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emeraldelixirs · 2 months ago

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Bloodsport {II:when the party’s over}

bsf! m. riddle x fem!sallow!reader, stepbrother! t. nott x fem!sallow!reader

Bound by Blood, Betrayed by Fate. When you’re dragged to Malfoy Manor under orders from Voldemort himself, you learn the price of your mother’s mistakes: an Unbreakable Vow, tethering your life to the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Forced to navigate a web of dark magic, family debts, and impossible expectations, you must tread carefully in a house brimming with enemies—and a few familiar faces. As tensions rise and the lines between loyalty and survival blur, one question remains: will you find a way to break free, or will you lose yourself to the darkness?

Content warnings: 18+ themes, angst, dark, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, blood, swearing, fighting, taboo themes, underage coercion, predatory behavior, suggestive content, underage recreational drug and alcohol use, typical canon HP themes of blood purity, house prejudices, oppression, lmk if I miss anything this chapter is considerably lengthy with detail

Word count: 8k oops

A/n: is it really a slytherin fic if it doesn’t have a party scene? sorta hehe sorry. but we have the whole gang together in this, and that’s why i love this part sm, easily so far my pride and joy of what i have written for this fic. also collectively the longest chapter ive ever written for any fic ive wrote…ever. banter and comedic relief is really my bread and butter

[playlist: televised—hunny, bite my tongue—you me at six, softcore—the neighbourhood, do i wanna know—arctic monkeys, kyoto—phone bridgers, people—the 1975, fourth of july—sufjan stevens, when the party’s over-from the room below—sleep token, seventeen going under—sam fender]

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The Zabini Villa roared with laughter, loud chatter, and throbbing music that seemed to make the very walls vibrate. Judging by the unfamiliar faces crowding every room, this party had spiraled well past its original circle of Hogwarts pure-bloods like Blaise had originally intended for. You and Theo wove through the throng, his large, warm hand secured at the small of your back, guiding you gently while you led the way.

“There’s no way all these people are from Hogwarts,” Theo quipped, batting away a gaudy streamer that dangled in front of his face.

“Merlin, no,” you muttered, forcing a polite smile at Millicent Bulstrode as she brushed by, then reverting to a frown once she was gone. “Everyone must sense this might be the last Zabini bash they’ll ever see.”

And perhaps they were right. The Daily Prophet had plastered the story across its front page at the end of term: the Department of Mysteries debacle was conclusive proof that Voldemort was back. The second wizarding war had begun to weave its dark tendrils into daily life, pulling you—and your friends—deeper into roles none of you wanted. Now, your presence at this party felt less like revelry and more like obligation. But among the upper-inner circles you roamed, appearances were everything still. You and your friends had a carefully maintained status quo, and no looming war would undo that overnight.

Not that you were simply a carefree teen. You were also Bellatrix’s pawn: the one she nudged around the board, using you to lure secrets from the gullible, offering your company to the wavering. You tried not to dwell on that as you made a beeline for the kitchens, your chest feeling tight beneath the weight of her instructions.

“The less your peers know, the better,” she’d sneered earlier that week, pacing in the Malfoy Manor drawing room.

“We may never know who might have vital information—on their family, their loyalties, their resources…” Her cold eyes had narrowed on you, a grimace of satisfaction twisting her features.

“Do you understand, girl?”

“Yes… Mistress,” you’d been forced to concede, swallowing your hatred.

Now the memory fluttered through your head as you stepped into Blaise’s expansive kitchen. You exhaled, relieved at the relative calm. Maybe you could breathe easier here, at least for a moment.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink,” Theo said, noticing the faraway look in your eyes. He maneuvered around you, snagging two cups from an array of colorful bottles lined across the counters.

To your mild surprise, the kitchen wasn’t packed—only a handful of people rummaged for snacks or chattered over glasses of spiked punch. The music, mercifully, was less ear-splitting.

You leaned against the moss agate countertop, the cool surface grounding you. Theo’s presence was a balm, as it always had been. You’d known him since infancy, your mothers having been close friends long before war divided loyalties. And his father—your now stepfather—had become a mentor to your own father before his untimely death.

Theo had been there for every moment that mattered: the good, the bad, the life-altering. Neither of you wore icy apathy like a shield towards one another; instead, your shared experiences had created an unspoken understanding. A bond as unshakable as it was fraught.

A hand slid around your shoulder, making you jump.

“Oi,” Daphne Greengrass said, lips quirking into a half-smile. “So jumpy. Relax—it’s a party.”

You forced a semblance of a grin, tension dissolving a fraction when you saw it was just her. “Daph…”

She pressed a friendly kiss to your cheek, eyes darting between you and Theo. “Where in Salazar’s name have you two been? Blaise is losing his mind—he’s about ready to hex the pair of you for being late.”

She didn’t know half of it since this was the first time you’d seen her since summer began; how Bellatrix had forced you into an unbreakable vow; how Theo had been dragged into the Dark Lord’s fold with no way out. War loomed in every corner, and Daphne, blissfully unaware, was closer to its claws than she realized. And you hadn’t been sure you wanted her to know, terribly naive, too pure for the mud you and the other rolled around in now.

You shrugged lightly, deflecting. “Busy summer.”

She jabbed a finger at you, pouting. “More importantly, where have my letters gone?! I wrote you heaps!”

You flinched. She pulled away, stepping around the island to give Theo a quick squeeze and a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You do realize our father’s in Azkaban currently?” Theo replied for you, tone sharper than usual, though that never deterred Daphne.

“And?” she retorted, placing her hands on her hips. “A simple note to tell me you’re fine would’ve been comforting, you git.”

Theo set his jaw, a flicker of apology in his eyes. “Right. Sorry.”

You parted your lips to intervene, but Daphne continued chastising Theo, her exasperation morphing into mild relief that both of you were safe. Then launching into her usual Daphne updates, like a beat wasn’t missed: an outfit she saw that reminded her of you, the gossip she heard—that you too should have known—since school ended, or where her family was choosing to stay for holiday.

Somewhere in her mini-lecture, she casually mentioned:

“Oh, and watch out—someone said Lord Rosier’s nephew, Evander, is here tonight, skulking around somewhere. You know the Rosiers, always up to something… shady.” Then she held her arm as she twirled a piece of her honey blond hair, thoughtfully. Then adding in, “though I remember him being so handsome back in first year—shame.”

An internal pang reminded you of the other very real reason you were here—to attempt to gain information from any possible prominent names in attendance. Her offhand comment sent your thoughts spiraling because this was, if not, the biggest prominent name on the list of contacts Bellatrix had talked about. The Rosiers were an influential pure-blood family, their allegiances as ambiguous as they were dangerous. If Evander was here, he might have information Bellatrix would find valuable.

You masked your interest, offering a polite nod. Inside, determination sparked more than it ever had since you were pushed into task. If you could pry even a shred of intel from Evander, it might buy you some breathing room—enough to finish your summer coursework without Bellatrix breathing down your neck. Even for a week? Then you could surely spend the rest of summer doing her bidding, or gods knows what, and maybe hold together your sanity?

“Need to… use the bathroom,” you excused yourself, ignoring Daphne’s frown of confusion. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and knowing. But he let it go, turning back to placate Daphne.

Your mind thrummed: Find Evander. Ask the right questions. Remember Bellatrix’s instructions. Your stomach twisted in equal parts excitement and dread. This had been it—a moment to prove yourself.

You scourged the main corridors of the party, narrowly dodging your friends and peers, with no sign of the infamous wizard yet.

Did you even remember what he looked like?

Finally giving up on the obvious, you slipped into a hallway that led away from the main commotion. Passing ornate paintings and the occasional couple giggling in corners towards the back wing of the villa, you found a partially open door—likely Blaise’s mother’s study or personal lounge. Light spilled through the crack of the sturdy mahogany door with noise of man humming lightly.

You took a breath, moving slowly to peak through the ajar door.

A tall, slender wizard with sharp cheekbones and slicked-back hair leaned against a sideboard, swirling a glass of brandy. It was him—Evander Rosier, you had remembered him from when he attended Hogwarts faintly now. He was in 6th year when you had only first been sorted, but you remembered his distinctive features anywhere. He was the head boy for Slytherin by his 7th, with a gleaming smile, and dimpled cheeks that made all the girls swoon.

Not you though, you weren’t easily charmed with looks, even when people thought of you to think different. Veelas or those with Veela lineage held ideologies that vastly contrasted the stereotype, but that may have been something your mother had just told you. You never met her side of the family or knew much besides they disowned her when she married your father.

Taking a deep breath, you took a baited one right after, faking a casual stroll into the room, glancing behind your shoulder for anyone that may have seen. The space was richly decorated with dark wood shelves, a looming portrait of some Zabini ancestor, and a deep emerald rug that muffled your footsteps.

Evander glanced up when you entered, eyebrows raised in mild curiosity. “Can I help you?” he asked, not unkindly, but distant.

You summoned your best coy grin. “Oh, sorry—I was looking for a quieter spot.” You let your gaze trail meaningfully over the spines of expensive books, then back to him. “Didn’t realize someone was here.”

He shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t care for crowds. You can stay if you’d like.”

Perfect. You let out a soft sigh, stepping closer. “Crowds can be suffocating, can’t they?” you said, letting just the right note of empathy creep into your voice. “Especially these days, with the rumors swirling… people are so on edge.”

He gave a short laugh, swirling the brandy again. “Rumors. Right.” His eyes darted to the door. “Though some rumors are more than that, if you catch my drift.”

Your heart gave a little leap. This was going somewhere. “I do,” you murmured, feigning a shadow of concern. “Everyone’s talking about… you know, Him. People say families might be forced to pick a side again.”

He stiffened slightly. “And do you have a side, Miss…?”

You offered a small, self-deprecating laugh, hand pressed lightly to your collarbone in a subtle attempt to seem compelling. “Selle.” You opt for your mother’s maiden name. “I’m just a young witch, worried about my future, about where my family stands. It’s all so uncertain. Forgive me if I overstep.”

His expression softened slightly. “Curiosity isn’t a sin, Miss Selle. But it’s a dangerous habit to cultivate these days.”

You forced a bashful smile, letting your lashes flutter—just as Bellatrix had drilled into you. “I only ask because… I want to be prepared. For whatever’s coming.”

His gaze flicked over you, lingering for a moment too long, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Preparedness is admirable. But it can also attract… unwanted attention.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Are you sure we haven’t met before? You seem… familiar.”

He thinks I’m flirting, you realized with a jolt of disgust. But you pressed on. If you wanted these secrets, you had to endure the creeping slime of his interest, you reminded yourself of your training with Bellatrix.

Your throat tightened, and your pulse quickened. “I don’t think so,” you replied, aiming for nonchalance. “But perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Perhaps,” he mused, though his eyes betrayed lingering doubt. He reached out, brushing a knuckle against your shoulder—a gesture that made your skin crawl, though you resisted the urge to recoil and continued to flutter your lashes up at him.

“How are you preparing for the inevitable…forgive me,” you touched his arm, thoughtfully. “I hadn’t caught your name yet?”

He studied you, the softened sharpness of doubt in his eye dissipating as he stared at you. “Evander Rosier,” he said, dazed. “My uncle’s always forging alliances, scouting alternative avenues. Now that the Ministry’s rattled…” A dopey like smirk curved his lips?

That was interesting—unexpectedly your charm had begun to work. You forced your expression to remain neutral, your mind racing to process what he’d just revealed. “Alternative avenues,” you echoed, letting the words hang in the air. “Like… trade alliances? Resource management?”

His fingers trailed down your arm slowly. “We’re… considering our options. With the Ministry in disarray, alliances are fragile. It’s a precarious time for everyone.” The closer he stayed, the more his cologne hit you like a wall of acrid fumes, sharp and cloying, filling the air between you with an almost suffocating intensity.

“But you have the resources,” you pressed, letting a trace of awe color your voice, though you upturned your nose avoiding his heady overpowering musk. “The foresight. Surely the Rosiers aren’t relying on chance.”

He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Chance is a fool’s game. Let’s just say we’re exploring alternative avenues. Not everyone sees eye-to-eye with the Dark Lord’s methods, you know.”

You nodded in understanding. “Your family must be analytical. I envy that, mine can be so naive and misled, never seeing the bigger picture.” A scoff to feign disdain.

“You’re quite inquisitive, Miss Selle. Should I be worried you’ll pass on every word I say to some rival faction?” A charming smile donned his features as he teased you.

You bit your lip, acting as if you were being bashful. “Oh, hush,” you said lightly, playing coy. “I just want to know where the wind blows. For my own safety.”

The air weighed heavy, and you felt a flush of shame. But you forced a sweet smile until he relaxed again, rambling about his relatives’ hush-hush business deals and doubts about the Dark Lord. You caught snatches of who they might recruit, how they planned to hide assets, all the while your heartbeat thundered at your success.

Eventually, he glanced at the time and frowned. “I’ve got to mingle. But perhaps we’ll talk again?” He grabbed your hand, brushing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You swallowed your revulsion. “I would hope, Mr. Rosier.”

“You’re surprisingly… charming,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, as he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your hand.

You forced a tight smile, leaning into his touch just enough to keep the illusion intact. “Likewise,” you murmured, stepping back to break the contact. “I should probably get back as well. My friends will start wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Evander’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Of course. Do take care, Miss Selle. The world is a dangerous place for the… unprepared.”

With that, he tipped his glass in a mock salute and slipped out of the study without another word. You waited a moment before you made your way out of the room, your chest tight and your mind racing. The information he’d shared was valuable, no doubt—but the cost of acquiring it had left a bitter taste in your mouth. A mixture of triumph and nausea churned in your stomach. You’d gleaned valuable info—Bellatrix would be pleased. But the cost felt steep.

Emerging from the study, you felt shaky, so you snatched a drink from a passing tray and downed it in one go. You nearly bumped into Pansy, who’d apparently been looking for you.

“There you are!” she scolded, linking your arm with hers. “We’re headed to the veranda for fresh air—Blaise wants to smoke.”

Her eyes lit on your face, puzzling over your unsettled expression. “Are you… okay?”

You forced a bright grin. “Sure, yeah. Just… too many people in there.”

But your hands trembled slightly, and Pansy noticed. She frowned. “You’re sure?”

Before you could answer, Daphne’s voice floated over, calling, “Y/n, there you are! Was the toilet enchanted and sucked you in?” She stopped short, noticing your stiff posture. “What’s going on?”

They both stared at you with that worry in their eyes. They didn’t know the half of it—how deep you and the others were entangled in the Dark Lord’s web.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, plastering on a wry smile. “This place is packed. I had to go all the way to the other side of the house to use Blaise’s personal bathroom, the line was so long. Got cornered by some ex-Slytherin alumni, talking my ear off on the way back.”

Daphne’s brows rose. “You? Getting cornered by random men? Never.” She tried to sound playful, but her eyes flickered with concern. “Ugh, well, you’re safe now, with us.”

You almost winced, remembering how you’d endured the man’s touch and questions just minutes ago. But you just shrugged it off. Keep the mask on, you reminded yourself, following your friends closely through the throng of wizards and witches.

Inwardly, you clung to the swirl of relief. The idea of being surrounded by your close friends, you could put on your old persona again—just a teenage witch out for a good time—never mind the dark secrets burning a hole in your mind.

After edging away from the house’s main hall, you emerged onto a white stone veranda that stretched grandly across the villa’s rear façade. Tall, dark mahogany beams framed the space like silent guardians, while beyond them, the night sky hung heavy with stars. Music reverberated from within, muffled here by the draped entrances.

