but Azra spots the Avatar of Greed playing dice at a table nearby. Usually he’s content to simply watch the money-hungry demon, who gambles like it's his last night in hell; his large bets and fast plays are a spectacle to behold whether he wins or loses. Azra approaches Mammon’s table, and when he sees the pile of chips dwindle to nothing, he decides to have a bit of fun.

Mammon is known for making ludicrous bets when he’s out of grimm, but offering a month-long overnight stay at the House of Lamentation is too intriguing for Azra to pass up. A chance to live with the Avatars of Sin is a rare opportunity. Some of them are frequent guests at his club for special events. However, most of the Devildom only know the brothers on a superficial basis; Lucifer is protective of his siblings and he tries to shelter their personal lives from public view.

Azra accepts Mammon’s wager and he agrees to postpone their bet until another day. When he recognizes Lucifer as one of the dealers at the casino a few days later, he decides to call in Mammon’s wager. Azra watches the dice in anticipation and then he smirks, unfazed by the poorly-masked anger that ripples across Lucifer’s expression when he loses.

Once the details of the arrangement are finalized, Azra arrives at the House of Lamentation with his luggage in tow. Lucifer shows him the choice of rooms available and Azra complains about each one; they’re all grungy from years of disuse and neglect. He hoped the brothers would have at least tried to take care of some of the dust and cobwebs first. Azra almost wonders if it was an intentional oversight when Lucifer reminds him - more than once - that if the rooms aren’t to his liking, he’s welcome to leave.

They walk down the hallway, past the kitchen and towards your room. You’re not inside but the door is open, and it catches Azra’s interest. He notices the care that’s gone into the furnishings and upkeep - and the lack of dust is appealing, too. This is the best room he’s seen by far and declares to Lucifer that this room will suit his purposes, ignoring its obvious state of occupancy.

Lucifer rejects the idea immediately and they start arguing. He refuses to displace you from your room, and Azra insists that Lucifer and his brothers should’ve thought of that before he arrived. Neither of them notice that you’re walking towards them and catch the tail-end of their heated discussion about your room being off-limits.

You don’t understand Lucifer’s hostility towards their guest. Your presence in the Devildom is still relatively new, and you don’t have many friends. You don’t want to impose on the demon brothers who have tried to help you adjust to your new life here. The last thing you want to do is make a bad first impression to other important or powerful demons in the Devildom. Besides, it’s only for a month, right?

You startle them both when you offer to switch rooms temporarily, if that would make their guest more comfortable. They stop arguing and look at you in surprise. Lucifer’s mouth twists like he’s bitten into something particularly sour, while Azra tilts his head slightly and stares at you in wonder. He forgot that living with the Avatars of Sin also means living with the Devildom’s prized human exchange student. He’s overheard other demons whisper about your lustrous, tempting soul in the dark corners of his club.

Azra changes his mind suddenly and tells a very relieved Lucifer that he won’t make his gracious co-host abandon your room to him. He smirks and takes his luggage to the closest empty guest room - across the hall from yours - instead. Dealing with the cobwebs is worth the satisfaction of seeing Lucifer’s brow crinkle in frustration before he slams the door shut in his face. Azra sets his luggage aside and takes care of the dust himself while he listens to Lucifer and his brothers arguing down the hall. He rolls his eyes when Mammon’s protests grow louder and Satan’s threats toward him become more violent.

Lucifer tries and fails to reassure them that Azra isn’t completely foolish, and even he won’t risk doing anything to harm you. You’re a guest to the Devildom under Diavolo’s protection, after all. But your soul isn’t all the demon brothers are worried about. Who knows what a scumbag demon like him might do if he had the chance to corner you alone? For all the shady, horrible things the club owner has done in the past, Lucifer doesn’t think Azra is that sort of demon to hurt you. However, he keeps those thoughts to himself - his brothers won’t be convinced otherwise.

The arguing down the hall eventually fades to silence, but Azra’s smirk remains as he continues clearing away the thick layers of dust covering the furniture in his room. The air is stale and musty and he coughs. He rips the dingy bedding away from the mattress and tosses it aside for the trash; he’s grateful he brought a new set of sheets.

When the room is slightly more hospitable, he taps the screen of his D.D.D. and sets it on speaker mode. He only has to wait a few rings before his assistant picks up the call.

“How are Lucifer and his brothers treating you?” Zekhan asks. “I told you not to expect a warm welcome.”

Azra hums. “It was what I expected, but I can deal with them,” he says casually, flicking away cobwebs stuck to the headboard of his bed. “I forgot about the human staying here, but they’re not–” Azra starts to say, but he frowns when Zekhan has the nerve to laugh, “–what the hell is so funny?”

Zekhan doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “You never mentioned them once while we prepared for you to spend the month there. I wondered when you would remember that little detail.” His laughter trails off with a sigh. “What do you think of them so far?”

Azra thinks back to his brief meeting with you in the hallway. “I’m not sure yet.” You were so eager to compromise for his benefit, but he can’t completely dismiss you as being a total pushover either - you wouldn’t have survived this long in the Devildom if you were.

“I have a docket prepared with the information you requested, but most of it is public knowledge already - articles about the exchange program in the RAD newspaper, that sort of thing. I was able to speak to some of the students and get their first impressions too.” Zekhan pauses briefly and adds quietly, “Their confidential information is going to be more difficult to obtain, and it’ll take some time. Do you still want me to pursue it?”

Azra debated it for a moment and decided it wasn’t worth it. Your human world history and details won’t be relevant to him now, he can simply talk to you instead. “No, don’t bother. Keep track of anything else you hear, and send me what you have already, will you?”

“Very well,” his assistant replied before hanging up the call.

Azra’s D.D.D. pinged moments later with an email containing the information about you Zekhan was able to collect. There wasn’t much there - some general information about you and the other exchange students, impressions from some of the RAD faculty and classmates - nothing valuable or noteworthy. If he wants to learn more about you, the real you, he’ll have to figure that out himself - after he finishes cleaning his room.

Azra is nearly giddy with amusement when the brothers don’t attempt to hide their contempt for his presence in their home. They’re so protective of you and they do a poor job of hiding it. They find countless excuses to invite you to spend time with them anywhere else that’s not your room. When you don’t feel like going with them, they hover around your room instead. They have a bad habit of overstaying their welcome and Azra stifles his laughter when he hears you yell at them to get out so you can do your homework or go to sleep.

The demon brothers are especially bothered by how close his room is to your own. What exactly do they think he’s going to do to you? He’s not stupid. He might be a little curious about you, sure, but since when was curiosity such a bad thing?

In reality, Azra doesn’t have that many opportunities to spend time with you alone or with the other demons hovering like mother hens nearby. His odd work hours means he usually sleeps through breakfast and lunch, and he gets up and prepares to leave for work by the time you return home from RAD.

He’s not used to having a bedroom without an ensuite bath, and it’s one of his main complaints when he has to use the washroom at the end of the hall to shower. He enjoys his privacy and he’s not used to covering up.

One afternoon after having a shower, he's still dripping wet with only a towel hung low around his hips when he heads back to his room. He snarls with annoyance when someone bumps into him, but he realizes that someone is you. You stare at him for a moment, and your eyes widen when you glance down at his bare chest before your eyes snap up to his face. You stammer an apology as your cheeks flush, and by the time you rush back into your room and slam the door, Azra can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face.

Interesting.

It’s a rare occasion when Azra bothers to join you or the demon brothers for dinner. It got tiresome quickly when Satan insisted on reading books of hexes and curses at the table while glancing at him threateningly whenever he turned the page.

How juvenile.

Lucifer doesn’t trust Azra to cook for them - not that Azra is capable of making edible food anyway - so he’s not included in their cooking rotation either. Azra notices that you volunteer to cook more often than the others do. He assumes it’s something you like doing, and since it’s one of the few skills he lacks, he respects you for it.

If you’re on cooking duty for the family, he leaves later for the club than usual so he can spend time with you in the kitchen. Sometimes you’re completely alone with only Beelzebub occasionally trying to sneak snacks before dinner is ready. Azra makes vague offers to help you, but he’s only interested in the opportunity to talk to you. You must sense his apprehension about actually cooking something and you don’t ask him to help, but you try to have friendly conversations with him anyway.

He’s surprised that you use an odd combination of Devildom and human world ingredients, and you’ve customized recipes slightly to make them more palatable for you. It’s an easy way for him to discreetly ask you questions about yourself, and your family and where you come from. You seem happy talking about food and other things that remind you of home.

