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komotionlessqueenmm · 2 years

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Imagine # 956

Gifs NOT mine.

If either gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @netesu (Unless told otherwise.)

Year posted 2022

⚠��Warning(s) - None.

📝Note(s) - Reader comes from a family of fucking giants, so you dear reader are 7'0" alongside your brothers! I like to imagine your brother's as a young, and exceptionally tall, Johnny Depp, but you can imagine whoever you like, just thought I'd offer an idea of who to picture in your mind while reading this.

Quadruplets = FOUR babies born at the same time! (In case you didn't know the term.)

Also note that my preferred name is Jade, so that's why the readers brothers names revolve around J names. Sorry if your name doesn't fit as well as Jade.

(Y/n) and her family had moved to Woodsboro over the summer, and even in that short amount of time away from school, they'd already had a reputation. And when school finally started a lot of people came to calling them the Giants of Woodsboro High. Not that the quadruplets seemed to mind, if anything they seemed to encourage the taunting nickname, embracing it as well as they seemed to embrace their extraordinary height. The leader of sorts was Johnny, followed close by was Jamison, then the real trouble makers Jackson and (Y/n). (Y/n) the only female of the four siblings, and by far the weirdest one of the group as well.

Today was like another, Billy and Stu sat on the edge of the school's fountain during lunch, with their girlfriends and friend Randy. While the Giants of Woodsboro High caused a bit of mayhem as they all four rough housed like kids. The three boys seemingly teaming up on (Y/n) today, but they still struggled to keep up with her swift moves as she dodged them gracefully. The sound of their laughter unintentionally drawing the attention of the group of friends around the fountain. (Y/n) had managed to knock both Johnny and Jamison to the ground, her arms thrown up in the air in triumph. Unaware of Jackson charging at her, that is until he tackled her to the ground.

The force at which he slammed into her sent them both sprawling out, now just a few feet from the group around the fountain. (Y/n)'s face slammed into the ground roughly, a loud crack making the girls and Randy cringe. "Shit." Jackson muttered in regret, both Johnny and Jamison rushing to their sides. "Jesus (Y/n), are you okay?" Jamison asked as Jackson helped her to roll onto her back, the sight of blood oozing from her mouth made Johnny smack Jackson upside the head. A smile cracked on (Y/n)'s face before laugher suddenly erupted from her throat. "I'm fine!" She assured after her laughter calmed down, spitting a bit of blood into the grass, then smiling brightly.

"What a bunch of freaks." Tatum muttered a little to loud, freezing up when (Y/n) locked eyes with her, her smile more sinister than playful now. (Y/n) didn't utter a word, nor did her brother's. Instead she chose to stick her tongue out as far as she could, blood coating the wet muscle and dripping from the tip. Tatum shuttering with a disgusted scoff, her reaction only making (Y/n) and her brothers snicker. Then Johnny and Jackson each took one of her hands, and pulling her up to her feet, everyone taking note of how loud her knees and back cracked as she moved. "Getting old on us sis?" Jamison teased, laughing when she roughly bumped her shoulder against his. "As if." She scoffed playfully.

The four siblings walking off without so much as a second glance to the five friends, two of which found themselves staring at (Y/n)'s retreating form with curiosity. "I bet it was one of those freaks that killed Casey Becker." Randy mused aloud, earning a nod of agreement from Tatum. "Yeah it was probably (Y/n) that did it, if not all of them!" She accused with a scowl. "Leave them alone, their not that bad." Sidney argued, despite the fact that she barely knew anything about the four. "I find that really unlikely." Randy shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of (Y/n)'s mouth oozing blood. Though while the three argued, both Stu and Billy remained surprisingly quiet.

---

Before the end of the school day, Stu and Billy had convinced Jamison and Jackson to hang out after school. The brothers suggesting that Billy and Stu come to their house, much to Billy and Stu's delight. So when the bell rang signaling the end of the day, Stu lead Billy to his car, the pair following Johnny's pickup truck. One of the boys, they still couldn't quite tell them apart yet, sat with (Y/n) in the bed of the truck. The sight of them goofing around and belting out unheard music, made Billy and Stu conclude that the male in the back was probably Jackson. As they came to notice how Johnny and Jamison stuck together most, while (Y/n) and Jackson caused mischief together.

When they arrived at the quadruplets house, both Billy and Stu were surprised by the sight of the massive Victorian home. The dark red siding making Billy think of the sight of blood dripping from (Y/n)'s mouth. "Damn this place in spooky." Stu mused with a grin as he cut the engine to his car, the both of them missing how (Y/n) had practically bolted into the house before her brother's. When they exited Stu's car they were met with the three brothers. "Don't mind (Y/n)'s rudeness, she's working on a project that the recent murder has inspired." The brother they guessed to be Johnny shrugged casually, a hiss leaving his lips when another elbowed him in the ribs.

"What was that for?" The offended brother asked with a scowl. "You trying to scare them away or something Johnny?" The other questioned with a disapproving frown. "Whatever Jamison. I'm going to see if (Y/n) needs any assistance." Johnny huffed before stalking off into the house. "Sorry about him, he doesn't know when to shut up sometimes." Jamison explained, making Jackson snicker. "No worries, if anything I'm curious to know what the project he mentioned is." Stu smiled as they all began walking to the house. "Oh (Y/n) won't let anyone but Johnny see it until it's finished." Jackson explained as they entered the large house.

"I thought you were the closest with (Y/n)." Billy mused as Jackson closed the door behind him. "I am, but (Y/n) and Johnny bond over their love of painting, so no one but Johnny gets to see her projects until they are finished, and vice versa." Jackson explained as he followed them and Jamison to the living room. "What do you bond over with (Y/n)?" Stu asked Jamison, who shrugged casually. "Working out and MMA fighting." Jamison explained. "We bond over chaos mostly." Jackson cut in with a snicker, wrapping his arm across Jamison's shoulders. "We all bond over our love of video games and horror movies though." Jamison added as he shoved Jackson away from his side.

---

A few hours went by before they seen Johnny again, who practically flopped down onto the large beanbag in the corner of the living room, specks of paint on his shirt and jeans. "Where's (Y/n)?" Jamison wondered aloud, tearing his eyes away from the movie playing on TV. "Shower." Johnny replied. "Does she know Stu and Billy are still here?" Jackson asked a moment later. "Doubt it." Johnny shrugged. "That means she'll be dressed for bed when she comes down here." Jackson pointed out, the brothers sharing a look before Johnny got up and casually jogged back upstairs.

"What's so bad about her being dressed for bed?" Stu wondered aloud. "(Y/n) doesn't wear much clothes to bed." Jamison started, only for Jackson to cut in. "Yeah and we don't want her scaring you off!" Jackson snickered, despite the smack to the side of the head Jamison gave him. "In all actuality she'd probably kill us if we didn't warn her that you guys are still here." Jamison explained. "No kidding." Jackson mused seriously, making Stu chuckle. "We're serious, she's got a mean temper." Jamison shook his head at the thought. "Who (Y/n)?" Johnny questioned as he re-entered the living room.

"Yep." Jackson popped the p making Johnny chuckle. "She seems pretty calm most of the time, I mean she didn't blow up on Tatum when she called you guys freaks earlier today." Stu pointed out, gasping when Billy elbowed him. "That's because (Y/n) really likes adding fuel to the fire, she likes giving people a reason to call us freaks. It's like a badge of honor to her." Johnny explained. "What about you guys? Do you like being called freaks?" Stu asked without thought. "We're used to it, and we find it funny at this point. So we usually play along with (Y/n)'s mischief." Jamison admitted, making Stu hum under his breath, satisfied with their honesty.

---

Before long (Y/n) entered the living room, dawned in a large black hoodie, which had an assortment of knives around the neck, like a necklace of sorts, and a set of large horns running down the hood she had pulled up over her damp hair. Her legs clad in a pair of sweat pants that were Beetlejuice themed, and fuzzy purple socks on her feet. Stu smirked subtlety as she fell face down onto Johnny, who groaned in protest, which only made (Y/n) chuckle. "You know damn well that's (Y/n)'s spot." Jamison laughed at his siblings. "Well I can't exactly give it up with her crushing me!" Johnny exclaimed dramatically, only making everyone chuckle at them now.

(Y/n) begrudgingly got off of Johnny, as she was amused with his whining. Allowing her brother to get off her beanbag, before she flopped back down, a proud smile on her face. "So you're Billy and you're Stu?" (Y/n) asked as she pointed to either of them, smiling when they nodded in agreement, the three of them happy she got them right. "Do we share any classes?" She wondered, trying to wrack her brain. "We share chemistry." Stu answered, making (Y/n) hum in thought. "Right you sit like four seats away from me, right?" She smiled when he nodded his head in agreement again. "Cool, what about you Billy, do we share any classes?" She asked as she turned her attention to the brunette.

"No we don't share any classes." Billy shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips when (Y/n) frowned. "You're very familiar, have we run into eachother at school before?" She asked. "Well we were at the fountain today when you got hurt." Billy explained, chuckling when (Y/n) gasped in understanding. "Right! Oh man and you decided to come hang out after that little show I put on for miss priss?" (Y/n) joked, making everyone chuckle. "Yeah Tatum's not hard to mess with, and she's got a habit of being a stuck up bitch." Billy mused, laughing when Stu shoved his shoulder. "Hey that's my girlfriend, dick." He was laughing despite his words.

"So have you guys been struggling with remembering who's who yet?" (Y/n) asked. "A little." Stu admitted, Billy only nodding his head in agreement. "Well let me give you two a cheat sheet of sorts. Johnny is technically the eldest, because he was the first born, his right eyebrow is pierced. Jackson is the second born, and the bridge of his nose is pierced. Jamison is the third born, his left eyebrow is pierced. And I'm the fourth born, and my septum is pierced." (Y/n) explained, including herself as more of a joke. "We literally got the piercings as a joke, but also as a way for people to tell us apart." Johnny explained. "Well I got my septum pierced, because I didn't wanna be left out." (Y/n) added with a giggle. "Makes sense." Stu smirked.