In one corner of the veranda, your circle of friends had gathered like a small court. The aura they exuded—Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Enzo, and your host, Blaise—repelled most other party-goers, who lingered meters away. Perhaps the others sensed that an entourage of Death Eater heirs—and the Dark Lord’s heir himself—was too intimidating a scene to breach. Even in the chaos of this unexpectedly crowded party, power commanded distance.

Daphne let out an excited squeal as she dropped into one of the cushioned iron chairs by Blaise. “Everyone’s together again!” she cheered, blissfully unaware of the that undercut what lingered around her within her own friends.

Pansy strolled over to Enzo, who stood near Blaise, indulgently smoking a joint that was being passed around. A swirl of smoke left his lips just as Pansy pinched his arm, snatching the cylinder from his hand.

“Oi, Pans—what the fuck?!” he snapped, rubbing his arm.

“Looked like you were hogging it,” she retorted with a nonchalant shrug, raising the joint to her lips.

A slight grin tugged at your mouth, and you ruffled Enzo’s hair as you walked past, heading to drape your arms around Blaise’s shoulders from behind in a gesture of greeting. “Sorry for being late,” you murmured. He patted your arm briefly, acceptance in his silence.

You then moved to the wide couch where Theo and Draco were seated. They each gave you a subdued nod. Theo casually rested his arm across the back of the couch, behind you, as though you’d never been apart. Draco gave a subtle tilt of his lips—a sort of half-smile, half-cool acknowledgment.

“More like you ladies were taking forever,” Enzo grumbled, adjusting his fluffy brown hair, glaring at Pansy who was now inhaling deeply on the stolen joint.

“It took us ages to find Y/N,” Pansy interjected, her tone pointed as she exhaled a plume of smoke that curled overhead.

You raised a brow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this party was less than sacred among our peers and needed some solitude at the other end of the house.” The smoothness in your voice was practiced, every bit of forced normalcy. You’d slip a mask over the chaos that churned in your racing thoughts, bidding to grant yourself grace for the rest of the night. You’d done what you needed, there was no need to dig for more.

Across from you, Daphne let her legs drape over the arm of her chair, and Mattheo silently passed the joint her way. She took a swift drag, then handed it off to Draco.

Blaise let out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t realize either, okay?” he said, gesturing at the throng of unfamiliar wizards mingling through the open archways. “Apparently, the world’s craving a distraction with… well, everything going on.”

You flicked a look at Theo. He met your gaze, then glanced at Mattheo, who had fixed his dark eyes on you—a hard stare that spoke of annoyance or concern briefly flitting to your now healed hands, then back to your eyes. Your stomach knotted as he scowled deeper, snapping his gaze away the second you raised a questioning brow.

It stung. He was—is—your best friend, along with Theo. Inseparable, you three. Hell, he basically lived with you and Theo at this point. Had his own room in the guest wing and everything. So why did he choose to be distant when you needed him most? When he needed you the most?

“Probably never a good sign if Evander Rosier’s milling about,” Pansy said, taking another slow drag before handing the joint to Draco. She wrinkled her nose. “That man’s a menace.”

Daphne propped her head up, eyes alight with curiosity. “Is he still as handsome as he was in school?” She twirled her hair, kicking her feet idly off the chair’s arm.

“Daph, the guy’s a weasel—” you started, rolling your eyes.

“That prat is here?” Mattheo muttered, stepping forward and running a tense hand through his curls. He spat the words low enough that only your group would hear. There was something almost feral in his tone, like he itched for a confrontation.

Draco leaned in, elbows on his knees. “Bold of him, considering his family's got major targets on their backs for switching allegiances when it suited them. Heard the Dark Lord isn’t fond of turncoats. You’d think they’d keep their heads down.”

“Exactly,” Mattheo agreed, starting to pace in the limited space of the veranda. Each step exuded pent-up energy, a sign of the storm roiling beneath his brooding façade. “I don’t trust him,” Mattheo muttered.

“You don’t trust anyone,” Pansy quipped, leaning into Enzo’s side as she blew a huff of air to fix her bangs.

Mattheo didn’t bother replying, his jaw clenching tighter. Draco, seated at his side of the couch, shifted slightly, one leg crossing over the other as his cool gray gaze flicked between Mattheo and Theo. A hum of knowledge unspoken as the dark curly haired boy continued pacing, his equally dark eyes sharp and restless. His shoulders were tight beneath his tailored jacket, each step deliberate but restrained, as though holding back something more volatile.

War was creeping into every aspect of your lives. It was easy to mask it under booze, weed, and forced smiles, but it only took a mention of someone like Rosier to remind you that trouble lurked everywhere.

“Well, Mattheo’s not wrong,” Draco said, breaking the silence. His tone was measured, but his words carried weight. “If Evander Rosier’s here, it’s for a reason. And it’s not to mingle.”

Daphne, ignorant to the depth of that trouble, scoffed. “You lot are so dramatic. Maybe he’s just here to enjoy the party. Could be a rumor, anyway—who said he’s committing treason?”

Pansy grimaced. “Not treason, survival,” she corrected, flicking her gaze your way. “Rosier’s family is desperate to cling to whatever power they have left. Bet they’ll sell out friends or enemies alike to keep afloat.”

“And what does it matter to us?” Daphne countered, her tone breezy but her eyes narrowing. “We’re not the ones making alliances, are we?”

Her words struck a chord—you forced yourself not to flinch, remembering how you and Theo, Mattheo, and even Draco plus Enzo had been entangled in the Dark Lord’s webs. You busied your hands by taking the joint from Theo and inhaling a bitter drag. A tingle of numbness slid through your veins, but the conversation kept your mind from fully escaping.

Theo, finally spoke up. His arm still rested casually along the back of the couch, his fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the fabric, growing antsy. “If Rosier’s family is trying to play both sides, that makes him a liability to everyone. Including us.”

The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling like a shroud, uncomfortably close to the truth.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Y/n,” Pansy noted, arching a brow as she glanced your way. “Something on your mind?”

You exhaled smoke, crafting your face into something neutral. “Just listening,” you deflected, passing the joint to Enzo. “Watching the crowd, seeing who’s worth noticing.”

“You just smoked!” Enzo complained, though he took the cylinder greedily.

Mattheo’s pacing halted, his gaze snapping to you with hawk-like sharpness. “Did you talk to him?” he asked abruptly.

The question sent a ripple through your friends, each set of eyes anchoring on you.

You wanted to scoff, nothing got past him, did it? Feeling so entitled to know everything you did, despite keeping you at arms length right now.

You hesitated—barely a fraction of a second—long enough for Mattheo’s eyes to narrow. “Briefly,” you confessed, keeping your tone cool. “He wasn’t direct, but he hinted his family might not be as loyal to the Dark Lord as they pretend. Could be worth telling—”

“You shouldn’t have,” Mattheo cut you off, voice throbbing with repressed anger. “You can’t toy with Rosier, he’s dangerous.” Mattheo’s scowl deepened, and he ran a hand through his dark curls in frustration. “You believed him?”

Something about his hostility riled you. You straightened, the high of the smoke fueling a rush of bravado, everyone became muffled background noise. “I’m not toying with him, I’m gaining information. If any of it’s true, we can use it. If not—”

“Y/n,” Theo leaned forward, trying to interrupt.

“Use it for what? Bellatrix’s schemes?” Mattheo interrupted him, bitterness dripping from every word. “For what? For him to use you for his schemes as well now?”

The words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You straightened your spine, the mask of confidence you’d worn all evening hardening.

“I’m not toying with anyone,” you said quietly, doubling down on your stance. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Mattheo snapped. “Because it seems like you’re getting in over your head stupidly.” His words laced with venom.

“Mattheo.” Theo’s voice became sharper, his arm tensed along the back of the couch, but his body coming forward. You put a hand on his chest, pushing lightly him back into the couch.

“No, let him finish,” the words left your mouth before you could stop them. You had been bemused almost. These were the most words you had garnered from him—in the form of an argument nonetheless—something that shouldn’t have shocked you.

Mattheo’s eyes burned into yours, the intensity of his gaze almost unbearable. “You think Bellatrix cares if you come back in one piece? You think she’s sending you out there because she trusts you?” Mattheo’s voice rose, drawing the attention of several onlookers. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You’re disposable to her, Y/n. We all are.”

A hush descended, the weight of his outburst making the veranda feel smaller. The truth of his words cut deep, but you refused to flinch. Instead, you held his gaze, your jaw tightening.

Somewhere in the corner, Blaise stood, shock and anger etched across his features. “Wait, wait, wait–a gods forsaken second!” Blaise demanded, half to the group, half to you, looking from Theo to Draco to Mattheo for clarity. “Bellatrix’s schemes? Gaining information? What the hell have you lot been doing this summer?”

You didn’t need legilimency to see how Daphne, now realized how serious this was, sat upright, eyes wide. “You guys are… involved with the Dark Lord? And you never told—”

Pansy paled, anxiety twisting her face. “Merlin, did you take the Mark?” She peered at Enzo, then Theo, then you, voice trembling. “Please tell me you didn’t. Tell me you still have a choice.”

Enzo shifted, inhaling sharply, “Well, only Theo and Matt—uh…”

He trailed off, a fateful hush smothering the veranda. The color drained from Blaise’s cheeks; Pansy’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. Daphne opened and closed her mouth, at a total loss, the illusions of carefree youth shattered before all your eyes.

The stress in your chest mounted, your mind swirling with guilt for all you’d hidden. Theo leaned forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Enzo…” he grumbled.

Mattheo’s nostrils flared, fists clenching at his sides. “You… you twat!” he snarled, rounding on Enzo. Anger and frustration overloaded him, the tension snapping like a frayed wire of weeks of him barely holding it together

In one swift motion, he lunged for Enzo. The other wizard watchers on the other side of the veranda corner recoiled, startled, as Daphne yelped, tumbling off her seat. The metal chair scraped violently across the stone. Pansy rushed to her aide while the rest of you scrambled to break up the fight.

Draco and Theo tried to pry Mattheo off Enzo, who’d ended up pinned on the floor. Blaise tried to help, but Mattheo and Enzo were locked in a tangle of furious limbs, fists swinging, sounds of fists connecting to bone. Shouts rose from the party-goers that remained, some jeering, others stepping back to watch the spectacle like a twisted show.

Your stomach churned. You’d known everyone was on edge, but seeing them physically brawl—to the point of bruises, cut lips, and swollen eyes—felt like a bitter confirmation that the war had long sunk its claws into your friend group, fracturing the dynamic you all once held.

Your hands shook as you sprang forward alongside Blaise, trying to wedge yourself between the two hotheaded boys. Theo had latched onto Mattheo’s arm, Draco pulling Enzo, but the pair still flailed with adrenaline and rage.

“Stop—stop it!” you yelled, voice cracking with tears you refused to shed. You could glimpse Enzo’s dazed expression beneath Mattheo’s clenched fist. The savage twist in Mattheo’s features struck you with guilt—had you caused this?

Finally, with combined effort, Draco, Blaise, and Theo yanked the two fighters apart. Mattheo staggered backward, panting and furious, his lip split, while Enzo lay on the floor, coughing, a bruise already forming on his jaw, eye swelling. The veranda fell into a stunned silence as party-goers parted to watch.

Blaise, face grim, holding onto the younger man. “You got him?” He asked, and you nodded quickly as he let Enzo slouch into your grasp. He then stepped forward and brandished his wand with authority. “That’s it. Party’s done—get out!” he roared at the onlookers, who quickly backed away, murmuring in hushed tones. Some half-scurried to the exit, others lingered but kept their distance.

You knelt by Enzo, gently brushing back his chocolate brown hair. Despite your anger at him, you couldn’t stop the wave of compassion. His nose was swollen, maybe broken, and blood trickled down his chin. He looked up at you, eyes full of remorse.

“S-sorry,” Enzo whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… hold still, we’ll get you patched up soon.”

Near you, Mattheo stood rigid, fists still trembling, you shot him a bitter glare. Theo hovered, breaths ragged, one arm loosely supporting Mattheo, the other still clamped on your shoulder for stability. The hush pulsed with leftover anger, confusion, guilt.

Pansy and Daphne stared at the group in shock from where they sat, uncertain whether to help Enzo or scold Mattheo. Draco grimly surveyed the damage—a few scattered chairs, a torn tablecloth, broken glasses. The fleeting warmth of the night had turned sour, a mirror of the secrets you and your friends tried to hide from the others now laid bare.

Blaise rubbed his temples, clearing the last stragglers away. “I’ll handle them,” he muttered, shooting the group a glare that balanced frustration and worry. “For now, just—sort yourselves out. This is all going to absolute shit.”

Around you, the once-lively party had dissolved into broken fragments. The veranda, now eerily quiet, bore the evidence of the night’s chaos: dark smears of blood against the pale stone, shattered glass glittering under the soft glow of the fairy lights. In the distance, the music continued its pulsing, upbeat hum—mocking the grim reality before you.

Mattheo stood apart, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain control, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Enzo sat slumped against the railing, wincing under your careful touch, his face contorted with pain. Theo, his usual composure frayed, closed his eyes briefly, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the night had finally broken him. You swallowed hard, blinking back tears that threatened to spill, the stress of the evening hanging over you like a leaden cloak.

Without warning, Mattheo turned sharply, causing both you and Theo to instinctively shield Enzo from whatever fury might follow. But Mattheo didn’t lash out at any of you; instead, he kicked a broken votive lying on the ground, sending shards scattering across the stone.

“Fuck!” he spat, his voice low and hoarse, as he stalked toward the edge of the veranda, Draco following. He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one with shaking hands, then offering the pack and lighter to Draco, who took it with trembling fingers.

The flame trembled briefly before catching, the glow illuminating the raw anger and frustration etched across his face. Draco’s face is heavy with exhaustion evident on his pale features.

Theo exhaled deeply, releasing his hold on you as he turned to check on Daphne. She sat huddled nearby, her knees drawn to her chest, tears streaking her pale cheeks. Bright, angry red scrapes marred her arms and legs where she’d fallen, her quiet sobs cutting through the silence like a knife. With Theo nearby, Pansy excused herself to go find Blaise inside the house.

Daphne shouldn’t have been part of this. She wasn’t supposed to be caught in the crossfire of your mess—or theirs. You doubted Mattheo or Enzo had wanted this, either. For all her family’s ties to conservative politics, Daphne had always remained blissfully uninvolved in the darker intricacies of the war. She should have been unscathed.

Enzo groaned softly, clutching his side, his breaths shallow and labored.

You let out a quiet sigh, reaching for your wand.

“Keep still, please,” you murmured, your voice gentler than you felt. “This is going to hurt.”

His only response was a faint grimace as you grasped his broken nose carefully between your fingers. He winced sharply, a hiss of pain escaping through his teeth, but he didn’t pull away.

You muttered the incantation for a mending spell, your wand’s tip glowing faintly as you guided the bones back into place. The magic hummed beneath your skin, familiar but no less draining.

“There,” you whispered, leaning back slightly to inspect your work.

Enzo exhaled shakily, his face pale but less strained.

You, Pansy, and Daphne had long since learned the basics of healing spells, an unfortunate necessity when dealing with the boys. Scuffles with others—and often each other—had left their marks over the years. But tonight was different. This wasn’t some petty fistfight or roughhousing gone wrong. This was something darker, more violent.

“Thanks,” Enzo rasped, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, brushing another stray strand of hair from your face as you sat back on your heels.

