regancr-blog

[regancr-blog]

crklaus‌:

@regancr

quidditch, reputable for being a rough sport. but rough enough for this sort of outcome? possibly, when you are playing against regan nam; slytherin’s chaser and perhaps klaus’ biggest rivalry. the two never really seen eye to eye; constant bickering, taking any chance thrown their way to shoot their mouths off. he loathed what she stood for, yet; one does not always have a choice in who they are lead to. a toxic relation, always at one anothers throats; an addiction of the sort- one his impetuous behaviour could not ignore. of course it rose fury within him (at the time), knocking a player off of their broom was a malevolent act done that he would never even consider. so malicious, so… regan nam. perhaps that very reason is why he managed to be so dismissive. however, he was not in solitary; to his left remained the same girl responsible for his own injuries. klaus may not have wished to seriously harm regan; just as she so evidently wished to injure him. but quidditch was still quidditch, and klaus was still the same old competitive boy back in hockey league. therefore, although he refused to succumb to a relatable extent; regan still had a spot within the hospital wing. “ what’s it like to know the only way you can win is by cheating? ” accusing the girl mainly to get a rise out of her, nevertheless; this was their unique little game that he just could not get enough of.

ONE THING ABOUT REGAN NAM — she hates losing.

it was one thing if it was out of her hands (but, kindly keep in mind that things that involved regan are seldom out of her control—that most scenarios are completely fabricated and manipulated by her own making), but when it came to things she could control. things that took far less brainpower and honey tongue to achieve. things that boiled down to the physical level. things like quick reflexes and a nasty swift turn. things like quidditch. 

so easy the brainless dolts of gryffindor could do it. 

and as far as brainless dolts goes? the boy sitting in the hospital bed right beside hers could give ron weasley a run for his money. not much to look at (lie) and not much to expect from (also lie). 

but at the very least—he made a good cushion when they came spiraling down in a mess of limbs and bruises. here, regan cannot help the way her eyes flicker from her phone to the injured gryffindor beside her, delicate brow arching just the slightest while she regards his injuries. spoils of war. collateral damage. what’s a broken arm or crushed spleen in the grand scheme of her victorious streak?

regan hadn’t felt a lick of guilt then and she wasn’t about to start now.

“it feels like we got the quidditch cup in the bag because someone couldn’t hold onto their broom tight enough.” she retorts without missing a beat, hiding a hint of a smile in favor of redirecting her attention to her phone’s front camera, fingers smoothing through brown locks. she would be lying if she claimed to not enjoy these little bickering sessions. that she didn’t relish the ability to wind the little lion up. slip under his skin and gnaw at his flesh. incessantly.

all the while knowing that facts don’t change. that she remained the sole proprietor of his attention.

“better luck next time, butterfingers. i’m sure your teammates don’t blame you too much...” 

she offers a coy smile.

“you lions are ever so loyal that way. even if you did fuck up colossally.” 

[regancr-blog]

Clever girl. You play with fire because you want to be burnt.

Holly Black, The Coldest Girl in Coldtown (via comatosechild)

[regancr-blog]

back from hiatus! welcome to all the new members. please give this a like if you’d like to plot!

[regancr-blog]

REGAN WASN’T A SAINT. nowhere near anything as holy, as blessed, as kind. her world didn’t revolve around purity, didn’t include god’s homilies, didn’t fill itself with anything worthy or remotely wholesome. instead she is cursed, wicked, vile, hedonistic. instead, she lives life impulsively—as she wishes, at the mercy of the insatiable needs in her—with the gaping hole in her chest. our lovely regan nam, a creature of sin.

the bastard amalgamation of an unholy mix.

mother, unabashed lover. father, selfish taker. daughter, bastard in black.

our bastard isn’t meant for goodness. isn’t meant to be kind. isn’t even meant to be remotely helpful beyond needs of her own. and yet here she stands, lithe arms crossed over her dainty frame, calculative eyes slightly narrowed, the slightest of pouts setting on pink lips. 

babysitting. how juvenile. 

had the boy—doe eyes, a wild head of honey brown locks, lanky (delicate) frame and yet she is unable to find a name to match up to an admittedly boring face—not been a friend of rowan’s, she would not have even bothered. what else would she have to gain from such an excursion? an abysmal waste of time. a chore. 

looking over him now and recalling his specific request—regan could easily deem this as daunting as pulling teeth. though even then, perhaps, even more dull.