"Now if you can remember their names properly, you can tell the boys apart." (Y/n) smiled proudly, the sight surprisingly endearing to both Stu and Billy. "I think we can manage that." Billy assured with a grin, making (Y/n) hum in her throat. "We'll see about that." She countered playfully. "Hey we're gonna order some pizzas, you guys wanna stay for dinner?" Jamison asked as he pulled out his phone, having noticed what time it was. "Yeah why not." Stu shrugged when Billy nodded in agreement. "Cool, do you guys want anything specific form the pizza place?" He asked as he rose from his seat, planning on going into another room to place the order.

"Pepperoni pizza works for me." Billy shrugged. "Me too." Stu agreed. "(Y/n) you want your usual?" Jamison asked. "Yes please." She nodded her head, making Jamison smile as he exited the room. "So where are you're folks?" Stu asked after Jamison left. "They travel a lot for work, and their rarely home." Jackson shrugged. "What do they do?" Stu asked curiously. "Mom writes scripts for movies, and dad is a stunt man." (Y/n) replied, her eyes locked on the TV, which was now playing the first Texas Chainsaw Massacre. "They leave a bank card with us, and leave us to look after eachother." Johnny added with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"My parents travel a lot for work too." Stu admitted, pulling (Y/n)'s attention away from the TV for a moment. "What about your parents Billy?" Jackson asked. "I'd rather not talk about them." He muttered, again pulling (Y/n)'s attention away from the TV. "Why not?" Jackson asked without thought, earning a smack from Johnny. "What?" Jackson frowned in confusion. "Don't be a dick Jack, if he doesn't wanna talk about 'em, he doesn't have to talk about 'em." (Y/n) hissed at her brother, who looked almost ashamed for being scolded. "Sorry (Y/n)." Jackson murmured softly. "Don't apologize to me dipshit." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry Billy." He corrected himself, smiling softly when Billy nodded his head in acceptance.

---

For the next few days Billy and Stu found themselves hanging out with the quadruplets more and more. Finding them all rather interesting, but especially (Y/n), who was often the subject of topic when they were alone. And while their plan was still in motion, they kept delaying their next step, in favor of getting closer with the siblings. Like today they were supposed to mess with and scare Sidney, but instead they found themselves at the red Victorian house, being led into the attic, a room they had yet to see. "So this is where you guys paint?" Stu asked as he followed behind Jackson, (Y/n) and Johnny in the lead, and Jamison behind Stu and Billy.

"Yeah we've made into a studio of sorts." Johnny explained as (Y/n) flicked on the lights, the entire attic lighting up in bright florescent light. Finished paintings and empty canvas leaned against the walls, along side an abundance of paint and brushes, a small sink even tucked into one of the back corners of the room. "So it's finally finished, and you're all welcome to see it now." (Y/n) explained as she stood behind a covered canvas, it stood at the far side of the attic, in front of the one window the room had. "Though I should warn you, it's not for the faint of heart." (Y/n) joked as she looked to Stu and Billy, who rolled their eyes playfully.

Though when (Y/n) pulled the sheet away from the canvas, they were surprised to see just how morbid the painting actually was, both subconsciously agreeing that the faint of heart wouldn't handle this well. The painting was of a naked unknown woman, who was pulling her chest apart. The sternum of her ribcage in plain view, and grotesquely realistic, right down to the blood that looked as if it would drip right off the canvas. Her face was twisted in pleasure, her legs clenched together as if she was seeking sexual relief. Sweat dabbed her forehead, dark black hair cling to her skin, and haloed around her body, it's length unimaginable as it drifted off beyond the edges of the canvas.

"Holy shit." Stu murmured with a grin. "It looks so real." He added as he approached the painting, looking at it as close as he could without touching it. "Looks like it'll come right off the canvas." Billy mused with a smile, making (Y/n) smile proudly. "I take it you guys like it?" (Y/n) asked almost meekly, something her brothers made note of. "It's amazing!" Stu exclaimed excitedly. "Yeah it's incredible." Billy agreed, their praise making (Y/n) beam with pride. "You did good sis." Jackson wrapped his arm around her shoulders, their brothers nodding in agreement. "I call it Lust for Death." (Y/n) mused.

"And well I don't really want her gathering dust up here with the others. She's my best piece so far." (Y/n) looked to Billy and Stu. "Would either of you like to have it?" Her offer exciting both Billy and Stu. "Yeah." They both replied in unison, making (Y/n) chuckle. "Well one of you can have this one, and the other..." She thought for a moment. "The other can either have one of my older pieces, or they can make a personal request." She decided, chuckling then they shared a look. "Feel free to rummage through my older pieces while you decide, mine are the ones along the right wall over there." (Y/n) pointed to where she was speaking.

"We'll leave you guys to it." Johnny stated before he and the other two brothers left the attic, seeing this as a perfect opportunity for (Y/n) to have some alone time with Billy and Stu. "Woah these are so cool." Stu gushed as he flipped through the paintings like they were records, making (Y/n) chuckle as she approached them. "There pretty dark." Billy pointed out, taking his time flipping through each painting. "I'm pretty dark." She hummed casually, leaning against the wall a few feet away from her friends. "Do you normally just give your paintings away? You could honestly make good money if you sold them." Billy turned to look at (Y/n).

The painting he stopped on in view was a particularly vulgar painting of a young man, who was laying in a pool of blood, his heart torn from his chest, and resting in the palm of his hand. A smile stretched across his handsome face, while the crimson liquid was the only thing covering his manhood. "I don't normally just give them away, so you two should feel special." They both smirked at her words. "And I do sell them periodically, my parents rent out art galleries, and we auction them off to rich pricks." (Y/n) added. "Aren't you and your family rich?" Stu questioned with a grin. "Yeah but we're not pricks." (Y/n) smirked. "Well my families kinda rich to you know." He pointed out.

"Yeah well you can definitely be a prick." (Y/n) taunted, making Billy laugh and Stu pout. "She got you good." Billy chuckled at his best friend, before he continued skimming through the paintings. "I feel really attacked right now." Stu clenched his chest in mock offense, effectively making (Y/n) snort. "You're a dope." She teased making him grin in return. "Maybe, but you love me." He joked. "Maybe." (Y/n) hummed, playing along. "You know what." Billy stood up from his knelt position, having placed the paintings back in place. "These are amazing paintings, and I definitely intend in checking out the rest. But I've decided that Stu can have the Lust for Death painting." Billy announced, making Stu still in his rummaging.

"And why's that?" (Y/n) asked with curiosity. "Because I wanna request a painting." His voice was surprisingly soft all of a sudden, or at least softer than normal. "And that would be?" (Y/n) urged. "Paint me like you do them." He stated casually, pointing to her other paintings. "You realize I paint morbid and provocative things right?" (Y/n) wondered. "That's why I want you to do it." He explained, a smirk tugging at his lips when (Y/n) smiled. "You'll have to model for me a bit, wanna make sure I paint you right." (Y/n) hummed as she approached the shorter male, a smirk of her own tugging at her lips as he peered up at her. "I insist on it." He mused.

"Well Stu it looks like you get to take Lust for Death home." (Y/n) cast her eyes to the other male, giggling at the sight of his pouting lips. "Awe I want you to draw me like one of your French girls!" He whined making (Y/n) giggle again, cooing at him afterwards. "Awe darling maybe I will." She pat his hair playfully when she approached him, chuckling when he flung himself into her embrace, unfazed by the fact that his face was practically buried in her tits. "But hey look on the bright side, you get to take this beautiful woman home tonight." (Y/n) hummed as she pointed to her newest painting. "Billy will have to wait a few days before he even gets to see his." She added, smiling when Stu practically whooped with excitement, making Billy roll his eyes, despite the smile on the brunettes face.

---

The following day Billy was at (Y/n)'s house alone, while Stu and (Y/n)'s brothers were hanging out at a local carnival that was in town. "So how would you like to be painted?" (Y/n) asked as she sat on her bed, with a sketch pad in hand. While Billy had sat down on the floor in front of her, setting criss cross. "I want you to paint me laying on a bed that's covered with a snow white bedspread." He mused, while (Y/n) wrote down notes on what he described. "I want to be completely naked." He added, smirking when (Y/n) glanced at him with almost bashful eyes. "Okay, what else?" (Y/n) played it cool, despite her heart now hammering in her chest.

"I want to be covered in blood, staining the bedspread." He tilted his head a little. "Anything morbid aside from the blood?" (Y/n) asked as she jotted down notes. "Do you have anything in mind?" Billy wondered, making (Y/n) tear her eyes away from her notes, humming in thought as she observed him. "How about strands of barbed wire coming from out from under the bed, and wrapping around your arms legs, and neck perhaps?" (Y/n) hummed before frowning. "Or how about instead of barbed wire, it's rose vines? Maybe I'll paint your eyes a bright almost unnatural shade of blue." (Y/n) contemplated. "I like that idea, the rose vines will add a touch of beauty to it." Billy expressed with a smile.

"I agree." (Y/n) wrote down some quick notes before tearing the paper from her sketch pad. "Well if you want this to as accurate as possible, you'll have to strip." (Y/n) explained as she rose from her spot on the bed, moving two of her canvas stands to set beside her bed when Billy stood up. "I want it as accurate as possible." Billy agreed before he slipped off his shirt, watching (Y/n) set up the things she would need, smirking everytime he caught her eyes casting to him. "Are you sure you're comfortable with this?" (Y/n) asked before Billy had a chance to remove his boxers. "Yeah, are you?" He asked waiting with his thumbs just passed the band of his boxers.

"You aren't the first person to model for me in the nude." (Y/n) pointed out. "I was really only asking because of Sidney." She added, knowing damn well Billy wasn't single. "It's just a painting, and it's an innocent request." Billy explained, not actually giving a damn about what Sidney would think about this, considering he didn't like her very much, defiantly not like he's grown to like (Y/n). "Okay I just wanted to make sure." (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding, casting her eyes to the side, so Billy wouldn't feel uncomfortable with her staring more than necessary.

Once he was bare (Y/n) instructed him to lay onto her bed, posing however he wants, while also reminding him to make sure it's a comfortable pose. "Okay so I'm going to draw you as detailed as I can, then I'll use that and my notes as references for the painting." (Y/n) explained as she sat down in the chair she had grabbed and moved beside the bed. Now with Billy laying naked in her bed to her right, (Y/n) began her work, her eyes casting to him every few minutes. The entire time she worked Billy simply watched her with curious eyes, finding her focus very endearing.

