#{this boi is a little shit and u only have yourself to blame james}

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[weasleypogues]

jealousy is a two way street

request: Hi could I request a young Sirius black imagine where reader and Sirius have a argument blow up infront of the rest of the marauders in the dorm with lots of shouting because they are both to stubborn to admit either of them are wrong. Lots of snide remarks and sarcastic comments (also reader and Sirius are already dating) I love your writing 

thanks so much!! hope u enjoy xxx

finally trying to get back into the groove of writing!! requests are open <3 

masterlist.

“Fuck, Marry, Kill: (Y/N), Emma Cooper, and Allison Wood.” James called off names as the Marauders, Lily, and you sat in a circle in the common room. It was approximately 2:45 AM and after a stop at HoneyDukes, needless to say no one was falling asleep till later or at all for that matter.

“Kill Emma, Fuck Allison and Marry (Y/N) for sure.” Sirius answered without even hesitating. You slightly clenched your jaw and looked at the ground.

“Course.” You muttered under your breath and looked in the opposite direction of Sirius immediately. You mentally cursed James for even bringing up Allison and cured Sirius even more for choosing her. In the past you two had arguments because of Allison whether it be that she was getting too touchy with Sirius and he wasn’t stopping it or constantly talking about her when you two were alone. But why couldn’t he just choose Emma? Was he completely oblivious to the months of constant arguing?

Sirius Black knew how to get under your skin. As much as you loved him as your boyfriend, he could be a dick from time to time and found it hot when you would get frustrated after he would push your buttons. But this time he’d gone a little too far.

“What was that?” Sirius inquired, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“I said ‘Of course”. Of course you would pick Allison instead of the sweet Emma. I knew this game would make me jealous but your dumb fucking answers are making me infuriated.” You replied, feeling like your whole body was on fire.

“Babe, we’ve been over this. She means nothing to me, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with you than be with Allison.”

“First of all, don’t babe me. Second of all, we endured months and months of conflicts because of her. She hates me! I hate her! It’s a two way street and you seem to stick yourself in the middle of it instead of choosing a side. You know how jealous I got when she would put her hand on your leg or on your arm. Run her hand through your hair. Or on date nights when instead of a nice and loving conversation it’s ‘Guess what Alli did today?’ or ‘Alli is actually too funny’.” You said, not taking a breath until the end. All of this anger and emotions that have been bubbling up inside of you were finally released and you didn’t feel any remorse at all.

He opened his mouth to say something but chuckled darkly and shook his head. “I’m not even going to say it.”

“No, say it. Please do. I’m sure we would all love to hear what you have to say.” You spat back, crossing your arms. 

“For months on fucking months during our fights you know who you would constantly go to? James. My best fucking mate. My fucking brother. At points, I felt like you liked him better than you liked me. It made me feel like shit to see you two always having a good fucking laugh. You could have came to me! Yes, there was tension between us but never on earth would I turn you away. We could’ve figured this out a lot quicker and calmer if I didn’t believe you were out shagging my best friend.” Sirius admitted, his face beet red and hair wild. Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words. What you were feeling was exactly what he was feeling?

“Sirius I had no-” You started but were soon cut off.

“No idea, yeah I know. If you haven’t noticed I’m an expert at keeping my feelings hidden.” He grumbled. “You know what. I’m done. I gotta go.” And with that he stood up and left the room, walking up the stairs to the dormitory. You immediately stood up and was about to take your first step until a hand held you back.

“Give him some time to cool down. If you speak to him any more he’s only going to get more heated and it won’t help anyone.” Remus spoke softly and gave you a sympathetic smile. 

“Fuck that, I’m going to talk to him.” James bursted out and shoved himself off of the ground and walked up the same stairs Sirius had moments ago.

“I really fucked up this time. If I had just kept my mouth shut.” You mumbled and ran your hand over your face and let that run through your hair. 

“You didn’t fuck up. You were angry and there were still some unspoken feelings between you two. This will get resolved. Sirius is so whipped for you that he wouldn’t do anything to lose you. Trust me.” Lily state simply and gave you a reassuring smile. You let out a shaky breath and nodded before getting up and walking to your dorms. 

“I’ll just let us both sleep on it.” You responded, though you were not completely sure of that.

“Give him a couple of minutes for he and James to sort this out between them. But you don’t want to go to bed angry, that’s not going to work.” Lily said, looking extremely sympathetic. You groaned loudly and let your head roll to the back of the couch.

“Why must you always be right, Lily?” She laughed in response.

“It’s just in my DNA.”

You waited downstairs for another half hour, fiddling with your thumbs and going through mini arguments in your head on what to say to him to clear this up. You heard the creak of the boys dormitory door open and looked up immediately to only see James walking out with his hands in his pockets, looking quite sheepish.

“I told him I’d send you up there.” James stated, taking a seat on the couch next to you. 

“How’d it go with you?” You asked, worry written all over your face.

“Not that badly. He just needs a pair of ears. He may be dramatic but he isn’t the type to want to start yelling at you.” You nodded and with that, lifted from the couch and made your way up the stairs. You chose not to knock but just walk right in to see Sirius sitting on his bed and looking out the window that was next to it. He had his hands folded in his lap and was quiet.