“what can you do?” the comment that slips out is almost scathing, pristinely plucked brow raised in question. the slytherin has to remind herself of her initial goal—good deed of the day, brownie points to keep herself out of hell, maybe she was just tired of being watched by that gryffindor. 

oh, nevermind.  did it matter really?

“it would help if you could straighten up,” she starts, fingers dancing along the line of his shoulders before pressing into flesh beneath dark fabric, leading him with ease. “shoulders back, head held high—oh, extend your neck! you’re not a turtle—you’re going to give yourself scoliosis if you keep this up.” 

she tuts. 

honey, whatever his name was, seemed receptive at least. like a blob of clay before her to mould—press, pinch, and pull to her own whimsy. almost perfect. almost able to make this a little less boring than she thought it’d be. though if she could add a few more inches on him, she would.

“those are your little bullies right? rather uninspiring bunch.” but, makes sense that you would be intimidated by that. regan opts to keep her thoughts to herself (for once), taking care to slither (aptly put, mind you) a hair closer behind him, lips hovering close as if mimicking the snake’s seduction of eve. “you feel it right? i’m sure you do, you certainly look it. i’m talking about that bit of shame solidifying in your gut right now, by the way,” her voice is soft, almost snide, almost jeering, sweet datives armed with thorns. “or is it fear? embarrassment?” her arm extends over his shoulder casually, inwardly thankful for the extra boost in inches from her heels today.

“you want to come out of this a stronger person? i’d say, go talk to them.” her palm presses flat against his back, pushing lightly. “tell them you won’t stand for their bullshit anymore.” 

she hopes the climax would not be as dull as the beginning. 

STEP UP.

                                   ｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

cecil often debates on challenging himself to be a bit braver. stand up in the face of something scary, grow a spine, attempt to learn to talk back. things like that he’s never done before cause the hufflepuff’s one and only guideline was to not upset his mother. now that he thinks back, it’s been a while since he’s been given freedom. cecil doesn’t mind keeping things the way they are but a part of him wishes to be stronger. a little.

which led to cecil going to regan. maybe this would be considered a bad idea. or not even considered. maybe straight up this would be a bad idea to ask her because if someone was to search up examples of intimidating slytherins then regan nam would be on the list. but that’s exactly why the hufflepuff came to look up to her for assistance instead of all the other people around her.

“so…uhm…” and cecil makes a mental note at the point that he probably shouldn’t dawdle or stutter. a mental reminder to adjust his posture, to attempt to make up for the lack of a bulky frame. “what did you want me to do again?”

never did cecil think he would end up a few feet away from the same people who pushed him around on a constant basis and mocked him for simply existing. he’d like to forget them. if not that then dodge them.

but now the hufflepuff stands only a short distance away from hoping he wouldn’t get caught lingering around yet.

                                   ｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

☆.｡.:* @regancr​ .｡.:*☆

[regancr-blog]

crcwan:

     it wasn’t the fact that she stabbed people that set her nerves in its own frenzy. it was the faces that she can recall & the faces she can’t recall but her conscious wills her to remember. the sense of shock. rowan’s own dorm feels strange now & she only returns when she needs to sleep.

     if she sleeps.

     if she eats too, the gryffindor plays with the food in front of her absentmindedly. her thoughts are alive but they don’t go anywhere, dancing from one wall to another. at least, she supposes there are people who are here to offer her respite.

     "i’m waiting to have my assassin talent recognized by someone,“ rowan quips, inside she is wincing but outside she manages to see the humour & offers her longtime friend a playful grin. this wasn’t the point of the conversation anyways.