He’s not used to eating rustic, home-cooked meals. He eats what the chefs at the club prepare for him, or whatever his private chef makes for him at home on his days off. But when you hold out a spoonful of something to try, it’s difficult for him to refuse. The foods you cook aren't heavily spiced, but more often than not, he likes what you cook.

Sometimes he wonders whether you’d like the chance to cook in his kitchen, with his state of the art appliances and using whatever Devildom or human world ingredients you could ever want.

Sentimental thoughts about you start to creep into his mind, and they grow more frequent as he gets to know you. After nearly two weeks of living together, he decides that you’re a baffling combination of shy deference and impulsive confidence. Your dry, witty sense of humor surprises him at times, and you’re brave enough to speak up when the demon brothers cause trouble or make fools of themselves. You don’t go out of your way to spend time with him, probably out of some misconception that you're a nuisance to him (which you aren't). But when he seeks you out - usually before he goes to The Fall - you don’t reject him, either.

The whole point of his wager with Mammon was to learn more about the demon princes that might be useful for blackmail later. Hell, the thought of tormenting Lucifer was almost enough of a reward by itself. Azra refuses to admit that spending time with you is slowly becoming his prize in this arrangement.

When he comes home from the club, it’s usually around the same time you’re getting ready for school. Some mornings you offer him a bashful greeting when you step out of your room in your RAD uniform. He catches a whiff of whatever fragrance you wear, and he breathes in your scent as he watches disappear down the hall. There are some mornings when you’re running late - usually one of the brothers knocks on your door, and Azra catches a brief glimpse of your sleepy eyes and messy hair when you answer in a panic.

He loosens his tie and sits on the edge of his bed and listens for the telltale sounds of you and the demon brothers leaving for RAD. When the front door slams shut, he can finally be alone with his thoughts. More often than not these days, he thinks of you more than anything else. It doesn’t matter what you look like each morning when he passes by your room: whether you’re perfectly dressed or sleepy and rushed, he finds you charming - and he wonders how that’s possible.

There's about ten days left of his month-long visit when Azra prepares to go to the club, but he recalls the demon princes announcing various commitments they have that evening. It’s the first time since he arrived at the House of Lamentation that he is truly alone with you for any significant length of time. He thinks quickly and reaches for his D.D.D. - he might not get this chance again.

Meanwhile, you’re in your room debating whether you should start making dinner for yourself. The brothers are scattered across RAD and you have no idea what time to expect them home. It’s an annoying predicament when you’re not sure whether to cook food for everyone, or just cook for yourself, or maybe you should just order takeout?

Azra knocks on your bedroom door while you deliberate your options, and even though you’re surprised he hasn't left for work yet, you let him inside.

He makes small talk and takes his time browsing the shelves of your room. He notices an interesting mix of Devildom and human world books and movies. He glances at you from the corner of his eye when he feels your eyes on him.

“The demon princes don’t take care of you properly. It’s past dinner time - do they expect you to feed them all when they return?” he asks. He knows it’s not your turn to cook tonight, and he wonders how often they overlook your well-being. Do they make it a habit to inconvenience you with their thoughtlessness? Isn’t that what all of their posturing these past two weeks has been about - doing what they thought was best for their precious human?

He can do better.

He pretends to consider all the options for a moment and then asks, “You haven’t been to The Fall before, have you?”

“No, I’m not really the club-going type. I wasn’t back home, either.” You’ve seen Asmo’s photos of wild dance parties at The Fall; the self-conscious voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you look nothing like any of the demons that attend the famous establishment. You’d stick out like a sore thumb, and you have no interest in making a fool of yourself trying to pretend you belong there.

Azra isn’t easily deterred so he tries to entice you another way. “You might not realize this, but we also have an excellent dining room,” he says. “I would love to treat you to dinner this evening, as a gesture of appreciation for your kindness during my stay here,” he offers. “I can’t leave you alone and unfed in good conscience.”

You're tempted by his generous offer - you imagine their menu is far outside of your usual budget for take-out - and you can’t help but be curious about him and his work. Despite what the others have told her about him, he doesn’t seem that scary. He’s been kind to you, and he doesn’t ask you questions that are rude or too invasive. He seemed genuinely interested in your hobbies and interests, and he tries to inconvenience you as little as possible.

You think it would be rude to reject his offer, but you glance down at your unbuttoned RAD blazer and slightly wrinkled slacks. “I’m not sure I have anything suitable to wear,” you say. It’s a weak excuse and you both know it; you try not to squirm when he chuckles.

He’s not sure where the idea comes from, but he has a brief impulse to escort you to one of his favourite shops and select an outfit for you. He’s curious about what you might pick out for yourself if you didn’t have to worry about the cost. He thinks you would look lovely draped in the dark colours and soft fabrics he prefers, rather than the bland material of your RAD uniform and casual clothes.

He quickly shakes off the impulse and clears his throat. “As my guest, our usual dress code wouldn’t apply to you. Please wear whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” He glances at you over his shoulder before he leaves your room. “My driver is already outside, but take your time. I’ll wait for you in the front hall.”

You’re anxious about going to The Fall, but there was something so warm and genuine about his invitation that you accepted his offer anyway. You put on a simple button-down shirt and change into slightly less-wrinkled pants. You add a spritz of your favourite fragrance and feel refreshed. You examine your reflection in the mirror: you look put-together, but bland and unalluring - you hope he’s not too disappointed by your appearance.

Azra gives you an obvious once-over when you approach him in the foyer, and you smile bashfully when his lips curl into an appreciative smirk. He puts a hand on your back and leads you outside where his car is waiting. You spend most of the drive watching the Devildom pass by in a blur; Azra watches you instead.

When the car pulls up to the club’s entrance, Azra leads you past the bouncer at the door. Instead of turning right where the thrum of heavy bass is loudest, he turns left which leads to the club’s dining area. It feels romantic with its dark wood furniture and candlelight. The large room is filled with semi-private booths and small tables. The linens and dishware look luxurious and expensive; you feel woefully out of place.

He leads you to a private table near the back of the room, but the other patrons notice your arrival with interest. You think you can hear them whispering when you walk past them, and you realize that your boring attire won’t stifle the intrigue of your human heritage or why you’re having dinner with the club’s famous proprietor.

Azra pulls your chair out for you before he takes his seat across from you. He picks up his menu, but he realizes that there’s something wrong. You’re glancing around the room nervously, and he notices that the other guests are doing a poor job hiding their interest in you. He grew so used to your company that he didn’t even consider how other demons would treat you in public. He’s frustrated by his mistake, but he’s determined not to let this ruin your evening together.

Azra knows Zekhan is probably working in his office upstairs. He sends him quick instructions before he stands from the table and comes to your side. “I’ve prepared a table for us in my private offices, if that would make you more comfortable,” he leans down and murmurs close to your ear. You nearly sigh with relief and take his hand when he helps you out of your chair.

He leads you to a small lounge connected to his office on the second floor. It’s soundproofed so the loud club music isn't bothersome. The lounge is drastically different from the rest of the club, and you guess that it’s designed to be comfortable, more like his own home than his business. There’s a record player in the corner, and soft classical music fills the silence. There is a small candle-lit table waiting for you, and Azra suppresses the urge to purr with satisfaction when you look more relaxed now than you did downstairs.

When you're both seated, you hear a small pop. A bottle of amber liquid and two crystal goblets materialize on the table. You’re not familiar with different vintages of Demonus, but based on the ornamental bottle and Azra’s expensive taste, you can’t even imagine how rare this bottle of liquor is.

“No, I couldn’t, really–” you protest with a laugh when he offers to pour you a glass. You explain that Demonus of this quality is wasted on you; he didn’t know that humans are mostly unaffected by the demonic beverage, and you can’t tell if it’s the lighting when his cheeks darken slightly.

He clears his throat and accepts your refusal gracefully. “By all means, order whatever you’d like. I only want you to enjoy yourself.”

There’s a comfortable lull in conversation while you both study the provided menus, and you set yours down on the table with an embarrassed look. When Azra raises an eyebrow questioningly, you explain you're not familiar with the fancy names for Devildom cuisine yet. Normally you ask Beel or one of the others to help you choose which foods would best suit your tastes. You’re embarrassed to ask Azra for help doing that, but he doesn’t mock you. His eyes soften like he’s happy that you can be vulnerable with him.