“Sirius...” You said, hoping not to spook him, but in reality you just wanted to soflty grab his attention. Sirius moved his head slightly but still didn’t look directly at you.

“I’m sorry about, you know, everything. I never put myself in your shoes to take in what you must have been feeling when all of that was going down. It’s just that James knows you the best so I thought that he could give me guidance on how to make things right but I never realized how it must’ve looked to you. I really do apologize for that.” You said, still feet away from him, standing with your fingers interlocked with themselves. Sirius finally looked in your direction and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, (Y/N/N). But really I should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have blown up on you down there. I just got jealous and didn’t want to admit I was wrong considering you going to James for advice is way different than Allison heavily flirting with me all the time. It’s hard for me to take blame where it’s deserved and I let my pride get the best of me. But I want to assure you that you’re the only girl I ever want to be with. Allison is Allison and that’s it. You mean the world to me and absolutely no one could ever get in the way of that. Not even my pride.” Sirius responded, worry etched in his furrowed eyebrows and glossy eyes as he slowly made his way towards you and grabbed your interlocked hands. 

You subtly smiled, realizing if you showed anymore emotion that the overwhelming amount of emotions you were feeling right now might make you start crying. You instinctively let your body nuzzle right into his chest and you wrapped your arms around his torso, taking in his warmth and scent. He didn’t hesistate to wrap his arms around you and kiss the top of your head a couple of times. 

Pulling your head away but keeping your arms around his body, you looked up at him and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sirius responded with, not hesitating whatsoever. You leaned in for a long kiss and were in each others arms for a few moments longer.

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

[b4civility]

Chapter 5: James

  I know that not a lot of people that were also taking Visual Arts were going to be there, but I wasn’t too desperate about it either. Some to who I’ve talked to during the first week were nice but most of them were those edgy, cold, Clock Orange and Tarantino worshippers that just had their heads too far up their own butts to have a real conversation with. I think Betty was the only freshman that didn’t annoyed me at some level this past few days.Hope I get a chance to talk to her better. Is she thinking the same? Did she have a nice first week? Did she think of me at any point this past week? ‘Cause I had. I saw her twice on campus from afar, but she was always in a heated discussion with a group of people. This Political majors won’t miss a discussion, apparently. I hope she can take a joke, too. I think I remember her smiling at me the last time I was around, that gives me hope. 

  I skate there, only me with a bottle of champagne that I had smuggled from my mother’s hidden bar on the attic. Didn’t blame the people for staring, I was a Kid Cuts His Face While Riding a Skateboard With A Glass Bottle In Hand accident waiting to happen. I toss my board on the grass and get in, make myself home. I have been here for the same reason more times than it’s legal, but never felt uncomfortable enough to never come back again. It always started with some dubious glances and “who’s brother is this” muffled comments, and when we were all ready to call it a night lots of hugs and cheek kisses and “hope I see you next time, man!” were delivered at me as goodbye. Thus, I always came back. 

 “Sup Jaaames” Zoe greeted me. “ Nice! we were almost running out of this one, saved the party bro” she was pouring the champagne on her cup letting it leak a bit. She wasn’t sober. 

“Yeah, I see you enjoyed some of if”

“ You don’t miss a thing, do you?” she took a sip. “ I was going to say this party is going to be good for you to mingle, but you already know most of our friends. I didn’t invite many people from your class but I hope you get to know them better, it’s good to be friends with people you study with, don’t underestimate that” She handled her tipsiness with grace, I bet she could give me a well-thought speech out of the tip of her tongue if I keep winding her up. 

“ I talked to some, but they weren’t exactly my type of people, but I guess if I’m nice to them, they’ll be nice to me” 

“Probably. But I suppose they were no Betty, am I right?” she said, stretching her name.Had I say something? 

“ What do you mean?” 

“ Rumors fly,boy. A little bird told me that you and her had a pretty agressive locked-eyes-situation last time you were here”. Inez couldn’t keep her words neither her imagination to herself, which was worse. 

“ Yeah, I guess,but whatever…”

“Speechless,all of the sudden? hehehe”  she leaned her arm on my shoulder,trying to catch her breath to talk  “well, it’s not like it’s a surprise for anyone here. In any case, you know were the porch izzzzz” 

  I sat her down on the kitchen top, handled her a glass of water and told her I would say hello to some people. As I walked around, I saw some boys that would be in my grade if I was still in high school, Trevor and Nate. Fucking idiots. They were always the ones to start a fight on a party or to make out with girls that were just too drunk to persist to refuse. I didn’t engage in the first one, but had already started some myself for the second reason. But, right now, in front of all this people they were new to, they seemed like two nice puppies. I nodded at them and went to the backyard. Needless to say, I wanted to get to Betty as fast as I could so I just waved to a lot of people, grabbed a beer and looked around trying to appear as casual as possible. And there she was, talking to a friend. She was much more relaxed than when we had met and her eyes gleamed a bit when she smiled. I feel like I could come up to her and just ask “what’s up?” and we would spend the entire evening talking, as if we had done it a million times before. The scenario in my head didn’t worry me anymore, I wasn’t revising all my pick up lines trying to decide which one would work with her, I wasn’t forming a backup plan if she told me off. I just wanted to switch places with the girl in front of her. If only I had arrived earlier, if only that girl was talking to some other friend, if only I… was touching her tight. That girl was touching Betty’s tight. How close could you get over introduction week? Well. I guess I wouldn’t be the one to know. 