Nearby, Theo helped Daphne to her feet, his touch gentle but firm. She winced as she stood, her scraped knees trembling slightly. He muttered something low, his voice too soft for you to catch, but whatever he said made her nod, her sobs quieting to sniffles, helping her sit on the couch.

Mattheo, meanwhile, remained by the railing, his back to the group. Smoke curled around him in lazy spirals, the sharp scent of burning tobacco cutting through the night air.

“You should talk to him,” Theo said suddenly, his voice tight and quiet as he returned to your side.

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze.

“Me?” you shot back, your voice hushed but edged with disbelief. “Why me?”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “someone has to keep him in check, Y/n. He’s going to get himself—or all of us—killed.”

Your lips parted, a retort forming, but the weight of his words silenced you. He wasn’t wrong.

“He won’t listen,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible. “Look at what happened just now.”

Theo’s expression softened, the anger giving way to weariness. “He listens to you more than anyone else. He always has.”

You glanced toward Mattheo, your heart heavy. He stood rigid, staring out into the dark expanse beyond the veranda, the glow of his cigarette flickering faintly in the shadows.

“It’s true,” Enzo sat up more properly. “Even when you two are at each other’s throats.”

You shook your head, “not now.” You muttered, looking back down at Enzo. “Lets get you in a seat.”

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant hum of music and the faint crackle of Mattheo’s cigarette with the scraping of a chair that Theo picked up for Enzo to sit in before pulling up his own chair. Their legs bounced up and down anxiously in tandem as no one dared to speak. You sat with your back against the railing, picking at the sides of your nails anxiously.

Pansy finally emerged from the house, her arms laden with first aid supplies. Her usual sharp, composed demeanor was dulled, her expression unusually grim as Blaise trailed behind her, carrying a bottle of firewhisky and a collection of mismatched glasses—enough for all of you.

“Well, that was fun. Anyone else want to air any more grievances?” Blaise announced, his voice laced with sardonic humor as he set the bottle and glasses on the small table beside his chair. He poured himself a drink with practiced ease, his movements deliberately casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his true feelings.

No one responded.

Blaise glanced around, his deadpan expression hardening. “Good. Let’s start the family meeting, then.”

Mattheo let out a sharp, humorless laugh from his place at the railing, the ember of his cigarette flaring briefly as he inhaled. “Family meeting? You’re acting like this is some petty school spat, Zabini.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, unruffled. “And you’re acting like sulking is going to fix anything, Riddle.” He poured himself a generous measure of firewhisky, the clink of glass on glass unnervingly loud in the silence.

Draco sank into a chair across from Blaise, his elbows resting on his knees, a sharp contrast to Mattheo’s restless stance.

Mattheo rolled his eyes but said nothing, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. The smoke curled lazily around him, dissipating into the cool night air.

“This mess is only going to get worse if we don’t get our shit together,” Theo said, his voice steady but laced with a frustration that mirrored everyone’s simmering exhaustion.

“Enlighten us, Theo,” Pansy cut in, her arms crossed as she perched on the edge of a chaise. “What exactly is the plan here? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve all—” she paused, her sharp gaze flicking to each of you, her finger subtly tracing a circle that excluded only Blaise and Daphne. “—been keeping things from us.”

“And if we told you?” Theo shot back, his tone sharper now. “What then? You think any of us asked for this? Dragging you into this mess is the last thing we want.”

“Enough,” you said firmly, your voice slicing through the escalating tension. You stood, brushing the dust from your hands, feeling the weight of their stares settle heavily on you. For a moment, you regretted speaking, but you pressed on.

“Whether we told them or not, they’re associated with us,” you said, sitting beside Daphne. “They’ve been collateral since we made our vows. And now? It’s about survival. We’re in too deep, and we all know it.”

Mattheo snorted, the sound bitter and sharp. “Oh, we know it. But pretending to be one big, happy family isn’t going to change anything.”

“And brooding in a corner is?” Blaise shot back, topping off his glass with an air of exasperated nonchalance.

“They deserve to know,” you said softly, picking up a bottle of antiseptic elixir and a clean cloth. You turned to Daphne. “May I?”

She nodded silently, her tear-streaked face a mixture of gratitude and quiet pain. You dabbed the cloth with the elixir and began cleaning the scrapes on her knee. “Face it, Mattheo,” you continued, your tone firmer now. “We’re stuck with each other, whether you like it or not.”

“Stuck,” Mattheo repeated, his voice low and dangerous. He flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the darkness, the ember snuffed out on impact. “You say that like it’s some minor inconvenience, Y/n. But in case you’ve forgotten, there are people out there who’d kill us all without a second thought. And some of us…” His voice dropped, and his eyes flicked briefly to Theo. “Some of us are already marked.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken weight of the Dark Marks on Mattheo’s and Theo’s arms casting an even darker shadow over the group.

Daphne broke the silence, her voice soft but steady as she placed a hand on yours, stilling your movements. “I think you’re forgetting something,” she said, her blue-gray eyes filled with quiet resolve. “We’re your friends. Not your enemies, not spies waiting to turn on you. Friends. If any of us thought in first year that befriending Riddle, Sallow, Malfoy, and Nott was a mistake, we’d have steered clear. But we didn’t. We chose you, just like we’re choosing to stand with you now.”

Mattheo’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at her, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

A watery chuckle bubbled out of you despite the heaviness of the moment, and you quickly wiped your face with the back of your hand.

Pansy hummed in agreement, picking up the glasses Blaise had poured and passing them around. “She’s right,” she said, her tone light but firm. “So stop brooding, Mattheo, and get over here.”

Mattheo’s scowl deepened, but he pushed off the railing, crossing the veranda begrudgingly.

Blaise exhaled heavily, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Now we want to know everything,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “And don’t bother sparing the details. I can get my hands on Veritaserum if I have to.”

Theo rolled his eyes but accepted a glass, muttering something under his breath. Draco rubbed a hand down his face, masking a smirk, while Enzo let out a soft laugh before wincing and clutching his side.

You handed a glass to Daphne, then grabbed one for yourself, the firewhisky burning as you took a slow sip.

“Fine,” you said, leaning back against the cold stone wall, the firewhisky warming your chest but doing little to ease the heaviness of the moment. “But you’d better brace yourselves. You might wish you hadn’t asked.”

With Theo, Draco, Enzo, and even begrudging input from Mattheo, you told them everything. The words came haltingly at first, but as the night wore on, they began to flow more easily. You described the aftermath of Lucius Malfoy’s and Theodore Nott Sr.’s imprisonment in Azkaban, the brutal ceremony that branded Mattheo and Theo with the Dark Mark, and your own unbreakable vow with Bellatrix—a chain wrapped tightly around your throat.

Every detail out in the open, even Bellatrix’s obsession with your role as her informant. When you recounted your confrontation with Evander Rosier, Mattheo’s fingers turned white against the arm of the chair. His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as you explained why Rosier’s allegiance—or lack thereof—was such a critical piece in Bellatrix’s game.

“Merlin,” Daphne whispered, her face pale as she sank deeper into her chair. “If I’d known, I never would have—Y/n, I’m so sorry—”

You waved her off with a lazy flick of your wrist, muttering another ‘Reparo’ as you all worked to restore some semblance of order to the veranda. Shattered glass reassembled, splatters of blood faded from the white stone, but the aftermath of it all lingered

“You didn’t know,” you said softly, brushing stray hair from your face. “And honestly? It might still be useful. If it buys me even a day of her not breathing down my neck, I’ll take it.”

Mattheo scoffed from across the veranda, his sharp eyes flicking toward you, but he said nothing. You shot him a glare, daring him to push further, he only turned his focus back to cleaning, muttering incantations as he scrubbed at the stubborn stains on the tiles.

By the time the night drew to a close, the tension had softened, though it never fully dissipated. There were still unspoken fears and lingering doubts, but for now, what mattered was that the group remained intact.

Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne had listened in silence, their expressions a mixture of shock and resolve. Despite everything, they remained steadfast in their decision to stand by you.

“We’re in this together,” Pansy said firmly, her hand resting on your shoulder as she caught your eye. “No matter what.”

The burden you’d carried for weeks felt just a little lighter, their support a fragile but welcome relief even with the apprehension you felt for their involvement. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope.

As the floo network flared to life, casting an emerald glow across the room, you turned to your friends. Each of them stood nearby, ready to depart but unwilling to leave without a proper goodbye.

You hugged Daphne and Pansy tightly, promising to write as often as you could. Enzo pulled you into a warm embrace, murmuring a quiet apology that you brushed off with a forgiving smile. Draco offered a rare but sincere pat on your shoulder before stepping aside for Blaise, who enveloped both you and Theo in a firm, protective group hug.

“Don’t hesitate to call on us,” Blaise said quietly, his voice steady. “If you need anything—anything—you know where to find me.”

For all the darkness that surrounded you, they were your anchor in their own ways.

“We’ll talk soon,” you said, your voice quiet but resolute.

Theo nodded, his arm brushing against yours in silent support as he stepped toward the hearth.

Just as you moved to follow, Mattheo’s voice stopped you. “Y/n.”

You turned to find him standing apart from the others, his usual mask of indifference fractured, if only slightly. The low light caught the sharp angles of his face, his dark eyes glinting with something unspoken. For a moment, the weight he carried: fear, frustration, and a simmering anger, lay bare between you.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, as though wrestling with the words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw, barely audible over the crackling floo. “Get some rest.” He finally murmured, gaze dropped, and his fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the composure he tried so hard to maintain.

Your breath caught, the knot of frustration and exhaustion loosening just enough to let the gravity of his words settle. Despite the distance he’d put between you, the quiet simmering for weeks, this moment felt like a quiet truce—for now—a bridge across the gulf that had formed between you.

You stepped closer, your voice soft but steady, your fingers twitching, wanting to reach out but hesitating. “You know where to find me, Mattheo.”

He lifted his gaze, and for an instant, his expression was unguarded, raw. His nod was slight, almost imperceptible, but enough to say what words couldn’t. His lips pressed into a thin line before he turned away, retreating to the shadows of the villa.

The green flames licked higher, casting flickering shadows against the walls. You hesitated for a moment longer, your eyes lingering on Mattheo’s retreating figure. Then, with a steadying breath, you stepped into the hearth beside Theo.

As the world blurred into streaks of green, Mattheo’s quiet words echoed in your mind.

The war wasn’t just coming—it was already here. And now, more than ever, you’d have to trust that the fragile bond between you all would hold.

Taglist: @moonlightttfae

A/n: and there we have it the madness begins, I hope you enjoyed. Lmk what you think as always!!

67 notes · View notes

lilgarbitch · 7 days ago

Text

Jane Doe - Noah Sebastian

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Car accident, death, suicide, hospital, very triggering if any of this hits close to home. Like imagine im blaring a horn, telling you to prepare yourself

Word Count: 4.5k

Author’s Note: Blame the Angst War ™ ft my love for Shakespeare

I will repeat. Heavy trigger warning‼️ PLEASE Do not read unless you have a clear head‼️I didn’t go too graphic, but i will not live with myself if this hurts any of you by reading it. If you do choose to continue to read, I hope you enjoy to the best of your ability, even though this broke my heart just to write it.

If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org. You can also reach Crisis Text Line by texting MHA to 741741.

quick plug for my co conspirator @blade-dressed-in-red who helped me with so much of this, keeping me sane and shooting ideas back and forth with me to make this the best I could. I’m extremely grateful❤️

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @bloody-spades @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @heyyoplayer

Noah

I stared at the TV, my phone still open in my hand to the text exchange between Matt and me. He had just mentioned seeing a warning that the main road was backed up from a car accident and checked the news to see what was up, then telling me that it was the most insane wreck he’s ever seen. My morbid curiosity got the better of me.

Right now I was watching the live feed of the wreck. It was a black Sedan flipped on its side, the entire front and side of the car looking as if it imploded with how indented and destroyed they were. It was the car that I had ordered for her since I was too busy to pick her up. Doing what? Nothing fucking important enough to risk her life over. I could barely hear the words coming out of the anchor’s mouth, seeing the plastic covered body with blood coated hair splayed out behind it, off to the left of the screen.

“One dead, one left in critical condition,” were the only words my ears picked up. One dead. One was dead. And the dead body had her hair color. Or what you could see of it.

I tried to calm myself down, telling myself that maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe I’ll get a call once Y/N reaches the hospital, being her emergency contact. But there was no way for me to look for myself. I couldn’t rush around hospitals calling her name. The world would see. People would take pictures of me in my worst moments. I just had to wait.

I didn’t even notice I was shaking until I finally forced my eyes back down towards my phone, which had turned off again while I was staring at the TV. I open it, immediately clicking on Matt’s contact and hitting call.

”What’s up?” He answered. I inhaled an overly shaky breath.

”That was Y/N’s uber…” I whispered into the receiver.

“What was that? I think our connection’s bad.”

”That…that’s Y/N’s uber…” I choked out louder, a full sob leaving my throat, “She was on her way here and…and…Why didn’t I just go pick her up?”

There was a moment of silence, the only sound being my heavy breaths as I felt my chest tightening, before I heard shuffling around on the other end.

“I’m texting Davis, Bryan, and Jesse to see if they can get to you. Unlock the door and don’t overthink.” I don’t respond, only nod, even though I know he can’t see it.

I stay on the phone with him, my occasional terrified sobs and the sound of him typing on his phone filling the silence as I drag my feet to the front door and back. Once he notifies me that Davis is on his way, he just talks to me, trying his best to help me ease my thoughts, but it’s not helping.

Sitting curled in on myself, sunken into the corner of the couch, all I can do is let my thoughts race until Davis finally walks in. He calls out to Matt that he’s here through my phone, and Matt hangs up the phone after telling me that he’ll try to find out what he can.

I don’t make eye contact with Davis, just staring at the floor as I imagine what her last moments may have felt like. He crouches down in front of me to try and get my attention, but I can’t stop picturing the horror that I saw on the TV. He does what he can, grabbing me a bottle of water and a snack while talking to me, but I don’t respond. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t even know if I’m still crying. I can’t feel a thing. I just hope we can find her.

Noah

Matt calls Davis a few hours later, hoping he can soften the blow for me, to inform us that he’s called every hospital in the area for Y/N and every single one said that they don’t have a patient by that name. He even tried asking if anyone came in from a car accident today, but they told him that they couldn’t give them that kind of information. I immediately run to the bathroom when I’m told, expelling everything I’ve consumed today as pure fear and grief strike through my body. I’m gripping the bowl with shaky hands as Davis comes in after me and starts rubbing my back.

“We’ve talked to the boys and everyone’s going to fly out the second they can. Jesse can’t get a chance to come home until morning, but I’ll be here all night.”

I couldn’t respond with anything more than a sob. I appreciate them being here for me, even if we don’t know for sure if she’s gone, but all I want is her. I want her here, rubbing my back to soothe me. I don’t even want to have to be soothed at all. If I just fucking picked her up, we could be cuddling on the couch, watching Naruto together.

I fucking killed her. It’s all my fault. If I just made her more of a priority, she’d be here right now. She’d be safe and sound and none of this would’ve ever happened.

I don’t even realize that a panic attack started until I feel Davis’ arms wrap around me right, trying to calm my nervous system. All I could do was sob into his shoulder, shaking more than I ever have before. I feel cold. My chest felt tight. My mind is consumed by grief and guilt. Even if we haven’t lost her, she’s out there somewhere, alone and in pain. And it’s all my fault.

Noah

It’s been four days. I stayed up the first two, just waiting by my phone to get that call that she was okay. That someone was able to identify her and that she was fine. But I think I’ve lost hope.

