#mc x seven lawless

[mrs-theirin]

who am i (without you)? — bittersweet memories

commissioned my good good friend @gncrezan (again) to create a before/after piece with my @infamous-if oc, dawn! for context, who am i (without you)? was being written before her and seven's split, and before it was finished, they broke up, thus the changed chorus. najam did such a wonderful job as usual <3

[nmvord]

A wish from birthday boy? Seven's birthday was at 4/10 so it's a late gift I think. With Saha, my @infamous-if F!MC.

[masonshine]

I've been wanting to talk about this scene since the sneak peek was posted on patreon.

MC accidentally messing up Seven's signature, just like they messed up their relationship (whether by actively voting to demote them from lead singer or well just not doing anything about it).

The marker ink staining MC's finger, just how their past with Seven is still a big stain on their life. Smth they can't erase easily...

I looove the symbolism so much <3

[somewillwin]

Happy Valentine’s Day to the ex lovers ✊🏼😔

Hopefully Seven kiss Nico soon cause ma girl is just mopping around everywhere.

Play @infamous-if

[lennncu]

just two silly friends together. nothing bad will happen, right?

[harlow-cas]

This is actually so sad 🥺❤️‍🩹

[infamous-if]

Oh, damn. No 25 with MC trying to protect/take care of Seven in a dangerous situation sounds nice.

Hope you feel better soon, Amy! Take care!

Thank you! <3 Dangerous situation, you say?

Double whammy (the amount of seven asks...)

CW: blood

This is all your fault.

You shouldn't have said anything. You shouldn't have fought with the person at the bar. You should've left it alone.

You should've known that Seven wouldn't let it go. Even when they hate you.

You should've known Seven. Has it been that long that you forgot who they were? Once, they were as familiar to you as the very lines on your palm.

"Seven, please."

You're holding onto them as you two stumble out of the bar, moving like two drunkards though both of you are terribly sober. The warm sensation of Seven's blood on your shirt sends dull fear over you. You're spiraling. Breaking. You don't know what to do.

Seven lets you guide them outside, your arms wrapped closely around them as they keep a hand under their nose which spews blood like an open faucet. It sends another round of fear down your spine, but it's not their nose that has you so breathless you're dizzy.

Their stomach.

In the heat of the moment, the person Seven was fighting threw them on the table littered with glass cups and broken bottles. Seven claims to be fine, but the way blood makes an angry stain on the green fabric of their shirt and Seven limps like their body is failing them, you know they're anything but.

Seven loses their footing, tripping on the last step and making both you and them fumble to the wet, concrete ground.

Your body shakes when the cool water of the alleyway seeps into your jeans. Seven coughs, rolls on their back, and lets out a sigh.

Blood is smeared across their face, their eyes are hazy, the blooming flower of blood grows larger across their stomach.

Your hands flail in front of you when you get on your knees, fingers shaking, lips shuttering. You feel the burning sting of tears. "Seven, what do I do? My phone is dead. We need to call an ambulance."

Seven groans. Coughs. Their hair turns damp when it sinks into a puddle by their face. "Stop...yelling."

"How can I stop?!" you cry. "I need to see it-" You begin to lift up their shirt but Seven stops you.

"No."

Anger replaces your previous fear. "Seven-"

"I don't want you to."

That hurts. Hurts more than it should in this moment. Seven is hurt, bleeding, and even now they don't want you to touch them, to care for them. Has everything been for nothing? Have all the years you two spent together meant nothing?

"You fucking asshole."

"What?" They burst up and groan, hissing and laying back down.

"I need to help you." The fear returns anew when Seven's eyes glide towards you slowly, their lips parted. Not from pain, but from slight surprise. "Please. I know you hate me. I know you have no reason to trust me. But please... I'm asking you to anyway." You bite your lip to hide the way it shakes. "Please let me help you."

It takes them a moment. They stare at you so long you feel like you're being judged. Then, in a move that shocks you even now, Seven nods and looks away.

"Go ahead."

You clear your throat, slowly peeling the shirt that sticks to the blood on their skin. Seven winces, and you let out a small sound when you catch the piece of glass lodged to their rib.

"Not bad," you try, wincing, "just a tiny piece. You'll be fine."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

You look at them, ready to shoot them a glare, when you see a small, amused smirk on their face.

"Shut up," you mumble, turning back to their wound.

As you inspect more of their skin, slick with blood, you catch their stomach heave when a small laugh leaves them. You look at Seven, quirking a brow. "You called me an asshole." They look at you. The blood still smeared all across their lower face, they look at you and laugh. "I'm about to die and you call me an asshole."