  I noticed that I had my eyes glued on the two for way too long so I went back inside. I wouldn’t say that I was crushed, but definitely disappointed.What was up with me? I misled my own self; it’s not like we had have any significant communication before, and it’s not like I was short on options of who to end the night up with. I wasn’t the one to fall like this;I had never been in love before.I sat on the couch for a bit drinking my beer until I heard from behind the other couch, that was in front of me: 

  “ You good, James? Another girl dumped you again? Uni girls don’t need your help when I’m around, do they? “Trevor said, giving Nate a high five for the extremely mature - almost academic, I would say-  line that intended to get on my nerves. His goal was to either get me to fight him or to kiss him. But I guess I was still too sober for his taste. I always nod it off, never engaged the other twenty times he has ever tried to get me out of my cool. 

But I could use the distraction.

 Deep breath, fake smile and ask: “Beer pong. Me and someone against you two. What do you say?” I ask him. If life gives you two brats, you make a beer pong match. 

  “ Never saw you so engaged in making a clown out of yourself, James. I’m in. What’s in for it?” 

  “ Shit, isn’t the whole point to just get drunk? That’s what’s in”

  “ I could be getting drunk with any hot bitch on this party, I’m not wasting that on you.Don’t be a pussy and bet something already” 

  “Whoever loses has to strip to the entire length of a song in front of everyone, in the kitchen counter.” Nate said.Trevor’s shadow could talk and knew the word ‘lenght’? Really underestimated that dude. 

  “Deal.”

  It’s not that I was a good beer pong player. Neither was feeling especially lucky that evening. But I did have Ashley going for me, she made an excellent partner when it came to this game. However, I managed to balance her out and we lost. 

  “Okay! This is finally the night that we’ll know what is the color of James’ panties!” Trevor high fived Nate again. 

  “ Dreamed about it much, Trevor?” I answered. 

  “ Doesn’t matter. It’s not me who’s getting naked. I’ll let you choose the music” 

  I hesitated a bit.

 “U can’t touch this”,I said. 

 He looked at me, a bit confused . “ Don’t get me wrong, James, I’ll definitely blast this but you’re digging your own grave” 

Trevor laughed.

  But a newbie is a newbie- since it was the first time they were ever in a college party, they weren’t aware that this was the song that played in every one of them and everyone had to dance to it. It was tradition. My brother, who was here before me, two years ago, warned me of it and taught me some smooth steps to this song. That’s when I discovered that I wasn’t too bad of a dancer and, long story short, everyone knew I could dance. So, when the song started and everyone got up and I stood on the counter, their heads bounced side to side, wondering what kind of code had been passed to everyone but them. And as I did the choreo, people started blasting my name, encouraging me. Damn, U can’t! touch! this! I was having a great time being the center of attention and the fact that I had to strip just hitted me by the middle of the song, so I started doing so. I took my shoes off, kicking them away on the beat of the song, and just as I had taken my shirt off- what led some girls to scream louder- the song ended. 

“LET’S GET THIS YEAR STARTEEEED!!!!!” I screamed at the end. The crowd shouted my words back at me. 

Yeah, I guess I’m starting big.

[swellwriting]

After the War

Fandom: Harry Potter Marauders Era

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST

Request: Could u do a after war imagines where you're the sister of Peter and they don't trust you but you're like guys I'm not my brother and you used to date Sirius? And you still love him and he feels the same?

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I wrote this last week while waiting at a walk in clinic for over an hour just for a prescription renewal, I shouldn’t complain though because some of you actually have to pay for birth control and shit and that’s much worse than waiting a lil. ANYWAYS ALL THE ANGST I’m posting this and going to get drunk instead of doing my assignments RIP

 After the war was a dark time, you spent a long time alone.

You always thought choosing your friends would include choosing Peter, they were his friends first after all and he was your brother. You always loved the good yet mischievous side they brought out in him but there was more to him. Behind his troublesome but quiet side he let people see there was fear, fear of the war that you knew would control him one day. You never thought like this though.

When you heard the news that your brother was dead, and that your boyfriend Sirius had killed him along with James and Lily you almost fainted.

Was this a cruel joke? This couldn’t be real. You were away on an order mission when you were told, you couldn’t even grieve or go visit Remus to see how he was holding up. You had to finish your mission, which you did just barely without getting yourself killed.

You didn’t know who to believe, the last time you saw your brother you knew he didn’t look well, he was fidgety and secretive but you assumed that was because he was holding the burden of war and was scared for his friends and himself.

The last time you saw Sirius was when you kissed him on his forehead as he slept, you left a goodbye note saying little details about your mission but that you would return soon. He smiled when you kissed him, a genuine smile you rarely saw at times like this. Sirius was the secret keeper protecting the location of James and Lily, a heavy burden as well, and one you knew he didn’t take lightly.