He offers to order something for both of you to share. He thinks about the meals he watched you cook at the House of Lamentation; he remembers the types of dishes you liked to cook, and how you liked them seasoned. He sends a message to the staff in the kitchen with your order.

Azra sips his Demonus and listens to you talk about your experiences in the Devildom and how it compares to your life in the human world. He’s never been interested in listening to his dates - friends - talk about their mundane lives. Usually he has to feign interest, but he wants to listen to more of your stories and memories; he’s captivated by you.

When you ask him questions about his life, he tells you things he’s never told anyone. He never lets people get close to him, and normally he would never answer such personal questions. He wants to blame his loose tongue on the Demonus, but he’s not sure the reason is that simple. Your delighted laughter encourages him to tell you more and more stories about the demon brothers causing mischief and making fools of themselves.

The door opens unexpectedly and it startles you; he nearly growls at the server that interrupts with the dinner tray.

What the hell is wrong with him?

The entree Azra ordered for you both was served on a single platter, and there’s only one plate and set of cutlery on the tray. He dodges your questioning look, but he picks up a forkful of food and holds it near your mouth expectantly. Azra looks as surprised by the gesture as you feel.

He’s not sure what inspired him suddenly, but he has the urge to feed you. It reminds him of those nights when you offered him samples of your cooking. It seems like you’re both remembering the same thing, because you bite your lip bashfully and accept the food he offers you.

Azra ignores the warmth churning deep in his belly, but his lips curl into a smile when he sees a blush bloom across your face. He’s tried to show off his wealth and power in subtle ways all evening, but he feels most satisfied - and you respond with the most genuine interest - when he does simple things that shows he cares for you.

You’re embarrassed by his rapt attention, but the way he looks at you when he offers you another forkful of food is difficult to refuse. It feels profoundly intimate, and you try not to think too hard about why he’s doing it. Nevertheless, you eat until you start to feel full, and then you protest and wave away the last bit of food he holds out to you.

He looks suspiciously at the amount of food remaining on the plate like he can’t believe you're completely satisfied yet. He hesitates to eat himself until you promise with a laugh that you've eaten enough. His mind swirls with doubtful thoughts: Are human stomachs so small? Do those damn brothers not feed you enough and this is all you're used to eating? Are you trying to be modest for his sake?

He eats a few bites when you stand up and look at some of the art on display in his lounge. He wonders what you think about him and his lavish lifestyle. He assumes you're provided some sort of allowance for necessities, but he wonders how much of that you get to spend on yourself. He recalls your bedroom and the collection of new and used furniture, the borrowed manga and video games on your shelves, and the outdated TV and computer models you use.

He feels impulsive. He imagines filling your closet with Devildom silks and furs, and replacing your scratchy cotton bedspread with something that's silky-soft against your skin. He can fill your shelves with books he thinks you would enjoy, the same Devildom novels he reads on his days off. He realizes he wants to give you things - desperately - and he doesn’t know why.

Time seems to flow differently when he’s with you. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he realizes it must be getting late. His time with you is dwindling, but he feels reluctant to end this evening so soon. He gestures to a small leather sofa where you can both sit more comfortably. Any traces of your anxiety have completely disappeared, and you seem completely relaxed at his side, humming along softly with the soft music coming from the record player.

You’re nearly pressed against his side, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to you before. His hand is resting on the sofa behind you, and you’re almost tucked under his arm. It feels like a victory when you don’t move away. He glances down at the bare skin of your neck, and when he leans down, the faint traces of your fragrance tickles his senses. Something predatory stirs inside him and he can't bring himself to pull away.

His sudden closeness doesn’t scare you exactly, but the growing tension between you makes your skin prickle with nervous anticipation. You can’t help but question his intentions. You doubt someone like him would be genuinely interested in you, so why did he bother doing all this? You remind yourself that you’re so completely different, and there’s no way you can be compatible. He’s so far out of your league: physically, financially, basically every possible way possible. You shouldn't even be friends let alone more than that.

But why does admitting that bother you so much?

You glance at him the same time he raises his head from where he’s been discreetly scenting your neck. You look into his eyes and they seem to reflect the same confused longing you feel.

An unspoken question hangs in the air between you: What are we doing?

Instead you say, “It’s probably getting late - we should go back soon.”

You reach into your pocket for something, but you make a frustrated sound in your throat and stand up. You look around on the floor and scan the tabletop nearby. “Have you seen my D.D.D.?” you ask him.

When your back is turned, he pulls your phone out of his pocket. He slides it onto the sofa beside him. “Oh, here it is. Perhaps it fell out of your pocket earlier?”

You sigh in relief and thank him when he hands it to you. Your eyes widen when the screen flickers to life. What in the world…? You don't recall feeling it vibrate all evening, but according to your notifications, you have dozens of missed personal and group chat messages and several missed phone calls. "It seems like the others have been trying to get in touch with me for a while now. I'm still not sure how I didn't notice earlier."

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs with fake sincerity, “but I’m sure they’ll understand once you explain we went out and had dinner together.”

You’re trying to respond to messages as quickly as possible, and you glance at Azra guiltily. “I know you probably have to stay and work tonight, but would it be possible to arrange a ride home for me?”

He stands from the sofa and smooths down his suit jacket. “I would never dream of sending you home on your own,” he replies more forcefully than he intends. When you frown, he explains, “I’ll escort you home personally and then come back to the club. I'm responsible for your safety tonight, and I'll ensure you make it back safely.”

If he requests his driver take a route that has several unnecessary detours that allows him more time with you, that’s his business.

Your D.D.D. interrupts with a new message:

Lucifer: I’m waiting outside for you.

Azra smothers his annoyance, but he makes sure you have all your belongings before he escorts you from the lounge to the main floor. The club is packed now and it’s shockingly loud compared to the tranquil peace of his soundproofed office. He avoids leading you near the cramped dance floor so that you don’t feel anxious like you did earlier. He takes you through a series of employee-only hallways towards a private exit around back. He opens the door for you, and you both see the Avatar of Pride waiting nearby with a stone-faced expression.

You rush forward and apologize profusely for the inconvenience. “I’m not sure how I didn't hear my phone earlier. I’m so sorry I worried you.” You turn around and face Azra who’s watching you and Lucifer with a strange expression on his face. “Thank you again for inviting me to dinner, I had a really nice time. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Lucifer clears his throat and steps closer. You don’t notice that he positions himself in front of you, blocking you from Azra’s sight. The club owner notices though, and he glares at Lucifer.

“In light of recent developments, your month-long stay with us at the House of Lamentation has been concluded prematurely,” Lucifer says smugly. “You understand, of course,” he adds in a tone that will allow no argument.

You’re confused by the announcement and look at Lucifer worriedly. “Won’t it reflect poorly on us if we don’t honour the bet?” You don’t want to admit that you’re disappointed; you’re not sure you’ll ever see Azra again after this.

Azra answers before Lucifer has a chance to answer you. “I’m satisfied the terms of the bet have been fulfilled. It’s difficult to focus on the intricacies of my business when I spend too much time away from home.” You step out from behind Lucifer and meet Azra’s imploring gaze. “I’ll regret not spending more time at the House of Lamentation, but I promise that I found my visit very rewarding.”

Lucifer’s fist clenches behind you, and normally Azra would feel smug about this little power play with the demon he despises. Instead, all he cares about is the way your eyes brighten when you offer him another one of your kind smiles.

Lucifer ushers you away after you bid Azra goodnight one last time. You walk home together, and you tell him about your evening: it was a simple private dinner, and nothing more. Lucifer is suspicious and looks you over for any traces of harm or injury. He’s relieved that you seem perfectly fine, but he wonders what sort of game Azra was playing with you. However, he keeps these thoughts to himself - you seem tired but in good spirits, and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever enjoyment you had this evening.

You manage to avoid interrogation by the other demon brothers when you arrive home, and you head to your room and get ready for bed. After you're tucked in, you sort through your messages, yawning while you delete the endless notifications you missed earlier.

Your D.D.D. pings unexpectedly.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I hope we can meet again soon.

You hesitate only for a moment before you save Azra’s contact information in your phone. You wish him goodnight and roll onto your side, and you hide your shy smile in your pillow.