"You're not about to die," you say strongly and then quieter: "and you are."

Seven hums. "Maybe. Maybe you just bring it out of me."

"That's not helping," you mumble.

You move to lift their shirt higher when you feel a wet hand on your wrist. Seven's blood leaks from their fingers to your skin, but you hardly notice it. Not when they're looking at you with a face so soft it disarms your every defense. "I don't hate you."

Your heart rate quickens. "...You don't?"

They shake their head slowly, stifling a small grown with the movement. "How could I?" they mumble, but don't elaborate.

A sigh leaves them and they glide their gaze to the sky. The sound of an ambulance rings in the distance; the bartender must've called the cops.

"I don't hate you either," you say.

Seven says nothing, but their face twists into a satisfied smile, their eyes closing.

I never did.

and then seven dies. JUST KIDDING

[nortama]

At the end of the day, we were just strangers.

had this in my pocket for awhile...they make me sick...i need there to be a chapter where they just have to participate in group therapy

[sevlawless]

writer in the dark

pairing: m!seven lawless x f!mc (arabella aveiro)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: swearing, two arguments, and arabella being a big fat meanie!

tags: @masonscig @farahhauville @agentdumortain @getyourselfaunicorn

notes: so i’ve had this idea of “rewriting” the late night bus scene with seven in @infamous-if for a while now and actually had most of it written down and just… stopped for whatever reason! but i dusted her off and she's here in all her glory <3 for a mc like arabella specifically, i just wanted her to be a tad bit meaner and madder than what was allowed and i love venting my frustrations with seven in fic form! this fic wasn't inspired by the lorde song i just thought the title was literally perfect for it <3 without further ado…

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

arabella flips through the pages of her songwriting notebook, procrastinating on what she set out to do before bed. any other time lyrics would be pouring out of her but… well, she doesn’t exactly know where to start.

the past month has been overwhelming, to say the least. winning the last spot for battle of the bands, getting accused of cheating for said spot, finding a new drummer, practicing for hours on end everyday, figuring out what to pack, orion telling her she can’t bring her entire wardrobe on tour.

she finally has time to herself, which she’s begun to realize is going to be a luxury moving forward, but she can’t get her thoughts to come out onto the page.

she sighs, clicking her pen incessantly, as if doing that is going to give her the breakthrough she needs. maybe she just needs a change of scenery. who knew her incredibly small bed wouldn’t offer up any inspiration besides a joke song she wrote with devyn earlier about how badly the tour bus smells.

she sits up and pulls the curtain back before slipping out and trudging to the main area, notebook and pen in hand. she stifles a yawn before she opens the divider that separates the beds from the living room.

one look around and she instantly wishes she had stayed in her bunk.

she sees seven sitting at the table. because, of course, who else would be up at this time of night? his back is to her, but it looks like he’s… writing. or, writing something and then immediately crossing it out.

she almost laughs but stops herself.

he lets out a sigh before running his hands through his hair, and she’s hit with a wave of… deja vu? nostalgia? nausea?

her hands clench at her sides, fingers twitching as she resists the urge to walk over to him and push the strands of hair away from his face, something she used to do so often when they were together. she wonders if he ever thinks about it, when she would tease him for wearing a bandana but was seemingly never able to contain his hair within it.

the overwhelming feeling subsides and she has control over her body again. she walks over to the other end of the table, avoiding seven's intense gaze as she feels him staring at her, doing what feels like trying to burn a hole right through her.

she doesn't say anything as she sits on the couch, getting comfortable as she reopens her notebook. she still feels him staring at her.

she came here to write. seven being here shouldn't be a hindrance, but as she tries and fails for the millionth time to put words on the page, she wonders why it feels this way. she used to be so comfortable in his presence, almost always being joined at the hip. they would always be up at odd hours, trying to figure out lyrics to the new songs they were working on.

together. always together.

she can't succumb to that type of thinking right now. not when he's the closest he's been to her in nearly three years and yet so far away. he put that distance between them, and she understands why, but sometimes she wishes the never ending ocean of separation where he ends and she begins wasn't so wide. she just wishes this wasn't the way things were.

but they are. and for the past three years she's tried coming to terms with that, failing miserably at every turn because as much as she wants to hate him, and a part of her really, really, does, she can't bring herself to commit to it fully. how ironic, she realizes, when giving all of herself to him came as easy to her as breathing.

she shakes her head and puts her focus back to her notebook. she's barely written two lines when she hears his voice.