When you got back home Sirius was already sent to Azkaban, you missed your brother’s funeral as well as James and Lily’s. To make matters worse your only friend left, Remus, wouldn’t answer your calls. You felt alone, betrayed and lost.

You didn’t know how to make the story make sense, and the most sensible person you knew wouldn’t answer your calls so you went to his home and didn’t even knock before entering.

There were bottles laying around and destroyed furniture. You saw Remus laying on the couch asleep, he had bloody knuckles like he had taken out his anger on something, like he had done in the past but you hoped it wasn’t on himself. You felt a little peace when you noticed the marks on the wall, which was better than against his own skin.

You walked in and sat down beside him gently placing your hand on his shoulder waking him up.

“Remus, wake up its me, it’s Y/N” you whispered gently.

He awoke abruptly, probably the fear of him being next to die evident in his mind and when he saw you he felt no comfort.

“You!” He yelled standing up pointing his wand in your face.

“Me? What do you mean Remus? It’s Y/n I’m not here to hurt you!” You yelled back, hurt by the way he looked at you with such hatred.

“Are you here to finish his dirty work?” Hints of sadness entered his tone.

“Who’s dirty work? Remus I’m here because I wanted to see you, this is hard on me too!” The tears started collecting in your eyes, this was the first time you had gotten to speak about your loss, until now you just pushed it away.

“Hard on you? You lived with him! You loved him! You had to have known what he was planning! And your own brother!” He yelled angrily still holding his wand in your face, wrist shaking.

“Remus I don’t know what the truth is, I don’t know anything I feel just as lost as you do! All I know is that my brother is dead. My friends are dead and the man I loved is in prison for it, the only person I have left is you and your pushing me away!” You burst into tears dropping your wand on the floor, if Remus was to attack you, you really wouldn’t care at this point.

“How can I know that you weren’t involved!”

“You don’t! But how do we know that any of this is the truth , do you really believe Sirius was capable of this?” You asked

“Well it runs in his family doesn’t it.” He asked, not as angry as before.

“Don’t say that, you know he was nothing like them, he would have died for the order, for his friends! He wouldn’t do this to us.”

“Who are you suggesting is behind it? James and Lily? Or was it Peter who turned to the dark lord on us?” He asked angry at the idea of it

“I don’t know and that’s what scares me! Peter was acting weird the last time I saw him.” You said, upset at the idea of your own brother turning against you.

“That’s what war does to people! How can you even suggest he had a part in this, he’s dead!” Remus yelled.

“Don’t you think I know that! He was my brother! I loved him.”

“But not as much as you loved Sirius right?” He questioned.

“Stop trying to blame me for something I had nothing to do with!” You yelled

“How do I know that!” He yelled throwing his wand onto the couch in anger and sitting down placing his hands over his face.

“I don’t have a way to prove it to you Remus, you just have to trust me, that I believe in the order and that I would never defy my friends like that! Please Remus.”

“You mean trust you like James and Lily trusted Sirius? I’m sorry y/n but I can’t, please leave and don’t come back.” He said as a tear slipped down his face

“Remus don’t do this! Don’t push me away when I’m all you have left! We have been through so much, you need someone! You need me. What about the full moons what are you-“

“Maybe it’s best that I be by myself! I’m better off alone! We were friends because you loved my friend and were related to the other! That’s it! You are nothing to me. Now leave.”

“You don’t mean that, that’s grief talking I know that.”

“Leave!” He almost growled as he got up right in your face. You felt hot tears spill from your eyes as you ran, you ran and didn’t look back.

-

After you got questioned by the ministry and cleared you still ran, you left the order, you left Remus like he asked and you left what you believed in, because no one trusted you or believed you and running was the only option right now.

After a heated argument with Dumbledore he promised you there would be a place for you at Hogwarts when you were ready, he believed you were good, that you would be a good teacher and when he was headmaster, you could teach at Hogwarts. But for now that place was filled with memories too fresh and too haunting. So for now you hid away from the world until you were ready to face it again.

Remus had told you to never come back, and you planned to listen to him but when Dumbledore brought that offer back up, to teach at Hogwarts, just as an assistant Herbology professor you couldn’t resist. You were so excited to teach and go back to the place you had been happiest you didn’t think about who else could be there.

When you walked in on your first day, which was a few weeks into the school year since they originally didn’t think they would need an assistant Herbology Professor. When you made your way through the hallways with Dumbledore showing you to your quarters you didn’t plan on running into Remus and a student.

“Hello professor Lupin.” Dumbledore said, clearly unaware of your current status with the man.

“Y/n? What is she doing here!” Remus stayed calm but demanded an answer.

“Why she is our new assistant Herbology Professor! In fact, she will be taking over the class that I believe Potter here to be in.“ Dumbledore had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Your heart dropped at the last name and you frowned, Remus took note of that.

“Oh lovely she will be teaching Harry, that’s appropriate.”

You stared at the young boy in front of you, he was the perfect mixture of James and Lily you reached out to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Potter.” You said smiling

He smiled back but raised an eyebrow. “Harry I will catch up with you later, please get back to your friends.” Remus said as Harry walked away Remus turned back to you.

“Funny how you have made a return at the same time Sirius has broken out of Azkaban. A coincidence maybe?”