Yesterday, I found her wallet here, instantly remembering her telling me that she couldn’t find it a few days before the accident, saying she may have dropped it outside of work or at my house. I told her I’d look. I didn’t look hard enough. I had her only piece of identification. All I could think about was her alone in a hospital room, losing her memory from the crash and unable to tell them her name. Or her cold body shoved into a morgue with a tag that just said “Jane Doe.”

Waking up another day without any new information about her was killing me. It was getting harder to tell myself she was okay. I know there were so many possibilities of what could’ve happened, but convincing myself that any of them were good was nearly impossible.

The boys had managed to fly in yesterday, and while I appreciated their support, it was getting overwhelming. Everyone was constantly watching me, trying to soothe me when my thoughts became too much, but I just needed to let my emotions out. I needed a minute to myself.

I slowly stood up from the couch, Matt, Jesse, and Folio’s eyes immediately following my every move. I don’t know what their deal was. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without being watched like a hawk. They even started making meals for me and talking to me like I was some child. I was grieving, not on bedrest.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. Need fresh air,” I rasp out, my voice scratchy from speaking in mostly sobs the last four days. Matt instantly stands up to join me, which makes me hold my hand out, “Alone. Please. Just let me have some space.”

He stares at me for a long moment before nodding and sitting back down. I go and grab my shoes and unlock the door. As I open it, I hear Jesse call out.

”Make sure you have your phone on you!” I pat my pockets, realizing I left it in my room after telling myself I needed to stop staring at it, waiting for news, and just leave anyway. It’ll help me clear my head not having them constantly texting me.

The cold air seems to ease my nerves slightly, so I take deep breaths as I walk. I have no idea where I’m going, but I need to get out of that damn house. Not only are the five extra bodies in there, always hovering over me and watching everything I did, but I couldn’t even look at my bed, seeing her shadow lying in her spot. I couldn’t look in the kitchen, seeing her bright smile and hearing her giggle after I smeared whipped cream on her nose. The backyard where we swam together on hot summer days. Where she’d make everyone laugh when the group came over.

I feel tears falling down my cheeks again, not knowing how the hell I had more to cry out. She was gone. There was no way in four days, they couldn’t recognize her. She had to be that Jane Doe.

The quick sound of screeching tires in the distance pulls me out of my thoughts momentarily, only for it to send me even deeper. God, what were her last moments like? How scared was she? Was she in pain for long? Did she die on impact? Where was she now?

My thoughts continue to spiral as I continue to walk, now coming up on a place Y/N and I used to visit all the time when taking this path. It was a smallish creek in the middle of the forest. The water wasn’t too deep, but deep enough that we could stand on the bridge and watch all the tiny fish go by.

I walk to the railing and try to watch the water pass by in the dark night, hoping that at least the sound could calm my racing thoughts. The bridge was about 10, maybe 12 feet high, so there wasn’t much to see when it was so late at night. But I could see so much. I could see Y/N standing beside me, staring over the edge with me. Her pointing out the groups of tadpoles or if a fish larger than normal swam by. I could hear myself talking her out of climbing down to catch a frog, knowing the steep incline on both sides of the creek was impossible to come back up from.

I could see the picture I had on my phone that I took of her in this exact spot, the sunset glowing between the trees, giving her the aura of an angel right before my eyes…Angel. She was my fucking angel. She always has been and now she truly was.

I’m staring at the darkness around me as the pain shoots through me once again. I fucking killed her. I ruined so many fucking lives, just by ordering her that goddamn uber. Her parents have called, tears equal to mine, and we couldn’t give them any information. Because we had none. She was gone. And I couldn’t even fucking say goodbye.

There was only one way. Only one way to see her again. I stared into the rushing water. There was no way to see how deep it was tonight. No light to give a reflection back. The only thing my senses could pick up was the feeling of the wood railing, the sound of the water and her distant voice in my head. Specifically her laugh that I’ll never hear again.

I pushed myself off the railing, eyes still stuck on complete darkness. I grabbed it, swiftly slinging one leg over, then the other. I could already feel that pit in my stomach as my body sensed that there was no resistance between me and the water below. I brought a foot under me, and then the other, lifting myself up before I was now standing on the wood.

I almost wish I brought my phone with me, just to tell everyone one last goodbye. That I loved them more than anything. That I was sorry. But the person I was most sorry for is on the other side already. And she needed to hear it most.

I feel the wind zip past me as my body sways on the edge. As I let memories play in my head, I let the wind take me.

But something about this didn’t feel right. The moment my feet lost ground and I felt gravity start to pull me down, I knew this was a mistake. Something…someone was telling me this wasn’t the choice I should have made. I do my best to wrap my arms around my head, but before I could do much, everything went black.

Y/N

My eyes feel like they’re glued shut and my throat is absolutely killing me. I clench my fists to try and stretch my tight muscles as I do my best to work my eyes open. Why is my room so cold? And smell so…chemically?

I hear footsteps walking into the room at the same time more of my senses come back. I hear an odd beeping in the background, and when I finally get my eyes to take in everything in front of me, I come face to face with a bright white room and a shocked doctor.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” He asks. I continue looking around the room, confused, before realizing his words. I spend a few seconds truly thinking how I felt, and that’s when all the pain rushes in.

”Like shit.” I croak out, my throat dryer than it ever has been before.

He comes over and starts asking me a bunch of questions, seeing what I remember and if my arms and legs are functioning well. That’s when I realize that my leg has a cast and I’m covered in bandages.

”Wha- What happened?” I cut him off.

”Well, you were in a pretty rough wreck about a week ago. Thankfully, you didn’t get too hurt, just a few broken bones, but you hit your head pretty hard and got a bad concussion, putting you in a coma.” I blink at him as I process everything.

“I…how…did..has anyone come to check up on me?” I ask, the fact that I was completely alone in the room being the most important to me right now.

“You didn’t have any form of identification on you, so we were unable to contact anyone, but now that you’ve told us your name, we can go ahead and reach out to the people on your file.”

”Can you please? I really need to see my boyfriend and make sure he knows I’m okay.” He nods and makes his way out of my room.

Matt

The boys and I were doing everything we could to make ourselves busy, not knowing how to handle everything. Nicholas and Folio were going through Noah’s things, picking out an outfit for his funeral, even though it’s most likely going to be a closed casket, and deciding on what we would send back to his family and what we wanted to keep for ourselves to remember him. We’ve all decided to leave his room how it was now for the time being, not wanting to mess with anything too much.

I heard a phone ringing on the kitchen island and made my way to see who it was, before realizing it was Noah’s phone. My stomach immediately dropped. Everyone knew what happened…No one would be calling his phone right now…unless…

I sprint to his phone, seeing that it was an unknown number and quickly answering.

“Hello?” I rush out.

”Hello. Is this Noah Davis?” A female voice on the other end asks.

“Uhh..He can’t come to the phone right now, but I can take a message?” I reply, trying to keep my voice stable.

“Um, okay. Well, this is Dr. Moore at St Francis Medical Center, I’m calling regarding Y/N Y/L/N.”

”She’s alive?” I almost yell into the phone.

“Yes, Sir. She just woke up from her coma and is asking for friends and family.”

I’m already rushing around the house, grabbing my shoes, keys, and wallet as I tell her that we will be on our way. The guys hear me sprinting around the house and come out to see what I was doing or if I’ve lost my mind again.

“SHE’S ALIVE! Y/N’S ALIVE!” I yell out as I speed towards the front door.

I hear them scrambling behind me, trying to get everything they need before they join me in the car. We’re all packed tight, but no one cares. I try my best to stay close to the speed limit, as getting pulled over is the last thing I could handle right now. We thankfully make it there in record time and all rush in through the doors and up to the desk.

“We’re here to see Y/N Y/L/N,” I tell the lady at the front desk, almost out of breath. She looks unfazed by all of us rushing in and starts typing on her keyboard, searching for her room.

“She is in room 213. Now, we only allow two family members at a time, but I’ll let you all go as long as you promise not to disturb anyone or cause her any discomfort.” We’re already nodding and rushing past her desk before she can even finish speaking.

Speed walking down the hallway, all of us are reading the room numbers, watching them rise until we finally see 213, with her doctor standing outside.

“I do need to inform you all that she’s gotten a pretty severe concussion, so please be cautious around her,” He tells us.

We all stand there and nod like we were being scolded before he finally waves his arm towards the door and we make our way in. Seeing her so hurt broke my heart, but at least she was alive. Folio was the first to rush to her side, already sobbing as he gave her a gentle hug. She softly laughs and hugs him back.

“I promise I’m okay, guys. I’m sorry for giving you all a scare. They said I should be going home in a few days as long as everything’s alright with my head,” she says with a soft yet raspy voice.

“We’ve just been so scared. It’s just…Fuck. This week has been hell,” I whisper as I walk towards her, patting the bed to make sure there was room to sit before taking her hand in mine, “We’re so glad you’re okay.”

She gives us all a sad smile, looking between all of us, before her face morphs into confusion. Fuck.

“Where’s Noah?” she asks.

I stare at her for a few moments before looking at the rest of the boys. All of them just stared back, silently telling me that this was my burden to take.

“What’s going on? Why won’t you answer? Where is he?” she continued. I sign and turn to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Noah…He thought you passed, Honey. Your driver ended up looking a lot like you, and when we couldn’t find you, most of us assumed that it was you who died, not her.”

“Okay. But what does that have to do with him?” I take a deep breath, tears already pricking my eyes as I stared straight into hers.

“Noah… took his life two days ago.”

She stared at me dumbfounded, the words slowly processing in her mind one at a time, before her face shifted to horror.

“H-he what?” I bring her hand to my face, pressing the back of it to my forehead as a sob shakes my body.

“No. No. He can’t- He can’t be dead. He can’t.” She starts her own sobs, causing the other boys to come in closer, surrounding her bed as we all try to comfort her and each other.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Y/N

Once the hospital allowed me to leave, I make the boys drop me off at my apartment to take a real shower. They say they’ll be back soon, bringing me real food. Folio almost begged to stay with me, already not trusting to leave anyone alone after everything, but I promised all of them that I was okay and that I’ll see them soon. And thankfully it worked, because I really needed a moment alone to process all of this.

I was numb. Between the pain medication and the grief, I couldn’t feel anything. His funeral was in a few days and I’ve barely been able to accept the fact that he’s gone. This all feels like a dream, the concussion not making any of it better. Before I let myself dive deep into the pits of grief and sorrow, I needed to find something to distract myself with.

The boys thankfully helped me get a new phone, as mine got crushed in the wreck, so I decided to work on setting that up. I take what remained of my old phone and remove the sim card, putting it in the new one. Once I finally get it set up, I’m absolutely bombarded with notifications. A few from my parents, a few texts and calls from the guys…and 30+ text messages from Noah.

My heart breaks even more. He thought I was dead. He thought he’d never see me again. He ended his life feeling only guilt and regret. Then I see that I have a few voicemails… I press play with a shaky finger, and his sorrowful voice fills the room.

”Y/N…please be okay..Fuck. It’s all my fault…I should’ve just picked you up. I have no idea where you are. The girl on the road…that fucking girl had your hair. You can’t be gone. I need you…” All I can hear is him sobbing for a minute before he continues, “You should be home with me. If we find you and you’re okay, I’m fucking moving you in. I don’t care. I can’t do this. I can’t take not knowing where you are. If you’re even still here.”

The voicemail cuts off, so I play the next one.

”The guys are trying to give me hope, but it’s been two days with no news of you. The news said the girl who died was unrecognizable. Baby…Baby, please answer and tell me that wasn’t you. Please be in some hospital somewhere, waiting for me. Please…Please come back to me.”

And then the next one, sent early in the morning five days ago…The day he died.

“Baby, I’m losing hope. I can’t do this without you. It’s officially been four days of complete silence. I know I should wait longer, but every second without hearing your voice is fucking hell. Something inside of me is telling me that you’re still here, but it’s not enough to convince me,” he starts crying again, then continues with a shaky voice, “ I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re gone. My life is nothing without you. Please, baby,” Another sob, “Please wait for me…”

I can barely see my phone screen when that one finally ends, tears streaming down my face. That’s the last words I’ll hear him say to me. Please wait for me. The last text telling me to come home. And oh how fucking much I wanted to come home.

I needed home. I needed its warm hugs. I need the laughs it’d give me. The bright smile that was all my doing. The feel of its skin against mine. Noah was my home. I need him.

Powerful sobs shake my body, even worse than the ones when I found out. No pain medication could fix the pain I feel in my chest at this moment. I’ll never see my home again.

I leave the voicemail app and open photos, scrolling through the folder I had of every picture and video of him and I. I watched the videos first, needing to hear his happy voice again. The one who would tell me he loved me in utter swoon. His laugh and smile as he looked at me past the camera. The videos Bryan took of us looking like the perfect couple, unable to be more than a few feet apart from each other, if not constantly touching.

He was gone. That’s all my brain was saying, on repeat. He was gone. Noah was gone. I’ll never see him again. I won’t even be able to see him at the funeral, now knowing how he chose to pass.

And then a new phrase began repeating in my head. His debilitatingly sad voice telling me to wait for him. I glance up from my phone to the kitchen counter, the one that held the small pharmacy bag.

You won’t have to wait long, my love.

Connecting my phone to my speaker, I start blasting our song as I walk towards the counter.

As we wake up in your room

Your face is the first thing I see

The first time I’ve seen love

And the last I’ll ever need

I rip open the paper bag, pulling out the small rattling container and just staring at it.

You remind her that your future

Will be nothing without her

Never lose her, I’m afraid

Better think of something good to say

I move to sit down in the middle of the living room floor, still staring at the bottle in my hands. “Please wait for me.” I hear him in my head once more.

I open the bottle and pour out the contents into my hand. “Please come home.” I see flash across my vision.

Without another thought, I throw them back, swallowing dry. I lean back, lying on the wooden floor as the music plays around me, vibrating underneath me.

She was always the one

I’ll repeat it again, the one

No such thing as too young

I feel them hit my stomach like a brick. Or maybe that's the grief and pain finally numbing down to the feeling of a pit deep inside me.

I let the memories of us pass by like my life before my eyes. I’ll be home to him soon. I’ll get to see him again.

My vision starts to blur. Suddenly, I see him. I turn my head to face the corner of the room, and I see his bright welcoming smile. I want to tell him that I’ll be there soon, but it’s hard to move my lips. But he’s there. He can see me ready to come home. Just give it a few more moments and you won’t have to wait any longer.

Cause there’s faith in love

If you kiss me goodnight

I’ll know everything is alright

Second chances won’t leave us alone

Won’t leave us alone

Cause there’s faith in love

As the song comes to an end, I flex my hand the best I could to reach out towards him. I can almost feel his hug already. The warmth I feel when he smiles down at me. Just a few more moments and I’ll be with him.

But when my eyes finally shut, a small smile now stuck on my face. I could no longer hear his voice in my head. All I can feel is cold. All I can see is black. All I can sense is darkness.