#A Roll of the Dice AU #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me azra x reader #azra x reader #obey me oc #obey me demon oc #obey me fanfic #x reader #my oc: azra #gn!reader

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bigshotart · 2 years

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Orange Addison design and neglected oversight AU belong to:

@neglected-oversight

I really like your Addison design they all look so fancy! 👑

#deltarune #addisons #orange addison #deltarune fanart #*Goes back to hide in void*

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deltarune-au-domain · 2 years

Note

So far, what are some au’s you’ve found that were interesting? The most interesting ones I’ve found are the other puppet, magnitomb, beat down, neglected oversight, and yours.

I actually mentioned quite a few of my favorite AUs in this post here but there are some new ones!

Deltarune chara timeline by @lilybug-02

College AU by @sprout-tower

Shrinky Dink Route by @theprimpandthepiest

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elendiliel · 2 years

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My Turn

So I was noodling around with some standard templates in my head and this happened... This AU is still taking up too much of my processing ability, despite not having a proper name yet (taking suggestions, by the way).

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Torrent knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. The slender body beside him, usually a little cooler than his, felt like a portable heater. A very mobile heater. As his wife wriggled out of bed, intent on getting ready to leave for work, he caught her wrist (stars, her skin was warm). “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Hel? You feel feverish.”

“It’s this perishing climate. Coruscant in summer is far too hot, that’s all.” Her words were a little more slurred than was normal for her, even before her first cup of caf of the morning, but before he could argue the point any further she had pulled free and vanished out of the room. Less than a minute later, a dull thud and a sharp not-curse summoned him into the kitchen, where Hel had melted into a puddle of limbs adorned with a sheepish grin. “All right, maybe I’m more tired than I thought.”

“I think it’s more than that.” He scooped her up with only moderate difficulty (mercifully, she didn’t try to fight him; she could override her self-defence reflexes for people she trusted) and deposited her back on their bed before hunting out a medical scanner. It identified a mild viral infection, endemic to the planet where she had just spent a couple of weeks helping with a mercy mission (her padawan Katooni having stayed behind to focus on her studies). Not dangerous for the vast majority of people; one in three of those infected didn’t even develop symptoms, and most of the rest remained fully functional throughout. Hel was clearly in neither category, worse luck. As she wasn’t human, the fact she’d caught it at all was pretty bad luck in itself. It probably hadn’t helped that she’d been running from pillar to post for months, dealing with crisis after crisis, throwing herself into the task of making their new house a proper home on her rare shore-leave, and generally neglecting herself. He’d tried to point this out before, but to no avail.

The good news was that she would recover quickly, in a fortnight at most, especially with rest, hydration and if necessary antipyretic drugs, and the worst symptoms should be gone in a few days. The next step was contact tracing. “Did you go to the Temple yesterday?”

She tried to say, “No,” but it came out as a coughing fit and a shake of the head. He’d thought as much. She’d returned late the previous night, so exhausted that she had collapsed into bed without even undressing and hadn’t stirred as he corrected that oversight; he’d heard her astromech, equally tired, making his way to his charging port (Torrent made a mental note to oil C1’s wheels). C1 would have stayed at the Temple if she’d left her starfighter there, so she must have come straight home. That meant only Torrent had been exposed, and he might not even become infectious (there was something to be said for the kaminiise messing about with the clone army’s biology).

Hel, however, definitely was. Not that she seemed to have realised that. As she tried to stand up again, he gently pushed her back down, one hand resting on her far shoulder. “You’re staying right here. Medic’s orders.”

“I’m expected at the Temple for debriefing, and I need to check in with Kat at the very least.” Stars, she was stubborn, but he loved her for it (among so many other things). And had anticipated that line of attack.

“Not any more.” Torrent sent the message he had been composing on a datapad, telling the Jedi Council that she was ill and confined to barracks until further notice. Forestalling any further objections on the theme of her duty, he added, “Right now, your duty is to rest and get better. If the Council or Kat really need you, they can call.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and tasted salt on her skin. “You’ve always looked after all of us, cyar’ika. Now it’s my turn to look after you. Deal?”

“Deal.” She was already drifting back into sleep, her lips curved into that soft smile that always melted his heart. Somehow, he tore himself from her side to hunt out breakfast (no caf involved) and his medical supplies. He’d have to rearrange all his counselling and therapy appointments for the foreseeable future, or conduct them over hololinks, which was risky when his one-man business was so new, but all his current patients were vode; they would understand. Hel wasn’t just his riduur; she was his vod’ika and his partner. They had saved and cared for each other so often, and now it was his turn to care for her.

---

Mando’a glossary:

Cyar’ika: darling, sweetheart.

Vode: brothers/sisters/siblings; colloquially, clones and honorary clones.

Riduur: spouse.

Vod’ika: dear(/little) sister(/brother).

Comments? *tooka eyes*

#star wars #The Clone Wars #jedi oc #original jedi characters #clone trooper oc #Clone OC #original clone characters #Original clone troopers #fanfic #healing au

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mysteryman-17 · 2 years

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NIKO ATK ? DEF ? * Hey, I recognize this guy from those movie posters! * They... don't seem too happy though. * Wonder what's got them down?

Time’s End is an AHIT/Undertale crossover AU of sorts, taking place in the aftermath of a timeline where you lose the final boss fight against Mustache Girl. You can find the write-up here! In addition, you can find the write-ups for the Neutral Endings and TimeWarp Route Requirements on Google Drive! The logo for Time's End was designed by @bittybattybunny. She makes incredible art (and is great at crocheting too!) - be sure to check out her work here on Tumblr and over on Twitter!!

Niko (from Here Comes Niko!) takes the role of So Sorry. Mustache Girl's extra Time Piece smashing, along with further changing the world and permanently crashing Hat Kid's ship, also dragged Niko out of their own world and into this one. Now stranded in Dead Bird Studio, with no idea of where to go or what to do, it's no surprise that they (somewhat begrudgingly) accepted an offer from the Conductor: become a main star in his movies, in exchange for room and board in the studio. Niko is now almost just as well as known as the Conductor... but they're not happy, not in the slightest.

AU patch notes time boiiiiii! >Realized that I made a bit of an oversight while initially writing the Neutral Endings document. Along with a few typo corrections, I have also added two Aborted TimeWarp endings. >Elaborated on certain aspects of Empress and Conductor's sections that I neglected to properly flesh out before. >Tweaked Snatcher's section. >Finally figured out the Glyde and So Sorry roles, taken by Vanessa and Niko respectively. Their new sections have been added to the main write-up along with the above tweaks.

I bet a lot of you are completely and utterly confused as to why I chose this particular role swap (especially you peeps in my SoundCloud audience XD) Here Comes Niko! was developed by Frog Vibes, but since Gears for Breakfast helped publish the game, I figured putting the main character of that game into a role here would be a nice lil connection/nod to what's honestly a p dang nice and underrated game. (And hey, it helped kill two birds with one stone by filling a role I had zero ideas for prior hueh.) Anyhow, this was a very neat track to make. HCN's tracks aren't really made for a battle context like this, so it was fun figuring out how to make the ones I chose work! Primarily went with Frogtective and The Beginning, for those wondering. Am incredibly happy with how this turned out, and I hope you guys enjoy!

You can also listen to this track in high quality on my SoundCloud here!

#a hat in time au #ahit au #here comes niko #deltarune #undertale #undertale au #ahit time's end au #time's end au #AHIT:TE!AU #a hat in time music #ahit music #music #audio #Wrong Enemy

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neglected-oversight · 12 days

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Remake of Berdly and Noelle fight

(This is what I imagine would be playing. Since some people are getting mixed up, I didn't make this song, Jacob80 did)

I decided to remake my last post I did of this I think a year ago? It might've been two at this point. I wasn't happy with the coloring in the last one, so I think this one is a bit better, but tell me what you think!

Old versions

#deltarune #deltarune au #neglected oversight au #neglected oversight #kris deltarune #ralsei #susie #berdly #noelle holiday #noelle deltarune #noelle #susie deltarune #spamton deltarune #spamton g spamton #spamton #serial!ralsei

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gamethesoldier · 2 years

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Deltarune Au Fanart (doodle)

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@neglected-oversight Kris, susie and Ralsei fanart

@minthy Jester! kris fanart

@cysou06 Kris and Noelle (look at themm so cute lmao)

its just a doodle for my deltarune au doodle + fanart (sorry if i draw not well hahaha;;)

#deltarune #deltarune au #deltarune fandom #deltarune kris #deltarune gaster #deltarune susie #deltarune ralsei #deltarune noelle #deltarune player #player #jester!kris #neglected oversight au #neglected oversight #aftergrave au #aftergrave

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boredgrace23-gracepotts · 2 years

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"Hey, I'm having trouble sleeping." "Why's that?" "Because I keep thinking about you." - Kris, probably.