     "souvenirs you say?” eyes widen in curiosity. “someone sounds like they had a lot of fun.”

                                                                  ↺

  IT ISN’T AS IF SHE DIDN’T CARE. because all things considered, regan did care. did specifically place visiting the gryffindor table on the agenda, gifts and all. but caring and the act of expressing are two different things—and while the slytherin wasn’t emotionally stunted to such an extreme, she did have a penchant for doing things her way.

  unfortunately for most, how regan chooses to “comfort” another isn’t often gone without a price.

 “well, considering no one did actually die—” she lifts a shoulder in response. “i wouldn’t quit your day job.” 

   she’s absent in the way she plays with her hair, borderline fidgeting while she thinks, tongue flicking over her lower lip absently. “well, i can’t say it’s any more fun than being chased around the castle—but i did get around to going to a day spa and a small shopping trip.” she nudges the bag toward the gryffindor slyly, its contents containing some macarons, earrings, and a classic black beret.

   oh, but that wasn’t the actual gift.

  “anyway, i figured it was time to come back to see the mess you’ve all made of hogwarts—and if you’ve all missed me enough,”  the slytherin hooks her fingers into the fruit assortment before her, tugging the glass bowl closer to fish for a grape; tone deceptively casual as she speaks, lips curving coyly.

   “...shiro even came to london to pick me up.” 

[regancr-blog]

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING

Send ⭐️ (or multiple) for a headcanon about our muses. Send ☎ for your muse’s info in my muses phone (name, ringtone, picture, last text received/sent). Send 🎼 for a song that reminds me of our muses. Send 👋 for three things that describe our muses relationship. Send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours. Send 👤+ a muse name for my muse’s opinion on that muse (with the other muse/mun’s permission). Send 😍 for my muse to tell yours three things they love about them. Send 💤 for my muse to say something about yours in their sleep. Send 📖 for my muse to read out an entry in their journal/diary about yours. Send ✉ for a written letter from my muse. Send📱for a voicemail my muse left yours. Send 🌀 for my muse’s reaction to getting stuck in a storm with yours. Send 🍺 for my muses drunk reaction around yours. Send 💰 for your muse to ask mine for money. Send ✔️ for a daydream my muse has had about/involving yours. Send 👀 for my muse to compliment yours Send 💋 for how my muse would seduce/flirt with yours. Send  👏 and what your muse will do to fluster mine. Send 😙 for my muse’s reaction to yours being super affectionate. Send 🍵 and my muse will reveal one of their biggest regrets involving yours. Send 😶 and my muse will confess to something they wish they didn’t do that affected your muse.

[regancr-blog]

“My poor mother begged for a sheep but raised a wolf.”

— Michelle K., Four Rhythms.

[regancr-blog]

INTERROGATION STARTERS

Feel free to change pronouns etc. CALM / QUESTIONING.

“ tell me, what happened?” “ did you see anything?” “ what do you remember?” “ do you remember anything unusual?” “ please, try to remember as much as you can.” “ every detail is important.” “ and what happened next?” “ and what did you do when all this took place?” “ what were you doing around __ am/pm?” “ where were you around __ am/pm?” “ can anyone verify that?” “ was someone with you?” “ and you had nothing to do with it?” “ and you weren’t involved?” “ did you see it happen?” “ did you see who did it?” “ did you see or hear anything? anything at all?”

CARING / UNDERSTANDING.

“ you seem scared… is that why you don’t want to talk?” “ did someone hurt you?” “ it’s okay. you can tell me.” “ you were just trying to defend yourself, weren’t you?” “ we can take a break, if you want.” “ everything will be okay, i promise. but you need to talk to me.” “ it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. but it really would help if you did.”

SUSPICIOUS.