He wasn’t here.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian reader insert #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens x reader #Spotify #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian one shot #bad omen angst #bad omen one shot

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andwordsarefutiledevicess · 2 months ago

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but saying it out loud is hard

summary: art tries to sleep, patrick is blissfully unaware. mark rebellato academy circa 2006 (prior to us open). loosely inspired by futile devices by sufjan stevens.

a/n: a quick something about art and patrick at rebellato. this is less patrick x art and more just....musings on homoerotic friendships. its been a while since i've posted, but feel free to send requests! i'll be active the next few weeks :)

the rattle of the air conditioning blended with the rhymic sounds of patrick’s deep breaths. the sheen of sweat across art’s skin chilled, sending a shudder down his gangly legs. for the past hour art had been wrestling his sheets while the window unit, nearest to his bed, blew his curls back into his eyes no matter how many times he raked a hand through them. it’s was three a.m. and, in the unceasing may florida heat which even the night could not escape, in the bed too small for his post-growth-spurt body, art was ready to give up on his hopes for a good nights’ rest.

a muffled snore from patrick’s end of the room only served to taunt art. it was like patrick was saying “my bed is far away from that shitty ac, and i’ll be perfectly rested to whoop your ass during practice tomorrow” with each open-mouth, blissed-out breath in. art had never slept well at rebellato, not in the nearly six years he’d been there. his mind couldn’t seem to turn off when the lights did. he missed the feeling of his dog at the foot of his bed and, secretly, being able to hug his worn-out stuffed animals. but he’d learned to tough it out, and wait until he couldn’t keep his eyelids up before his restless mind gave into sleep.

art was proud that he hadn’t slipped back into his old bad habits. when the cicadas chirped through this nights of those first few years at rebellato academy, art would push his and patrick’s beds together. sometimes he’d give up and just squeeze himself into pat’s bed and they’d sleep like sardines. sometimes patrick was the one to make the decision. art didn’t have brothers, and believed patrick, who had two, when he’d told art that this is what brothers did. they’d wake up with their cheeks smashed together and he couldn’t tell when one boy started and the other ended. now art felt too old for it. or something like that.

it must have been the days of poor sleep that caused art to lapse back into this bad habit, or at least that was what he would tell himself the next morning. his drowsiness stripped him of the executive function necessary to stop his legs as they swung out of his own bed, and the soft beds of his feet hit the hardwood floors.

patrick’s mattress dipped with the weight of art’s body as he crawled into the opposite bed.

“are you asleep, pat?” his voice sounded strange to hear out loud after hours of quiet.

a grumble, and then “yes.” art rolled his eyes in the dark.

“if you’re asleep then why did you respond” art retorted, less a whisper and more just a quiet tone. he rested his head down, facing patrick, as he tried to settle his body without knocking knees in the twin bed.

patrick’s eyes finally opened, heavy-lidded with interrupted sleep. “what’s up” he rasped, stretching his shoulders and tangling his brown waves on the pillowcase.

“can’t sleep” art said, trying to sound dishonestly casual. patrick rubbed his eyes, reminding art of the 12-year-old pat he first met. patrick resigned, lifting his blanket as an invitation for art to share the bed like they used to. art muttered a “thanks” before scootching closer.

pat had already closed his eyes. a second body in patrick’s bed, let alone that of his best friend, didn’t seem to bother him. art wished it was that easy. like everything pat did, he slept with the practiced nonchalance art never mastered.

in the rare instance art had the gumption to reach out and take the things he wanted, he couldn’t rest with his success in the way that pat always had. it took emma shapiro telling kat zimmerman that she didn’t think art would ever kiss her, and kat zimmerman telling patrick, and patrick telling art he needed to “lay one on her” for art to finally kiss emma during the last week of seventh grade. he was convinced she hated it and hated him, and he never messaged her on AIM like she’d told him to. pat had already had is first kiss the year before with jessica martinez during a game of spin the bottle. patrick spun the bottle, grinned as it landed on jessica, managed to sneak in a bit of tongue, and grinned at art when jessica promptly ran away afterwards. the bottle never landed on art and he never felt up to spinning it.

with a soft thud, the weight of patrick’s arm landed across art’s body as he moved in his sleep. with each of art’s inhales, the rise of his chest would move patrick’s arm with it. bare skin dragging along bare skin as their bodies rode the same slow wave of movement, and art finally slept.

#challengers #art donaldson #mike faist #patrick zweig #josh o'connor

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goldenfigtree · 1 year ago

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Lipstick Smudges

Part 1 of 3

Summary: Leon attends your engagement party to support you despite his repressed feelings for you.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x FemReader

Warning: fluff

A/N: Tried something a little different from my usual writing but I hope y’all enjoy lemme know what y’all think :)

Part two is right here: Part Two

The car radio made up for the silence in Leon’s jeep as his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. But then again, how could he not? You practically begged him to come, he was your closest friend after all.

Friend.

He hated when she used the word, yet couldn’t really blame her. It was technically his fault for not toughening up and confessing. Leon’s communication skills strike again and now here he was, driving to your engagement party in his best suit, his hair slicked back. He remembered you saying that you liked how it looked on him once. Your voice softly echoes in his brain as he recalls this memory,

“I like your hair like that, really brings out your eyes”

Your smile inks into his memory. What he would do to make you smile like that again. Like he was the only one in the world.

Somehow, these thoughts thread together like a spiderweb, at its center the sentence:

Maybe, just maybe there’s still hope.

It was impossible to forget that little twinkle in your eye when he walked into the room, the smile that outdid all the sunrises he witnessed in his lifetime, the laugh that made his heart flutter with every ripple of tone.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles white. Shaking his head, his pupils retreat to a smaller size. He knew he couldn’t do that to you. It would be unfair, selfish. But God, he wanted you all for himself. It’s barely the car ride there and he’s already wanting this engagement party to end.

Once he parked his car, he made his way to the ivy covered villa with windows projecting a yellow glow. He could already hear the cheerful congratulations and cheers to the happy couple, his stomach churned at the sound of them. He was only a second away from entering when a familiar face swung the door open and turned to him in a bit of surprise, car keys in hand,

“Hey stranger, you’re a bit late” it was Claire, red gown and all.

“And you’re leaving early” Leon acknowledges, eyes fixated on the car keys. He had to stop himself from asking if he could go with her. Come up with an excuse—that he got sick. He knew he was about to be sick soon, so it wouldn’t really be a lie, just a preparation. Claire blinked at him curiously and tilted her head down to see where he was looking,

“Oh! I’m just getting my present from my car” Claire assures nodding her head towards the car, her ponytail swinging from side to side from the motion, “I’m surprised you’re here”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks defensively,

“Well, everyone knows you’ve had a thing for her since I don’t know how long” Claire responds with a shrug,

“That… was a long time ago” Leon mutters, his cheeks warm and his eyes fixated on the door, preparing himself to find what’s behind it. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Claire meets his eyes and gives him a reassuring grin,

“Hey, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. Ya know, I have to say, you’re a good guy for doing this despite.. ya know”

He certainly didn’t feel like that now, remembering the shimmering string of hope he dwelled on in the car ride. Not making eye contact with Claire, he merely nods his head and wraps his fingers around the golden doorknob,

“Right, see you in there”

Swinging the door open, voices swell the room and ring in his ears. The beautiful villa lit with large lit crystal chandeliers and the large amounts of people, made the whole place stuffy. Grimacing to himself, he subconsciously tried to find any trace of you as he pushed past the elegantly dressed guests.

Then there it was, your laughter. So loud, so unique, so unapologetically you. Turning his head he forgets how to breathe from the mere sight of you enjoying the conversation you were having. Champagne glass in your hand, the giant rock on your ring finger blinding anyone nearby and an elegant gown framing your figure, you don’t even realize Leon is halted there, mouth agape. Laughing and conversing cheerfully, you fan away the compliments and thank those who congratulate you while passing by. After finishing a conversation with one of the guests, you take a look around until your eyes are met with his. Time stopped and music deafened the moment your eyes locked on his. A joyful smile grows on your face as you shove your way through the people to get to him,

“You made it!” You exclaim so he can hear you over the boisterous chatter.

“Sorry I’m late” he greets with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t be, it’s not your type of scenery anyway” you insist, grabbing a champagne glass from one of the caterer’s trays and handing it to him,

“You know me too well”

“Come on, I know a much quieter place we can talk” you suggest, already walking through the crowd. Before he could even question this sudden suggestion, he almost loses sight of you and walks through the sea of people. He feels the warmth of a hand wrap around his wrist and tug him through, your giggle being the only distinct thing to make out that that hand was yours. Eventually, Leon finds himself outside in a garden. Bushes trimmed into elegant shapes and certain animals. Flowers of various colors in full bloom.

“So how’ve you been?” You begin to ask, both hands cradling the champagne glass, “I haven’t seen you in a while”

“I’ve been busier than usual” more like busier avoiding you and your fiancé, Will, at all costs. The sight of you two together made his heart shatter at the sight. The silence in response was enough for Leon to know you didn’t believe him, “I am busier” he insists.

“Alright” you respond with a shrug, a look of disbelief still remains on your face, “What do you think of Will?”

The both of you stop walking as he contemplates what he should say. He hated just looking at him for taking what he could’ve had. Looking at them, together, revived a battle of whether he should hate Will or himself for letting this happen.

“I don’t know Will” Leon decides to say, which was true. A sheepish giggle escapes your lips as you continue walking, “But as long as you’re happy”

“I guess that’s true” with your gown trailing behind, you sit at the edge of an extravagant fountain, placing your champagne glass on the cobblestone ground. The very top of the fountain had an eagle perched on a branch, the rest of it was ivy and smaller birds perched carved into the stone. The pad of your index finger strokes along the water. It was warm from being under the sun. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, facing you, he studied your face. Your eyes were much more solemn, your lips in a frown, a large contrast from a few minutes ago inside the villa.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks gently, his hand instinctively reaching to lay atop of yours— he pulls it away.

“Leon, I wonder what you would think of me” You begin to say, your eyelashes flutter as you look ahead at the garden, biting your lip softly.

“I don’t know what you mean”

“What if, I didn’t marry William” there was that beam of hope in him, rising again. Guilt covering it shortly after,

“Why?”

“I just, don’t know if he’s the one you know?” You gingerly reply, eyes finally looking into his, “There’s just… this feeling I can’t shake away. But I’m not sure if it’s just me having cold feet or if it’s real”

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, your eyes were set on his lips. He could hear his heartbeat patter in his ears as you leaned toward him, twinkling eyes and lips parted. Your breath against his skin sent a shiver down his spine. He could only remember one time the two of you were this close. His eyes gave into their hunger and watched as your lips moved closer and closer to his own. He couldn’t take it anymore, leaning forward, he closes the gap.

Trapped in the scent of your expensive perfume, the texture of your lips, he can feel goosebumps rise on his skin. Your lips follow this dance he’s leading, an excited breath shudders in the midst of it as his hands hold your face and keep you in place. Your heart was beating at an alarming speed from it all, but it only encouraged you to want more. Your senses were dulled by his lips, his presence, his scent, you didn’t want to stop. Your tongue meets his own, earning a sound from Leon that instantly makes you want to hear it again. That is, until you hear someone calling your name. You knew that voice, it was Will. Pulling away you look at Leon in horror. Everything that had happened setting in at once. Your lipstick smudged on Leon’s lips, his bright blue eyes looking at you like a deer in headlights as your future husband calls your name.

“I’m so sorry” you whisper, lifting up the skirt of your dress and running off to meet her fiancé. Leon sits there, paralyzed from everything, Will’s voice greeting you and breaking Leon in the process,

“There you are, I was looking everywhere for you”

“Well here I am” you say sheepishly as Will takes your hand in his.

Your lipstick smudged on his lips, his heart in turmoil, he drives home.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil drabble #resident evil imagines #Spotify

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sgtmickeyslaughter · 10 months ago

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Weekly Tag Wednesdayyy

Hi @energievie @mmmichyyy @spookygingerr @lingy910y @jrooc and @mickeym4ndy !

name: gigi

your time zone: est

favorite food: ive truly never met a soup i didn't like, but my favorite is pho. the absolute artistry behind creating a piping hot soup designed for a warm climate that actually cools you down with the power of herbs alone? stunning

your eye color: brown + green

do you have curly, wavy, or straight hair? bone straight and very stubborn about it

coffee or tea? coffee

you can only listen to one album for the rest of your life. which album is it? im going to say illinoise by sufjan stevens, i saw the play version last month and i highly highly recommend it its so beautiful

how many countries have you visited? korea, india, japan, mexico and canada next week if the canucks make it to round 7 (fingers crossed)

favorite social media platform (other than tumblr): instagram? I guess? I used to like chatting on reddit but the vibes are less than ideal so i chat with people here :)

if you had to be reincarnated as an animal, what animal would you want to be? a tiny, colorful bird on an island. no predators, just flitting around a forest

relationship status: very recently single :,( really tragic circumstances but ultimately amicable so we will remain great friends. i have had some pretty ridiculous breakups tho so maybe ill work those into a fic someday

did you go to college? if so, what did you study? yes, I went to an arts institute which i adored and studied architecture and morphology

you’ve just made a letterboxd account. what are your top 4 films? bones and all, princess Mononoke, midsommar, and julie and julia

what’s one of your pet peeves? when people start walking onto the train before people get out, oh that grinds my gears, I take three trains to and from work so a lot of my pet peeves are pubic transit related (still couldn't catch me in a car tho)

what’s one of your guilty pleasures? im going to change this to creature comfort: I love love love cooking and eating homecooked meals

and finally, if you could learn any skill, what skill would you want to learn? any instrument. literally any. i've tried hard over and over with different instruments and the best i can get to is like barely passible not quite good or god forbid innovative.

tagging under the cut!

@heymrspatel @doshiart @sirrudo @mickittotheman @mybrainismelted

@iansw0rld @especially-fuk-u @mickeysgaymom @softmick

@blue-disco-lights @gallawitchxx @solitarycreaturesthey @deathclassic

#sgt says #tag game

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extraordinaryhistories · 8 months ago

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#15 – 'Kill' (A Sun Came, 1998)

In 2016, a man named Marc Rebillet (yes, that Marc Rebillet) decided to search through a dumpster outside Sufjan’s studio in DUMBO, Brooklyn, which is a very mature and adult thing to do and reflects fantastically on Marc as a person, and certainly should have no consequences on his thriving music career. In that dumpster, he found an odd-looking CD – an unreleased album with a black-and-white cover titled Stalker, claiming to be performed by Sufjan Stevens. It had been recorded some time in the 1990s, and on a quick listen (the album was swiftly leaked online), it certainly sounded like early Sufjan, back when he did wild electric guitar freak-outs; his hushed but nasally vocal tone from that era is unmistakeable.

Everything seemed normal, except for the fact that the album was about tracking, sexually assaulting and then murdering people. It contained songs with titles like ‘I Know Where Your Kids Go to School’, ‘Baby Give Me a Feel’ and ‘U Kan Wrun But U Kan’t Hyde’. None of it was metaphorical. Sufjan recorded a noise rock album in the 90s that was quite literally about fucking stalking people. And then, not five years later, recorded ‘For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti’. It boggles the mind.

At the time that Stalker was released, a significant portion of the Sufjan fan community cast doubt on the veracity of the leak. One of the major concerns was that the subject matter was far too direct, far too gruesome, for a Sufjan song. He would never be so brutally direct. He would never. Right?

‘Kill’ is a song by Sufjan Stevens that features the following as its chorus: ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain / And when it's over / I know I'll feel okay’. Ah. Case closed.

The third-last track on A Sun Came, ‘Kill’ is a knotty piece of songwriting that may be the most multi-layered lyrical construction in his early work. Even purely on inspection one can see this to be true – it is a song with a clear narrative, some clear themes, a roiling balance of light and dark within it, which is far more than can be said for much of this era. But then you get to the allusions this song pays to other literary and musical sources, and things only begin to complicate further. I, personally, have not quite made my mind up about ‘Kill’. It is a song loaded with possibility.