If someone started singing the sesame street soundtrack, I'd totally be down to date them. From left-right: Deltafrost belongs to @lyxios Deltarune belongs to Toby Fox NO (Neglected oversight) belongs to @neglected-oversight TOP (The other puppet) belongs to @the-other-puppet

#deltafrost #deltarune au #deltarune #deltarune fanart #the other puppet #the other puppet au #neglected oversight au #kris dreemurr #kris au #deltarune kris #kris deltarune #kris the human #kris

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inkformyblood · 3 years

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darkness for sighing (daylight for song)

Summary: Obi-Wan should have known better than to think his mission would be a straightforward one. But he couldn't have suspected the man he would run into, or the mystery he would start to uncover. [Fantasy AU] Pairing: Codywan

“What are you doing?”

It isn’t the tone of the voice, which is warm despite the late hour and the biting chill in the air and strangely compelling, that makes Obi-Wan pause; it’s that there is a voice at all.

This section of the expansive gardens was meant to be abandoned, a momentary oversight during a temporary guard rotation change, and yet…

“Regular maintenance,” Obi-Wan answers, his attention torn between the enchanted lock-picks humming in his grip and the slow methodical beat of footsteps behind him, drawing closer. He fights to keep his breathing regular as he can feel the man’s gaze burn into the back of his neck, bereft of his usual shield of loosely tied hair which was pulled into a tight braid while he was working. His mask hangs around his neck and Obi-Wan tilts his chin, catching the edge of the fabric in readiness.

“Tell me.” Another step, but he can hear the edge of laughter in the man’s words, breathless and disbelieving, and, for a moment, Obi-Wan wants to see if he can coax another laugh from the man. “Does that line ever work for you, thief?”

“More often than you’d think.”

The man strikes, his halberd piercing the space where Obi-Wan had been only moments before. The blade sings beneath his boots before the melody is cut off as it strikes the door and Obi-Wan continues his twist upwards, one arm bracing against the frame before he kicks off of the opposing wall, landing with a grunt and pulling his mask over his face.

He looks up into dark eyes, barely visible through the visor of the helmet, and sees a spark he hadn’t expected.

“Oh.” The corners of the man’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You’re one of those thieves.”

“My dear, I can promise you, you have never fought anyone like me.” It is an easy rhythm to fall back into, honeyed words designed to throw his opponents off balance as they fought, but he couldn’t help but notice the thread of regret twisting through his chest. In another life, they could have met very differently.

The man’s grip adjusts on the halberd, his fingers curling around the handle, but Obi-Wan doesn’t step away, keeping his gaze locked with the other man’s.

“And you’ve never fought anyone like me.”

In a flicker of movement, almost too fast to see, the man slams his head forward, aiming for the centre of Obi-Wan’s face, pulling the halberd free with deceptive ease. Obi-Wan steps backwards, his feet soundless as the grey stone of the walkway makes way to the damp press of grass. The man adjusts in an instant, the blade swinging through the air, skimming over the floor as sparks fly as he rolls it across his shoulder only to catch it, ready to strike again.

It was beautiful. He was dangerous.

Obi-Wan grins, excitement burning low in his chest, sharpening his thoughts. Any information he could gather was priceless for his organisation, provided he could keep his scattered mind from focusing on the ease with which the man moves, all feline grace and confidence.

“Showing off for me? You tease.” The damp grass clings to his boots as he steps away, tucking the picks back into his belt. If he had just had a little more time…

The moon peers through a gap in the thick clouds overhead, illuminating the guard. Silver light clings to the curve of his broad shoulders and the sway of his hips as he steps closer. His face was hidden beneath his helmet, but Obi-Wan knew his dark eyes, intense and curious, were fixed on him. Except for the single sunburst that lay over his heart — a bright flash of orange amongst featureless grey — his armour was blank, only carrying the expected fixed scuffs and dents.

The man spins the halberd around, passing it to his other hand and back again with no pause to his step and no hesitation to his grip as the metal tip flashes in a warning.

“I’m good at my job.” There was no hint of arrogance or pride in his words, just a careful deliverance of the truth. Something familiar pulled at the edge of Obi-Wan’s mind, a certain sway to his movement as he struck forwards, but Obi-Wan was already moving, circling him, only to be blocked by grey steel.

“I can see that. Competency is very attractive, you know.” Obi-Wan steps back, chancing a glance at the gardens that surrounded them, trying to re-orientate himself in the wash of moonlight.

In the day, the garden was secluded and overgrown from years of neglect. Brambles stretched out their grasping hands from their kingdom of the broken gazebo and weeds ran amok, pressing up through the shattered paving stones that snaked through the graveyard of planet beds and grass. In the darkness, silver bleeding through the cracks in the clouds, it was a battlefield. Obi-Wan could see the ghost of his passage from the high walls to the door and knew he wouldn’t be able to return here if he fled.

“Thank you.” The guard spins the halberd over his shoulder once more, ostensibly to adjust its positioning, but there was something else there. “My main goal in life is to win the approval of every thief who tries to break in.”

“You’ve been seeing other thieves?” Obi-Wan steps, trying to slip past the guard again, but is blocked by another hissing swing, his footsteps softer as he steps onto the grass, pressing Obi-Wan backwards.

A grin burns through the guard’s words, and Obi-Wan, for one thoughtless ecstatic moment, wants to let it wash over him and settle in the soft places between his ribs. “Love, I would never. You’re the only thief for me.”

Obi-Wan waits for the next strike and sees the slight shift as the guard centres himself, the power behind the movement apparent, and draws in a deep breath, letting it go before he moves. It is a technique he has performed countless times before: one sweep to press the weapon levelled at his chest aside, and a strike at his opponent’s side to send them stumbling away.

Obi-Wan prefers defence, keeping his opponent off-balance and exhausted before he strikes, but he is adaptable, and he is running out of time.

He can sense the rumble of laughter rather than hear it and sees the guard adjust seconds before the halberd is swung in a wide circle, slipping from Obi-Wan’s hold, as the guard spins. There’s distance between them now, and Obi-Wan bites back a curse as the cool cling of grass gives way to the rough stone of the path.

The guard is trained, more than Obi-Wan would have expected, given the lavish parties that the Emperor threw and the broken down sections of the city he ruled over.

“Why not let me pass?” Obi-Wan steps, moving along the path and the guard follows, slower. He would let Obi-Wan run from him. The knowledge settles into his mind like one of the flowers that clung to the ruined walls, their scent lying thick and heavy in the air. Every strike, every step, every move had been careful and coordinated. “You’ve seen what the Emperor has done to our people. Help me, and let me pass.”

There’s hesitation in the guard’s step, his fingers tapping against the wood of the handle like a drumbeat, but his advance doesn’t slow. Obi-Wan moves to strike again but his blow is blocked — the halberd clutched in the guard’s hand and lying flat against his forearm — and the guard steps closer, catching Obi-Wan’s second strike without glancing down.

He can feel the faint tremor through the man’s hold on his wrist and see the shifts of his shoulders as he breathes, but Obi-Wan’s attention is locked onto his eyes. They’re still dark and burning into him, but he doesn’t pull away as Obi-Wan leans forward, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of the helmet. His breath fogs the surface, but neither moves.

For a moment, they are still.

“I can’t.” The whisper trembles out of the guard, barely audible despite the gentle night breeze that presses against them. There’s a catch in his words, a moment of hesitation that hadn’t been present in any of his previous actions, and Obi-Wan frowns, leaning impossibly closer.

“Why?”

He watches as the flicker of a snarl curls across what he can see of the guard’s face, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrows. “I can’t.”

It is easy for the guard to transform the press into a head-butt, the motion rumbling through him like a quake and Obi-Wan steps back, breaking the contact between them before the blow lands.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s your job, my dear. I can’t fault you for that.”

“No, it’s—“ The guard stops, shaking his head and Obi-Wan moves to strike him, his blades raised.

It seems to happen slowly and yet too fast all at once.