“Remus I haven’t seen him since before. Since before that night.” You said sadly. “I thought after all these years you would maybe be able to understand that I had nothing to do with it but I see nothing’s changed.”

“I still don’t trust you. I have no reason to. But I guess we are colleagues now so see you around the school.” He swiftly turned away and left.

“Don’t worry y/n, I feel everything will sort itself out soon enough.” Dumbledore said , and your only option was to trust that his judgment was right.

-

Harry was stood talking with Sirius after everything that had taken place in the shrieking shack.

“But you are innocent.” Harry stated, like it was so simple.

“And you know it, and for now that will do. I suppose you’re tired of hearing this but.”

“He looks just like his father.” You interrupted him.

Sirius heard the voice behind him and he froze, Harry saw the man pale and assumed he was scared, of you though? How could that be, Harry gave you a perplexed look and you just smiled back at him.

“Harry knows your innocent, important yes but aren’t there a few other people who deserve to know too?”

Sirius was shocked as he turned around.

“Y/n? I, uh “ He was lost for words, what could he say, he assumed you hated him all these years, for killing your brother and your friends and leaving you and Remus alone.

“No need to explain, Rem explained his theories to me when we saw my brother on the map. But I feel like I’ve known a lot longer than that, I knew you were innocent.”

Sirius closed the space between you, grabbing you in a tight embrace. You felt like a comfort far better than home or happiness you were your own feeling of everything he ever needed.

“I suppose your significant other wouldn’t want me, so desperately hugging you?” He asked and you swear you heard Harry chuckle, the only person he’d ever seen you with was Remus, and the two of your argued half the time.

“Why would you have an issue with that?” You asked a bright smile on your face, the gears in Harry’s head turned putting the pieces together.

It took a moment for Sirius to process, not only did you believe in him all these years, but you waited for him, you still loved him. “I suppose I wouldn’t.” He finally said picking you up of the ground, holding you so close felt so unreal, like he would never enjoy the warmth of your love and the scent of your perfume again.

When he put you down you noticed tears slipping out of his eyes and quickly wiped them away kissing his cheeks.

“I’m going to let you guys catch up.” Harry said walking away but you quickly stopped him.

“No, I didn’t mean to ruin your guys’ moment. Let’s all catch up, together.”

“I mean technically Y/n is your god mother.” Sirius said looking at you.

“Mhm, not technically until we are married, the ministry made that very clear. When they denied Remus guardianship, for his condition, they denied me too. I fought them over it for years, they eventually just started ignoring me.”

“I could have lived a life with you two instead of the dreaded Dursleys.” Harry said in awe of the idea. “That would have been so much better.”

“We are an okay team, James and Lily were always best though.” You said intertwining your fingers with Sirius’ as his other hand rested on Harry’s shoulder.

You all had suffered for so long, but finally you had them back. You had a piece of James and Lily in Harry, you had Sirius and you had Remus back, and you would kill or die before they got taken away again. 

[impclsivee-blog]

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ theo james + cismale + he/him — have you met nathaniel clios? they are a thirty-three year old known around town as the firecracker. they are not involved in the gang life, though they do work for the fbi as a special agent. they are a bisexual pisces, which means they are protective + determined, as well as impulsive + pessimistic. tight black t-shirts, bullet proof vests, itchy trigger finger.

     oh u better prepare for this little shit, this utter fuckboi with a gun, this disaster of a trash can, this tornado of fuckery

so *cracks knuckles* yah boi was raised by a drug addicted mother

she didn’t give a shit about nate, only her next high

his father was- well he went to the store four months before nate was born and just u know... it’s a long ass line to the register 

his mother would use him to get cash, send him into alleyways as a kid to cry and innocent people would show up to help then him mom would swoop out of the shadows with a knife and rob ‘em.

he’d go days without food, neglected by the one woman who should’ve loved him the most

she would eventually overdose when nathaniel turned twelve and a deep seated hatred would ramin in his gut against drug dealers

thankfully he had an aunt in valdez, a free spirited woman who was fond of dungarees and incense. he loved her the moment aunt jenny wrapped her arms around him the moment she saw him.

from then on he threw himself into education, he wanted to become a cop, to remove the streets of criminals so no family will be ruined like his was.

it became an obsession, to get straight a’s, to be at the top of his class at the academy.

now he’s in the fbi

but don’t be fooling yourself into thinking nathaniel follows the rules like a good cop

if he can fuck with evidence to throw you behind bars he will

if he can plant evidence on you- he will

if you get out of going to jail and nathaniel is the one to drive you back to your place- you won’t make it

he’ll do what he has to do to clean up the streets by any means necessary 

because he’s married to his job he barely has time for any emotional relationships. he barely remembers to function like a human being between jobs

though he’s snarky, sleeps around, and loves pushing buttons

and is he ever on time for meetings at work ?? fuck no, rocks on up half an hour late with starbucks and a hickey somewhere

connections ideas:

idk, my brain is dead

JUST GIMME EVERYTHING

(also got an idea cause he sleeps around he got someone pregnant a while back but she hid the kid for him and is gunna knock on his door soon like waddup- here’s ur kid - i blame his new movie- and how good him and kat graham look together good lord)

[libertarianbarbarian]

The Every-man Candidate

The Every-Man Candidate

  Facts:

-https://www.libertarianism.org/what-is-a-libertarian

           -for the core principles

-https://www.titlemax.com/discovery-center/money-finance/the-wealth-of-u-s-presidents/

 -https://www.usa.gov/branches-of-government

 -https://www.history.com/topics/us-presidents/george-washington

   OPED WARNING

   The every-man candidate. I know you guys are absolutely sick and tired of hearing me talk about this and that when it comes to “every-man” anything but hear me out now. There’s to it I promise you. Ok so everyone knows that we have Donald Trump in the presidency and he’s probably the closest we’ve had to an everyman the way I’d explain it in recent memory.