---

Four days later (Y/n) was leading Billy into the attic, promising that he would be the first person to see the finished painting, and the only person if he so chooses. "I think I'll call it the Thorned Lover." (Y/n) hummed as she removed the sheet covering the canvas, and for a second Billy forgot how to breathe. It was incredible, beyond incredible in fact. "Wow." He breathed out, unable to keep himself from touching the canvas, half expecting the blood to stain his finger tips. "I take it you like it?" (Y/n) bit her lip, feeling unusually nervous about one of her paintings. "I love it." Billy smiled as he looked to her, a chuckle passing his lips.

"Really?" (Y/n)'s heart skipped a beat or two. "Yeah." He nodded his head in agreement. "Well I'm happy you like it." (Y/n) admitted with a smile. "Stu's going to be jealous." Billy chuckled. "Oh yeah definitely." (Y/n) agreed with a laugh. "Would you like me to wrap this up for you? You're welcome to take one of my canvas sheets." (Y/n) offered. "Yeah I'd appreciate that." He ducked his head a little, trying to hide the sudden bashfullness that washed over him. "Okay I'll carry it downstairs for you." (Y/n) stated as she picked up the canvas sheet. "I could carry it." Billy offered in return. "Nah don't worry about it, it's not exactly heavy." (Y/n) shrugged.

"Besides I'm a big girl." She joked making Billy smile. "Right." He chuckled before he silently insisted on assisting her with covering the painting. "When will your brothers be back?" Billy asked after flattening down the last corner of the canvas. "They won't be back tonight." (Y/n) hummed as she picked up the painting. "Girlfriends." She added when Billy looked at her with curious eyes, following her out of the attic. "I can't say I'm surprised." Billy admitted with a shrug. "I am surprised however, that you're not at a boyfriends." He added with a false grin. "There aren't very many guys in Woodsboro that are into Amazonian women." (Y/n) mused with humor in her voice.

"If anything I'm kinda surprised I don't have a girlfriend yet." She added with a grin, her words peeking Billy's curiosity even further. "Did you have a girlfriend back in your old hometown?" He asked. "Perhaps." (Y/n) smirked before shooting Billy a wink. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Billy asked without thought. "No real boyfriends, but I've had plenty of boy toys. Guys are eager to get into my bed, but they'd rather die than be seen with me, let alone be in an actual relationship." (Y/n) admitted, the news of how men have treated her angered Billy more than he would have expected. "Assholes." Billy hissed, making (Y/n) chuckle. "You can say that again." She hummed as they exited her home.

---

That evening after (Y/n) had finished her evening shower, she sat down at the rolltop desk in her bedroom. Picking her her sketch pad she flipped through its pages, averting her eyes bashfully when she flipped to Billy's sketch. She glanced at the drawing, biting her lip before she abruptly flipped to an empty page, ignoring her hammering heart. Working from memory she began sketching Stu's portrait, soft music playing from her stereo tucked in a far corner of her room. It was almost enough to block out the sound of someone knocking on the front door, almost. With a small sigh through her nose (Y/n) sat her sketch book down, and made her way downstairs with long strides, grumbling under her breath about having to answer the door while she's dressed for bed.

"Whoa." Stu gawked when (Y/n) swung open the door, a scowl on her face when she looked to Billy and Stu. Both males eyes raked her in, their eyes trailing up the sight of her very long, and very bare legs, the short shorts she wore leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Her stomach lean and in plain view thanks to her crop top, which only just reached passed her breasts, though the long sleeves hid her arms from their greedy eyes. "Can I help you?" (Y/n) hissed with impatience, resting her hands on the curve of her waist, frowning down at her friend's. "We uh... Wow... I um." Stu stammered over his words, to distracted to form a proper thought, let alone sentence. Billy elbowed Stu in the ribs, effectively silencing the taller boys rambling.

"We thought you could use the company, we brought movies and snacks." Billy explained as he held up a bag as proof. "Who said I didn't wanna be left alone?" (Y/n) taunted, despite stepping to the side, inviting them inside. "A little birdie." Billy hummed sarcastically, making (Y/n) roll her eyes with a smile. "Well you're lucky I like you guys, otherwise I'd have to kill you for seeing me like this." (Y/n) mused before walking passed them, the ass of her shorts read 𝐹𝒰𝒞𝒦 𝒴𝐸𝒮 in bright pink. At the sight boys were suppressing a groan as they stared at her ass, which only just barely fit into her tight shorts, and jiggled with every step she took. "Fuck." They both muttered under their breath, hypnotized by the sight of her in her glory.

---

(Y/n) lounged on her favorite black and white beanbag chair in the living room, while Billy and Stu sat on the couch, their eyes often drifting from the TV to (Y/n)'s voluptuous form. "I can feel you staring." (Y/n) mused casually while snacking on a pack of gummybears. "I don't believe you." Billy countered. "You don't believe that I can feel you staring at me?" (Y/n) questioned with amusement. "I don't believe you've never had a boyfriend." He clarified. "I only had boy toys, I never had a real boyfriend." (Y/n) argued while still watching American Psycho on the TV.

"Who in their right mind would let someone like you get away?" Stu questioned what he and Billy had been wondering for hours, since Billy told Stu about his earlier conversation with (Y/n). "I'm seven foot tall, and most men feel inadequate next to me. The tallest men I know are my brothers, so finding someone my height, or perhaps taller, has been impossible so far." (Y/n) expressed, glancing back to them. "Do they have to be as tall as you for you to date them?" Stu asked moving from the couch, to sit on the floor in front of her. "No. All I required is devotion, trust, and acceptance." (Y/n) admitted in a somber tone, her eyes distant and almost cold.

"You don't ask for much do you?" Stu observed with a small smile, finding it endearing. "I don't need much." (Y/n) said with a small smile of her own. "What if..." Stu murmured grasping her left ankle in his hands, his fingers slowly inching up her calf, digging into her skin softly. "What if I told you..." He trailed off again, glancing to Billy, who was glaring in return. "Don't." Billy warned in a hiss, (Y/n) looked to Billy with confused eyes, then to Stu. "Tell me what Stu?" (Y/n) urged with a soft voice, partly worried about what he was going to say. "That both Billy and I are in love with you." Stu admitted.

(Y/n) scowled before almost roughly shoving Stu away with her right foot against his chest. "Don't fuck with me." She hissed. "I'm not fucking with you." Stu defended his declaration. "Bullshit." (Y/n) threw her bag of gummybears at him, rising from her seat she towered over him. While she was trying to seem daunting, the living room light glowing behind her made her look ethereal, even god like in Stu's eyes. "You're the most incredible chick I've ever known, I mean you could absolutely crush me and I would thank you." Stu admitted, making (Y/n) freeze up for a second.

"Is that so?" (Y/n) asked with a tilt of her head, placing her foot against his chest, she shoved him to lay on his back. "Yeah." Stu grinned up at her. "Then that isn't love, that is lust." (Y/n)'s demeanor changed from playful to dark. When she turned away from Stu, she was met with Billy glaring up at her. "Don't try and tell me how I feel, you don't understand how I feel, and you don't get to decide what I feel." He growled at her, his eyes nearly as dark as hers. "Doesn't matter how either of you might feel, you're both in relationships anyways." (Y/n) muttered, her dark resolve crumbling with every word she spoke.

"They mean nothing to either of us..." Billy countered, licking his lips before he continued. "They are only a means to an end, puppets playing their role." Billy added, his eyes glancing to Stu for a moment, who now stood a little ways behind (Y/n). "What are you talking about?" (Y/n) frowned at him. "It doesn't matter." Billy shook his head. "I doubt that." (Y/n) murmured, before suddenly crumbling to her knees, the action so sudden Billy or Stu couldn't have caught her if they tried. "Give us a chance at least." Stu begged with a soft expression, as they both knelt down in front of her. "Do I honestly have a choice?" (Y/n) tried joking, only to chuckle pitifully when Stu bumped his shoulder with hers. "Definitely not." He joked making her smile softly.

"Please (Y/n)." Billy whispered softly, suddenly looking vulnerable before her. "All I require is devotion, trust, and acceptance." (Y/n) repeated herself. "How can I have your devotion, and your trust, when you are still with someone else." (Y/n) argued, her voice cracking as she spoke. "How can I know that you truly want me, that you truly care for me, and you're not just saying this to get into my bed?" (Y/n) continued, her heart breaking more and more with every word. "Let us prove ourselves to you." Billy insisted, a stray tear falling from his right eye. "Okay... Prove it." (Y/n) agreed with butterflies in her stomach, and her heart hammering in her chest.

Wow this was all over the place, sorry about that... Hopefully you enjoyed it regardless of that.

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dickd0c · 4 years

Text

STRIKE

CHAPTER NINETEEN — “day five, part two”

A while later, Nic found herself walking out of her room and down the hall. There wasn't much to do. She didn't want to text Lucas—she'd just met him and didn't want to come off clingy. Riot was gaming (loudly) in his room. Tank was still at the gym and probably would be for a while, and Athena was definitely still pity shopping.

So she wound up in front of the door to Alpha's room, asking herself why her heart was pounding so fast and her chest was growing so tight. She slowly pushed the door open a few inches, peeking in to see Alpha seated on his bed with his laptop a few feet away from him. He had a massive bowl of popcorn beside him. The lights were off and the curtains were drawn, so the only light illuminating his face was the flashing from his laptop. It had been hours since he'd popped into her room to annoy her, so she wondered how many movies he had watched in that time.

Nic pushed the door open a bit more, sidling in before quietly shutting it behind her. She walked over to the side of the bed, Alpha not even glancing over at her, and lifted the covers so she could sit with him underneath. As she lifted her knees on to the bed, she glanced up at him, noticing something different.

On top of his nose sat a pair of black-framed glasses that reflected the movie on his laptop. Nic had never seen Alpha with glasses before, but she had to admit, he truly pulled them off. Biting her lip, She slid under the covers, sitting up with her legs extended.

Wordlessly, Alpha wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her towards him. Nic nearly fell over, surprised, but she steadied herself and found their bodies so close together their legs were touching. She was angled a little so that her back rested on the side of her chest, and she was nearly sitting on him. He then moved the laptop so it was balancing on top of both of them. Nic didn't fail to notice the arm that stayed around her waist.

