he’s coughing as he pulls himself up out of the water, lungs burning in his chest as he flops onto his back. a low chuckle slips out from between his lips, a glance at the waterproof watch on his wrist confirming his suspicions. “ six minutes. ” he murmurs, letting his head fall back against the dock. “ cool. new record. ” behind him, the flames lick the surface of the water — a side-effect of a phoenix’s resurrection. given the hour, he’d expected to be alone … but a clearing of the throat in the distance draws his attention. panic surges through him, struggling into a sitting position as he stumbles over his words. “ i — can explain this. ” no, he definitely can’t.
he’s seen his fair share of drownings: something easy about slipping in and failing to your own I D I O C Y though he suspected there was more to this —- something CULPABLE and evident but that didn’t need words; he wasn’t about to go pointing out the obvious though there did seem to be more to it than general intent ( something that managed to peak his attention enough to have him yanking out an earphone...fleetwood mac could wait ). “ lets see —- ” he makes an effort to have his features appear contemplative, a tide washing in the words he’s about to say. “ you have one of two excuses: ONE...you are some deep sea diver and TWO, you slipped. ” he lets out a chuckle, something sustained in attempts to make this situation a little lighter. “ either way, it’s fucked. dude...YOU GOOD? ”
Wanting to enjoy a drink in a new city, Lucien stumbled upon a little bar off the beaten path that had a rather intimate feeling. The 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 from the few patrons around the bar came to be a great source of comfort to the vampire as he needed to be alone with his thoughts. Though it was soon robbed from him when he heard the voice of someone around him. His curiosity 𝙋𝙄𝙌𝙐𝙀𝘿 as he felt it was by far extremely difficult to actually approach him by surprise. With the rim of his glass grazing his lips for only a second, he soon placed it down as he leaned against the bar top to listen to the words of the stranger. It was an interesting line that he thought had definitely died out centuries ago and it prompted Lucien to smile softly before chuckling. “Music can be quite an intimate thing to be shared between individuals and some people do not respect that,” he started turning completely to face the man, “—If you 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 know, I am a fan of the classical genre. 𝙂𝙔𝙈𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙀𝘿𝙄𝙀𝙎 𝙉𝙊. 𝙊𝙉𝙀 is at the top of my list.” His eyes gave him a quick once over before trying to study him completely to get a read off of him. “What about you, uh…?” The vampire dragged out the last syllable as a means to get the man to hopefully provide his name as a means for him to know who he is talking to.
he’s not usually one for bars, more so getting drunk in parks that remind him of the C O N T E N T feeling he’d had while at Princeton, which has everything to do with the distance there was between him and his hometown —- he misses it now, aware of the irony and yet he’s also relieved at the distance ( forced because he’s not sure some dead kid showing up was gonna do any good for anyone he knew ). so he gets on with it: presses the piano keys of life and hopes something good comes from this one. “ classical, seems fitting for those slow-motion dramatical moments. can’t blame you... ” not what he’d pick, not at all but one person's likes were always going to be another’s dislikes and the world was BOUND to be boring if everyone endlessly became the same ( he also hated the idea of a million closes of him wondering around and doing hideous acts with his face but he’d always been strange with his anxiety ). “ spencer —- I’m more of a happy soul music kinda guy. ” he’s aware the southern rasp seems to tint the tone of his voice, not exactly trying to push it down because it never did much good when he tried.
“ what makes you think it’s stupid?” sure, maybe it WAS. there was a lot of stupid things in the world, lane knew. he was positive as such when he learned that bracelets shaped like animals had once been popular. to which he didn’t understand because bracelet’s by needing means to work needed to be ROUND but— nope, he wasn’t having that brain bleed again. ( brain bleed: his own coined term for when the world’s worldness was too much for him to comprehend and he realized the tv shows had NOT been exaggerating ). but back to his original point — often people thought their own ideas stupid because the world was a jerk to them and gave them that point of view. other times it was to lower expectations beforehand. other time it WAS stupid, but lane tried to dwell on those ones. “ i could see that.” he found himself agreeing. “music is the music of the soul. no, that doesn’t sound right, i am for sure getting that expression wrong.” he mused, and without missing a beat gave his answer. “here comes the sun— the beatles.” he probably didn’t need to add the artist, it was a bit too popular to guess as something else. it was properly ironic considering everything, but lane kind of liked that about it. ( though he was the only one who understood the irony, angels weren’t interested and his charges nor his human friends knew not of his life story. not something you really shared, right? ) here comes the sun, doo-dun-doo-doo the doo-dun-doo-doo was his favorite part.