“ there is something you’re not telling me.” “ i think you’re lying.” “ you looked away just now when you said that. are you sure you’re telling the truth?” “ except what you’re telling me doesn’t align with what we already know.” “ seems to me like you know more than you’re letting in on.” “ what aren’t you telling me?” “ who are you trying to protect?” “ so you really don’t know what any of it means? no clue at all?” “ they must’ve told you more than that.” “ you have to have seen more than that.” “ and you want me to believe you don’t remember?” “ and you want me to believe you had nothing to do with it?” “ an accident? is that what you’re going with?”

DEMANDING.

“ i need you to tell me the truth.” “ i need you to tell me what happened.” “ i know you’re not telling me the truth.” “ that doesn’t line up with the evidence. so… you wanna try that again?” “ stop lying. i already know that’s not what happened.”

MAKING A DEAL / ASKING FOR HELP / DEMANDING HELP.

“ what do you want in exchange for this information?” “ i’m listening…” “ you’re coming with me.” “ since you’re the only one who knows how to find them, i don’t really have a choice but to take you with me.” “ fine. i’ll take you with me, but if you try anything…” “ i can’t give you that. you know that.” “ if we’re going to make a deal, you’re gonna have to ask for something a little more rational than that.” “ okay. we have a deal.” “ sorry. no deal.”

[regancr-blog]

                                                                   ↺

   IT ISN’T HARD TO FIND ROWAN SONG. that is, the advantage of a long time relationship between girls. superior creatures in a year of thickskulled boys and tasteless girls. not that regan would say that majority of their second year class consisted of idiots—but so far? not the brightest bulbs in the box.

    and when it came to rowan, to girls she bonded with on a level beyond superficial. nothing rang more true than the girl that rammed her into an incoming bludger their third year. 

    sure, she made sure to return the favor.     but nothing like bonding over broken fingers and noses in the hospital wing.

   “hey.” regan slips into the gryffindor table with ease, brown eyes flicking over the untouched plate of food before her longtime friend.

  “how’s my favorite gryffindor slasher?” 

   ah, a joke.     admittedly not her best. but she grows tired of hearing sob stories through the grapevine regarding things no one could control. things that didn’t directly affect her.

  why should she pay attention to it?

  “anyway.” she sets the small pink bag on the table, smile as flippant as her ill-timed joke. 

  “i brought souvenirs.”

— tagging @crcwan​

[regancr-blog]

                                                                    ↺

    THE BASTARD REGAN IS A MONSTER CLAD IN HUMAN SKIN. do not allow yourself fooled by her soft skin and honey tongue. she is but a beast bore of the union of “love”, of youth and naivety, of what lies beyond happily ever after. she is her parents embodied, the manifestation of their sin. she is made, fully equipped with their faults and tendencies, put on this earth to suffer, to pass on their turmoil like pestilence. 

    and regan, for the most part, plays the part of the bitter jaded nightingale well. 

    had she been a believer of love and fate and all things fairytales held true to its spine, had she held out throughout the instances of mother, heartbroken and father, remorseful, then she would have led a life far more merciful, a life easier on the aching soul.

   but our favorite bastard stubbornly stalks down a pained path, one undeterred by the temptation of reprieve (as was her father’s love and attention to her mother, reprieve from the damnation their selfishness, their love has condemned them to) from reconnecting with her parents, if only to never having to bear witness to another one of her mother’s breakdowns again.

                                     and she is the devil for leaving her mother to drown. this, she knows.

   love, in her eyes, wasn’t worth the pain.

    in its stead, she is filled to the brim with things she thinks is better worth obsessing over. money, power, self indulgence. are those not the things required for a full life of living? not the folly of love. man’s biggest fault. god’s biggest mistake. no, she swears she wouldn’t carve a life like her mother’s, raised scars running down pale skin.

    but selfishness can only take her so far. and regan is built to fail. built to love. built to take. built to be consumed. it’s coded into her genetics. and however crude the attempt, however uncaring and inconsiderate, it matters naught in the face in the things. 

    in the face of youth’s vulnerability, seishirou sumeragi, nothing matters. 

    if he wanted, and this regan is more than aware of even when he approaches—a breath of fresh air and a distinct flutter in her chest she’s quick to snap her jaws around—he could break her. 