"aveiro."

she grimaces at the way he says her last name. is that really all she is to him now? he can't even call her arabella? there was once a point in time when all she loved hearing was the sound of her name coming from his lips because she knew it was safe there. safe from the people in her life and on the internet who told her she was too arrogant, too rude, too bitchy to survive in the industry they’re in. but she never cared about that, and neither did seven.

she knows, and she's known for a while now, that she won't ever have that sense of safety again. and maybe that’s why he won't call her that.

"what made you choose me?"

she wants to laugh. three years apart, a dozen songs between them clearly about one another, and that's the question that's eating away at him? she knows it's been bothering him because she can feel the uneasiness coming off him in waves. no matter how hard she tries, she'll never be able to just see him. she'll always see the emotions underneath everything he says and does.

"choose you?" she asks.

"when it came down to it, you chose my band. why?"

she decides it's best to be logical in this situation. he can't get mad about that, can he?

"i just thought it made the most sense. underground wastebasket are unpredictable and volatile, if you haven't noticed."

he makes a face and she realizes that was probably the wrong thing to say. but what does he want her to do? admit that she's still so pathetically in love with him? admit that given the choice, of fucking course she's picking him? she would pick seven over anything and anyone, and despite everything, that'll never change.

"what?" she asks, but it comes out as more of a demand. he’s the one asking stupid questions in the middle of the night. he should be grateful she was coherent enough to give him the response she did, the exhaustion and their close proximity taking a toll on her brain.

"nothing about you makes sense to me, but alright."

it used to, she wants to say. i used to make more sense to you than i did to myself.

she scoffs instead, which makes him grimace. good. "does it really matter who i chose?"

"yes."

he says it so quickly it makes her want to laugh, but the sound dies in her throat. she’d rather die than let him hear a genuine laugh from her.

"i'm just trying to figure out what you’re planning."

it takes her a second to realize he’s being dead serious. "what… i'm planning?"

"this is a competition and i'm not clueless, aveiro."

she’s changing her last name by the end of this tour. she rolls her eyes as far back into her head as they can go before laughing pitifully. "you caught me. i'm currently on a mission to ruin your life.” she reopens her notebook and clicks her pen. ”any big allergies since we last spoke? i have to make sure what to spike your food with."

he glares at her. "you're not funny."

which is seven speak for ‘that was funny, but i hate you so it's not.’ she's getting pretty good at this. at this rate, they'll be back together again in no time.

ha.

“you used to laugh at every fucking thing i said.” she blurts out, sudden anger surging through her.

“and look where that got us,” he replies, not even sparing her a glance as he doodles in his notebook. seriously?

“yeah, my humor definitely explains the stick up your ass and why you left-”

he looks up at her now, barking out a dark laugh, his face full of nothing but contempt for her. “we are not discussing that shit tonight.”

she shrugs. he wants to treat her like a villain, she’ll gladly accept the role. “seems as good a time as any. i can tell chuck to park and we can hash this shit out tonight. because i, for one, am tired-”

“oh, you’re tired? how do you-”

“think you feel?” she scoffs. even now, he's minimizing how she feels because how could she possibly understand. “you’re forgetting that i know you. and don’t fucking interrupt me.”

“i’m not doing this with you. you’re acting like a child-”

“oh, that’s fucking rich-”

they stop talking over each other once they hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. they both turn to look and see avina standing in the doorway looking extremely uncomfortable, rubbing the back of their neck.

arabella realizes that seven wasn’t writing alone after all. he was writing with avina. she doesn’t understand why it hurts the way it does, but it makes her stomach drop and makes her feel stupid all at once.

“um,” avina starts, attempting to break the tension still in the air, “maybe we should-”

“don’t worry, i was just leaving.” arabella interjects, quickly grabbing her things from the table. she wants to look at seven before she leaves, but decides better on it. she doesn’t think she could stomach seeing the all too familiar look of hurt on his face. the look he always wears in her dreams before she snaps awake, sweating and shaking.

she knows she shouldn’t, but her body moves against her wishes and her head swivels to look back at the table. seven’s back is to her and avina has their arm wrapped around his shoulders, comforting him in the aftermath. claiming a job that was once hers.

a rage bubbles up inside of her and before she can think better of it, her mouth starts moving, calling out, “have fun writing another song about me. good luck!”

she quickly climbs into bed so she doesn’t have to hear any kind of response, pulling the curtain closed with as much force as she can muster.