An initial reading of ‘Kill’ gives the strong suggestion of a relationship narrative, and I do think that this is what lies at the song’s core. The relationship in this song need not be romantic, but given the sheer depth and fury of the passion here, it seems highly probable. There is a narrator who exists in what is very much a lopsided power dynamic with another (male) figure; very rarely is the narrator an active subject in this song, instead being subject to the figure’s curation and exploitation. The figure ‘took the stable / Bred me to be a mare / Made the brethren able / Gave me a room’, all of which are ostensible acts of kindness that nevertheless confirm a ruler/ruled dynamic.

We receive that same confirmation in the next verse. ‘I never asked him / I never meant to stay’, says the narrator, and very quickly the song sours. The narrator finds themselves being used and abused, ‘never [leaving] the stall’ while their partner readily leaves their side. Any sense of a romantic relationship in an ideal sense – two partners, ‘riding side by side / Into the frontier’, tackling the world’s challenges as a single, symbiotic unit – is long defunct. Only misery remains for the narrator, with hope long-dashed by a pattern of careless exploitation.

With this as our narrative foundation, we reach the song’s climax, one of the most striking and instantly memorable moments in his catalogue on account of how utterly depraved it is. We are left with no doubt that Sufjan’s narrator is in a state of abject misery up to this point. But misery in Sufjan songs is so often detached, poetic, dejected, somehow fundamentally stoic. Not in ‘Kill’. The narrator has no remaining emotional bandwidth for stoicism. All that’s left is a carnal desire to exact onto the narrator’s partner some fraction of the pain that the partner exacted onto the narrator, and the only way to do this is through murder.

You will not find a gnarlier image in the Sufjan catalogue than ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain’, and the reason it has so much guttural power is because it does not quite read as psychopathic or unstable. The narrator only wants to do this. They never will, and likely never even could – the verses of this song are in the past tense, and by the time we reach the present tense of the pre-chorus, the partner has left the narrator forever. ‘Kill’ is a logical conclusion, an exhausted final attempt to lash out in a situation where the narrator knows they have no power to do so. When the chorus finally breaks down at the end into a futile repeated ‘I want’, the song’s message is complete. It is violent, but the violence is less a horror tale, more a tragedy.

This is the interpretation that a direct reading of ‘Kill’ provides us, but there are all sorts of semantic curios in this one that complicate interpretation. I am, of course, referring to the extended horse metaphor that this song seems to be pushing. Both narrator and villain are referred to as mares in this song; there is talk of stalls, of stables, of riding into battle in a literal sense. It is rather late for me to mention that ‘Kill’ has a source text, but it seemingly does – Sufjan cites an obscure Sherwood Anderson short story named ‘The Man Who Became a Woman’ as the basis for this song, but has refused to elaborate further. The surface-level parallels are very clear given that ‘The Man Who Became a Woman’ is a story about a horse trainer, but from there the complications begin, because Anderson’s story is a) incredibly obtuse and b) seems to reckon far more with gender, and to a lesser extent race, than it does dysfunctional romance as a theme. The narrative in ‘Kill’ certainly does not retell that of its source material, at least not in a manner discernible to the listener. But the connections are there nonetheless.

A Sun Came is an album that brims with loving, albeit surface-level, tributes to Sufjan’s musical and literary influences, and ‘Kill’ is one such example. But Anderson isn’t the only reference point for ‘Kill’. It is highly probable that Sufjan is intentionally referencing Elliott Smith’s ‘Roman Candle’ in the chorus of this one. Sufjan sings ‘I want to kill him / I want to cut his brain’; years earlier, Smith sang ‘I want to hurt him / I want to give him pain’. And this is almost certainly intentional given Sufjan’s professed admiration for Smith and the various comparisons that have been made between the two songwriters over Sufjan’s career. (What makes things even more interesting is that ‘Roman Candle’ is a song about Smith’s violent step-father. The same systematic patterns of abuse are present in the lyrics of both songs, albeit expressed with more eloquence in Smith’s. Even if not Sufjan’s own stepfather – Lowell Brahms is by all accounts a beautiful, caring soul – one wonders if the subject of ‘Kill’ might have a real-life referent.)

One could spend days attempting to decode ‘Kill’, and this is fortuitous, because musically it does not offer much. The bulk of the song consists of a repeating guitar figure that has a sort of leaden weight to it, dragging it down into the muck. It is vaguely reminiscent of – and inferior to – the ‘Abraham’ ostinato that Sufjan would pen a few years later, but this one is played almost entirely on the lower strings and as a result lacks the same ethereal pop and spring that many Sufjan songs capitalise on. There is some double tracking, especially in the chorus and pre-chorus, but it doesn’t add anything substantial to the arrangement. Neither does Sufjan’s strained, upper-register vocal melody, but there is certainly a sort of confessional quality to it that suits the subject matter.

All of this comes together to create a song that is resolutely, undeniably un-fun to listen to. It is most likely for this reason that Sufjan chose never to play this one live, unlike some of the other stripped-back folk ballads on A Sun Came. When Sufjan dips his toes in depravity – ‘John Wayne Gacy Jr.’! ‘Saturn’! – incredibly compelling, listenable, rich things tend to emerge, but at this early stage of his career, it seems that the pieces are just not quite in place yet. But there’s no denying that ‘Kill’ is a fascinating and in many ways remarkably compelling song, just one that does not feel as listenable as it could be. It’s fine. Early days yet. All of these songs helped create our modern concept of Sufjan Stevens.

#music #sufjan stevens #sufjan #folk music #macabre #but campy too

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areyoudreaminof · 1 year ago

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This Life and the Next: A Nessian Playlist

It's finally @nessianweek! And of course for Day 3 I had to make a playlist!

We love their banter, their angst, their passion, and their deep undying love for one another. To watch Cassian and Nesta find each other despite their own personal challenges was such a beautiful and satisfying love story. For this playlist, I tried to follow a somewhat narrative structure that fell in line with ACOSF. I wanted to represent these two people finding one another and lifting the other up. This playlist also has a fun little bonus track for your fun Nessian writing needs. LISTEN HERE and take a look at some lyrics behind the cut.

As The World Caves In-Matt Maltese

My feet are aching And your back is pretty tired And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe And set our grief aside And here it is, our final night alive And as the earth burns to the ground Oh, girl, it's you that I lie with As the atom bomb locks in Oh, it's you I watch TV with As the world, as the world caves in

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene-Hozier

Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, I Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet

Lose My Cool-Amber Marks

I was so full of pain just stuck in my head There was no one that could get me out of it Yes I think the drinking was a bit excessive Just to be frank the drinking ain't what caused me to be aggressive My heart has been taken over Everyday I get colder to 'em I realize need to let go expression from the get go to 'em Feeling it like I just need to speak my brain

Banquet-Bloc Party

And if you feel A little left behind We will wait for you on the other side 'Cause I'm on fire 'Cause you know I'm on fire when you come

Homage-Mild High Club

Please just have a laugh with me 'Cause you know I'm borrowing by now These sounds, have already crowned Come on it's a silly dream Dreaming of the imagery unfound The view sits nice from that cloud

Make You Better-The Decemberists

I'll love you in springtime I lost you when summer came And when you pulled backwards I wanted to, I needed to Oh-oh, to make me better

Andromeda- Weyes Blood

Treat me right I'm still a good man's daughter Let me in if I break And be quiet if I shatter Gettin' tired of looking You know that I hate the game Don't wanna waste any more time You know I been holdin' out Love is calling It's time to give to you

Skulls-Bastille

I don't want to rest in peace I'd rather be the ghost that annoys you I hope you can make me laugh Six feet down when we're bored of each other A match is our only light

When our lives are over and all that remains Are our skulls and bones, let's take it to the grave And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms I'll be buried here with you And I'll hold in these hands, all that remains

Leather-Tori Amos

Look, I'm standing naked before you Don't you want more than my sex? I can scream as loud as your last one But I can't claim innocence Oh God, could it be the weather? Oh God, why am I here? If love isn't forever And it's not the weather Hand me my leather

waves-Miguel & Kacey Musgraves

Put it out, I'm on fire, fire That’s what I’m about, take me higher, higher, tonight I'm gonna ride that wave

the last beautiful thing I saw..-Paris Paloma

And I looked up, and saw the sun It separated all the colors And the ice, into my eyes It fell and left me blind That was the last thing that I saw The fractured glass and its downpour I felt the blood mix with the water And I didn't see no more

Rut-The Killers

So I'm handing you a memory I hope you understand That steadily reminds you of who I really am

This city's always breathing, I wish that it would die The kickbacks and the bachelors, the fever for the velvet rope The money from my mother's men I'm not like her, you're not like them

Tell Me You Love Me-Sufjan Stevens

My love, I've lost my faith in everything Tell me you love me anyway, tell me you love me anyway My love, I feel myself unravelling Tell me you love me anyway, tell me you love me anyway My love, I feel the darkness on my back

Eternal Flame-Saint Sister

I believe it's meant to be, darling I watch you when you are sleeping You belong with me Do you feel the same? Or am I only dreaming? Is this burning an eternal flame?

Milk & Black Spiders-Foals

Oh, I hope you can hear me All those million miles away, you'd stay 'Cause I'd love you dearly All those billion miles away 'Cause I've been around two times And found that you're the only thing I need

BONUS TRACK: Smut-Tom Lehrer

Give me smut And nothing but! A dirty novel I can't shut If it's uncut And unsubt-tle

Taglist: @asnowfern @damedechance @foundress0fnothing @foreverinelysian @gaeleria @goddess-aelin @itsthedoodle @kataravimes-of-the-shire @krem-does-stuff @labellefleur-sauvage @moodymelanist @c-e-d-dreamer @nessianweek @octobers-veryown @popjunkie42-blog @reverie-tales @rosanna-writer @spell-cleavers @sassyhobbits @separatist-apologist @secret-third-thing @thesistersarcheron @the-lonelybarricade @ultadverb @vulpes-fennec @witchlingsandwyverns @xtaketwox @wilde-knight @witch-and-her-witcher @iftheshoef1tz @ofduskanddreams @talons-and-teeth

#nessian #nessianweek2023 #acotar playlist project #acotar playlist #Spotify #cassian #Nesta #pro cassian #pro nesta #pro nessian

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squadxx4392 · 1 year ago

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Jegulus as angsty song lyrics (from previous list posted)

(If The World Was Ending by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels)

James : I know, you know, we know, you weren't down for forever and it's fine

Regulus : Think I figured out how, how to think about you without it ripping my heart out

(Rewrite the Stars by Zac Efron and Zendaya)

James : You know I want you, it's not a secret I tried to hide, I know you want me, so don't keep saying our hands are tied

Regulus : You know I want you, it's not a secret I tried to hide, but I can't have you, we're bound to break and my hands are tied

(when the party's over by Billie Eilish)

James : Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin', but nothin' ever stops you leavin', quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own, I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that, I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

Regulus : But nothin' is better sometimes, once we've both said our goodbyes, let's just let it go, let me let you go

(Daylight by David Kushner)

James : Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time, you and I drink the poison from the same vine, oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time, hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

Regulus : Tellin' myself it's the last time, can you spare any mercy that you might find, if I'm down on my knees again? Deep down, way down, Lord, I try, try to follow your light, but it's night time, please, don't leave me in the end

(Astronomy by Conan Gray)

James : We've traveled the seas, we've ridden the stars, we've seen everything from Saturn to Mars, as much as it seems like you own my heart, it's astronomy, we're two worlds apart

Regulus : We're two worlds apart, stop trying to keep us alive, you're pointing at stars in the sky that already died, stop trying to keep us alive, you can't force the stars to align when they've already died

(Bubblegum by Clairo)

James : Sorry I didn't kiss you, but it's obvious I wanted to, bubble gum down my throat and it's a curse, but my luck couldn't get any worse

Regulus : You look so nice in your shirt, it's sad because it just hurts, I'd do anything for you, but would you do that for me, too?

(Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens)

James : The evil it spread like a fever ahead, it was night when you died, my firefly, what could I have said to raise you from the dead? Oh could I be the sky on the Fourth of July? Well you do enough talk, my little hawk, why do you cry? Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn? Or the Fourth of July? We're all gonna die

Regulus : The hospital asked should the body be cast, before I say goodbye, my star in the sky, such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth, do you find it all right, my dragonfly?, Shall we look at the moon, my little loon, why do you cry? Make the most of your life, while it is rife, while it is light, well you do enough talk, my little hawk, why do you cry? Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn? Or the Fourth of July? We're all gonna die

(Heather by Conan Gray)

James : I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater, you said it looked better on me than it did you, only if you knew how much I liked you

Regulus : But I watch your eyes as she, walks by, what a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky, she's got you mesmerized while I die

(I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry)

James : I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along, now in its place is something new, I hear it when I look at you

Regulus : I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along, you took my broken melody, and now I hear a symphony

(lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid)

James : Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here, even if it takes all night or a hundred years, ned a place to hide, but I can't find one near, wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

Regulus : Isn't it lovely, all alone? Heart made of glass, my mind of stone, tear me to pieces, skin to bone, hello, welcome home

(Train Wreck by James Arthur)

James : Unbreak the broken, unsay these spoken words, find hope in the hopeless, pull me out of the train wreck

Regulus : Unburn the ashes, unchain the reactions now, not ready to die, not yet, pull me out the train wreck, pull me out, pull me out, pull me out, ah, pull me out, pull me out, pull me out

(Something in the Orange by Zach Bryan)

James : But I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun, something in the orange tells me we're not done

Regulus : To you I'm just a man, to me you're all I am, where the hell am I supposed to go? I poisoned myself again, something in the orange tells me you're never coming home

(Two Birds by Regina Spektor)

James : Two birds on a wire (oh-oh-oh), one says, "C'mon" and the other says, "I'm tired", the sky is overcast and I'm sorry (oh-oh-oh), one more or one less, nobody's worried

Regulus : Two birds on a wire, one tries to fly away, and the other watches him close from that wire, he says he wants to as well, but he is a liar

(Water Fountain by Alec Benjamin)

James : Now I'm grabbing her hips, and pulling her in, kissing her lips, and whispering in her ear, and I know that it's only a wish, and that we're not standing by the water fountain

Regulus : Now he's grabbing her hips, and pulling her in, kissing her lips, and whispering in her ear, and she knows that she shouldn't listen, and that she should be with me by the water fountain

#lgbtq #harry potter #marauders #jegulus #gay #these songs are so them #sunseeker #starchaser #james x regulus #james potter #regulus black #this is actually so depressing tbh-

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ninthprime · 16 days ago

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severance 2x05 thoughts (spoilers)

i had kind of wanted the state of PE to be some sort of warped hudson valley/NJ area, because i’m familiar with and fond of a lot of the areas in which this show was filmed (i work a heavy travel job where my assigned territory happens to include most of them). but the mentions of grand rapids and milwaukee this season and the use of “wreck of the edmund fitzgerald” are increasingly convincing me of the theory that PE is what us americans know as michigan’s upper peninsula. i saw it proposed in a reddit comment ages ago, but it feels far more viable now. it’s snowy, full of trees, and very isolated- basically exactly what the town of kier is. (play some sufjan, you cowards!)