           Now what do I mean by every-man candidate you say? No, you fucking don’t, lets be honest you’re sitting there telling me to get to the damn point. Ok, we’ve had billionaires, we’ve had both parties…and some idiots back in the day that wanted to call their party the whigs. There was probably a deep meaningful reason but to me right now that’s like a new party coming out of nowhere calling themselves “the weave”. We had a black president…in MY own opinion he was one of the worst, not the worst if you read my last blog.

           But what I mean by an every-man candidate is something that is something completely different. We’re American for fucks sake. We work hard, we all know we’re American, but then we fight over who’s got the most Irish heritage, because we’re a nation of immigrants, or who’s more of a mut than the other. We started off the revolutionary war with getting aggravated at the country that brought our forefathers here like a bunch of teenagers by chucking their shit in to the ocean and flipping them the bird. We’re only eloquent when we absolutely have to be, but in day to day life we love to laugh about the absolutely most horrible shit because we all know life sucks and there’s nothing you can do about it. And we want to protect it.

           Time and time again, however, we’re told that we have to elect from a selected pool of people that keep running for congress to be president. Now we have a billionaire in office that speaks his mind. Lets be honest, he fucks up, but he doesn’t do it intentionally, he had no fucking clue what the hell he was doing when he ran. He was sick of the establishment. He was going about his normal day to day billionaire life collecting money from all his properties and watching people get screwed over by the government and said “Hey I think I want to change that.” And that’s the closest we can get?

           No, I’m sorry look a little bit further. Trump did open our eyes that we gotta do a little leg work and do our own research so why the hell not. Ummmm, George Washington? No. No fucking way.

           Ok, well lets go down the list. He wasn’t involved with the Boston Tea Party directly, but he was one of the founding fathers. I guess that could be a check, but not an every-man check. Turns out his family owned slaves…uh oh, ok bad start. That was before the revolutionary war, ok so not a good thing by todays standards…back then eh…still immoral to us so lets do a little digging on that one.

           I don’t think owning a slave is a good thing. Bar none. We’re not the only one’s to do it. The Chinese have done it, the middle easterners have done it, westerners have done it. Hell before England got to Africa they were enslaving the Irish, ask me how I know (hint I’m third generation Irish here). So lets talk about context. Was it like “Django Unchained”? Did his slaves get treated bad, oh yeah let me go across the street and talk to one of them. I can’t so I have to do the next best thing, historians. No I’m not going to have sex with one of them! From what I could gather, as best as I could not only did he treat them as amazingly as he could, George Washington worked in the fields with them.

           Yeah he had money to buy slaves…but it was kind of his fathers gig. That’s where most of the slaves came from. He felt bad about the whole thing as a matter of fact. Right before he died, before we even fought the civil war, before England caught off the slave trade George Washington had in his will that when his wife died all his slaves would be freed. Cool, so that isn’t so bad right? Doesn’t seem that bad to me to be honest, not the greatest, but not that bad.

           So ignoring the slave part, we know that George Washington could have sat there in the plantation house with his old man and sipped some southern sweet tea while watching the slaves. But instead he decided to go ahead and pick up a scythe and get at it just as hard as they did as long as they did from as many written down eyewitness reports as I found. George Washington busts his ass for work, that’s American as hell.

           How about empathy? So that’s one of the most underrated things about us Americans. Empathy gets us in to trouble ALL the fucking time, it’s the reason why we end up in foreign wars, and get manipulated by fucked up politicians, ahem Woodrow Wilson. What? I can’t let a dead dog lay. George Washington, though, only married once from what I could tell. Never had any kids, none at all…well none of his own.

           You see he married this one chick named Martha. Insert “Batman V. Superman” reference here. She was a widow, back in the day that made you an outcast. For christ sakes your husband could have died of cancer or measles and as a woman you were socially blamed for his death. All the bullshitery of the 1700’s behind, she had two kids from the man that had died when she was married to him. From what literally every historian says good ol’ Georgey boy here didn’t want any more kids cause he already had two. He viewed the two children Martha came as his own and became a diligent stepfather. You know the kind the crowd coos over on “Jerry Springer” for being a good dad when the other, ahem, “goes out for milk”.

           Ok, hard work, empathy. Both American as fuck. I would add standing up for what you believe in…but come on, do I really god damned have to? Revolutionary War ring any bells here people? How about this one. George Washington is famously known for not wanting to be President. Seriously, he didn’t want the job. To add on top of everything he was pretty much forced in to the role because of the moral fiber he was made of. You know, the good stuff. I’d say that’s kind of a check. So here we’re three checks so far that seem pretty American…and for the most part more every-man than pretty much every other president that we’ve had since him…and that’s 44 others.

