#tragicale

[vipier]

" you're bleeding. "

TRISTAN POSSESSED A CONSCIOUS AWARENESS THAT, TO THE REST OF THE WORLD, THE REALITIES OF HIS LIFE WERE UNFATHOMABLE. that didn't, however, stop him being utterly exasperated every time somebody acted as such. then again, tristan had never excelled in the art of patience and never truly endeavored to make an effort to understand the perspective of others. to do so would inhibit him in his work – although he knew perfectly well that wouldn't make a difference. even were he not bound to his profession, tris was perfectly aware he would distance himself from others anyway, ambitiously. he'd regarded the other man with such impatience for this very reason, for as paltry a time as he'd looked in his direction. never mind that the wine cellar in which he found himself – below the first home he'd stumbled upon when he realized he wouldn't last much longer on his feet – probably belonged to @tragicale. the man with the weapons in these situations ( read: him ) in the end, was usually correct by default anyway.

" you don't say. " his voice remained remarkably flat, given the circumstances, as he focused on running the end of a needle through the flame of his lighter without so much as glancing at james again. reaching into his wrinkled ziplock bag of supplies for his fishing line, he unspooled it and ripped a piece off with his teeth, tied a knot in the end, then fed it through the needle's end with the precision of somebody who did it daily. " if stating the fucking obvious were an olympic sport, you'd probably win a gold medal. congratulations. " without flinching, he removed the cloth pressed to his abdomen, now properly doused in sickeningly dark red. a pause, then, before tris frowned, sighed, and dumped the remainder of the mini-bar bottle of vodka over the open wound. he'd hoped to drink that. his voice remained remarkably steady as he began to stitch. this wasn't his first rodeo, after all. " now, unless you're planning to prove to me you know your shapes and colors real good, too, fuck off and let me work. "

bloody prompts. accepting.

[nohound-archive]

@tragicale's : james farrow, sent a meme, from the prompt here ! for, seph mccauley.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ" when was the last time you actually got some rest? "

IT'S HARD TO FORGET THAT FEELING: LIKE YOU CAN'T DIE FAST ENOUGH ! it was only a dream back then- when he was still a kid- and then it wasn't anymore. and though it's been years since . . . seph can't find himself free of it; gregory still has his talons in joseph, even long after the boy had rid this world of the former headmaster.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ " ... i'd rather not answer that. "

he says with a smile, all barebones, and weathered by a lack of sleep. it's always around this time of year that seph's nightmares come back, the ones that gregory forced into his mind years ago, that despite his demise . . . return with the anniversary of jason's death.

[wovetalesarc]

when   it   came   to   doing   anything   adventurous   or   different   ,   gillian   was   always   the   one   ready   to   take   the first  leap.   the   youngest   owens   sister   had   been   trying   to   escape   the   dreariness   of   her   old   ,   massachusetts   town for as long as she can remember   ,   doing   anything   that   could   remotely   entertain   her   or   distract   her   from   her   less   than   adventurous   life.   the   moment   she   turned   eighteen   ,   she   ran   off   with   a   man   she   barely   knew   ,   but   once   that   romance   ended   ,   she   continued   to   travel   from   state   to   state   ,   having   no   interest   in   returning   to   the   home   where   her   aunts   &   her   sister   still   remained.   oh   ,   how   she   wished   sally   would   have   joined   her   ━━   no   doubt   the   two   of   them   would   have   had   a   blast   trying   new   things   &   enjoying   places   that   has   never   once   heard   of   the   owens'   family   name.   unfortunately   ,   sally   was   the   more   practical   of   the   two   sisters   ,   &   she   would   rather   remain   at   home   &   continue   to   try   &   have   a   normal   life   despite   their   upbringing   ,   a   fact   that   gillian   will   never   understand about her sister.   still   ,   they   write   often   &   when   she   told   sally   that   she   would   be   starring   in   a   play   for   the   very   first   time   ,   she   didn't   even believe   her.   her   disbelief   only   made   gillian   smile   all   the   more   ,   determined   to   show   her   sister   just   how   far   she   was   willing   to   try   new   things.