Obi-Wan watches the man swing the halberd behind him, lending additional power to his strike, and moves to one side, seeking to circle him. The man turns away from him, his head turning to follow Obi-Wan’s movement. A single thought rises to the clouded surface of Obi-Wan’s mind, a burning curiosity that threatens to overwhelm him, as the man kicks out, putting his whole weight behind it.

Obi-Wan doesn’t see the blade until it’s too late.

A white-hot strike of pain radiates through his side and Obi-Wan is twisting away, fear freezing in his veins. The blade retracts into the concealed holster with a hiss as the guard steps away. One hand is half-stretched towards him, the fingers curled in regretful concern but Obi-Wan is too far for him to reach.

The damp morning dew sinks into his boots, every step clinging and clutching and Obi-Wan forces his mind to focus on that rather than on the burning trickle of blood through his fingers.

“You’re very good with your weapons,” Obi-Wan calls, seeking familiar territory. His heart races in his chest, rabbit-fast and his head spins, sending the world spiralling into a web of cold disinterested stars and clawing grasping ground. The rope is light against his frantic hand, whispering around his wrist and hooking around his waist like a caress as he prepares himself to run. “I wonder what else you’re very good with.”

It’s an apology and forgiveness curled together, sweetened with a return to the familiar, and Obi-Wan watches as his words land, the guard’s prowl slowing. His armour gleams in the fading moonlight, half caught between the memory of the night and the triumphant declaration of the morning, all brilliant oranges and purples cascading over the metal. The sun catches the etching over his chest, burnishing it to gold.

“You could always try again and find out?” There’s a flicker of hesitation in the guard’s reply, his free hand ghosting over his side, mirroring the desperate clutch of Obi-Wan’s hand. “If you can find me again, that is.”

He’s already turning away before Obi-Wan can bring himself to answer, tasting the man’s bitterness in the back of his throat as if it was his own. “I’ll see you soon, my dear. Sleep well.”

A stumble, a crack in the man’s impenetrable armour revealed by a single instance of kindness. The rope, enchanted and as impatient as its maker, draws Obi-Wan upwards as silently as he arrived, and he watches the man brush his fingers over his side once more before he straightens his back and walks away.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #my writing #fanfic

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themurphyzone · 3 years

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PatB/BatB AU: If I Can’t Love Him Ch 1

Summary: Sequel to Imprisoned and part of the PatB BatB AU.

The Beast knows he’s too far gone, in too deep to ever have hope of regaining what he lost. But one action leads to another, and through a series of mistakes, discovers he may have been wrong about so many things.

Pinky is running for his life. He knows he made a promise, and he finds the servants charming, but he can’t stay. The castle was not and will never be his home. But things aren’t always as they appear.

AN: OK ok technically the disastrous dinner request does happen first (as of posting this first chapter, the dinner request scene has not been written yet but I do hope to get around to it), but I just wanna write the West Wing and its aftermath ok lemme have my angst.

This will be a 4 chapter story, each chapter named for a lyric from If I Can’t Love Her from the BatB Broadway musical. It’s a really heartwrenching song and every time I hear it I just wanna hug poor Beast.

AO3 Link

Ch 1: Careless and Unthinking

The Beast heard music drifting from the large dining room, traveling along the wind until it reached his usual haunt on the castle roof just above the West Wing.

Though he was too far to properly hear the lyrics, he recognized that irritatingly catchy melody to Be a Pest, a song the Warner siblings performed on a semi-regular basis ever since the curse upended their lives.

He should’ve known the Warners wouldn’t leave the prisoner alone in his room to starve.

The Beast huffed, a misty cloud forming in the frigid air.

He wasn’t sure why he said that when he didn’t actually want the prisoner to starve. It was counterproductive to breaking the curse.

And that mouse was far too foolish to suit his purposes. Arguing every order, determined to defy him at every turn, uncaring of self-preservation when he skipped into the castle and announced his presence without the slightest attempt at stealth.

Not that anyone else bothered to heed his orders, despite his higher station, but it was especially irritating from someone who was supposed to be a prisoner.

Surely all his hopes of regaining his rightful position weren’t dependent on an idiot whose head was permanently up in the clouds!

Rage mounted in the depths of his deformed body, and though he tried to hold back, he couldn’t stop the primal roar that worked its way past his throat.

It echoed off the trees, a flock of faraway birds taking to the air to get away from a perceived predator.

He struck the roof with one clawed, oversized hand. Several loose tiles spiraled into the abyss below.

The rush of adrenaline was overwhelming. It felt good to be so powerful. His old body was woefully lacking in strength and height.

He’d never been able to climb onto the roof before. A mouse was far too small and fragile to ever attempt something so death-defying.

Nor was he able to tear furniture apart so easily. But now he could.

Give in, a voice whispered, sweet and tempting and malicious all at once. Why resist your anger? Give in now, and you won’t be hurt ever again. I promise.

Anger was the only emotion worth feeling. It was blissful to not experience anything other than splintered wood and torn cloth under his claws. No worries, doubts, or fears to hold him back. When his thoughts became nothing but a simplistic chant of destroy, destroy, destroy.

Then all coherent thought would cease, and only instincts were left.

But anger was a fickle companion. It would encourage him, drive him forward, yet it would suddenly flee. It didn’t stay with him in the wake of his destruction.

And the guilt came.

His shortsightedness robbed everyone of a comfortable life. Nobody was spared. Not the innocent toddler, not the orphans or stray animals seeking a safe haven, nor the regular household staff.

On that first long, horrible night, he’d promised to break the curse. They’d be back to normal before they knew it, and they’d only remember it as one odd, terrifying nightmare.

But his plan didn’t work. And he made that promise again. Then his next plan failed before he set it into motion.

Tomorrow night. I’ll break it tomorrow night for sure.

For the past five years, he made that same promise every night.

But the curse wasn’t broken. The nightmare wasn’t complete.

Every plan failed. He tried everything.

That is, he tried everything except for the condition laid out from the very beginning.

The beautiful witch’s voice haunted him, mocking him through every waking hour and dream, taunting him with fate-sealing roses and mirrors that reflected the monster he was.

“If you can find somebody to love, and earn their love in return, my enchantment upon your castle shall be lifted. Fail in your quest, and you shall remain a beast for all time.”

The condition was an open secret in the castle, though only the Warners dared to bring up the topic within his vicinity.

He laughed, but it was a harsh, guttural laugh, completely devoid of joy.

Love? How could he possibly love anyone?

Love only brought pain.

As a foolish child, he loved his parents.

Then they abandoned him in favor of the lavish court. His existence was a scandal unto itself, and he was secreted away to a province with little royal oversight.

He let out an ugly snarl, cruel fangs digging into his upper lip.

The harsh, unnatural sound only served as a reminder that nobody would ever love him back. His mind, which once held ideas on how to reclaim his throne and improve life in this neglected province, was now dull and dimming further by the day.

He couldn’t read or invent anymore. His hands were too large for the delicate machinery, his claws ripping apart everything he touched. He barely remembered how to stand on two legs, and the few times he tried, he quickly lost his balance and had no choice but to stalk the hallways on all fours, stripped of all dignity.

Intelligence was all he had. And even that would be gone soon.

Nobody wanted a dumb, slavering, mud-colored beast for a lover.

A chilly wind blew snow into his fur, startling him out of his ponderings. The night had quickly grown dark and cold, the land below shrouded in an early winter. The moon and stars were hidden by thick, low clouds.

He didn’t hear any music. The prisoner had likely eaten his fill by now.

The silence unnerved him.

It was quiet on the rooftop, but without the background noise of the servants working or screaming from the unfortunate souls who were assigned Warner or Mindy duty, it was far too quiet for comfort.

When it was silent, the most unwelcome thoughts nagged at his deteriorating mind.

He sighed, regretting his decision to ponder on the roof this long. But then, it seemed his entire life was just one bad decision after another, so he was hardly bothered.

Stretching his sore limbs, he carefully gripped the slippery tiles as he descended down to the West Wing balcony. The wind whipped at his cape, and his exposed fur stood on end to keep his body warm.

This body was more resistant to the cold, able to endure conditions any weak, normal mouse would hide themselves from.

He was powerful.

But that thought quickly came to an end.

He lost his grip on a handhold, sliding several inches on the slippery stone.

The brief scare made whatever remained of his shriveled heart leap in fear, and he was reminded that regardless of physical prowess, he was still mortal.

On some nights, being mortal was a good thing.