“ because it shouldn’t be important, ” that was the pure and unadulterated T R U T H of the matter because yes he was young but he’d at least learned one thing prior to dashing off into the sunset of the afterlife to Alphaville’s forever young, and that was that life really could be snapped away in an instant; even now, people die so quickly and they seem to forget that nothing is TRULY permanent ( like him they’re all markers on a whiteboard waiting to be rubbed off ). “ music is a medicine; some of us need therapy and some of us survive by listening to seven hours of soul healing music just to wake up the next day and do it again —- or maybe I’m just a psychopath. ” he forgets himself sometimes, the way the tone of his voice echos his southern roots ( makes him think of his mom even if she hardly deserves to be thought of at all ). “ Fleetwood Mac for me, can’t beat their stuff. ”
on a scale of ‘ why are you walking five goats ’ to ‘ hey, did you know there’s blood on your shoes ’ — this conversation falls somewhere in the middle for weirdest opening lines. not like, super weird, but not exactly normal either. which is fine because when you think about it there’s not much that is normal about his life these days. “ you’re going to hate me. ” it’s warranted hate too, he knows that. only a psychopath keeps all of their music in one playlist and never branches out or starts a new one. it has, like, 7,000 songs on it. it’s chaotic. “ i’ve been rocking the same playlist for like — six years, dude. the first song’s probably … bieber, or something. ” in his defense, he’ll stand by somebody to love. that song rocks. “ — but like, if i was going to make a new one now … it’d probably be cold. by french montana. ”
brash expectations seemed to idly litter his path, whether right or wrong he could only find the A S S U M P T I O N S of others more telling than anything —- people were either open books or the books shoved in some restricted section, never to be touched or read ( he got the appeal of both, though even if by accident he was the former ). “ I’m kinda bad at hating people, ” he gives a small smile, it’s not pre-emptive of anything besides a warmth he tended to offer most people he came across though he does HOPE it’s more reassuring this time. that it settles the harsh wind of anxiety and makes it clear he’s not about to go shouting horror at the questionable music tastes of one individual. “ chaotic consistency —- can’t judge you for that; it’s almost consistent to the amount that Bieber can say baby in one song. ” he laughs at that, more so at himself ( because he was DEFINITELY the type to laugh at his own terrible jokes, god forbid anyone asks him why he’s laughing ). “ ain’t no mountain high enough, for me... I have the taste of some old dude but I like dancing to it. ” he stops himself from ending that sentence; the chaos of admitting that if he could die ( again ) it’d be because he’d gotten so lost to his music, that he’d be oblivious to danger. “ nothing better than getting lost, right? ”
“ I used to have this...stupid theory, ” he finds it amusing because he’s not E N T I R E L Y sure that it doesn’t still apply: or at least, that it doesn’t still hold some truth; he had enough belief in his own ideas for that ( granted not in a narcissistic way...he wasn’t up his own ass ). “ that you could tell everything about a person, by listening to a playlist they play on repeat; it applies to me. ” he’s happy to be honest about that much. there wasn’t a narrative where his music options were anything other than EMBARRASSING but he liked the popular happy stuff and maybe he had his reasons for that ( when life is miserable, play a happy song and pretend it isn’t ). “ so, top of your list —- what song is there? ”
“everyone kept warning me it was raining like it was a BAD thing but this— this is nice.” the rain— it was something he liked, lane knew it. the feeling of it on his skin, even the smell of it, the way the puddles lines up and the way it fluttered upon everything. he liked the rain.