admittedly   ,   gillian   was   terrified   of   being   on   stage.   getting   the   role   in   this   play   happened   almost   completely   out   of   the   blue.   as   she   just   arrived   to   the   city   of   new   york   ,   her   curiosity   brought   her   to   a   walk   -   in   audition   ,   where   she   decided   to   peak   into on a whim.   when   the   director   saw   her   big   ,   fluffy   red   hair poking from behind the door   ,   he   immediately   gave   her   the   role   without   a   second   thought.   gillian   was   shocked   at   his   insistence   ,   though   she   should   have   known   this   would   happen.   men   were   dazzled   by   her   looks   wherever   she   went   &   it   was   only   a   matter   of   time   before   that   bit   of   magic   followed   her   here too.   she   was   nervous   &   worried   she   wouldn't   do   a   good   of   a   job   ,   the   last   time   she   ever   was   on   stage   was   for   a   class   performance   of   the   national   anthem   in   the   eight   grade.   luckily   ,   she's   managed   to   make   friends   with   some   of   her   co   -   stars   who   didn't   seem   to   be   too   bothered   by   her   lack   of   acting   skill , mainly @tragicale , who treated her as another person & not as someone he simply wanted to lure in his bed.   sitting   on   the   edge   of   the   stage   after   practice   ,   gillian   vented   to   james   about   her   worries   ,   which   he   eagerly   attempts   to   soothe.   ❝   of   course   they   will   remember   you   ,   ❞   he   says   with   a   smile   ,   &   gillian   merely   smiles   brightly   ,   knowing   he   meant   it   &   wasn't   just   trying   to   cheer her up.   ❝   really   ?   you   mean   in   a   good   way   ,   right   ?   not   in   the   :   ❛   i'm   going   to   be   terrible   ❜   kind   of   way   ?   ❞   she   laughs   ,   brushing   back   her   hair   as   she   looks   out   to   the   empty   seats.   they   would   be   filled   in   a   few   weeks   time   ;   every   pair   of   eyes   set   on   her   the   moment   she   crosses   the   stage.   she   shivers.   ❝   i   just   don't   want   people   to   think   i'm   treating   this   as   a   game.   i   want   to   honestly   do   my   best   &   put   on   a   good   show.   my   sister   doesn't   even   really   believe   i'm   actually   doing   this.   ❞   she   sighs.   ❝   i   can't   blame   her   though.   i   am   a   bit   spontaneous   when   it   comes   to   my   decision   making.   ❞

[unsister]

" that looks like it hurts. "

         ❛   afraid it comes with the territory,   mister farrow.   ❜   there are too many opportunities for one to prick themselves upon grey hollow;   the girl herself forgets she too can catch her finger on a barbed edge.   between her teeth are two ball-point pins as her hands were thoroughly occupied with a needle and thread until the blood began to well.   it is with a hiss she further acknowledges the injury.   surveying the damage,   it looked worse than it felt,   which was frequently the case with sewing related wounds.   having already invited enough hazards for the day the pins are removed from her mouth and laid on the wayside.   

         ❛   it's nothing,   just a little sting now there would be real hell to pay if i got blood on this costume.   ❜   she is crouched before the player upon a stool.   a means to diminish her stature so she may survey each hemline and measure for adjustments.   abandoning her perch she sifts through her materials crate until she comes upon a box of bandages.   dressing the punctured skin is second nature to her,   quick work,   there are several plasters on her other hand from prior misgivings.   ❛   i'd have to remake the trousers from scratch when opening night is less than a week away.   i may be here often but costumer is only one of many hats i wear.   ❜   this jesting tone is also typical,   cordial yet revealing nothing.   

         ❛   i don't think you and the rest of your lot could afford my overtime rate.   ❜   as if they were paying her a cent to begin with.  

BLOODY PROMPTS FOR SPOOKY SEASON ˖ ✃ ( accepting !

[rattenfangr]

i think he's filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel. i don't like him one bit.

how the walls could talk — and bitch. clad in a long coat, his gloved hands folded inside long pockets. the rat-catcher came to a profoundly mesmerised stop by the company of two fiends in fast conversation with one another. or rather, a one-sided rant that seemed to boast the feverish irritation of one james farrow who, unbeknownst to most, was a petty viper in a prince's tunic himself. perhaps that explained the catcher's leniency, after all, he quite enjoyed figments of his kind in the reflection every now and then. yet try as he might, there was little keeping both his ire and equally feverish amusement at bay when the little actor ran his mouth.