           I probably could keep on going about the every-man candidate George Washington was, but I got something else for ya. We’ve come close to having every-man candidates since then. Out of all the presidents we’ve had we’ve actually had some that were just as broke as Washington, if not more. But mysteriously ended up getting more money after the presidency…kind of like Biden, ahem.

           Harry S. Truman, Calvin Coolidge, Woodrow Wilson…oh my hate boner is getting even harder now…Chester A Arthur, who in the fuck is that, and James A. Garfield. Those are pretty close to the brokest presidents we’ve had. If you look at them individually though their not all aligned with the every-man, American values that I, and probably you at this point, believe a president should have.

           So what do I think a president should be when it comes to an every man president? Well here, there’s going to be a part two on some of the things that I think would look great in practice as well on paper but I’ll give you a little taste.

           Someone who grew up in the ghetto, or a trailer park. Someone who sincerely had to work in a factory or manufacturing. Farming could do it to, but it’s not like you can’t relate to farmers on a hard days work, maybe not the same type of work but you still have to spend 12 hours or more busting your ass to feed yourself and/or your family. Someone who’s been homeless.

           Haha! I threw you off with that one huh? Well let me clarify that one. I know from experience myself. I’m a veteran for those of you who don’t know. I got out, I didn’t know what the world outside of the military was like when I did get out, so I had to adapt, and adapt quickly. It sucked and I couldn’t do it quick enough. I had a wife and one son at the time. I would like to have someone that knows what it’s like, in office, to sit in a shelter being regimented by a bunch of people that are social workers and that went to school that tell you they know exactly what your experiences are.

           No you don’t and you never will. My experiences are my own. So, Mr. Every-man president lets work together on getting together with the states on smoothing out the process of I don’t know…foodstamps, medicare, Medicaid, and all that other shit. Lets help men get help with getting in to shelters when they have to go to work and make child support too. How does that sound? Being homeless and being among the homeless, or in a trailer park/ ghetto kind of helps you understand that shit better a hell of a lot more than a degree ever will.

           Here’s one for you. I don’t want my every-man candidate to be squeaky clean either. I don’t want him to have a felony. Haha no I don’t want Mr. Murderer in the Whitehouse, only every-man. I want someone that knows what it’s like to be on the other side of the cops so he knows what it’s like to both fear and respect the cops. An absolute every-man. No manipulation, someone that says “I’m sick of this politician shit”, that’s been through hell and genuinely wants to fix shit because he loves this country just as much as you and I do.

[le-sejour]

Assumptions

Words: 1,530+

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, cheesy/bad flirting, kinda sexual thoughts lmao, my writing AHAHA

A/N: Just wanted to do a funny little TJeffs imagine bc I can’t seem to have enough of the imagines out there. So I decided to add my own prompt based one to the mix. :>

The prompts I used:

45 - Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

171 - “I’m sorry, what were you saying? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

And

208 -  “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.”

I hope you guys like it! c’:

Being a Hamilton was a lot of work.

More specifically, being the younger sister of a protective, overachieving Hamilton was a lot of work.

The words on your book seemed to swirl together into an incoherent mess, your eyes straining to make sense of the chaos. Groaning, you shut your notebook dejectedly and reclined in your seat.

None of this made sense to you, at all, but of course you have to keep trying.

It’s what Hamiltons do.

Or at least, you did. Your brother didn’t have to try, he probably would have been done learning this chapter weeks ago. You felt the familiar pull of anxiety pressuring you into becoming at par with your older brother but you desperately pushed it down before it could come up.

Leaning further back against your seat earned you a satisfying crack. How long have you been hunched over this dumb book anyway? Checking your phone, your eyes widened at your notifications and the time.

“Christ…” You muttered, miserably staring at the “8 missed calls” seeming to taunt you. It was nearing midnight and you’ve been chilling in the coffee shop by your campus for more than 12 hours now. Alex was going to be pissed.

Not that he even had a reason to, anyway. Your apartment was just down the road from where you were. But that doesn’t deter his innate need to become both your mother and father all at once; fussing over you before scolding you for being out so late. You sighed, stuffing your things into your bag leisurely.

Well, you were already in for a treat at this rate. Might as well take your time. You just hoped the boys were there with him to somehow soften the blow, knowing only they could reign in your brother when he gets like that.

Why oh why did you even insist on taking this elective this semester, anyway? You were already juggling a full courseload and a part time gig at a campus food truck, you didn’t need any more reason to go bald. And yet, here you were.

Absentmindedly, you tossed your half empty coffee cup into your bag before the realization dawned on you that you should not have done that.

“Shit!” You quickly fished out the now empty cup from your bag, letting out another long string of expletives as you yanked your things from the now slightly damp bag in panic.

“Do you mind?”

“Go suck a fat dick, asshole.” You replied almost instantly, wiping down your laptop with already soggy tissues before groaning. Letting out a whispered “duh”, you sprinted to the counter to grab some dry ones this time.