It was odd sitting with him like that. He wasn't the most touchy guy in normal situations. He barely cuddled after sex, he didn't even tapped her shoulder if she was in his way. Nic's body stayed tense, feeling his arm get comfortable. He pulled her a little closer so that his hand could rest peacefully on her thigh, but that just forced Nic to resist the urge to squirm.

Nic forced herself to zero in on the movie playing on his laptop. It seemed like a comedy, which kinda surprised her. She figured that he would be the type to watch action or thrillers, but hey, everyone can use a good comedy every now and then. An actor on the screen cracked a joke, and next to her, Alpha let out a humored breath. Nic smiled to herself, feeling her body slowly relax against his.

Between scenes, the screen went black. Though it was dark in the room, it was still light enough for her to be able to see their vague reflections. She looked at Alpha, watching him adjust the glasses resting on his nose. She really did like those glasses on him.

"Damon," Nic said suddenly, as if testing the name out on her tongue. It clearly startled him, though.

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing behind those glasses.

"Nothing. Actually, how old are you?" Nic asked quietly, reaching for the popcorn.

Alpha quirked his eyebrows, as if caught off guard. Nic had to admit, it was a bit random. "Uhh, twenty-one."

"Oh. So you just graduated college, didn't you? Congratulations," she said with a smile, watching him nod and shrug. "What did you major in?"

Alpha gave her a weird look, like making normal conversation was new to him. "Nursing," he said, and Nic could feel his abdomen tense up against her back.

Nic's face brightened. "Oh, that's great! I have a friend who's doing nursing. She says it's really hard. Wow, so you've got your bachelor's?"

Alpha made that face again, looking steadfast at the flashing laptop screen. "Yeah... why are you questioning me, again?"

Nic huffed, turning her face away from him with a small scowl. "Because... I know Tank, Riot, and Athena's ages. I know what they're studying. I know their favorite colors too. But you? I didn't even know you wore glasses."

It was true. She knew a lot about those three. Tank was nineteen, like her, and an athletic training major. Riot was twenty and a communications major. Athena, twenty as well, was a compsci major. Nic learned all of that in one or two weeks, but she just found out the same information about Alpha after nearly two months.

"You didn't even know any of their real names until today," Alpha pointed out in a snarky voice, his abdominal muscles shifting against her back.

Nic rolled her eyes but stayed silent. Partly because he was right and that was awkward, and partly because she wasn't in the mood to get him angry.

Alpha sighed, long and loud, and Nic nearly turned around to tell him off for being unreasonably irritable when he spoke again.

"Green," he said in a quiet and raspy voice.

Nic smiled to herself. "Mine's purple," she said softly, leaning comfortably into his chest. His arm tightened around her and his thumb started rubbing circles on her thigh. A brief glance at Alpha told Nic that he was doing so absentmindedly.

"So..." Nic thought out loud, thinking of a question to ask him. She just wanted to keep him talking. "Are you going to be getting a job?"

Alpha cleared his throat, clearly unfamiliar with talking so much with someone he didn't already know well. "I'm going for my master's actually, so I won't have time for a full time job."

Nic didn't know jack shit about nursing. She had made up that friend she had mentioned.

"You really like nursing, huh?"

Alpha just shrugged, but Nic could see the small smile that he swallowed back.

Nic slowly let her head fall back to rest on Alpha's shoulder, feeling his body tense under her before it slowly relaxed. She watched the movie, smiling slightly as the actors cracked corny jokes and managed to get into sticky situations every ten minutes. Every once in a while, Alpha would chuckle lowly, making her let out a small laugh of her own. She hadn't heard Alpha laugh this much in...

Ever.

There were still so many questions she all of a sudden wanted to ask. There were so many things she didn't know about him, so many things she didn't even know about the others. Come to think of it, she'd never had a single conversation with any of them about their or her family life. Maybe a few brief ones, but the fact that Athena had homophobic parents was honestly the most she knew.

Nic looked down at the strong hand resting on her thigh, wondering what Alpha's family was like. A heavy pit in her stomach told her that it was probably a bad idea to ask.

A few minutes later, the movie came to a sappy end, where the short balding man finally kissed his stunning, sweet ex-wife. Alpha chuckled, a rumbling sound that made his chest vibrate against Nic's back as his fingers reached for the laptop and fiddled with it.

"What do you want to watch next?" he asked her, catching her by surprise.

"Um... something horror, maybe," she replied.

"Alright, try not to hold my hand too hard," he said, sounding amused as he scrolled for movies.

Nic rolled her eyes. "I don't scare that easily," she proclaimed, and Alpha's hand tightened around her thigh.

"We'll see..." he mused, clicking on a movie and letting it play. He then moved the lap top between his legs. His hands shifted to Nic's hips, catching her by surprise when they lifted her and pulled her over with ease.

Nic landed between his spread legs, feelings arms wrap around her torso to pull her back tight against his flexed chest. Alpha's head dipped to the side of hers, mouth brushing against her ear as he whispered.

"If you get scared, I'll be holding you."

Nic's heart pounded against her chest, and she was sure that he could somehow hear it. She sat there, slightly dazed, trying to figure out if his words were supposed to be sexual or sweet.

The first scene played out on the screen, sharp blades slicing a woman's head clear off.

Stomach churning, Nic hoped it wasn't sexual.

As the movie progressed, Alpha's arms seemed to grow tighter around her. Nic wasn't sure if that was for her comfort or his, because every time something gory took place on screen, she'd flinch violently, but he'd gasp in shock.

"Oh, I don't think I'll be touching the popcorn," Nic nearly gagged when the killer cut open a man's abdomen and took an organ into his hands.

Alpha nodded, briefly moving an arm away from her to push the popcorn bowl away. He wrapped his arm back around her, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. He still hadn't shaved, so his light scruff scratched the sensitive skin on her neck. Nic tilted her head and rubbed her face against his ever so slightly, enjoying the feeling of his scruff against her cheek.

"What are you doing?" Alpha whispered, his hands moving to grab hold of her waist, fingers digging into her skin.

Nic froze, grateful for the dark room covering up her pink cheeks. She shifted her head away from him, feeling her embarrassment pool up in her tightening chest. She cleared her throat—"Sorry."

She couldn't see it, but Alpha frowned, looking confused. "No, I didn't mean it like that," he said, dipping his head back down to rest in her neck. He then winded as a body fell from forty stories up in the movie, flinching as it landed with a loud thud. "Shit..." he muttered into Nic's neck, burrowing nearly his entire face into it so that just his eyes could peek out and see what happened next.

Nic laugher lightly, moving her hands to rest on top of each of his and give them a light squeeze. "Look who's scared now," she teased, feeling his hands tighten their grip on her.

"I was just pretending to make you feel better," he responded arrogantly, and Nic could practically hear his smirk.

"You keep telling yourself that," she cooed, moving her hands back to rest in her lap.

Alpha didn't respond. He just pulled her tighter against him, if that was even possible. Nic grinned to herself despite the gory scenes before her eyes, catching herself sometimes flinching on purpose so that his fingers would rub circles on her skin.

She never thought he'd touch her like that. It was new, it was different. It was nice.

#alpha #tank #riot #athena #specops #specop #specop fic #specopsfic #specopfic #smut #anonymous #fanfic #fanfiction

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the-witch-and-her-husbands · 4 years

Text

A Lincoln Girl and a Perfect Night

The getaway party.

Dev had barely had time to breathe the sweet air of freedom before he was being bundled into a coat, a hat slapped onto his head, and shoved into the back of a car.

Ladies’ clothing, insult to injury.

Palpable tension was in the air as they sped away into the night, sirens wailing. No one spoke.

After a few moments, they could relax.

‘Aye, ye look good in furs,’ Mick giggled.

‘There are certain things one should not do for one’s country,’ Dev muttered, but he couldn’t help but grin. Relief, sweet relief, was beginning to wash over him. He was a free man again, in the company of his friends and compatriots. The brothers to his cause.

And the woman he loved was in the front seat of the car, turning round and leaning over to laugh at his expense.

Jilomena let out a low wolf whistle of mocking appreciation of his getup. ‘Well, the fur coat may be his auntie’s, but the hat’s mine! Be careful of it!’ she giggled.

‘And what shouldn’t you do for your country? Go on the game?’ Harry jeered.

‘Aye, some men died for Ireland, but Dev, he whored for Ireland!’ Mick threw back his head with a roar of laughter.

‘Oi! I dont want Dev whoring himself out when he’s promised himself to me!’ Jilomena joined in the banter.

‘Mind your language,’ Dev murmured, but there was amusement in his voice. He didn’t normally approve of obscenities, especially from a woman, but he was in too good of a mood to be properly cross with her. How could he stay annoyed on a night like this? He put his head back, taking deep breaths of the sweet night air, trying to calm his racing heart. Freedom. Surely this had to be some mad, impossible dream, and he would soon wake up on his narrow bunk in his claustrophobic cell. Alone. ‘I suppose this does set a historical precedent,’ he mused, a wry grin spreading over his face.

‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen!’ Mick teased, grabbing him by the arm.

‘No, this Kathleen is coming home with me.’ Jilomena’s voice cut through the raucous laugher, her eyes meeting Dev’s. She smiled at him, a warm smile full of promise.

Mick and Harry let out twin hoots, elbowing Dev in the sides. ‘Looks like you’re on a promise there,’ Harry teased.

‘Aye. I am.’ Dev smiled at his fiancée. He settled into the back seat as best he could as the car sped through the English countryside.

Only once they were on the ferry heading back to Dublin did Dev feel he could let his guard down a little, let go of the nervous tension that had accompanied him all through their nighttime flit. He’d been certain that capture awaited him round every bend, and that he’d be ripped from the others to be thrown back inside to rot.

Without his beloved little Lincoln girl.

Hardly anyone else was on the ferry this time of night. Mick and Harry had disappeared off to raid the car in hopes of finding a forgotten bottle, so that left Dev and Jilomena to their own devices on the deck.

Finally, he could take her into his arms, pull her close to his chest so that they could feel their hearts beat together. The wind on the Irish Sea played with their hair, blowing it around their faces. It was chilly on the water, but not unbearable.

She smiled up at him, snuggling as close as ever she could.

‘Alone at last,’ Dev murmured.

‘Alone at last. Thank the Lord,’ she echoed.