        ❛❛ now now james,   ❜❜ a smile as wide as a snake's, he came to intercept the procession until both parties fell silent. ❛❛ is that any way to speak of your host? don't leave out conniving.   ❜❜

alexander, the second guilty party to this, slinked off with his spine in the missing papers. that left james to fend for himself against the catcher's all-polite smile that widened into a grin. tapping the metallic pen he carried around, a reminder of what james farrow could never outrun, against the wallprint in thought, he lent his duplicitous gaze around the room until it was clear of eavesdroppers. then, he raised his open-palm and chains materialised, light and lavendar and ghostly as sleepy dreams, twinned around his hand and connected to the heavy manacle that fixed james' throat.

with a sharp tug, he dragged the prince closer to himself and his perpetual grin, venomous now, turned bright with threat, eyes narrowed. ❛❛ you forget yourself, sparrow. you may not like me, but i own your leash. now then,   ❜❜ he let go and relaxed, and the image of chains disappeared like hazy clouds, made up. smoothing the print of james' doublet, he patted down the boy's shoulders with his voice friendly. ❛❛ a wasteful wretch like yourself should go out and have fun! before you cross me.   ❜❜

[reapingly]

@tragicale liked for a starter : james & august, 001 .

FOLDED IN AUGUST'S POCKET IS A NAME ! the name of a man who's shadow does not act as it should, does not follow him like a doll on strings would it's puppetmaster. no. his shadow has a mind of it's own and it dances callously across the walls, beckoning the reaper closer. james farrow was a young man like himself, and it wasn't often that august fed on the souls of those that had barely experienced life, but the red that stained old souls could stain the young too. august had to feed, he had to consume, that was why he was here, you see— leo's righteous droning, echoing like a curse in his head.

if only you would burn, see how bright you can glow.

with a rapt of pallid knuckles stretched too tight across his knuckles against the open doorframe, august stands not as a herald of death— but as the devil come to damn james farrow himself, doing the honors personally.

" mr. farrow? " his voice is soothing, poisonous, but soothing; bleached eyes staring at him from the empty hallway.

[denouemente]

every day felt like another BORING repeat of the other, day after day of fuzz and her head spinning. the ways nat chose to deal with it weren’t ideal — her fellow yellowjackets made it obvious. they did, and everyone else around her. YOU SURVIVED! BE HAPPY! yes, you survived, but at what cost?

“ this is a big party, yeah? ” she’s always been grateful to @tragicale, who provided her with unlimited opportunities to get fucked up without judgement. this place was a fancy schmancy school, and james was one of the stars of the apparently very illustrious theater program — people looked when they walked in together, and, for very different reasons, they were both used to it. “ hey. check it. ” she digs through her pocket, pulling out a dime bag full of a powdery white substance — HER TICKET TO A GOOD NIGHT.

THIS COULD BE A VERY BAD IDEA. he says, and natalie swears her eyes roll all the way back. “ yeah, COULD BE. not will be. don’t be such a downer, farrow. ” she tucks it back into her shirt pocket, exhaling quietly as she looks around. “ ‘kay, let’s go. i could use a drink. ”

[norholy]

𝟷𝟷. sender practices calligraphy on the receiver's skin. / for jere.

he’s been a cryptic apparition within jeremiah’s walls more often than not lately,  someone who formerly felt like a present shadow and he to him as well,  now making entirely unforeseen visits even when unfailingly invited.    he doesn't know when to expect him anymore, and that's okay. jeremiah’s been wandering into quite the number of parties as of late,  drinking in excess and partying a touch too hard,  leaving him in urgent need of his hangover smoothies come sunday.    though his partying proclivities have surely escalated within the last few months, especially with who he's come to embrace in his circle,  it’s not devoid of responsibility.    not entirely at least.    with belly conrad-centered and steven stressing himself into premature grey's at princeton,  and though a decent enough student as jeremiah may be,  he’s let himself indulge quite a bit in the year trailing susannah’s timeless parting.    her death,  he’s finally been able to inwardly state,  each and every day sinking the knife further beneath his ribcage.    

james has finally made an appearance,  following a stream of double texts from jeremiah,  curiosity and concern permeating the expanse of his breast and tugging away at his transitory thoughts.     “ took you long enough to join me at one of these,  romeo, ”    he’d blithely teased close to an hour prior.    it began with a friendly tap against a bicep and a charming smile,  somehow resulting in beck's sunshine boy propped up on an elbow,  open stitch shirt peeled away,  and pants haphazardly undone as he lay sprawled out alongside james at the frat house. the actor's touch raises goosebumps along sun-kissed flesh,  and jeremiah closes the distance yet again so that their lips could reunify.