“What are you doing?” When you returned to your table, this mass of curls and rudeness was holding your precious baby in his hands as if he owned the damn thing. With your brain already in a tizzy with just seeing a stranger holding the lifeblood of your education, all that came out of your mouth was a “That’s not yours.”

“Your welcome, darlin’.” He teased with a smirk on his face as he handed you your now dry laptop. “I suggest using whatever lives inside the space between your ears next time. Would be a shame if this happened again and the guy you told to eat a dick didn’t help you out.”

That seemed to kickstart your brain into functioning again.

“Yeah well I didn’t ask you to come here and try to play hero, did I?” You glared at the man you now recognized as Thomas Jefferson, the bane of your brother’s existence. Or so he says, anyway. You’ve had two classes with the guy, and you can kinda see what your brother was talking about. “Why are you even here, Jefferson? Shouldn’t you be off kicking puppies and making babies cry or something?”

“Now whatever gave you the idea that I spent my leisure time doing something so… unsavory?” He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion for a split second before a smug look replaced it. It had happened so fast, you weren’t sure if it even happened. “Besides, the only babe I want to hear crying tonight would be you, doll.”

“I-“ You felt your cheeks heat up from his comment, naively not expecting the man to make any lewd comments at your expense. You decided to busy yourself with wiping your bag down instead of standing there, looking like a blushing fool. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Besides, shouldn’t you be more… I dunno, ‘I’m not talking to the peasants’ kind of guy?”

“You seem to be making quite the assumptions about me and yet, I haven’t even had the pleasure of getting your name.” He pointed out in a charming little drawl that had your stomach flipping pancakes.

Fuck.

Okay, hey, you weren’t going to lie. The man was attractive as fuck, from the head of curls to his dark, commandeering eyes, carefully trimmed facial hair, and that body. God. Let’s not forget that voice, though, a honeyed baritone that sent your stomach postively churning with desire, and good Lord his accent just amplifyed it all. (MY VOICE KINK IS SHOWING I’M SORRY) His attitude, however, could use a little (okay a LOT of) polishing.

But what’s the harm in indulging yourself a little bit? You know you could never fall for the man, his personality alone repels your heart from that very notion (aka he’s an asshole and you’d rather not get involved with all that). Enjoying the attention, however, doesn’t necessarily involve that certain part of you.

“[Name]” You praised yourself for not stuttering, wadding up the soiled tissues into a ball before once again loading your stuff into your now coffee stained bag. “And I suppose you’re right, I am boxing you into my assumptions. Can you blame me though? Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy on campus, and your actions don’t exactly redeem you, either.”

A meticulously groomed eyebrow rose at your words, a smirk still on his lips as he leaned against the table, “You’ve been watching me? Why Miss [Name], I must say, I didn’t expect that from you. Though I can’t say it’s entirely unwelcomed. You’re free to watch me as long as you’d like, darlin’.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Jefferson,” You rolled your eyes, slinging your coffee stained bag onto your shoulders now. “We have a couple of classes together. And really, that’s enough to see what everyone’s always going on about.”

“Oh?” Thomas looked like he was mildly interested to hear your thoughts of him. He’s never really noticed you during classes, as he opted to sit with his friend James Madison up front, but hearing you talk so candidly about who you think he is both amused him and intrigued him. If you had been anyone else, especially Alexander, he would have already put you in your place yesterday.

“You’re arrogant, abrasive, and you seem to think so little of everyone who isn’t you. You constantly intentionally get into fights with Alexander, you have this habit, or should I say hobby?, of using people like pawns on a chessboard, and-”

Now, there were a few things you need to know about Thomas. One of which is that he prides himself in always coming to classes, meetings, dates, and what have yous, in the perfect state of mind and on time. But as he stared at you going off about how he was practically one with the scum of the earth, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to focus on anything you were saying.

Instead, he noticed the way your lips moved as you formed the words that sullied his good name. He etched into memory the way your eyes blazed with passion as you continued your tirade on him, and the way your eyebrows furrowed when you-

“-ot listening anymore, are you?”

“I’m sorry, what were you saying? I keep getting lost in your eyes.” He silently applauded himself at the smooth recovery, throwing in a wink for good measure. He couldn’t seem to help it though, he’s never seen anyone talk shit about him while looking so beautiful. Not to mention, you hardly sounded like you had some personal vendetta against him. That meant you were about as much threat to him as a baby rabbit.

Aaaand there goes the pancakes in your stomach again.

Fuck.

You bit your lip, willing the flames in your cheeks to die down before they blossomed on them once more. Feeling that you were going to lose that battle, you hurried to move past him, heading for the door.

“Y’know, Jefferson? It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line. It’s sad, really. And to think I believed the rumors about your skills.”

Oh ho! He felt his smirk stretch into a very smug, very self-satisfied grin. If that wasn’t an invitation to prove you wrong.

“Back here on Wednesday at 4pm. I’ll show you exactly why those rumors came about.”

Without answering, you walked out the door knowing one Thomas Jefferson was still lounging on that table with the most conceited, wolfish smile he could muster because he knew. Oh he knew very well that you were coming back. The bastard.

You felt your heart flutter at the thought.

F u c k.

FIN