‘No regrets?’ He looked down at the girl in his arms, still hardly daring to believe that she was really his.

‘Not for a single second.’ Her voice was firm and steady.

He let go of her just so he could drop down to one knee before her.

‘Dev? What are you...?’ She blinked at him in confusion.

He took both of her hands in his. ‘I can ask you properly now. Jilomena Festerworth. Will you marry me?’

‘Yes, Dev. I’ll marry you.’ Her eyes were shining with pure happiness.

He stood then, reaching to cup her face in his hands. He then lowered his head to hers to claim her lips in a passionate kiss.

‘We’ll have to get married quickly,’ he mused once they came up for air.

‘Why? I haven’t gotten you in trouble already,’ she teased.

‘No, no.’ He chuckled, a hint of a blush almost staining his cheeks. ‘But I plan to go to America, to take our cause to the American president. He needs to be aware of the plight of the Irish people, one President to another. And it needs to be done sooner rather than later. And of course I want you to come with me.’ He gave her hands a squeeze. ‘So I was going to apply for a special license, and then once we’re married, we’ll set off.’

‘You’d better buy me a ring in the morning, then.’ She raised an eyebrow in way of reply.

Dev laughed, pulling her close. He’d laughed more that evening than he had in literal months. It felt good. Infinite possibility stretched ahead of him. He was President of a new Republic, one that was bound to be recognised officially one day. He also had a beautiful woman by his side, to be his wife and helpmeet for all his future endeavours. No doubt they would have a family by and by, gathered around his table like the shoots of an olive branch. A family growing up in a free Ireland.

They held each other, looking over the railing into the inky blackness of the night.

#drabble #v:A Work In Dev-Elopment #michael collins film

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maskedmuses-archived · 5 years

Note

Amnesia meme: instead I offer you a reverse akuma/chat blanc AU. Alternatively Marinette forgets everything but Adrien remembers this time. Chadrienagreste.

If your muse could tell mine anything without them remembering, what would they confess? || Still accepting! …Even if this is a different take!

@chadrienagreste

“No.” Her voice began softly, accelerating into cries. “No, no, don’t die on me! Blanc!”

Her voice broke as she clutched onto his frame, the spots donned and the other Akuma beaten, tears fell across his face, void of life and breath. Her hands clutched hard to the object she had summoned—a useless lampshade, nothing that could resuscitate him by any means—and fear pounded through her veins.

People couldn’t come back if they died, could they? She had lost the most important person to her from here stupidity.

“…Blanc, I can’t do this without you…” Her hand shifted towards her stomach, clutching it tightly. “We were supposed to be a family, remember? Remember?” Her voice becoming desperate as she held onto his slowly cooling form. He was gone and nothing could bring him back.

A small sound resonated in her ears. There was a way. Life could be created, restored, with a price. The information did not sound as if it came from Tikki, but instead from something much more primal than Creation. A voice in her mind that had no true form aside from readily entering her thoughts.

“Who…?” Ladybug tried to question but shook her head. “I don’t care. Any price you want, I’ll give it. Just save him! Bring him back!” Her desperation seemed to please the voice. Instructions were simple: purify his last Akuma and with the butterfly, combine with her Miraculous Ladybug and send them sailing into the sky.

The small tugs at her mind from her Kwami tried to be warning, but it was too late. Marinette was already cracking the ring and releasing the last fluttering bug and shoved it against the lampshade. A small squeak to stop her was ignored.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Tossing up the object, a bloom of red and black shot out from it as it reached the highest arc. But Ladybug did not look upon it, instead her attention was on the boy before her, stripped of white. He had returned to Chat Noir, the smile sad but spread across her lips. Fingers gingerly touched his cheek, whispers coming from her. “I’m so sorry, Blanc. This was the only way. I lo–”

A portion of the magic fell upon them, washing them in the crimson. A sharp jolt down her spine made Marinette sit up and away from him, a cry issuing out. “A-ah!” Her head began to feel as if it was being crushed by the weight of the flowing magic, her fingers digging against her scalp. “What is…”

Images of the past few months began to flash before her eyes, blinding her from her surroundings. The tender looks between Blanc and Marinette, the smiles and laugher shared, kisses pressed against one another. Mixes of their voices rumbling in her ears.

“You could always stay here.” “My little mouse.” “She’s waiting for you on the rooftop!” “Always protect you.” “Mon Chevalier blanc.” “I can’t lose her.” “I want to make you happy.” Flooding memories played out rapidly, her mind barely able to comprehend words of specific moments, as if all of them were sped up and playing out and mounting a crescendo in noise and flickering imageries in her eyes until quietly, a small voice came through clearly.

“It should have been you.”

At once, everything went quiet, the small sound of a pin drop rippling through her mind. The phantasms vanished and the girl could barely register the beeping in her ear before the melting away of her suit to reveal her civilian self. Hands weakly held onto his frame—breathing, living, body that had come back—as her gaze seemed devoid of all light and focus. Blue eyes that normally glimmered with life were dulled and distant as her body seemed limp and unresponsive.

It wasn’t until she could feel Chat’s breathing against her that began to stir her from the stasis. Blurred gaze shifted downward slowly, the mechanisms of thoughts slowly ticking in her mind as hand that had held her temple dropped unceremoniously at her side.

“…Chat…Noir?” She murmured softly, peering down at him. Shutting her eyes tightly and opening them back up, Marinette seemed wholly confused. “Chat, what are you doing? Why are we…?” Glancing around rapidly. “Where are we? I should be home, did you take me from the balcony?” Her brows furrowed as she looked over him. “You’re hurt, we need to get back there…Uh, Ladybug…”

A glance away, the ache in her chest apparent. “Ladybug will take care of you when she sees you next. After all, I’m sure you’d prefer your Lady to tend to you than me.” The light was returning to her expression, but something was entirely missing. The knowledge of his love, the confession that night. All of it was gone.

A price to pay for bringing life. The memories treasured offered in the combination of life. Adrien would remember all of their time, but Marinette? Everything since the night before he had spent along her rooftop and she had uttered her feelings had vanished from the recesses of her mind.

#Anonymous #asks #||Miraculous Everyday| Marinette/Ladybug||#||ρσυη∂ ιт!| мємє αηѕωєя||#|V: Mariblanc|#Picked it up right when he died in the last thread #tw death

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tophatsnap · 7 years

Text

A Monster Stared Back

What if the mob had never reached Erik's home?

Hi guys. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but I started another thing.. Let me know what you think. It’s just a one shot for the moment. Phanty belongs to Leroux & Lloyd Webber

She had placed the ring in my palm. Her two small hands had closed over my own for a single, precious moment; her touch was soft, tender- something I had seldom experienced. It was one of the few times she had willingly touched me, and we both seemed to pause slightly at the foreign sensation. A final barrier was broken between us as her hands touched mine.

The hands belonging to a man; just a man. Not a ghost, Phantom or specter.

I walked to the bank of the lake and watched her disappear from sight. I do not know what possessed me to do so. Perhaps I was a glutton for my own agony. My chest tightened as I saw her turn back briefly. Our eyes met for a second or two, and then she looked forward once more. Something I would never be able to do.

My fingers still closed around the ring she had given me, I sat down, allowing the tears to freely fall now that Christine was not around to see them. My home had never felt so empty- the oppressive silence was almost too much to bear. How had I lived like this for so long?

The silence was strange tonight though, given everything that had happened above ground. I would have expected some callers by now; the mob, the authorities… or both. Standing up and stashing the ring in my pocket, I waded once more into the murky water before me and peered as far as I could through the tunnel.

Nothing… Not a sound. No yells of impending doom, no distant flashes of light to signify torches approaching… nothing at all. My home was difficult to find, I had made it so, but after all the chaos and destruction I had caused, I was sure that someone would have found me on hatred or revenge alone.

Perhaps Madame Giry had drawn them away, or perhaps she had set her daughter the task. Part of me was relieved by the idea that I would be able to stay where I was and wallow in the grief that was suffocating me with each passing minute, that at least I would have my routine and security… my safety, but the other part told me that I needed to leave… one way or the other. I had either to submit myself to the mob, or the authorities and whatever they had in store, or I had to take my future into my own hands and walk away. Walk away from it all. Whatever that meant…

Everything in this Opera house would now remind me of Christine, the way I had treated her and the person… the monster I had become in the end.

Unceremoniously wiping my nose with my sleeve, I waded back to the shore. I bent down and picked up her veil, placing it back on the mannequin. It used to sit atop the mannequin’s head comfortably, but now it seemed so out of place. It did not belong there anymore. It belonged with Christine.

I decided to leave the portcullis up. For whoever found me in the end deserved the right to justice or revenge... they seemed interchangeable now. What did I have to live for now? I still had my music, but Christine was my music. She was my muse, and for the last few years, she and music had gone hand in hand in my mind. How was I to separate the two?

Another day passed.

Another day of agony…

Finally, I changed out of what was left of my Don Juan Triumphant costume. I couldn’t care less what I wore, but what I did not need was another constant reminder of that night- my home and memories, my face… they were enough. To my disgust, in spite of everything, for the last two days, part of me had expected her to return. To have changed her mind, to have forgiven me… but I knew that I did not deserve forgiveness. I hated how weak I had become because of her. I knew that if she showed her face, I would accept her with open arms and I loathed myself for it.

I hadn’t sought out food since before the night of Don Juan. I hadn’t bathed. I hadn’t even been brave enough to face a mirror. But I hardly felt the pain of hunger, I hardly felt the grime on my body even though prior to this I was exceedingly fastidious with my cleanliness. I found that even though at the root of everything was my appearance, for the first time I hardly cared how I looked.

I hardly cared how I felt save for the ache in my chest and sickness in my stomach that had not left since she had…

The time dragged, and I felt each agonizing second tick by. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to physically hurt so that I could feel something other than this never-ending torment. The sickening thought that she might return, that still… Still she might change her mind…

I was still expecting someone to pay me a visit and make it easy for me; take my life. Take the life that I should never have been given, and since birth have not deserved. But no one came.

I did not know what was happening above ground. It was likely that the Opera had closed for repairs following the damage I had done- if it was to be salvaged at all. I had not yet seen the damage for myself. At this stage I was not leaving my home, but for all I knew, that option might not remain. I could be buried under rubble and not even be aware of it. Entrapped forever in the building I loved so much. A tomb for a corpse; fitting.