vacant hand lightly dragging up james’ arm until it could gently brace the nape of his neck,  jeremiah’s chest presses forward into the warmth of the other man’s who fuck,  was running really hot tonight.    though they fit together easily and as pleasantly as friends who happen to have the hots for each other can,  something was off.    something didn’t feel right,  and this is his friend.    pulling away just a fraction,  lips part against james’,  eyes fluttering open to regard just how haggard he’s come to appear since the last time he's seen him.     “  hey, dude, ” head cants to the side in evident worry, “ are you sure you're okay?  with this?  ”

[lovekindled]

what , you don’t have time for me anymore ? / oliver 💀

blood rushes to his ears, followed by a ringing that makes the outside noise a faraway, fading sound. the only thing occupying his thoughts are james's words, echoing around in his head. his hand clenches around the doorknob of their shared room, and oliver is quick to release it. he's against the idea of turning around and having to face him, scared of what his face might look like, terrified of the conflicting emotions he might find. if there's one treasure oliver has acquired throughout his years at dellecher, it's james, and the idea of him being ripped from his grasp is as dreadful as it is painful. “ james. ” he tries to reason, finally turning around and taking a few tentative steps in his direction. “ i didn't — i wasn't aware that you — ” nothing sounds right, suddenly. frustration is clear on his expression, not only from not being able to find the right words, but from the fragile state of their friendship. “ do you want me to stay here? i can call meredith and tell her i'm not coming. ” he knows she won't like it, but oliver finds that he doesn't care that much about that. in that moment, his undivided attention belongs to james.

⁽  ⠀  ♡  ⠀  ⁾ ⠀  the dusty toybox   ,   accepting.

[extr4normal]

@tragicale, it could've been a lot worse. sandy & james.

he hopes that he's wrong. that the reoccurring nightmare he's experienced all week is just a figment of his imagination. that it mean nothing. but it almost never means nothing. the visuals are at the forefront of his mind; a distressed james, a boat hook in his grasp, and being swallowed up by water that eventually seeps red. it's about to get a lot worse. the male wants to blurt out, but the other had already been through enough that day. the bruising across the his cheekbone was evidence of that. he should just keep this to himself, but what happens if what he saw becomes a reality? he's not sure that he'd be able to forgive himself.

❝ james... ❞ he begins, taking a look around the study hall before leaning forward in his chair. he's trying to keep their conversation between just the two of them. ❝ if something is going on--- if someone is messing with you, you need to tell me. hell, tell anyone- ❞ his voice picks up for a moment and he has to stop himself in his tracks. the last thing he needs to do is make a huge scene in in front of their crowd of peers. ❝ if- if you don't? you're going to get hurt. i just have a bad feeling. and i know you do, too. ❞

[hellenistiq]

is it ok to wear business casual to the bacchanal if ur just a guest

Hello, thank you for your inquiry. The proper attire for an event such as a Bacchanal is actually little more than a bedsheet fashioned into a toga. I look forward to your attendance and participation.

Warm regards,

Henry M. Winter.

[vtriol]

his initial guess struck the mark; in the midst of whatever argument meredith was having with richard that week, she was determined to get better use out of her own bedroom than the past few years had allowed. though by and large an outsider still, thana was extended a sleepover invitation indefinitely. and if meredith was occupied, they found little trouble in finding filippa instead. but sometimes, that damned castle was far too small, every step and whisper like a cymbal crash at night. the stars outside were quiet and still.

a stolen jacket (belonging to any of the castle's inhabitants, really) separated thana's delicately pinned hair from the grass. @tragicale sounded bitter, but it would take thana a few guesses to figure out if that was from james or whatever character was running through his mind. “ neither. ” thana said flatly. “ they're just balls of gas flickering in and out of existence. some of them have died before our lifetimes, and we'll never know. ” they looked at him briefly, noting his frown, his loose shoulders, the places where his hair met his eyes, and went back to the stars. they point to a w-shape in the sky off to james's side.