one thing i’ve grown to really appreciate over the course of this season so far is its dedication to simplicity- or more specifically, not overcomplicating things. occam’s razor if you will, as devon referenced in the second episode. consistently, i’ve seen viewers glom onto specific details and extensive theories when the actual answer is far more simple and straightforward. they’re gonna show dylan a fake family? nope, he meets his actual wife. burt and irving knew each other as outies? nah, their romance was entirely organic. how did all the outies agree to the ORTBO and leave afterward? it literally doesn’t matter! the best example of all to me is milchick’s storyline this season- i had wondered after the premiere if milchick was being purposefully messed with as part of some scheme, but it turns out he’s dealing with corporate racism, and that is far more resonant and relevant to what this show is commenting on than any sort of mystery box. this isn’t a show concerned with justification and details for every little plot point: this is a show concerned with its themes and ideas about personhood and social structures over pretty much anything else, and it’s willing to throw out the small shit for that. i keep seeing people try to connect every little detail in their theories and i think, frankly, we should be looking to downsize. the lives of these people are what matters, not that every single plot point is explained twice over.

with that in mind, despite the fact that i thought burt might be reintegrated just a few episodes ago, i’m now wondering if he’s completely genuine- or at the very least, not hostile as many people are speculating. the actual plot point we’re meant to focus on here is whether or not “love transcends severance” in burt and irving’s case, and what that tells us thematically for the story and about their outies as characters. the show is still being very restrictive about outie irving and what his deal is; my prediction is that the complication of the dinner might involve him self-sabotaging a potential new bond with burt and fields because he’s operating on such heavy suspicion of anything lumon related. (that or fields just isn’t happy with this situation which, frankly, is completely understandable.)

the ricken and devon storyline this season intrigues me because i see very little speculation on where it’s leading. i had assumed that ricken may have written the dieter story in 2x04 because of apple releasing the excerpt from the you you are before the episode premiered- basically a way of priming the viewer for that realization. but i think it would have been mentioned this week if that were the case. it certainly seems to be a “capitalism consumes even criticism of itself” story. (this show is funded and produced by apple and the writers seem to be aware of the layers of that, lol)

surprised i haven’t seen fellow theorizers focus on drummond briefly calling jame “father” yet. i think the most likely answer is that members of the figurative lumon cult just call jame “father” in general, but there’s a part of me that wonders if that indicates a certain amount of privilege by drummond- is this a sort of “beloved servant/assistant is adopted into the family” situation? it would explain a lot about helena if she knows she’s only the heir by her bloodline, and there are other “heirs” that jame likes and trusts a lot more.

mild trailer spoilers: there’s a shot of helly that seems to show her holding irving’s drawing of the exports hall elevator, so i suspect dylan and helly are going to bond over irving’s death and mark’s behavior (which is understandable to us and unclear to them) and dylan is going to let her in on what irving left behind- and maybe on the situation with gretchen, too. i would love to see the two of them investigating together. imagine them trying to explain the helena situation to O&D or MN.

at the beginning of this season, one of my remaining questions was “why does O&D need to be severed?” cool to see that answered, with the revelation that they make materials for the mysterious exports hall floor. i enjoyed seeing that elizabeth appears to have taken burt’s old position as one of the people allowed to roam the halls. and despite all the speculation about fields, my suspicion is that the guy picking up the materials is actually the “oswald” burt mentioned in season 1.

after 2x01 i made a joke about how there should be a compilation of wild milchick lines that tramell tillman delivers with absolute seriousness. i did not realize how unbelievably true that would be. there’s like five an episode

#severance #severance spoilers #severance personal tag

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c0mbatchameleon · 2 days ago

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hellooooo i would love to hear ab #4 for the WIP game 🩷

Hi thank u sm for asking!!!

This is a (hopefully short) road trip fic except regulus hasn’t spoken to Sirius or James in 10 years and James needs regulus’s help finding Sirius, who dramatically ran away after a bad fight with Remus or something. Also it takes place in the mid 2000s cuz I want them to have that millennial indie soundtrack and also im sick of Smartphone and have recently found myself yearning for the days of flip phones and those soft mesh earphones that hurt after wearing them too long, plugged into a cd walkman.

The title is from chicago by sufjan stevens, which became the obvious choice as an anthem for the entire fic. And maybe they take a stop in chicago, although its so far out of the way its laughable--and hey, if we're so urgent to find sirius, why are we taking all these stops, james? why don't you seem too urgent about the whole thing at all? what are u not telling us.....

anyways I say "hopefully short" because the goal is to finish it by jeg week--the only one bed trope is a favorite in my neck of the woods and i love an excuse to pull it out.

not much to choose from thus far in terms of snippets, so take the unpolished beginning of my doc:

It had started, apparently, with a “prank gone wrong.” That’s what James called it. Naturally, a few immediate questions followed suit. What do you mean “gone wrong?” What was the prank? What 27 year olds still "pull pranks," James? The response: only the distorted sound through the phone line of James sucking his teeth. Regulus forgot how he always did that, when they were kids. He can picture the accompanying expression in his head, slight cringe, drawn in brows, those warm ever-bright eyes. “Listen,” James said, like a plea. A bargain. “He fucked up, and then he freaked out, and now his bike’s not in the drive and he’s been gone for two days.” Regulus’s laugh, short and stunted, tasted bitter on his own tongue. “Yeah," he scoffed, the mug in his hand hit the counter with a bit too much force, coffee spilling over the rim. The noise did nothing to soothe his burgeoning headache. "He does that.”

#it just felt wrong that i haven't had a fic named after / based off of a sufjan song #so that had to change #jegulus #jegulus fic #regulus black #james potter #marauders era

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absurdly-overpowered-astronaut · 26 days ago

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I named some characters for each question but you can do any character or as many as you want I don't mind ^_^

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who? - I'm curious if any of them do..

3) What song describes your OC? - tory and anyone else you choose!

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day? - tolver and morgannn pretty pleaseee (or anyone else you want)

11) What was your inspiration for your OC? - another blanket one, any crows character is good

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive? - Tolver aaand joycie

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire? - Alex and Kat

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!) - uhmm grey moodboard grey moodboard!!!

Aaand extra bonus question, which one would get along really well with akitsu (if any) and which one would absolutely not (if any)

Thank you so much for the ask!!! I had lots of fun with this sorry it took so long though ^_^;

I tried to do it for all the main characters / characters with POVs but thats alot of people so not everyone is included for every question…

But thank you again for asking so many questions. You asked lots of the ones I really wanted to answer so thats exciting!

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

Its not something I really think about or consider often when I make characters so none of them have “official” for lack of a better word voice claims but I do remember thinking that Juliet probably sounded something like Jenny from deadboy detectives so Briana Cuoco is the closest I have to a voice claim for her.

(I don’t have any full art of her yet ahhh please accept my messy concept sketches ,^_^,)

I also remember wondering while watching the Witch From Mercury dub if Suletta was what Kat would sound like.

On the one hand Kat isn’t on T so it would make sense for his voice to be more fem but at the same time canonically he passes so then would it not make sense for his voice to be more fem because then he wouldn’t pass??? I don’t know but It has the perfect vibe though!

On the topic of The witch from mercury maybe Number 4/5/Elan = Tory/Cory?

I’d need to listen to his voice a few more times to be sure but thats the closest match I can think of to how Cory sounds in my head of the top of my head.

3) What song describes your OC?

Tory 110% ghosting by mother mother and Comfort zone by Ferry

I also associate him with

- Theory of I by Tart

-Homunculus by Trickle

-John my Beloved by Sufjan Stevens

-Shama by Nilfruits

-Cutlery by uki3

-like a dog by ferry

And Melty Land nightmare by Harumakigohan

Tory is a little hard because most Tory songs are also Cory songs so I tried to stick to the songs that only/mostly apply to Tory

Doing ever other POVs for funsies

Kat

- Say it/the moon will sing/predator by the crane wives

-easy by waveform*

-transient by the blank minds

-will anybody ever love me? By Sufjan stevens

-aishite! Aishite! Ashite!

I can’t become a floret/The third heart/Mikage’s Diary by Harumakigohan

-youyaku kimi ga shindanda

-I could’ve sworn you where dead by dandelion hands

-cutlery/quiet room uki3

-fool/lemon boy/snail cave town

-cosmic rendezvous by deco*27

Kat post story + a couple years of therapy

- tho I’m a tortoise

Cory

-Mama told me by mother mother

-soft and tame by the ophelias

-on the run by glass animals

-I of the storm/organs by of monsters and men

-your biggest fan by voxtrot

-javelin (to have to hold) by sufjan stevens

-take you to an alien by iyowa

-mud by Ferry

-the third heart/aster harumakigohan

-merry Christmas please don’t call by the bleachers

-Quite room by uki3

-sunao janakute gomennasai by aoya

Morgan

-Know how/keep you safe by the crane wives

-arms unfolding by dodie

-lost in the ocean by glass animals

-Zero talking by harumakigohan

-poison by cave town

-these days/upper hand/black ribbon by the Ophelias

-in the black by august greenwood

Grey

-here I am / canary in a coal mine by the crane wives

-neither here nor there eleisha eagle

-HIDE/SEEK by tart and monochromenace

-never the muse by madilyn mei

-mothers ,sisters , daughters and wives voxtrot

-monitoring by deco*27

-The kaleidoscope by monochromenace

-the faulty feline philosophy by ferry

-additional memory by jin

-living millenuim by iyowa

-leave you on the back of earth by Iyowa

Tolver

-Mad dog by the crane wives

-unfriendly hater by meddmia

- dinner bell by harumakigohan

-The Purge March/Deep cover/Harrow/bring it on! - deco*27

-red hour by tart

-scapeg♾️goat/pathological facade by ghost and pals

-ten feet tall by cave town

-who said anything about falling in love by the hoosiers

-like a dog by ferry

Alex

Seven by sleeping at last

Joycie

-I love you/this is how to be in love with you/parasite by deco*27

-idea of her /I’ll make cereal by cave town

-how I learned to love a bomb by glass animals

Goldenray/reunion/the secret/the promise by harumaki gohan

Hanahaki syndrome by shiki miyoshino

Ikanaide by sohta

Two by sleeping at last

Always forever by cults

Looking out for you by joy again

James

My angel by adrianne lenker

potpourri-san by iyowa

Mars by sleeping at last

Jaime

-the otherside of paradise by glass animals

Julie

Occam’s razor/message lost/false disposition by Ferry

Mars by sleeping atlast

Madeleine

Half return by Adrianne lenker

All is well (good bye good bye) by radical face

Heat abnormal by iyowa

Ithas

I ate my twin in the womb

Ikanaide

sorry the song section was sooo long ^-^;

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

Um idk how to approach this? ^^; the world of crows is pretty much just the real one but with ghosts and even if the supernatural elements didn’t exist the main characters wouldn’t have jobs because they are in high school…so I’m going to answer this question for the adult characters because if the super natural elements didn’t exist they would have different jobs then in the crows one.

Juliet - teacher aid. Is a little disillusioned but enjoys working with most kids and teachers.

james - worked at the old museum in town before it got shut down and begrudgingly moved to working at the one in the city. He loves it but hates that he does and he feels like it’s a betrayal of the town he loves and didn’t want to leave so he can never quite be fully happy in his new position. Feeling like he abandoned the town community for his own success/sake.

Jaime - youth councillor/helps run the town youth centre.

Madeline (not an adult but would have become one if not for super natural elements) - aquarium guide. I think she would love guiding people around aquariums and talking about all the creatures.

I also think she bugged james into coming with her to the city aquarium once and then she fell in love with the atmosphere and all the cool creatures and now with his city job they take turns driving each to work/bond over having similar jobs.

in this hypothetical she won’t have the same feelings about her life being worthless and her only existing to do one job so she’d let herself get a job she loves and set up a stable life.

Probably decorates her lanyard with cute sea creature stickers.

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

Kat and Cory

Okay so this is a little complicated but essentially both started out as expys. Cory was a Lelouch expy and Kat was a suzaku expy. They don’t really resemble Lelouch and Suzaku very much anymore Cory being dramatic and liking chess and Kat’s feelings of needing to atone are pretty much the only things that survived. So after I made the Suzaku and Lelouch expys I wanted a world to put them in and I was writing this story at the time so I put them in there.

They ended up becoming their own characters at this phase but they aren’t quite Kat and Cory yet so I’ll call these guys proto cory and proto kat for simplicity.

In this world there was like two planes a real world and like a p5 esc metaverse. You could access the other world viva a website and one of the big twists was the characters thought they where getting transferred from the real world to the other one but really they got a cloned version of themselves made in the other world and then the the memories of both versions where synced up so the other world version had all the real world versions memories and vice versa because the real world version was always just sitting at a computer when the other one was awake there wasn’t any simultaneous memory conflict.

Proto kat was one of the users of this web site so he had a version of himself in both the other and real world but one day his real world self died which the other world one remembered but wasn’t effected by so he saw it as him having a second chance at life.

Proto Cory starts using the website sometime after this finds the other world version of his friend and flips out. He is terrified that his memories of him and his friend will be retroactively ruined and he dosen’t really see the other world version as his friend just a guy with the same face so he tries to kill him :) Proto kat tries to just avoid proto cory at first but eventually tries to kill proto Cory too because in his mind thats the only way he will be able to live and he knows if he kills off other world proto cory real cory won’t die so its totally fineeeeee

This story didn’t end up panning out. Even though I liked the main cast and these two and another character the rest just wasn’t making me excited anymore so I moved to another story that lasted like 3 weeks at most? I’m only bringing up this incarnation of the characters because this is where kat gets alot of his personality traits and some building blocks for other characters start showing up.

After this incarnation of the characters is scrapped I go back to the multiple bodies/identity shenanigans stuff from the second iteration and come up with the idea for Crows premise and Kat and Cory evolved from there to fit the new premise and ideas I wanted to explore.

I was either watching dead boy detectives for the first time or it was when the show got cancelled because I was thinking about it alot so I was getting really excited about supernatural stories. thats how crows went from magical girl sci-fi to sci-fi to super natural/low fantasy.

Tory doesn’t pull from any past iteration because he was specifically created for Crows and every aspect of his character is based on the lore/themes which is spoilers so I won’t go to much into it _^_

Morgan is based on my fear that I’ll start living out of fear of dying and not because I want to be alive. I thought hmm what would be an interesting theme to explore in a story about death and ghosts? Oh a character who is so afraid of death they forget to live so I drew from those two ideas for her character.

She also borrows a couple personality traits and concepts from characters from the aforementioned scrapped stories

Grey was made by reversing Morgan’s philosophy. she’s someone who wants to live so bad they forget to fear death.

Also steals from older characters

Tolver is based on a crane wives song because their new album beyond beyond beyond had just come out and I was really excited. I based him off of mad dog

also stealing from myself once again

Alex

alex actually used to be the protagonist of crows

it started as kat before kat fully became current kat

then alex

then back to kat again

I knew I wanted ghosts to be weakened by having photo’s taken of them so Alex was created to be the character who takes the photos. thats why I considered making her the protagonist but it didn’t feel right and once I decided to work of those two ideas her other traits just kinda evolved from their or came out of necessity. Tolver doesn’t have a foil? Alex can be Tolvers foil! I need a character to make the audience question what they’ve been told about ghosts? Alex! Ect ect

I was very into puzzle boxes at the time so I gave her that as hobby to because I thought a wooden puzzle box would be an interesting prop to interact with ghosts with.

she was also just ment to be abit of variety. everyone else’s problems are very steeped in the super natural so she was also ment to be a character who had problems you couldn’t punch , kick or talk your way out of like everyone elses.