                                                                                  but that’s not how their game is played.                                                                                   this is not how they end. 

   happy.    reunited at a station in london. 

                                                                                   this isn’t even how they begin.

    “thank you.” her voice is foreign even to her own ears. clipped tones of evasive black and cool blues is one unlike her when it comes to her friends. but as it is, regan stands feeling almost foreign under the eyes of her childhood friend. a man she seldom sees free with the reveal of his new girlfriend.

( but, that’s the game isn’t it? the push and pull. the yearn and break of the human heart. regan would sooner crack her chest open and pluck out her heart before she succumbed to the urge of loneliness. before she swallowed her pride and groveled for reprieve. before she turns, on her hands and knees, begging for the only source of real love she’s learned to accept.

but before that, she has to break. back to all encompassing loneliness with nowhere to go. before that, he has to give. back to prickling ache and demons at his heels.

what does that say about this kind of ‘love’ if it comes at the price of their stability? ) 

    his question isn’t surprising. as if she would’ve expected anything else, not while she remains aware that the real issue had been the fact that she hadn’t extended an invite or even as much as a text. “yes, i did.” regan lifts a shoulder in response, matching his pace while she considered her words. 

   “you know i’m not into forgiving people,” she speaks smoothly, casually, lax in the way her movements mirror his, eyes rolling over his profile out the corner of her eye. “staying seemed like a bad idea for the future.” in the case of him plunging a dagger into her then, what would they have done? what hell would they have raised?

   regan knows better than to ask—even for fun, it seems oddly paced.

   “but what are you doing here?” her fingers twitch. an urge to reach out regan promptly discards, running them through her hair instead. “i don’t need a babysitter, last i checked.” she quips as if she doesn’t already know. as if she hadn’t kept tabs on hogwarts during her trip to paris. as if she hasn’t known shiro for most of her life. 

as if she hadn’t grown terribly observant—down to the smallest twitch of his brow.

   “oh, let me guess,” still, it doesn’t stop her from running her mouth. “are you here because you’re on the run?” she dares to reach out now, lithe fingers wrapping around his forearm as if to anchor shiro’s presence to her. “from the friends you stabbed in the back and the sweetheart you plunged a blade into?” 

   need i remind you, the bastard that is regan nam is a monster. a creature put on this earth to spread the misfortune that followed her parents. a beast baring her teeth in glee at the first hint of anguish he shows her. and that’s the thing with shiro, he’ll always show her. 

   “or,” and here she makes a point to stop the two of them, turning to step into his line of vision, speaking once more when their eyes lock. “are you here to finish the job? cross my name off your list, maybe? drive that silly little cursed dagger into my gut.” it is almost a taunt, almost a jeer—and regan almost lets the monster in her have it.

  “kidding.” the slytherin offers a small assuring squeeze, allowing his arm to slip out of her grasp casually. touching him, here, now, alone, didn’t seem like a good idea. “you do look terrible though.” the grin on her lips widen just the slightest, pivoting on her heel to resume their walk to the exit once more, assured that he’d follow.

  “i hope you’re not looking to appparate straight back to hogwarts. i intended on taking the train back.” regan pauses, more than aware of the situation that presents itself. “maybe a detour even.” her head tilts, lips parted to speak words she already knows the answer to. 

  “if you’d like to join.” 

* corrosive.

for: @regancr timeline: after current event. 

     you’ll regret this, the dragon whispers into his ear, and he’d concede it’s probably right  —  it always is when it comes to her  —  yet listening to common sense was never one of his virtues ( he prides himself on it ). perhaps that explains why he excuses himself from the school without a word, ignoring his girlfriend and friends ( a given ever since things were slowly beginning to fall back into some level of normalcy, yet still unable to meet their eyes with an uncharacteristic emotion twisting in his gut ) for the morning and finding himself at the station, awaiting the arrival of someone whose presence falls akin to a shadow upon his very being.

          maybe he’s running, can one blame him ?