Not knowing what else to do, I poured a large glass of wine and drank it all. I poured another and did the same. I approached one of the mirrors that bordered my home and for the first time in days, stared into it.

A monster stared back.

Just as my mother had said it would all those years ago.

Stay away from mirrors, Erik. Or the monster inside will get you!

Well, she was right. The monster had gotten me after all. What was staring back at me was no man. If there ever was a human being in that reflection, he was all but gone now.

All of a sudden I found that the monster was smiling back at me. What was humorous? Who knew. Perhaps the monster was mad. Soon both the monster and I began to laugh together and seemingly minutes passed.

The laugher turned to pain and soon I couldn’t stop the grief from showing itself. I heaved and wept, falling against the mirror- staring back at what I knew was myself.

This face. I was tired of it. It had taken everything from me.

I threw my fists into the glass, each punch sending shards flying out in all directions. It was beautiful, and now I could no longer see the face that had destroyed my life before it had even begun. Feeling slightly better about things, I took a deep breath and poured another glass of wine. I felt nothing as the blood ran down my fingers and onto the ground below.

I moved to the next mirror and repeated the process, beginning to smile again as the alcohol took charge of my actions and I no longer needed to think.

I walked back up to where my wine bottle sat and poured another glass… or half glass. Apparently I had finished the bottle. Picking up the glass and attempting to drink it as I made my way down the stairs to my desk, I lost my footing, slipping on a shard of glass. My wine fell from my hand, and in an attempt to gain balance with the other leg, I twisted my ankle and went tumbling unceremoniously to the floor.

I cringed as my ankle screamed with pain. What had I done? I wasn’t usually this light headed after a single bottle of wine, but my emotions were running high, and I had not eaten for several days now.

I hadn’t wanted to leave, but now I truly couldn’t. I laughed again at the situation I was in, but there was no one around to hear it, and the silence that engulfed my voice made me feel pathetic. I attempted to sit up, only to feel a sharp burn in my side as I did so. I looked down to see that there was a patch of red on my shirt. I lifted it to see that a piece of glass had in fact sliced my side open as I’d fallen. Fantastic. At least it didn’t look too deep.

With a cringe, I sat up. I yelled as I pulled myself to my feet. I truly could not put any weight on my right foot. It would prove troublesome If I did actually need to abscond from my home at any point. Thankfully, seemingly, both the mob and the authorities had given up on me that night. Although, it hardly mattered whether they had or not. What I was doing was not living, and so perhaps it would be alright if they took my life after all. No one else wanted it and I was certainly indifferent at the present time.

Knowing that I should at least elevate my ankle, but neglecting to do so out of spite for myself, I sat at my organ. Not playing, just staring at the keys. I placed my bloodied hands atop them, the keys turning from white to red as I smoothed my fingers over them.

I sat sprawled across my organ, on the verge of sleep when I heard the voice.

“Angel.”

I lifted my head, squinting into the darkness. I must have been dreaming, or perhaps I was still inebriated. No, I couldn’t be. It had been hours and the headache that now plagued me on top of everything else told me that the fun was over, and that now I had to pay for all that I had consumed and the speed with which I had done so. I lay back down, settling into my awkward sitting position, one that had no doubt spoiled my back over time, and closed my eyes.

“Angel. It’s me.”

That voice again. It was her. I sat up again, slowly turning around where I sat to see Christine standing at the bottom of the stairs I had fallen down. She was looking down at the detritus surrounding her; shards of glass, wine stains, other stains… her gaze shifted to mine as I turned. My first reaction was to go to her. For she had returned, and for the last 3 days or so that was all I’d been able to think about. But I calmed myself; my true persona took hold once more once I realized that she had left me. When I had released her, she had not thought twice about leaving with her boy and she had likely only returned out of some sense of pity or duty to her conscience.

“I can see that.” I finally spoke.

She flinched slightly at my cold words.

There was silence as I glared at her.

“Are you alright?” She asked. If it had not been so dark, she might’ve been able to see that I was not, in fact, alright. It was visible that I had not slept, nor eaten, and that I was bleeding from more than one injury.

“Why are you here?” I spoke softly, ignoring her question.

She stepped closer, perhaps taking my question as an invitation.

“Don’t.” I said, turning from her slightly. I still hadn’t replaced my mask, and a harsh word or stare from her in the state I was in, would crush me.

She stopped walking.

“I had to see you.”

“How kind of you.” I quipped. It had been snide, yes, but I didn’t care.

“Angel, please.” She began. “I had to see that you were alright… After we left… I was worried that the mob…”

“You can’t have been too worried, though.” I replied darkly, cutting her off. “It has been two days.” It was a childish argument, and I regretted allowing her to see that I was affected by her in the slightest…

“I know.” She said, looking down. “It was the soonest I could get away.”

Yes, with your marriage planning, I suppose you were quite busy.

I remained silent. She was being guarded too, but why?

“Angel, what happened here?”

“I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Christine.”

“It is of my concern!” She spoke, stepping forward again. This was the first time she had raised her voice to me.

“In what way?” I argued. “You have seen what you came here to. I am alive, if you could call it that. Let your conscience be sated with that, and leave this where it is. Your priorities were made clear to me on Thursday night.” I looked down. She remained silent.

“I let you leave.” I began again, my voice softer. “You did not need to return. You should not be here.”

My last words were spoken in sincerity. I wanted her with me more than anything, but I had let her leave because I saw that love was not about selfish yearning, but instead, selflessness. I wished her to be happy above all else, above myself. How was she to achieve that If she was still with me? The man who had kidnapped and entrapped her? I felt ill the more I thought of it.

“Well is this how you wish to leave things?” She argued. I looked up.

“We already left things, Christine. I’m sorry, but if you have come here for some sort of closure, I do not know what to tell you. You are free to leave and enjoy your life… I meant that when I said it.” I wasn’t being snide. I hadn’t the energy for that anymore. “Please, go.”

“I will go, but I don’t wish to leave things like this. Not after everything.”

“Please, Christine.” I spoke. Couldn’t she see that her mere presence was torturing me? Taunting me with promises of something that I could not have, that did not want me…

“Angel…” She began.

“Please. Stop calling me that. We both know that it is no longer appropriate.”

“And what is appropriate?” She asked

“…Erik.” I said, almost a whisper. “My name is Erik.”

There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke.

“Well, Erik. Would it be alright If I stayed for a few moments?”

I stared at her, though I was sure she could not see all of my face. Only a few candles were lit by this point, and all that she had with her was a dull lamp. I wished for her to say. I wanted it more than anything. It would be torturous, but she had asked to stay, how could I refuse?

“You may do as you please.” I said coldly.

“Thank you.”

She approached me slowly, awkwardly…

“I will find you a chair.” I said. Though, as soon as I stood up and put my weight on my right foot, pain shot through me and I fell back onto my organ, holding it for support.

“Are you alright?” She cried. I could not stop her from approaching now, nor could I move away. All I could do was cover my face, and so I did so.

“What happened to you?” She asked, moving closer. “Oh… your hands… you’re bleeding!”

“Yes.”

Indeed, I was. It had not really bothered me until I had seen the pieces of glass sticking out of my skin, and now it was beginning to sting.

“Let me help you.” She reached out for the hand that was leaning on the organ, giving me balance. I pulled away, almost falling again.

“Don’t touch me.” I said. I hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but I couldn’t let her in. Not when I was already in so much pain at the thought of losing her. I yearned for her touch, and yet I knew it would be the end of me… “I can do it myself.”

“What happened?” She asked again.

I did not respond. Instead, I stood up and limped to the bedroom she had once slept in. She followed me as I entered and sat on the edge, bending down to retrieve my bespoke first aid kit from underneath it.

“What is that?” She enquired, staring at the small box I had in my hands.

“You need not worry.” I said curtly.

“There is no need to be rude to me.”

No, there wasn’t. If I didn’t want her around, I needed to tell her. But I did… oh, how I did.

“I apologize.” I said. “But you do not need to be here, nor do you need to witness this. You should leave.”

With that, she stood up and left the room. I stared after her. Was that it? Had she left? Without so much as a goodbye? Perhaps it was for the best. I set the box down and lit some of the candles in the bedroom. I needed to see what I was doing. I was not particularly fond of living, but I did not wish to die from infection. I had come close before and It was not pleasant.

The light in the room made me more comfortable. It hadn’t before, but now, I felt less alone. I could pretend that everything was as it had been before Thursday; before Don Juan Triumphant.

I stood up, ready to limp to the kitchen in search of a bowl and some water to wash out my wounds, and Christine entered the room, standing before me just inside the door way. My hand flew to my face.

“I thought you’d left.” I said,

“No.” She said, now only two feet from me. She was intoxicating. “I went to find these.” I looked down at what she was holding out; my mask and wig. Could it be that she wanted me to feel comfortable? “You shouldn’t have to hide your face in your own home, but I thought these would make you feel more at ease.”

I took them, turning my back to her to put them on. I did indeed feel more at ease. I had not worn a mask since she had ripped it off me on stage… I turned back to her, smoothing my wig back in an attempt to look more presentable. Though, I hadn’t shaved in days and I likely looked like death due to lack of sleep.

“Thank you.” I said, my voice low, not wanting to give away too much. In truth I was amazed by the gesture. Did my comfort mean that much to her, or did she want my face covered for her own benefit? I tried not to think about it.

“You’re welcome… Erik.” She said. My name sounded beautiful on her tongue. “Now please, let me help you, and then if you still wish it, I will leave.”

Avoiding eye contact with her, I nodded.

“Water.” I spoke. “I will need a bowl of water.”

“Alright.” She smiled guardedly, before leaving the room again.

When she returned I was sitting on the side of the bed once more, tweezers in hand. She set the bowl on the ground before kneeling before me, watching my hands intently. It made me nervous. I don’t know if it was her or the pain that was making my hands shake but it was making things very difficult. As soon as the tweezers came in contact with a piece of glass I yelled in pain, refraining from cursing aloud.

“Allow me.” She offered, reaching for the tweezers.

“No!” I growled. “I can look after myself, Christine!”

“Let me help you!” She retorted.

“Why!”

“I am not going to sit here and watch you put yourself through pain! Now, give me the tweezers!”