Joycie

Joycie came from me thinking about Morgan. I was trying to figure out what would case Morgan to be hyper aware of her mortality and resistant to relationships so I created Joycie to be the character that kinda caused those issues and from there I realised that if that character found out about ghost hunting it would put morgan in a really difficult position and difficult positions are fun! So I added her to the main cast to force her and Morgan to interact and grow.

also self theft

James , Juliet and Jaime

sorry I don’t have better art of them :’)

I knew that there was going to be atleast two rival ghost hunting originations so I needed two characters to lead said organisations and I wanted them to have some kind of past relationship so thats how Juliet and james get invented. I thought it would be interesting if there was also a third person caught up in everything so jaime was created shortly after to be the third party caught between who had to choice between their two friends and those two friend’s conflicting philosophies and alot of their traits evolved to build up to that climax. I made them some who is conflict avoidant and a mediator someone who will often try to compromise and struggles with picking sides so it hurts all the more when they have to make the ultimate choice to go with one or the other.

and then I got attached to all three so they became important <3

Madeleine

The plot needed someone to give something to someone at some point in the past and that point in the past happened to line up with some really interesting lore stuff pertaining to the creation of ghosts and ghost hunting originations so they became more of a character because I wanted them to interact with the plot and they became the fourth person in the quartet.

character’s relationships with their parents?

Already answered here

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire? - Alex and Kat

Alex is Pretty reliable. They are a good problem solver and can work out lots of things intuitively without needing to be taught or told but their pool of skills is pretty small so though I have no doubt they’d be game if you called them at two in morning to help change a tire and they could probably do it after some trial and error they also probably don’t know how to do most things. 7/10

Kat is incompetent but would show up anyway because ✨people pleaser tendencies✨ he probably won’t help and the problem would get worse but he’s good at coming up with plans and organising things so he can be some help. If he messes up in most cases he will retract into himself and insist it’s better if he doesn’t do anything because it will just make it worse. 6/10

Cory knows a lot of life stuff like how to change a tyre and fix a sink ect so he’d probably be pretty reliable and will to help at any hour 10/10

Tory has the same level of skill and knowledge as cory + supernatural powers so you’d think he’d bee extra reliable? No! He has crippling self worth issues which prevent him from helping with anything unless its necessary! So he can only be relied on in a life or death situation 1/10

Morgan has very few life skills and won’t engage in most activities due to paranoia so very unreliable but your more likely to get her to help you then tory so 2/10

Grey will not engage unless it interests her or she deems it important but is pretty helpful other wise and her range of things she finds interesting is quite wide so 5/10

Tolver is very unlikely to actually help you because he thinks people should solve all their problems on their own and if you can’t skill issue!!! Thankfully he is a massive hypocrite and will make exceptions easily 3/10

Joycie

Thinks she knows much more then she dose so will offer to help but is more likely to over assume her skill level and mess up terribly then to actually know what she is doing 4/10

Jaime

Wide range of skills and is used to dealing with demands at unreasonable hours very high tolerance 8/10

James

Knows stuff but is likely to turn on you if you criticise him and leave. Has a “Well then you do it if your so smart” attitude and though he will turn up to help you at unreasonable hours he will be very sleepy increasing the probability he will snap at you. 2/10

Juliet

Won’t respond even if its a reasonable request at a reasonable hour 1/10

Madeleine

Dead 0/10

Ithas 10/10 for spoiler reasons

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

Aaand extra bonus question, which one would get along really well with akitsu (if any) and which one would absolutely not (if any)

Kat - kinda similar characters. Both happiness pumps who think they need to suffer/deprive themselves of things / to have “actual problems” to be valued and who think their friends suffer more then they do and put said friends on a pedestal because of it. Thinks they can fix their friends akitsu by being the therapist friend and kat by being the strong friend.

that is to say I think they’d definitely get along but also that I think they’d reinforce alot of each-others worst attributes but they’d be silly while doing it so its alright.

Tory - Tory is sad , pathetic , tragic and probably a very easy person for akitsu to victimise and get along with. He doesn’t have emotional stability and social knowledge but I do(not) so I can help him!

Tory is very hesitant in all of his relationships so I can she him being pleasant and them getting along on surface level but not really becoming good friends.

Cory - conversely Akitsu would be very easy for Cory to victimise and as such I think he’d want to be friends with her and help her because he see’s her as having suffered and needing help and being overwhelmed and emotionally manipulated but idk how Akitsu would respond to being seen as the victim who needs saving so idk if they’d get along.

Grey - Grey thinks that hiding/faking your feelings/trying to get others to feel a certain way because thats what you want is kinda distasteful so I don’t think she’d actually like Akitsu all the much.

Morgan - Morgan doesn’t really get along with anyone and I think she’d fine Akitsu off putting just because she’s a new person.

Tolver - terrible. Mister therapy is a myth metal health is an excuse no one’s problems are all that bad they just want attention probably thinks akitsu is wrong and pathetic and terrible and I feel like akitsu might find him overly cruel and submissive of others. She wants to be therapist friend and Tolver doesn’t believe in therapy. This can only end “well”

Alex - I think they’d get on to a reasonable degree. Alex is pretty out going and conversational so they’d atleast talk to eachother. Akitsu maybe see’s abit of Mikage in her for spoiler reasons but otherwise Alex gets along with most people and I don’t see why Akitsu would be an acceptation

Joycie - Joycie would 100% sympathise with Akitsu! She’d think Akitsu’s murder wasn’t akitsu’s fault and that she’s a good person who just wanted people to be happy and to be a good thing…granted Joycie thinks anyone who isn’t her or like a serial killer is a good person though. She’d probably project herself onto Akitsu pretty heavily.

quick doodle of Akitsu if she was in the Crows world.

#asks #my OCs #others OCs #TMCOTC #🌏#🐦‍⬛#☀️#🦢#🖼️#📷#🪢#🫗#🌧️

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hannahssimblr · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Three (Part 3)

When Marnie takes me back to the booth, there are even more people there than before. A crowd of hipsters have joined us, all looking like members of Vampire Weekend, and I scoot in next to one of them; a mousy haired boy with glasses called Stephen, who asks me what I want to drink, and then has no issue with ordering one of the lewdly named cocktails for me.

“So you’re also an artist?” He wants to know.

“Yeah I’m doing art and design. Hoping to get a bachelors in Illustration.”

“Illustration like books?”

“Yeah kinda. Sometimes.” My drink arrives with a flourish, the waiter making a big show of presenting it to me by lifting a glass dome from the top of it, letting a cloud of dry ice waft onto the table. It’s all very over dramatic and frankly embarrassing, and everyone makes noises like they’re dead impressed, but I just snatch it up and take a mouthful. I’m still feeling so rattled from seeing Jen that even my eyes are having a hard time focusing.

Stephen is talking about the illustrations in some book from his childhood, but as he’s talking to me I kind of zone out and chew on the end of my straw, trying to decide whether or not there’s actually something wrong with me. I make a mental note to anxiety-google my symptoms later, wondering whether a churning stomach and palpitating heart are normal responses to talking to someone you used to know. Jen and I can’t be friends again, I decide. Being around her would up my chances of colliding with Jude Turner tenfold, and I don’t think my body could physically handle the stress of that encounter.

I realise Stephen is waiting for me to say something, and I shake myself back to life. “What?”

“Oh, sorry, I know it’s loud in here. I was just asking what music you’ve been into lately.”

“Oh, like Sufjan Stevens.” I say immediately, surprising myself, “And I’m getting really into Alabama Shakes”

“You know Alabama Shakes?” He says, impressed, not knowing that I only said that because Shane left his iPod on the coffee table a few days before and when I scrolled through, theirs was one of the names that stuck in my memory.

“Yes.” I say. “The sound is super unique. I’m drawn to the lyrics, actually I think I’ll try to get tickets to the next gig if they ever come to Dublin.” I sit back and take another drink, watching his face and wondering when on earth I became someone who could bullshit. I’m sure that someone who knew all about the who’s who of music would be able to see right through me, but Stephen doesn’t. He tells me that I seem like a pretty cool girl, and I smile, wishing it was true.

He tells me that he’s in second year, studying social sciences in some small technology institute outside of town, and then we spend some time discussing that, and him, and where he lives and where he comes from, all things that kind of shape him into a person, rather than some hipster who buys me drinks. Stephen is nice, I decide, in an everyman kind of way. Nothing to get excited about, but there’s nothing especially off-putting about him, save his skinny jeans that are just a tiny bit too skinny. We share three drinks together, and then he asks me if i’ll go out to the smoking area, because he needs a cigarette.

I’m usually not someone who smokes very much, and even when I do I try to limit it to just one, because I hate just about everything about it except for the social element of continuing the conversation outside with everyone else who’s smoking too. I never understood the appeal of the actual cigarettes though. Especially in a day and age where we know everything there is to know about the harm they do, the myriad of painful, excruciating ways that they’re killing us. Even now, after its ban indoors, the hikes in prices and the horrible, gruesome images on the sides of the packets, it feels like every single college student in this city has a cigarette between their lips as a fashion accessory. I’ve seen people put stickers over the warning labels, and even listened to them have in depth discussions about their favourite ones, Marnie was saying recently that hers is the picture of the man with the hole in his neck.

I try very hard not to think about the man with the hole in his neck when Stephen is handing me my second cigarette of the night. He’s not smoking what Jen was smoking, and it’s much stronger and much more unpleasant, so much so that I have to stifle a wince while he tells me a story about the time he went to New York on a J1 visa.

When I stand next to him and look up into his face, I think again about how alright he is. He’s friendly, he’s tall, his outfit is mostly nice, and now that I’ve had three strong cocktails and all of those awful, anxious feelings I had earlier have floated away with the breeze, I start thinking that maybe I could try out some light flirtation on him.

“Have you got a girlfriend?” Is what comes spilling out of me though, and I wish I could stuff it right back into me. It must be the least graceful or subtle attempt at flirting there ever was. My face immediately burns up.

“Um. No.” He says with bewilderment. I realise I have cut him off mid sentence. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering.” I’m so embarrassed of myself that I can’t meet his eyes anymore.

“Ehm. Well, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” I laugh too loudly and then cover up my mouth.

When my eyes drift back to him, he’s giving me an amused smile. “Is it funny? Like, the idea of you having a boyfriend or something?”

“Maybe.” I say. “Kind of. Yes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, like, I dunno I just don’t really have boyfriends.”

“You’re exploring your options.” He says with a conclusive nod, even though that’s not at all what it is. In fact, I’ve been doing whatever exactly the opposite of exploring my options is; Avoiding all romantic prospects. Wallowing in my room. Fleeing in terror from any and all single men who might want my phone number.

“That’s what college is for anyway.” He goes on. “Like, just seeing who’s available and having fun.” He gives me a suggestive little smile that makes my stomach coil nervously even through my tipsy haze, because he seems to think I’m the queen of sex now.

“Yeah completely.” Is all I manage.

“You have lovely eyes.” He says. “They’re a real emerald kind of colour.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, let me have a closer look at them.” He leans down until we’re eyeball to eyeball and he gazes right at me. I can see my own silhouette reflected in his glasses, and think that I look kind of messy, and not in a purposeful, Alexa Chung kind of way at all. More in a three-cocktails, two cigarettes and a resurfacing of a past trauma kind of way. I smooth down my hair with sweaty palms.

“You’re extremely pretty.” He tells me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He surges suddenly towards me and pecks me on the lips. It startles me and I jolt backwards.

“Sorry.” He says with wide panicked eyes.

“It’s okay.”

“Maybe I was misreading the signals.”

“No it’s fine, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to be one of those weird men.”

“You’re not.” I feel tetchy for some reason. “You can just… you can do it if you want. You can kiss me, I don’t care.”

“That’s romantic.” He says, dripping with sarcasm.

“Sorry, I just don’t know how to be.”

“It’s fine, we can um… we can just chill out if you want.”

I don’t know why he’s insisting on prolonging the awkwardness when it’s clear to me that neither of us is going to leave the smoking area until we kiss.

“Kiss me, please.” I say flatly, and his mouth does that porny quirk again. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants.” He says in a voice that makes my hands clench, just as he comes at me and puts his mouth over mine.

It’s a strange sensation, kissing another person after so much time, and I’ve completely forgotten what it felt like to do it. It’s more real than I remember it being, I’m more aware than I used to be of the way his tongue feels and the sounds our mouths are making. It’s a little bit visceral, but not totally unpleasant. Despite the strong taste of cigarettes on his breath, Stephen’s kissing is fine, there’s nothing wrong with it, but still, it makes me feel almost nothing inside. I hold onto the front of his jumper anyway and I kiss him back, because it feels like he’s helping me to sever the very last connection I have with Jude. He no longer gets to be the last boy who kissed me. Now it’s Stephen. Just plain old Stephen, the social studies student whose surname I don’t even know, and it’s like all in that moment I’m freed.

“You’re pretty.” He tells me again, gently as he pulls away from me. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“I dunno.” I say vaguely. Men are obsessed with being the very first ones to tell women that they’re attractive, like it’s some gift that they are privileged to bestow upon us. We’re floundering, lost in the world, completely blind to ourselves until some man comes along and lets us know what he thinks about us. I can’t agree with him, say that I know, or I’ve heard it all before, because then he’ll think I’m up myself. It always feels like a trap. And besides, he’s not really saying it because he believes it, it’s just a device to get into my knickers.

“What are you up to later on?” He wants to know.

“I suppose I’ll just go home.” I say, my heart jumping a little in my chest.

“Where’s home?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I say, and he grins at me like he thinks I’m just being coy. “I would.” Maybe he really isn’t that bad looking at all.

“If I tell you where I live then you might show up at my front door.”

“I might, who knows. And would you invite me in?”

I laugh awkwardly, feeling the vibe shifting rapidly into a realm I’m not comfortable with. “Probably not, no.”

“Ah, you art school girls, sure you’re always playing hard to get.”

“I like to stay mysterious.” I step away from him and make moves towards the door. “I’m pretty cold.” I tell him. “Maybe we can go back inside?”

“Yeah, okay.” He stubs out the butt of the cigarette that he was holding onto the whole time, and we head through the doors. I’m just thinking about how maybe he’s not so bad, and maybe if we spent some time together I could get to like him, when the hot air from the bar hits his glasses and they immediately fog up, and the effect on me is so immediate that I almost have to flinch away from him. The sight of him with fogged up specs is so dorky that I’m instantly repulsed. I watch in horror as he takes them off and wipes them on his jumper. There’s nothing at all attractive about him. What was I thinking?

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” I say robotically. “But I actually have to leave now.”

“Oh, right now?”

“Yeah. I didn’t realise how late it was, my housemate wanted me to come back and help her with something.” I start walking away immediately, the thought of his kissing me causing a shudder through my entire being.

“Wait, uh, can I have your phone number?”

“Um. I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“I don’t really give it out to people.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

“I’m just really not in the place for… this right now. It’s not personal.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” He doesn’t get it. He looks downtrodden, and I feel horrible, but I can’t stand there looking at him anymore, so I turn towards the cloakroom and try to collect my things.

“Hang on.” He calls after me. “Will I ever see you again?”

Does he think we’re in a romcom? That I’m the Meg Ryan to his Billy Crystal? I have to try really hard not to roll my eyes in front of him as I pass my token over to the cloakroom attendant, my breath shuddering. “No.” I say over my shoulder. “You probably won’t, sorry.” I don’t add the bit about how I was just using him to get over the memory of another person, because that’d make me the bad guy here.

“Damn. Okay Ellie. Nice to meet you.”

“Right. See you.”

I pull my coat on and walk right out the door into the freezing cold night.

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #fiction #writing #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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