her head is throbbing now, and she groans softly as her face hits the pillow. she feels hollow. arguing with seven when they were friends always made her feel uneasy, and that feeling only amplified when they started dating.

three years later and that same anxiety creeps its way back into her heart and leaves her utterly exhausted, hands shaking, with tears pricking the corners of her eyes. god, she feels pathetic. they're not even through the first night on this bus and she's breaking down over an interaction that she escalated.

she wants to blame this all on seven, but she knows deep down she brought this on herself. when they were together, arabella thought that seven only brought out the best in her. three years later, and she knows he’s capable of bringing out the worst in her too.

her phone buzzes beside her in bed and she checks the notification. it's from rowan.

open up.

she rolls her eyes, wanting to text back that he could just open the curtain on her bunk if he really wanted to talk. but she knows he's doing it so she can hide the fact she's been crying before she faces him.

and she hates that. she fucking hates that he knows how she gets dealing with seven, and yet ignored her feelings so blatantly earlier.

she quickly wipes her eyes before sitting up and pulling back the thin curtain to reveal rowan standing there, if a little awkwardly. he's in his pajamas, hands in his pockets.

“hey,” he starts, not exactly sure what to say. “you... okay?”

he grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth, and if looks could kill, arabella would have just struck him down.

“right,” he chuckles nervously. “stupid question.”

she feels that rage from before, quietly simmering and now back to boiling, face growing hot. “yeah, a stupid ass question, rowan.”

his eyes widen. “i’m sorry, i-”

“can you just leave me alone?” she interrupts, voice cracking at the end of her question. “i know you're trying to be helpful, but i really don't want to talk to you right now.”

“arabella-”

“no,” she says, tone sharp and laced with venom, “you got what you wanted earlier, and now i’m cashing in my favor. we’ll talk later.”

he looks like he wants to protest, but he sighs instead. “okay.” he gives her one last look before walking back to his own bunk.

she groans in frustration before pulling the curtain back closed again. she's going to have it ripped off and they haven't even been on this bus a full day.

tears prick her eyes again and it takes everything in her to not succumb to how awful she feels.

this is all she's ever wanted. she should be happy to be on tour with her best friends, competing in battle of the bands. making a name for herself. finally achieving her dreams.

so why does she feel so bad? why does the past, it seems like, always come back to haunt her?

she glances at her songwriting notebook again and picks it up, along with her pen. she opens it to the first blank page she can find and quickly starts writing down lyrics, her brain going a million miles a minute.

this tour better be fucking worth it, she thinks to herself as she keeps writing.

it has to be.

for everything she's been through, something has to finally work out in her favor. something to make up for everything she's lost and overcome.

and this tour is just the beginning.

[tumortain]

wait.... seven and mc got the matching tattoos just one year before the break up...?

[supercvt]

EVANGELINE & SEVEN from @infamous-if

what do you do when your best friend turned boyfriend leaves the band you started together? it's simple, you write a gut wrenching song with his name in the title. don't be surprised when he does the exact same thing.

(total headcanon here because by the looks of it seven would rather skin himself alive than write a song with mc's middle name in it but HEY you never know... also look past the terrible song names, I'M A WRITER NOT A SONGWRITER)

[mrs-theirin]

Bands break up and lose members all the time. It was bound to happen at some point, right? Dawn's not so sure.

After many discussions, bittersweet memories has made the decision to part ways with our co-singer, Seven Lawless. The decision was supported by both parties, and while it is not easy for any of us, we support Seven on his future endeavors. We ask for respect in our decision and not to speculate on the split. Thank you.

Dawn frowns at the screen. “This is disgusting. I’m going to throw up.”

Rowan groans, running his hands down his face. “What now? This is the 15th revision we’ve written today. You have less trouble writing songs.”

“It’s just cheap,” Dawn says weakly, shrugging. “If this happened to me, I’d feel awful.”

Jazzy takes a slow, deep breath, placing a hand on Dawn’s shoulder. She tries not to flinch away from the touch. “Dawn. We have to tell people somehow.”

“Besides,” Iris cuts in, “who cares how he’s feeling? He’s the one who decided to walk out on us. Not to mention break your heart in the–”

“Iris,” Jazzy hisses. 

Rowan throws his hands up in protest. “What? She’s just saying what we’re all thinking!”

Dawn puts her head in her hands, tuning out the noise. “‘Many discussions’,” she quotes with a bitterness in her voice. “If you can call screaming at each other ‘discussions’.”