I was stunned. Who was this woman? Before I could say anything she had taken them from me and held out her hand.

Slowly, I offered her one of mine, and as soon as our palms touched, I felt weak. Her hand was warm and soft. Suddenly, the pain was gone. How was I to live without this feeling now that I knew what it felt like?

“Thank you.” She said sternly.

We did not speak as she gently removed the shards from one hand, and washed it in water. I handed her the iodine without a word and she poured it over my hand. It stung horribly, but as Christine wiped the excess blood away and gently bandaged me, I could not help but stare at her. She was so gentle with me after all I had done. I did not deserve this. I offered her my other hand without her needing to ask, and she offered a small smile in return. She was so beautiful.

She repeated the process in silence. She had asked numerous times what had happened, and I had neglected to answer. Why was I making her suffer when she was offering nothing but kindness?

“The mirrors.” I stated awkwardly once she had finished.

She looked up.

“You asked what had happened.” I added.

“The mirrors.” She began. “I just pulled pieces of them out of your flesh, therefore I gathered as much.”

Was that sarcasm? I stared at her- unused to being spoken to like this, I remained silent.

“The real question is why.” She spoke.

“I don’t have an answer for that.” I said. She nodded again.

“I see.” She said. “And what of that?” She gestured to the patch of blood on my shirt.

“It’s nothing.”

“Just like your hands?” She smirked.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because you cannot help yourself.”

“I can. And if that is why you are here, you may leave.”

“I am not leaving until I know that you are alright.”

“But why do you care?!”

“Because it is who I am! You once meant a lot to me. You were there for me when no one else was, and you did more for me than anyone could hope to understand. Over the past few months you turned into something else but I know that the real you is still in there somewhere! And that is who I am helping! Are you satisfied with that!?”

No, I wasn’t. Not at all.

“You don’t know the real me.” I began, continuing the argument.

“And neither do you! You have become so disconnected with yourself that you had to pause when I asked what your name was!”

I did not expect this from Christine and I was in no mood for an argument.

“I am the Phantom, Christine. Whether you like it or not, that is who I am now, and that is who you are helping.”

“…And if I asked you to be someone different? If I asked you to be Erik?”

I paused, looking down at my bandaged hands. I would do anything for her, be whoever she wanted me to be- perhaps she knew that.

I sighed.

“I don’t know how to be that person anymore.”

“You do.”

I had been the Phantom for so long that Erik had not mattered- he had not been needed. But perhaps the only way to keep Christine around was to find him again.

“Now, am I sitting before the Phantom tonight?” Christine continued. “Was it the Phantom’s wounds I just dressed?”

I shook my head slightly.

Christine nodded in response.

“Alright.” She said. My eyes met hers briefly. I could not hold her gaze for long, not like I used to. Not when I was feeling so powerless. “Can I see your side? I’d like to see if there is glass in there. The only way you’d be able to do that yourself is if you used a mirror- and you don’t have any of those left.”

The girl had made an attempt at humor. I smirked slightly. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen it.

“Lie back.” She said. I did as she instructed. Unfortunately, the cut was fairly high up, across my ribs. I watched her carefully as I lifted my shirt, just enough for her to see the wound. She seemed nervous, and I saw her take a deep breath. Was she… blushing?

I had several scars littering my torso that I did not want her to see and question. But apart from that, it was improper. I was already feeling self-conscious, so when she took hold of my shirt and pulled it around further I stopped her.

“Stop.”

“Ang… Erik. I have to see the wound.” She seemed annoyed.

“You could see it. I pulled my shirt up high enough.”

“You need to hold it up higher if I’m to clean it for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to see this.”

“Erik, I lived in the theatre for many years. I have seen a man’s chest before. Please, relax.”

It wasn’t that. I wasn’t ashamed of my scars as I was my face, but I didn’t want the questions… the pity… I’d suffered enough of that tonight.

“Please.” She added. “Don’t fight me on everything.”

I looked at her sweet face. How could I deny her? I would just have to explain myself- something I loathed doing.

I took a deep breath.

“Scars.” I spoke, my voice low. “I have scars I do not wish for you to see.”

“Everyone has scars.”

“Not like this.” Indeed, not many people had been whipped, cut, and burned for entertainment. “I have cared for myself many times before, Christine. And I have survived. Please. Tell me if there is any glass that you can see, and I will do the rest.”

She sighed, but thankfully she did not question what I said.

“There was no glass.”

I nodded.

She handed me a cloth soaked in iodine, and I cleaned my own wound. It stung terribly- but I could tell from the pain that I would not need stitches.

Though, my ankle throbbed, and I made the mistake of glancing down at it.

“Your ankle?” She asked. “What did you do?”

“I twisted it when I fell. But please, you need not…”

But she was already at the foot of the bed.

“Which one is it? Your right?”

“Christine please. Really. You don’t need to.”

The last thing I wanted was her inspecting my foot. In my life people had seldom touched me with good intent. No one had ever touched my feet, I didn’t want to subject her to that. Also, it felt strangely intimate, and it would be incredibly awkward. I didn’t want that.

When she touched my boot, pain shot through me. I clenched the sheets and groaned.

“I’m sorry.” She asked apologetically. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“We have to get it off before the swelling gets worse.”

I knew it to be the case, though, I did not want her involved.

She touched my boot again, this time more gently. She slowly unlaced it and pulled it off.

“Christine, no. Just leave it. Please.”

“It looks quite swollen.” She said, ignoring me. She began to remove my sock.

“Stop. You shouldn’t.” I said, pulling away from her. Though the movement that pulling away caused me was excruciating.

“Why not?” She asked, a smile coming to her lips. “Ticklish?”

Was I?

God, I hadn’t even thought of that.

Surely she wouldn’t…

She wouldn’t dare…

Not while I was in pain.

Not ever!

Why was she still here!?

I frowned at her, unimpressed with what she had suggested.

“No. You just…”

She watched me struggle for words.

You shouldn’t have to do this to someone who treated you so poorly.

“It-It makes me uncomfortable.” I finally said.

“Erik, for the last time. I am going to help you. Now stop fussing, please. You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be!”

She pulled off the sock and inspected my ankle. I looked away and closed my eyes, not wanting to see her expression. This was too strange. The situation was surreal; I didn’t like feeling this human. This vulnerable. But I didn’t have a choice. The girl was determined.

“It’s swollen and bruised.” She said. I opened my eyes and looked down. It was indeed. It looked awful. “I don’t know much about injuries unfortunately, but I have rolled my ankle once or twice while dancing.”

I knew she had. I had seen it each time it had happened and it had taken every ounce of strength not to go to her and pick her up.

“I have had injuries that have looked similar to this.” She said. “Does it feel broken?”

“No.” I stated. I just wanted this to end. She gently took my foot in her hand, slowly turning it to the side to inspect the other side of the ankle. Having never been touched there, my skin was sensitive. It felt heavenly. I closed my eyes, guiltily enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against mine.

“It looks worse on the inside.” She said. I opened my eyes again. “I’ll wrap it for you.”

“No, you don’t…”

“You cannot do it yourself, Erik.” She said, clearly annoyed with me.

She gently wrapped my ankle. Each time her skin came in contact with mine, a jolt of pleasure shot through me. She couldn’t be here anymore. I could not bear it. Christine placed a cushion beneath my foot and walked nearer to me, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You’ll need to stay off it for a few days.” She said. “And you should change your shirt. The last thing you need is an infection.”

I nodded, deciding it was best not to argue with her. She was not the Christine I remembered.

“Will you be leaving now?” I asked. “I am quite capable, Christine. Despite what you may think. You should feel free to leave.”

“I do feel free to leave.”

I stared at her. What was she trying to say?

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

Of course I didn’t.

“It is not up to me.” I answered strategically.

“It is a simple question, Erik. Requiring a simple answer.”

How had Christine Daae changed in such a short amount of time? Perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t really known her at all…

What I had suffered was demeaning. I was not accustomed to accepting help; being treated like I was incompetent, like a child. But never had anyone helped me as Christine had, and if it meant her staying around for just a little while longer, I would accept it.

“No, Christine. I do not wish for you to leave…”

#poto #phantom of the opera #phanfic #fanfic #2004 phantom #erik #christine daae #andrew lloyd webber #gaston leroux #tophatsnap #a monster stared back

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sins-of-the-sea · 3 years

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[ 🤪 ] what is your muse’s sense of humour like? are they known for being joking, or serious? [for Giovanni and Guy]

headcanon memes inspired by things I like, part 2.

Guy's sense of humor is very dry, sometimes even sadistic or dark. He probably has the widest taste in humor of all the Crew, really, capable of laughing at offensive jokes as well as abstract Tiktok nonsense. He's also very much the least serious of the Seven, one to try to crack jokes even in the most dire situations. It's hardly appreciated, however, especially by Phoebus and the Captain. And it frustrates him. He can't stand seriousness for too long, it depresses him and drives him mad. This is muchly the biggest reason he gets in trouble with Frascona the most, in addition to being inappropriately flirty, impulsive, and crass.

Giovanni, sadly, has a stunted sense of humor. Something I want to see if folks notice--while Giovanni does smile often, he doesn't laugh. Mostly because he doesn't know how. If he does laugh, it's often at inappropriate times and intensity. As for making jokes, while Guy is the one who cracks them the most, Gio would definitely know his comedic timing and how to do it better. This is because, whereas Guy would crack jokes to lessen stress, Gio does it to actively make people feel better. However, like Guy, not everyone appreciates Giovanni's attempt at trying to make light of dire situations. So he stopped trying. Instead, he waits for situations to die down then just offer food, hugs, and comfort.

#[About Guy]#[About Giovanni]#[Meme]#if I ever write Gio laughing then that is incorrect #he and a few muses of mine are not laughers #mental illness tw

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long-way-down-rp-archive · 7 years

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Des Doran

TRUE NAME: Eh? Probably not? FACECLAIM: Dominic Monaghan NICKNAMES AND ALIASES: Trumpet; Sticky Fingers; Dope DATE OF BIRTH: August 23, 1989 AGE: 27 GENDER: A boy, apparently. Too busy for that noise. KIND: Human CALLING: Practitioner - Oracle OCCUPATION: Busker/composer

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Hands usually stained with ink. Tattoo of two adjacent spoons behind right ear. Usually in unkempt and scruffy clothes except on Sunday when he goes to various churches to listen to the service.