     where can he go  —  home, he wants to say out loud, yet with nowhere specific to turn to. what does it mean then, when he instead seeks out the one person he should leave very well alone. is home a person, one with a sharp gaze who shares memories of playgrounds and childish delights, or is it a simple coincidence, turning to the one whom hadn’t been around for the mess involving mothers and daggers ?

          yet, leaving behind one mess for another, it’s all games in this new scenario. cat and mouse, push and pull, one squeezing the other’s throat until their lungs demand retribution and the simplicity of air  —  he hates it. despises it down to the very core of his essence, where sits a rotting sensation in his chest and a quiet plea to be held, as he finds himself willingly falling back into a pattern of deceit and destruction. 

     happy endings sold separately. 

          cross his heart and hope to die, he does hate it  ———  so much so, his fingers tingle with the sensation of stolen kisses pressed gently upon the skin, heart racing to the beat of a song whose lyrics remain forgotten, nostalgia blossoming at the forefront of his mind; this fuels the exhausted desperation, ignited with thoughts to close a distance that sits undefined between them, jump starting the cycle each time. they both know his hand will reach out to stroke the ghost of a confession upon her cheek when loneliness runs high in his veins and slowly, yet inevitably, he’ll lean in.

    everytime. 

                                  [ HATE ]

          and like always, he swears it’ll be different this time, sparing a moment to think of whom he’ll go back to after this funk is over. his eyes catch on the familiar form before he can register he’s found exactly whom he seeks, and the small burst of affection plants itself in his thoughts on its own. he pushes himself off from the beam that’d been ‘home’ the last little while he’d been waiting in silent fashion, conveying his usual mask of nonchalance as hands remain tucked in the pockets of his jeans. 

     “welcome back.” maybe here he should smile, let it grow across slightly chapped lips and offer some semblance of normality, eyes crinkling in the signature way he’s taught himself how. perhaps he should say more, offer some sort of explanation as to why he’s found himself awaiting her arrival instead of offering the simple greeting back at the school like usual. 

          instead he welcomes silence and leans forward to take her bag into his grasp, turning to face the direction of the exit in lieu of locking eyes in greeting. have fun ? how was paris ? didn’t know you were leaving. about a hundred things on some scale of normal he could ask. which is why it’s no surprise quiet accusation awakens to haltingly voice, “you really left.”  

     straight to the point, it is.

[regancr-blog]

💜

          how long might it take for my muse to say “i love you” for the first time?

                                                                   ↺

“pretty quick.” she shrugs a shoulder. “they’re just words, after all. i love you, i like you, i’m a virgin, i’ve never done this before, this is my natural hair color.” 

( ABOUT CONFESSIONS former partners can testify that there are things regan only says when she feels the time is RIGHT. words she doesn’t entirely feel. by now, she’s a woman trained in the art of LYING. strung together prettily and paired off with a sweet smile, regan is as CONVINCING AS CAN BE. but at the end of the day? much like the bullshit her dad fed her mom—THEY’RE JUST WORDS.)

[regancr-blog]

💙

how would my muse handle seeing their object of affection falling in love with someone else?

                                                                   ↺

“i don’t think they’ll be particularly my object of affection if they’re looking at someone else and if they are then they’re obviously not worth half the effort put into answering this.” a thoughtful hum, head tilting slightly as she considers the question. “but i guess me handling it would be getting rid of both of them.” regan grins. “but that hasn’t happened yet, so!”

( ABOUT COPING she’s not particularly good at it in any sense. the core of regan is someone pessimistic, someone destructive (to herself and otherwise). MANY TIMES she tends to LASH OUT when things don’t go her way. this of course seldom happens. in terms of HEARTBREAK consider her disappointed but not surprised.)

[regancr-blog]

💙

how would my muse handle seeing their object of affection falling in love with someone else?

[regancr-blog]

💚

       how does my muse feel about love? about falling in love? about being in love?

                                                                    ↺

“i think it’s not for me.” i don’t have time. i don’t have anyone. i don’t have basic fundamentals made for love. she shrugs. a deliberately placed giggle. “like it’ll ruin me or something.” 