“Dawn–” starts Iris, but she shakes her head.

“This is wrong.” She shakes her head again, standing up from her chair. “This is wrong. How do you think Seven is going to feel reading this? He’s going to see it. We know he’s going to see it.”

“He might not,” offers Jazzy. “He probably…well…”

“Has us blocked,” finishes Devyn. “On everything.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if he sees this and…”

Rowan scoffs, pinching his nose. “What if he what? Dawn, why do we care? He’s gone. The sooner we all realize that, the better. You’ve seen it already. We are better. You have so much more room to shine. You’re awesome! Seven was holding you back and we’re gonna be better as a band going forward.”

Frustration bubbles in Dawn’s chest and the words come flying out before she can stop them. “I’m not the one who wanted this to happen! You all make jabs and send insults his way and claim we’re so much better without him, and how we all should just move on and grow up and let go, but I didn’t want this! When did it ever become about being the best? When did it stop being about loving each other so much we decided to do something crazy together like start a band? Maybe I don’t want to move on! Maybe I don’t want to not care about how he’s feeling! Maybe…Maybe I don’t want to be in a band that sacrifices love for fame.”

The mood in the room shifts instantly. Everyone looks at the ground. Dawn chews on her lip, anxious to take what she said back, to make her friends feel comfortable in her presence, but she refuses. She is allowed to be hurt by the vote. The vote has changed everything, and it’s not right that she has to just sit by and get over it.

A pit begins to form in her stomach. 

“You don’t even care. Why would you let them do that to me?”

“Seven, please, I’m begging you, just listen to me! I didn’t–”

“You don’t mean that,” Rowan says, snapping her out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, but you don’t mean that.”

Dawn struggles to swallow the lump in her throat. “It’s…hard,” she manages, voice thick. “I can’t–”

Every part of her is on fire. Her eyes burn as she turns away, slamming her finger down on the enter key and sending the post to be published. A wisp of the anguish she’s feeling dissipates as she watches the post disappear. She turns back to Rowan.

“I don’t mean it,” she confirms, talking slowly to keep her sorrow from spilling out. “I just…I can’t…handle this. It’s too…”

She gestures vaguely, and they all nod. She swallows again.

“I miss him,” she admits feebly. “I still–”

Love him. 

She stutters. “I still…”

Love him.

“I’m still getting used to everything,” she says instead, swallowing the pathetic confession. ���I’m sorry. I don’t mean to lash out.”

“It may not feel like it right now,” says Jazzy, wrapping her arms around Dawn, “but the vote was good for us. Either way, none of us are going to get mad at you for being upset. We’re…”

She looks to the others for help. Devyn clears her throat. “We’re sorry,” she says. “We knew Seven would be upset, but we didn’t expect…”

“Fuck this. I would never do this to you. Ever. I hope you know I never want to see your face again.”

“Seven, please–!”

“It’s okay,” Dawn lies, squeezing Jazzy back before moving away. “We’ll be okay. I mean…now we can try out that new sound we’ve been experimenting with.”

Rowan beams, and everything gets lighter. “Exactly! The Wisps will probably need some time to adjust to the change, but you sound so much better in that style of music. Nothing will be holding us back!”

“Yeah, come on,” says Jazzy, squeezing Dawn’s hands. “Let’s just call it quits for today and go get some ice cream. Yeah?”

Dawn nods. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

[also found on ao3]

[nmvord]

It's different now.

That's the only thought running through her mind when she starts the duet with Seven, once again after one too many breaks. Maybe it's simply because their voices are more whole, the two of them more mature (debatable). Their harmony isn't just pleasant, no. Saha loves it.

As always, she pours herself into the music, using not just her vocal cords but her entire body to sing- finally, just to sing. Together with the quiet yet smooth strumming of Seven's guitar, she weaves her voice into his, while he does the same. Unlike before, he’s not trying to take the lead or dominate the song.

When she glances at Seven, noticing the smile she’s sure he doesn't even realizes making, she knows he enjoys this. Doing this, just singing with her too.

With Saha, my infamous OC and Seven Lawless from @infamous-if

Part 1 here.

[crowsintheisland]

Just here listening to If this was a movie by Taylor Swift and thinking of Seven and MC from @infamous-if :)

[somewillwin]

Happier roseless memories

(Can’t believe I missed seven’s birthday)

Kofi

[giirlgenius]

to my seven girlies, i made a taylor swift playlist for us! hope y'all like it :)

@infamous-if