“ and yet, I’m still content in my nice WARM doorframe. ” he was under the firm belief that there were a couple of occasions to T R U L Y appreciate the rain and even if it was supposedly summer, he wasn’t about to break his own personal rules BUT kudos to the guy for throwing caution to the wind; he was sure somewhere someone would be playing I’m Still Standing on a loop as he battled on but wham bam no thank you ma’am —- catch him OVERLY enjoying his nice warm coat. “ it’s nice for everything but the sense of touch; i’d easily live with the smell of rain for days...well, as long as there weren’t any wet dogs around. ” he offered a small chuckle, warm enough in his apperance although he wasn’t trying to be anything but ( he also wasn’t sure he could appear mean but everyone had their flaws ). “ no one likes the smell of wet dog in the morning. ”
( deaken bluman, 21, he/him ) welcome to san francisco, SPENCER LOUGHTY. rumor has it they are a REAPER, but only they could tell you the truth! when i close my eyes, i think of them and imagine DANCING IN EMPTY STREETS, SCUFFED DOC MARTENS & THE SMELL OF CIGARETTE SMOKE.
guess who’s back, back at it again !! yes, here’s another trashy character that I’ll love and adore. merely hoping he’s appreciated by others but also be warned he’s a mess ( no one is surprised, I’m sure ).
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN:
So we’d all love a nice wholesome story: mom meets mom, dad etc. they have Spencer and all is good in the world ( insert Mr Blue Sky playing to some soft sunny montage ). except it was more like, mom walks into a bar meets a guy ( Sam Winchester ) in one nightstand, she ends up pregnant and nine months later there’s Spencer.
Mr. Blue Sky still plays, 2010 in a small town in the south. mother and son happy or at least appear to be; his mother is overworked and probably didn’t need a screaming baby to come home to or to have to pay the neighbors to watch him while she was gone and the irony is she loves him and he loves her...
Then he’s 15, he waits for his mom to come home and she doesn’t; he’s unsurprised, as all by myself plays in the background he recalls every argument they’d had and his mother merely just wanted peace.
She moves in with her boyfriend, some questionable dude that looks like he listens to folk songs and prays too often ( at least it’s nice to see people having a little faith -- insert Faith by George Michael ). And Spencer moves in with the neighbors, not a real family, and hardly equipped to take care of him but they try and they try well.
Spencer is smart, tests well, and weirdly get away with not looking like some nerdy teen who watches Star Trek on repeat. he dates whoever, sometimes finds that he forgets gender exists and seems to love people too much ( or at least care too much ).
By the time he graduates high school, he exceeds expectations. heads off to Princeton in some effort to free himself of ties to his hometown though he calls the family that helped him out every day and asks how his mom is ( regardless of how little she seemed to care ) and all goes well.
Three years in and he’s happy or as happy as he can be, in a relationship with a couple of people, he’d say college was for experimenting but he just enjoyed the love and being able to give it out. and then it all goes to shit...
His bag gets caught on something and he tugs at it, probably too invested in saving the bag he has from complete ruin, that the road behind him isn’t a concern. he pulls and it’s free but he’s falling and he breaks his left leg weirdly the agony of that seemed easier than what was coming; before he knows it he’s hit by a car. they don’t stop and he doesn’t die straight away; his lungs fill with blood until he suffocates to death.
But at least he’s off to heaven right and as Forever Young plays, he finds out just how wrong he is. shout out to the literal being Death saying not today bitch and there he becomes a reaper. finds himself in SF and the rest is history.
In the early days, he’d go visit back home and watch his mom or the family that took care of him but it got too painful after a while...so did watching his own funeral.
PERSONALITY:
Let's see he’s soft and quirky, he is nerdier than he appears and he has a tendency to want to sit in the same space for hours and talk or run around the streets singing and dancing to terrible music that he only got into because his mom left it behind when she yeeted. he’s a loving person, an honest one, and empathetic to a degree. once he’s known a person for anywhere from a day to a week, he’s happy to be affectionate aka. divebomb hugs and all that jazz. He also tries to be funny and isn’t so that’s all fun and games.
origamiaround
dededos
stormborns
dailybridgerton
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
titsay