“ cassiopeia had a supernova spotted in the fifteen hundreds. we can still see its remnants with telescopes. people probably extrapolate divinity from that. ” pause. “ but maybe they're just pretty death rattles. ”

[warsrage]

why are you here ? / sim :(

THE ROOM IS TOO DARK AND SIMEON HADN’T EXPECTED ANY DIFFERENT. it could be considered hypocritical, how little tolerance he maintains for the very same self-pitying, dramatic behaviors that he himself engages in on a somewhat regular basis. how many times in his life has he found himself willfully alone, wallowing in his sorrows relentlessly, drowning in the sheer drama of it all? @tragicale is not quite so ridiculous as he, sim expects, but then he has always been even a caricature of himself in a way, a personality and energy far too large for the body in which he was born, even in suffering. james’s brooding, sim imagines, maintains the same genuine earnestness as his stage work, something both raw and romanticized — although why simeon takes the time to imagine the flavor of someone else’s misery is beyond even his own understanding.

and besides, he isn’t here to analyze ; he is here to disrupt. the idea that james might decide he hates him for it is a risk he’s willing to take, all things considered. besides, he’s not even sure if there’s a friendship here to lose. there could be, sim supposes, if every encounter did not feel the slightest bit defensive beneath the veneer of easy likability, as though they smell something just slightly suspicious on each other. it’s a phenomenon strange enough to intrigue, which sim admittedly finds equally frustrating.

" what does it look like? " simeon sommerfeld does not excel in maintaining a flat affect, but he sounds about as unamused as anyone can expect him to. no anger, but then again, he isn't angry at james anyway. if anything, his annoyance stems from the nearly unanimous decision of the show's production team to send sim out to check on their leading man. something about castmates and youth and whatever the fuck else. well, and he supposes he knows where james's spare key is, although that's admittedly more of an accident. " I am here because the team has concerns and you made the mistake of showing me where your spare key is. so ... ta-daaaa. "

with that, simeon yanks open the curtains on the opposite side of the room, immediately flooding the room with daylight, then glances back to study what he's revealed. the gloominess of it is something he's quite familiar with, something he himself has marinated in on plenty of occasions, but somehow, that doesn't create in him an enormous amount of sympathy. if anything, it steels him – if only because he knows hemming and hawing and doting has never helped him when he gets like this. he can only assume it won't be helpful to james, either.

" it's my investments and reputation tied up in this, so the sad boy shit can wait. " he crosses his arms over his chest, quirking a brow, firm, although strangely enough, not exactly cruel – really not even impatient. if there's anything he understands, it's getting stuck in one's own head. and if there's anything he understands better, it's that babying is unlikely to help anything. " come on, then, get up. depressed bitch hours are over. take a shower if you need. get dressed. we're taking a walk at minimum. "

dusty toybox. accepting.

[grewaren]

He was used to that rich kid aura and rich kid wardrobe completed with impeccable hair because of Gansey — never mind that he could be counted in with the rich kids too, if he only looked the part. He supposed he should be glad James had no qualms about hanging out with a leather - clad, bald giant whose most frequently used words made most mothers cover their children's ears — all his friends were off in different parts of the country. Siblings included.

“ Christ, dude, you're gonna wear a path into the fuckin' floor. ” Ronan watches him, eyebrow raised with his arms over his chest. This play shit — he always thought James got a little too into it. Maybe it was an actor thing, and he didn't think he could ever be an actor.

@tragicale : My nerves could stand a drink.

“ Thank fuck. A reasonable request for once. ” Ronan stands up, head cocked slightly as he settles his hands in his pockets. “ Come on, dipshit. I'll buy. I could use one myself. How about we find a place that will make us the strongest drink in the whole damn town? That should help you get over this play shit or whatever's bothering you. Did you not get the role you wanted or whatever? That teacher is fucking stupid for not casting you, or whatever the hell it is. ”

[denouemente]

Q: i had a strange dream in the night. you were in it. @tragicale.

A: “ me? don’t know if i should be scared or happy about that. ” despite what he says, ricky still chuckles and folds his arms over his chest. this guy was kind of intense. he loved theater in high school — but music composition seemed to suit him better, especially considering what the program here seemed like. no, sitting around with his guitar and posting the stuff he was writing suited him better. he had that guitar now, resting in his lap, silent now that someone was talking to him. “ so, was it a good strange dream, or? ” should i be worried? was a better question, maybe, but one he decides to keep to himself for now.

[made1yns]

@tragicale, i could have handled it.

she let's out a scoff as the other forces her aside with the bump of their shoulders. ❝ yeah, right--- just standing there while the asshole talked down to you was handling things. ❞ she despised bullies. sure, maddie herself could be nasty at times, but she knew when she was taking it too far and needed to draw a line in the sand. some people are like that twenty-four-seven. ❝ who was that anyway? i would never let someone speak to me that way and get away with it. ❞