He took hold of a thick, tangled growth of ivy that crept up the stone walls over the years, so thick that even his sharp claws couldn’t cut through it. The servants had valiantly battled the plants over the years, but there was only so much they could do.

The castle would crumble once the curse took hold permanently and become nothing more than a relic lost to time.

He crept down the ivy to the West Wing balcony, allowing the mysterious, cruel light of the enchanted rose to guide him to safety in the darkness.

Brooding over a rose and making doomed plans in the vain hope of breaking this curse.

That’s all he was good for these days.

Just as he set foot on the balcony, his ears perked at the sound of footsteps within his chambers. He growled quietly to himself.

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the Warners’ antics tonight. Not when their advice proved little use against the prisoner’s stubborn refusal to have dinner with him.

But the footsteps sounded…different. Lighter.

Not brassy like Yakko’s, wooden like Wakko’s, or clinking like Dot’s.

The Beast inhaled sharply.

No.

It couldn’t be.

His prisoner was an idiot, but surely he wouldn’t break the only rule he’d been given. He should’ve been thanking the Beast for his leniency with the guidelines to follow for his stay within the castle property.

Don’t go into the West Wing.

But the mouse was right before his eyes, still on the far side of the room, twirling around in awe at the torn draperies, splintered wood, and haphazard bedding.

“Narf. This room could use a good sweep. I’ve seen pigsties cleaner than this!” the mouse tsked, shaking his head at the sorry state of the West Wing.

Really? The Beast wanted to scream. That’s your main concern right now?

Never mind that the West Wing was a grim testament to just how far he’d fallen, the shadowed lair of a beast, the broken décor scattered and abused throughout the years because it felt so good to lash out at something without guilt, and his prisoner commented on the mess of all things?

His claws brushed against a shard from a broken vase, and he sullenly flicked it aside. The ceramic remains skittered across the balcony.

Alright, so maybe the West Wing was a little messy…

An odd sense of embarrassment washed over him.

He crouched behind a thick tangle of ivy, feeling very much like a predator lying in wait for unsuspecting prey. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to do anything, and the mouse would just leave on his own.

The mouse picked his way through the West Wing, stopping to gawk at a shredded mattress and pile of ragged blankets that served as the Beast’s bed. He plucked at a strip of fabric that had fallen on the floor, and the Beast growled lowly. His sleeping area wasn’t a spectacle.

It was simply where he woke up from a nightmare, only to find that he never truly left.

The mouse gasped, his ears twitching. For a fleeting moment, the Beast believed he’d successfully chased him out of the West Wing. But the mouse turned to a portrait in a golden frame, one that had been painted so long ago, in a faraway life.

He’d dragged his claws across that painting many times, when he could no longer take the image of himself as a prince, mocking him with his dead-eyed stare and prestige.

Reminding him of what he used to be.

Though he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it permanently, some part of him couldn’t bear to throw it away. He didn’t know why.

He was tempted to spring out of his hiding place and tell the mouse to get out right now, but the gentle, almost reverent way the mouse pulled the hanging scraps of the portrait up to what remained in the frame made him hesitate.

In the entryway of the balcony, the rose sparked within the bell jar, its ethereal glow blinding for just a moment before it settled once again.

His hesitation cost him.

Slowly, the mouse approached the enchanted rose. The glow was always mesmerizing, always the only beautiful thing in an otherwise dark and ugly room.

Sometimes he fantasized about shredding the rose to pieces and scattering the petals to the wind, so that he wouldn’t ever have to look at it anymore.

But he wasn’t the only one affected by the curse, though he was the one who bore the brunt of it. Too often, he’d come close to forgetting that.

The rose floated just above a small, elevated platform. Five petals had fallen so far, lifeless and dead. More would join them soon enough. The pink glow illuminated the mouse’s unusual blue eyes, which were already lit up in idiotic wonder and curiosity.

With a surprising amount of strength for a mouse so slim, the prisoner carefully lifted the bell jar and set it aside.

The sheer stupidity of that action stunned the Beast.

Then the mouse reached out, fingers outstretched, just a few inches away from-

THAT FOOL WAS GOING TO DAMN THEM ALL!

All-consuming fear and fury seized hold of the Beast’s mind, his vision filled with red haze as he sprung out from behind the ivy thicket.

Protect the rose. Protect the rose at any cost.

The Beast snarled, ignoring his prisoner’s startled gasp. The mouse tripped over his own feet as the Beast snatched up the bell jar and slammed it over the rose.

For a moment, he feared he was too rough with the precious items. Though no petals fell, he wouldn’t allow himself any relief.

Not until the intruder was dealt with.

He gripped the bell jar tightly, slowly turning to face the mouse who thought he could just barge into the West Wing without any consequences whatsoever.

“What are you doing here?” the Beast growled, blocking the rose from the mouse’s view.

The mouse held his hands in front of his face. “I…I’m sorry!” he stammered.

Did he truly believe a simple placation would work? That he broke the one rule, a rather generous rule, just to satisfy his own curiosity?

“I warned you NEVER to come here!” he snarled, caring nothing for the apology.

The mouse stumbled over the corner of a ceramic vase which had oddly survived the carnage the Beast had wrought over the years. His eyes were wide, his ears limp. He squeaked something in protest, pitifully trying to justify his poor reasoning.

“DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU COULD’VE DONE?”

A roar tore out of his throat. He was dimly aware of a terrified scream, his large paws smashing a vase into jagged shards, and all he knew was the pleasure of unleashing his wrath upon anything that couldn’t fight back.

He only saw red.

“GET OUT!”

A pile of broken wood flew past the mouse’s head. He let out a ragged cry and fled the West Wing. His piercing scream echoed in the Beast’s ears, banishing the red, vengeful haze that overtook his mind.

Broken furniture surrounded him.

Downstairs, the servants pleaded in vain for the mouse to stay. A cold wind blew through the castle, icy enough to pierce through his defenses.

The Beast turned to the rose, just in time for the sixth petal to fall.

It had a wicked sense of humor.

The enchanted mirror reflected cruel, sharp fangs as he panted for breath. The portrait’s gaze bore into him, dead-eyed and mocking and judgmental.

And the twisted black horns which adorned his head were heavier than before.

AN: I’m sorry mice, I love you, I swear…

No I did not start the BatB AU as an excuse to torture Brain as much as I already do. It’s kinda sad that many character traits of Disney’s Beast and Brain overlap. Short temper, arrogant, a goal they want very very badly but their own vices prevent them from ever obtaining it, brooding, someone they love so much they’ll do anything for, even give up their own desires, but they don’t believe they can be loved back…yeah.

I tried to do the West Wing justice cause it’s such a great scene in the movie, but I don’t think it translates well to a text based medium. Oh well, you can just listen to the soundtrack, but I think I did well enough with it.

#pinky and the brain #beauty and the beast au #patb fanfiction #patb if i can't love him

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lambourngb · 4 years

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Nailing that Dynamic- Recs - Day 1

Day 1 for Creator’s Week, and I gotta say, this is my favorite fan event, mainly because it was the first one I participated last year. This little rec set is devoted to dynamics, divided into friendship, found family, and finally romantic (and yes, that’s Malex with me.)

We’ve had two seasons of this show, and while I can’t really relate to aliens or even the immigrant story, I do relate strongly to the stories behind friendship. I can say my appetite for fic with a good friendship dynamic will always be there.

Will You Be My Friend- Circle Yes or No (recs)

Finding You by @myrmidryad (122,000) - If by chance the canon from high school bums you out, this is the story to read. Gin writing malex is always a ‘no-brainer I’m gonna read it story’ for me, but what really set this epic apart was how beautifully Gin writes the friendship dynamics between Michael & Liz, and Michael & Max. It’s a canon-divergent story with no-murder of Rosa or the shed scene, where in order to avoid enlistment, Alex disappears from Roswell and joins the Max & Liz road trip with Michael in tow. They just need to fill that gap between high school and the opening of the dorms at UNM so they can start a life together. And fill it they do with this road trip. There were moments where I sobbed with how badly Michael needed this in canon and didn’t get it. It also made me like Max, so, yeah. Great writing and characterizations here.