( ABOUT LOVE it isn’t as if regan doesn’t believe in it, sure enough LIKE HER MOTHER she is of the selfish variety when it comes that sort of thing. it is an emotion that consumes her as a whole but UNLIKE HER MOTHER regan hates that sort of thing the most. NOT being in control? putting herself in someone else’s hands? no thank you! so? best method proved tried and true so far? PRETEND IT DOESN’T EXIST. )

[regancr-blog]

HEARTS HEADCANONS

Send a heart, send multiple hearts to learn something about another person’s muse!

❤: does my muse consider themselves a romantic?

♡: how does my muse act, consciously and/or subconsciously, around people they are romantically interested in?

❥: what is my muse’s ideal date?

ღ: how does my muse feel about displays of affection in public and/or in private?

💕: how does my muse express their feelings? do they do through small but meaningful gestures, or through bold declarations?

💘: how does my muse act/react when they first realize that they had a crush on somebody?

💝: what would my muse consider a “perfect gift”?

💓: how does my muse feel about physical intimacy?

💌: how would my muse go about confessing to someone they liked? would they do it indirectly or directly, or maybe not at all?

💟: what are three traits that my muse looks for in a partner?

💙: how would my muse handle seeing their object of affection falling in love with someone else?

💚: how does my muse feel about love? about falling in love? about being in love?

💜: how long might it take for my muse to say “i love you” for the first time?

💛: does my muse believe in love-at-first-sight? in soulmates? in fate?

[regancr-blog]

desire holds me like a knife.

Emily Corwin, from “abacus,” published in grimoire (via lifeinpoetry)

[regancr-blog]

subtle thing

                                                                     ↺

     INDOLENCE FINDS HER AT THE LAZIEST HOUR. regan finds that the hours often begin to slow by high noon. when the sun is highest in the sky and her bones grow in weight, dragging her feet throughout the entire slytherin dormitory. it isn’t as if she has nothing to do, regan is sure in the deep depths of her mind lies the internship paperwork, history of magic readings as well as her will to care for such trivial matters.

          sundays, as it was and continues to be, are the absolute worst on her productivity.

     now, our pretty bastard’s sunday started out rather unceremoniously. with the usual breakfast in the great hall before the calamity known as regan nam stalked her way down the corridors, startled a few first years, and returned to the dungeons for a beauty nap.

          but now — she was bored and awake and lonely.

          now, she has little reason to do anything else but seek attention.           (affection, the monster wearing her skin is a glutton for it)

     a quick glance over of the common room showed that her undisclosed favorite was nowhere to be seen. an arguably disheartening thought, but regan seldom allows herself to linger too much on a single object of affection. if not for the fact that there were much more about, not to mention the potential risks that come with it. 

    leave herself vulnerable for another? devoted to another? cracked open bare and raw for another to see? completely?

                                                                                                             she’s not stupid.

     as fate would have it (or wouldn’t, in some cases), the common room does house another. and regan wastes no time in making her way over to the third year slouched on the cushy green loveseat. 

    demetrius kwon was in one way or another a friend at the end of the day. given, one that she honestly shouldn’t mess with, but regan often operated on a single path of self destruction that has her abolishing any and all rules and regulations in the face of personal want, even they are ones of her own.

     with practiced ease, she slips behind the couch, lax in leaning over the seat, lithe arms sliding over broad shoulders with an amused hum. “demmy,” regan greets pleasantly enough, casual to an extent while she leans forward further to rest her head against his, arm bending to press her palm to his chest absently.

     “you’re not studying are you? on a sunday?” curious eyes flick over the book; her tongue clicks, tone the slightest bit snide, slightest bit tickled. “did tweedle dee and tweedle dum ditch you?” 

    regan pats his chest lightly, as if both waking him from “sleep mode” and offering her condolences. 

    “can i interest you in playing hero instead? save a three year long relationship?”

                                                                                                            keep me entertained?

— tagging @crxdem​