PERSONALITY: Jumpy, easily startled; Capacity for intense focus; Codependent, trusts easily; Self-deprecating; Easy laugher; Naive and optimistic; Inquisitive; Charming when he needs to be, especially to little old church ladies.

HISTORY:

Raised Catholic by a devout mother, and raised atheist by a quietly sensible father. Raised musician by everyone else. His grandmother Klara died when he was four, and he has very few but vivid memories of her at the kitchen table conducting the family band (papa and pépé) with a pair of spoons, tapping out the beat and singing full throatedly off key. When she passed away, pépé fell into a deep depression and left the house to live in a care home which, without regular access to a keyboard, only deepened his depression.

Des keenly felt the loss of his mémé, the colorful, songful woman who lit the room with sound and excitement. Losing his pépé from the house was nearly as difficult, and he started sneaking out of the house across town to visit him and pester a game of checkers from him. Once Des started bringing him to a nearby church (where Des had charmed himself into weekly access) to give piano recitals his spirits began to improve, and Roland started noticing how much like Klara Des was turning out to be… Playing back and forth for each other, Roland noticed Des would hum along to hymns he shouldn't have known. On a hunch he invented a melody on the spot, and confirming his suspicions, Des cried out, “I know this one! Isn’t it mémé’s?” Roland, never fully understanding his wife’s migraines or odd premonitions, couldn’t offer much insight to Des’ prescience, but at that point he started giving Des composition exercises to bring back to their recitals. As Roland’s depression lifted, he began to tell stories about Klara and the several occasions when she seemed to have a precognitive understanding of events unfolding.

Studying composition at university, Des was always too distracted to much impress his performance teachers, but practically seduced his composition mentor with his focus and determination. Des also managed to unnerve him on a few occasions, with his knack for showing him his own themes and developments before he’d written them down. Orchestration was particularly satisfying, finding colours and textures for the voices in his increasingly detailed visions.

Developing a firmer grasp of his visions, Des entered his master’s program with incredible drive. His performances including students, amateurs, and street performers were well received, and the consensus was that Des had a gift for finding exactly the right players for his works. Audiences were always struck by the powerful sense of unity his ensembles projected, despite their widely varied backgrounds. Des’ favourite recruit was Marius, a trumpet player famous on the streets and in the jazz clubs of Montreal. His sudden death by overdose was devastating for Des. Angry with himself for not averting Marius’ death, Des began ignoring his visions, and self medicating to deal with the increasing intensity of his migraines. He dropped out of school.

At the nadir of his self loathing and self destruction, Des landed in the hospital after taking his uncle’s painkillers. Waking up to silence worse than the cacophony which had been building for half a decade, he visited Roland, who told him the story of Klara’s immigration to Canada, and Des started to hear music again. A nearly overwhelming vision overtook him as he returned to Montreal, lasting nearly seven days, keeping Des scribbling later and later into the nights. He spent the next month and a half writing, reworking, teasing apart the themes and the structure. A giant symphonic work in three movements, the first woven with sounds of Klara, Roland, Marius, childhood and school, the second vast and meandering: cruise control, gasoline, campfire smoke. The third begins with electric guitar, honky-tonk, smoke and whisky calling, beckoning, compelling; then a curious half of a cadence, begging for resolution, release, relief. Buying an old Westfalia with Roland’s help, Des drives.

FAMILY:

Nancy Doran, mother. Municipal government employee, working with the mining union. Devoutly Catholic, instilled a sense of ritual and devotion in her son.

Darcy Doran, father. Retired miner, amateur violinist. A vocal atheist who taught his son to be skeptical but ethical.

Uncle Will - Nancy’s brother, kindly and practical like his sister. He’s a landlord in Montreal, and put Des up in his basement suite during school. Was amused when Des found a piano on the street and lugged it home. Was less amused when Des tried unsuccessfully to tune it but played at all hours anyway. Relegated Des’ “studio” to the basement.

Klara Doran, (née Orlov), paternal grandmother. Played spoons at the kitchen table, deceased. A closeted oracle and former wartime nurse, died before Des was born. Reputably a musicophile, especially Russian symphonies, and collected scores (unfortunately not musically talented herself, and despite her enthusiasm, a nearly tone deaf singer). Kept her divining gift secret from her husband, never fully understanding it herself (her family being estranged from her aunt in Russia, the previous oracle in the line). She would receive painful visions she tried to block out, resulting in crippling migraines and a lifetime struggling with depression. In her brighter moments she would sit by the piano and make Roland play for him for hours, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Roland Doran, paternal grandfather. Retired church organist, living in a seniors home in Sudbury. Chess player, but Des always made him play checkers. Taught Des to play piano.

SEXUALITY AND RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Pansexual, homoromantic, single

OTHER TIES:

Marius - Trumpet player in Montreal who was Des’ most reliable performer.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

Players for his fatalistic symphonies and pieces, i.e., Guardians who need a tip, etc.

An enchanter or some Practitioner who can help him with a little something to clarify and ease his visions.

PERIPHERALS:

The Muses - A cohort of spirits who send visions to Des. They live outside of time which makes relaying temporal messages tricky, so they tend to be jumbled up and difficult to understand. The Muses, representing main instrument families, can disagree or cooperate. They have personalities he might begin to recognize. People who know how can influence them and thus Des’ visions, to warn or lead or mislead. By name and aspect, the Muses are Fiati, the winds, Ottone, the brass, Archi, bowed strings, Klavishnyi, keys, Stimme, voice, Schlag, percussion, and Punteados: plucked strings.

LIKES: Rain, record stores, cabbage rolls, rabbits, wool, radio DISLIKES: Small enclosed spaces (excepting the van), dogs, coffee, cold drinks, elevator music HOBBIES: Checkers, crossword, antiquing, watching the weather channel and feeling superior SKILLS: Music, cooking cabbage on a camper stove. MEDICAL CONDITIONS: Tinnitus, migraines CURRENT FINANCIAL STATUS: $25.33 PLACES: Places with heavy foot traffic. Often along the routes of people in his visions, he’ll play exactly what you need to hear as you pass. PETS: A pet rock, Maggie

KNOWN MAGIC: Des is an Oracle, his gifts manifesting as a kind of clairaudience.

He receives visions as fragments of song and sound. Like hearing every note in a symphony all at once, chaotic, cacophonous, usually quite loud. Major visions can last up to a week, during which Des secludes himself with plenty of manuscript paper and ink. He can be exceptionally grumpy or elated during the process. Hearing melodies and phrases and cadences jumbled together, overlapping, broken or unfinished, Des tries to sort it out by writing it down as music, mainly unfinished sketches for movements and passages. He sketches a piece and fills in details, slowly and methodically over the next week or so, until he finishes it or not. Few completed works, but once they’re finished, they’re a very useful reference for mapping out events about to occur.

When the subject of a vision approaches in time, space, or attention, Des usually starts to hear snippets of the piece it corresponds to. It may vary or develop what he’s written (the flute solo line he wrote plays in his head as a bird flies overhead in a park; the rumble of traffic at this intersection reminds him of the second movement timpani/cello orchestration; the brass fanfare blares as the sun rises). As a foreseen event happens in real time, he has aural “deja vu” as all the puzzle pieces make sense in context. Not every piece is finished, and not every piece is “performed.” He can miss certain sounds or details if he’s sufficiently distracted.

Des tends to receive visions of people experiencing deep emotional movement; catharsis or upheaval, passion or apathy. Appropriately, his music tends to be nearly operatic, and mostly late romantic. Works tend to be indicative of the character of the object(s), though, and can be widely varied. His favourite music, however, is the serial chromaticism of Webern and Stravinsky. The tightly organized, often cyclical nature of this music is appealing to one who is so often wading through a quagmire of murky suggestion and temporal vagary.

On a few occasions, he’s been able to play his vision for the object as it happens, and there’s rarely a dry eye in the vicinity when that happens. Sometimes these people are connected to him in some way, but more often they are strangers, and he usually tries to make a quick exit afterwards.

MAGICAL ITEMS: None yet. COVEN: None.

RUMORS:

Some idiot was in the way of the emergency vehicles at that fire last week, scribbling in his notebook.

Have you seen that weirdo who plays piano out of the back of his van?

There’s been a post in the classifieds: Musician seeks kappelmeister position at Catholic parish (Orthodox and Anglican also acceptable).

WRITING SAMPLE:

Everything’s in position. Des had parked the van at the mouth of a little alleyway near his mark. After warming up with a few scales, a little Bach, he looked over the page of scribbled notes in front of him. It was rough, but he figured he could pretty much wing this one. Yesterday had been a pretty painless afternoon of composition, and he’d only yelled at two strangers afterward.

A car alarm went off a few blocks away making him jump, but Des echoed the major third softly on the keys, enjoying the way the sound reverberated off the buildings. A clock tower somewhere struck 6 o’clock at the same time a cat knocked over a garbage can a little ways down the alley. Better get started. The rumble of traffic swelled a little, and Des riffed off it, following the little pattern on notes scrawled on the paper in front of him; a little prelude. A well dressed man carrying a briefcase in one hand and a bouquet in the other came bouncing around the corner of the street, whistling. Des matched his tune, catching his eye and smiling back. “Good luck!” he called, making the man grin wider and raise his bouquet in salute. Des watched the man press a small button in front of the apartment adjacent to the alley. He sighed as he matched the pitch of the buzzer, and chuckled as the man entered. Time to play in earnest. As the melody developed and the cadences formed themselves, he cringed, trilling on a high D#. Hearing the smash of glass a floor up time perfectly with the crescendo of the music. Hearing the heavy, stomping footsteps down the staircase to the falling arpeggios. Reaching the final staccato chord as the door blew open and the man stood there, breathing heavily. “Didn’t go well?” Des guessed, starting something more contemplative and soothing. “No. She had company,” the man barked. “Ah, bud, that’s rough,” Des said, turning his head but still playing. “Need an ear? Have a seat.”

The man walked over and sat down on the bumper of the van and put his head in his hands. Twenty minutes and a request later, the man moved on, his heart and wallet a little lighter. Des counted the tip the man left in the jar under the piano bench and smiled. A good night’s work.

#lwdbio

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