Hit the Road by @bestillmyslashyheart - (7,100) - One of the brightest spots for me in season two was Rosa Ortecho, and one of the most frustrating parts of season two was the fact we didn’t get any interaction between her and Alex. *screams* At least I had a few crumbs of Rosa & Maria (not nearly enough!) but still. Where there’s a glaring gap in canon, thank god there’s fanfic. Marlo treats us to a delightful story written post season 1, but had some surprisingly psychic lines about Malex, number one how they don’t think they are good for one another. I really enjoyed what this story says about leaving- and honestly, the town of Roswell has so much pain tied to these characters, they should all take long road trips away from it.

a few drinks and some conversation by @christchex / @michaels-blackhat (5,600 ) - this one is set post-season 2, with all the complications of Michael deciding now wasn’t the right time for him and Alex, while also working on giving Maria the right space after their breakup. I think it’s pretty clear that Michael needs a friend he’s not related to and someone he hasn’t slept with - to provide him so low-stakes genuine company outside of the alien bullshit and love triangle dynamics. Christi does this beautifully through the eyes of an OC and the number of times I’ve read this story is like 10, and also, it’s inspired my current story about Michael going on dates.

and headin’ out singing our song by @stars-and-sunshine (4,100) post season 2, Alex and Michael head off on a road trip (okay, this is a trope I apparently like since I’ve recced three stories now, hahaha) after Alex’s car breaks down. There’s a careful space in this story, of two men building a friendship again. The roadtrip details are beautiful, but what stayed with me is a scene in the museum. That summer of 2008 had some ghosts to address.

If I Follow You Home, Will You Keep Me? found-family dynamics

When You’re Gone by @bestillmyslashyheart (8,200) - Before I tell you why I love this story, I want everyone to follow the next link and read this story about email and messages and grief in the digital age [trigger for cancer death] chat history by Rebecca Armendariz. (She also wrote a follow up called Timelines published by the Hairpin that talks about the memory function on facebook.) So back to the story, this is Rosa, opening her email 10 years after her death and reading the messages people sent her, thinking they were speaking into the void. Liz, Maria, Alex, Mimi and Arturo, all of them sending her notes, sometimes time passes without an email, then an event triggers that memory of Rosa not being there- and yeah, I found this whole thing to be so moving.

Never Ever Getting Rid of Me by @spaceskam - (4,400) this probably could have gone in the friendship side, but I feel like when you work in a high stakes place like a hospital, friends is a term that ends up being too light, and with the level of competition and stress it grows a bond like family... anyway, this is an AU where Michael and Kyle end up at the same hospital as competing interns but some elements of canon are still there.

still fixing all the cracks by @emma-arthur - (3,400) this is a pre-canon story, set when Alex is 14. He’s still a soft child, being tortured by his dad, and soaking up the attention from Liz, Rosa and Arturo when he breaks a glass and spirals. Heavy discussion of child abuse and homophobic abuse, but a really good exploration of the canon-neglected Liz & Alex friendship, plus with that paternal Arturo Ortecho in the mix...

Ophiuchus by @planetsam - (11,600) the other bright side of season 2 was the reveal of Walt Sanders as being not only Michael’s boss, but someone who knew his mother, knew what he was, and silently looked out for him...now of course I wish he had been more overt in doing this, but fanfic once again has fixed this canon-oversight. This is an incredible look through Walt’s eyes as he gets in over his head adopting an alien child, especially one who already had issues from previous foster placements. I could read a million words in this verse.

The Michael Sanders AU by @prouvaireafterdark (17,000 ) And speaking of great AUs where Michael is raised by Walt, I would be really amiss in not mentioning this one. It’s got hot high school Malex moments, emotional/hurt comfort for both Michael’s past foster placements but also the shit Alex is living with at home. I have to say “Honey if You Stay” is my favorite, just because of how badly I wanted to hug teen Alex...

and finally, no found family rec list could be complete without mentioning the epic series To Raise a Child (117,000 in progress) by @haloud and @maeglinthebold - season 2 put some hits on my headspace and emotional reserves, not to mention 2020 nonsense, so I’m dreadfully behind in commenting on this story. It’s just a huge emotional bandaid for me right now- it takes the idea of “what if the adults in Roswell actually looked out for their children (and other peoples children) and protected them from shit” and what would that change. Michael was found at 7 and then runs away to Roswell at 10, so yeah, humans have already done their best to convince him the world sucks and only finding his siblings matters... Jim Valenti steps in, knowing what he is, and finds him a place in Roswell with Arturo Ortecho. Anyway, everyone gets a turn- Jim, Mimi, the kids, etc in the story, it’s well rounded and fleshed out. Obviously being a malex person my favorite parts are the kid-friendship/this-is-just-a-crush moments in second story, where if you hadn’t lost your heart to Michael Ortecho by then, well, you’re a goner after that story.

I Could Build Your Heart A Home (malex recs)

time will lie down and be still by @islndgurl777 (29,600) the Practical Magic AU - which I loved but I have never seen the movie it’s based on lol... anyway, this story almost belonged up with my found family dynamic recs, because the story opens with Isobel and Michael being 7 and 8 years old alien siblings and left with Mimi Deluca to raise with her daughter Maria, because with their father recently dead, their mother would soon follow as a species level soulmate bond. Michael vows never to fall in love. Then there’s a beautiful friendship between Maria, Liz, Isobel and Michael as they grow up together that I just wanted to roll around in forever... However this is a Malex rec, so once Alex enters the story in high school and things go down similarly with Jesse, Michael is heartbroken, his soulmate (he thinks) is gone, vanished into the Air Force, and he spends the next 10 years helping Maria, going to school with Liz, and keeping in touch with Isobel. Until 2018 when Isobel finds out her perfect man was like them, an alien, and bad, and they are forced to cover up his murder. Then Alex comes to town. But the soulmate storyline is the winner here and I just re-read it again.

here everyone knows (you’re the way to my heart) by @adamsparirsh (19,700) So this story tackles a dynamic that think will be the death-knell to the Alex/Forrest relationship- the weight of the alien secret and Alex’s responsibility gland and what that looks like to someone who wants to be in a relationship with him. The exclusion. But outside of that- there’s this part of Alex that isn’t willing to let anyone in that isn’t already there, and that’s Michael. I’m fucking weak for stories where these two assholes can’t connect with anyone but each other, and this one hits it. There’s also so many lovely friendship dynamics between everyone showing up for Alex- like Rosa, Isobel, Max, Maria. Obviously this is a Malex-is-endgame story, even though it starts Alex/Forrest.

it’s a long road back to you by @magsthemagical (17,000) This was an interesting, now AU take on what if Maria/Michael dated at the same time as Alex/Forrest, and honestly, I thought basted on the season two spoilers that was where we were heading. I was gobsmacked by 2x13. Anyway, here’s a story that discusses the tension that would happen if there had been simultaneous dating going on…the parts where Michael sees Alex being open with someone other than him were very raw and true to how I would think he would feel. For 10 years he wanted that and didn’t get it, and so of course the problem was probably him?? Anyway, I enjoyed this a lot, and again felt robbed that we are heading into a new triangle for season 3.

untouched by @prouvaireafterdark (5,200) - okay, you know when you have an alien soulmate idea in your head and you want it to appear on the page, and then it does and it’s everything you wanted? That’s what happened to me when ‘Untouched’ appeared. Obviously it’s AU, but my reptile brain just loves the idea that Michael and Alex can’t get off with anyone else, and then that frustration builds into a sexy explosion... there’s also some communcation happening with these clowns. But seriously for 5,000 words, A LOT HAPPENS here and I loved every word.

Would you come home by @caitlesshea (1000) How great would have it been if season 2 had ended with Michael and Alex found a baby in a stasis pod instead of Beardy Jones? Like seriously, this short little fic healed so many of my wounds from season 2 that I couldn’t help but include it here. I would take 50,000 more words in this sadly AU take.

Hoarding you by @foramomentonly (1200) okay, so the rain smell, like 2x04 was low key my favorite episode of RNM ever, especially with Alex throwing that flirty line “It’s smells like rain, that’s what you smell like under the grease and bourbon’ and this author takes that line, and fucking murders me with the idea that Alex can’t move on because of that smell. And Michael is now his, and finds out about it. This is my head canon, okay? No one can talk me out of it.

If you like any of these recs, please leave a comment on the story- a ‘this was awesome’ is enough to propell an author into the stratosphere with happiness, so don’t worry about coming up with a unique, never before shared insight- sometimes a keyboard smash and emogi makes all the difference!

#rnmcreate2020 #malex fic #malex fic recs #roswell new mexico #worship our great authors in this fandom #michael guerin #alex manes #fandom positivity #I love everyone in this bar #i love this fandom

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