Original/Bandom: Nngh fuck. (working title). PG-13-R
Title: Nngh fuck. (working title)
Rating: PG-13 ish. Light R maybe.
Warning: Character Death. Alcohol.
Word count: don't even know.
Summary: Based on the pictures of Ryan Ross's new tattooes and the supposed 'cult'.
Author's note: Nngh fuck. that is what this story makes me do. It makes me make noises of distress.
It also happens to be my first (well current first, if we forget about that little MCR fic I did ages ago) foray into Bandom.
When she would inevitably look back at that night and all that had happened, Emily would decide that it started out as all their Friday nights were wont to start out. Someone would be bored and home alone, it was guaranteed that at least one person's parents would be out of town for the weekend, and they'd invite everyone over. A simple, all-encompassing "Q?" sent via text to the whole group. No matter whose house, and regardless to the fact that he lived furthest away from all of them, Ryan would always, always be the first person to turn up. No one knew how he did it and it was often speculated that he had superpowers or something, but whenever it was brought up, Ryan would just smile that secretive smile of his and duck his head, saying it was nothing spectatular.
It was irrelevant anyway, especially when the booze was brought out, shotglasses lined along the expensive glass coffee table that would surely be at all their houses and that they were amazed hadn't yet been broken.
This particular Friday night was different. It felt off somehow. When Emily brought it up, after the first shots had been taken and a round of poker started, the group just laughed, and William told her she was PMSing and poured her another shot, saying the burn of the Vodka as it slid down that sweet throat of hers would take her mind off it. Emily shut up after that. She ended up having the most to drink, trying to shake that feeling of something not being right, losing the most rounds of poker (and still managing to keep all her clothes on and all her money), and the part she hated the most, she remembered everything as clearly as if it was happening at the precise moment she was thinking about it.
She remembered the first game Bill lost, and how he'd had half the bottle to himself by then, the way he staggered to his feet, throwing down his cards and storming from the room. The slam of a door still echoes through her mind, like static in the silence. Emily still doesn't know how she remembers all these details so vividly. How she could even forget that Bill hadn't come back at all.
But she found him. Curled up, passed out on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. She hadn't noticed him at first, hadn't realised her bare feet were crunching on pills that shouldn't have been scattered across the floor haphazardly like they were. She was just going to the toilet, she was drunk, why would she notice anything out of the ordinary? And then, as she was going to wash her hands, she saw him in the reflection of the mirror. Sprawled near the tub, one hand loosely gripping the edge. Her screams echoed throughout the house, her throat still feels hoarse from it, even now.
Nick, hair disheveled, was the first person to burst through the doorway. He was followed closely by Ryan who was repeating "what happened?" over and over, breathlessly. Nick hadn't moved from where he'd stopped, hands braced on either side of the doorway, so Ryan had to try and peer around him, ("Dude, move.") before he could take in the scene.
William was still half-sprawled over the floor, his long arms and legs bent at what would have been unnatural angles for anyone else except for him. Emily had collapsed beside him, pulled his head into her lap and as she look up at the boys standing, still in the doorway, they could see how her mascara had run down her cheeks as tears flowed freely.
Emily remembered the night clearly. As vividly as if it was happening right now. She doesn't know how they forgot about Bill, or who found them in the bathroom, who called the ambulance and who called their parents. But she remembers choking back tears, wrapped in a blanket on the front lawn, wrapped in Nick and Ryan's arms as they stood in shock, watching as the paramedics wheeled William out on a stretcher, body bag zipped up.
She remembers the first droplets of rain and finally letting all her tears go, burying her face in one of the boys shoulders as they held her close. She often wonders how they forgot Bill, as she wakes up screaming, her voice hoarse as it was that night, surrounded by the stark white walls of the hospital room.
fuck.
Rating: PG-13 ish. Light R maybe.
Warning: Character Death. Alcohol.
Word count: don't even know.
Summary: Based on the pictures of Ryan Ross's new tattooes and the supposed 'cult'.
Author's note: Nngh fuck. that is what this story makes me do. It makes me make noises of distress.
It also happens to be my first (well current first, if we forget about that little MCR fic I did ages ago) foray into Bandom.
When she would inevitably look back at that night and all that had happened, Emily would decide that it started out as all their Friday nights were wont to start out. Someone would be bored and home alone, it was guaranteed that at least one person's parents would be out of town for the weekend, and they'd invite everyone over. A simple, all-encompassing "Q?" sent via text to the whole group. No matter whose house, and regardless to the fact that he lived furthest away from all of them, Ryan would always, always be the first person to turn up. No one knew how he did it and it was often speculated that he had superpowers or something, but whenever it was brought up, Ryan would just smile that secretive smile of his and duck his head, saying it was nothing spectatular.
It was irrelevant anyway, especially when the booze was brought out, shotglasses lined along the expensive glass coffee table that would surely be at all their houses and that they were amazed hadn't yet been broken.
This particular Friday night was different. It felt off somehow. When Emily brought it up, after the first shots had been taken and a round of poker started, the group just laughed, and William told her she was PMSing and poured her another shot, saying the burn of the Vodka as it slid down that sweet throat of hers would take her mind off it. Emily shut up after that. She ended up having the most to drink, trying to shake that feeling of something not being right, losing the most rounds of poker (and still managing to keep all her clothes on and all her money), and the part she hated the most, she remembered everything as clearly as if it was happening at the precise moment she was thinking about it.
She remembered the first game Bill lost, and how he'd had half the bottle to himself by then, the way he staggered to his feet, throwing down his cards and storming from the room. The slam of a door still echoes through her mind, like static in the silence. Emily still doesn't know how she remembers all these details so vividly. How she could even forget that Bill hadn't come back at all.
But she found him. Curled up, passed out on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. She hadn't noticed him at first, hadn't realised her bare feet were crunching on pills that shouldn't have been scattered across the floor haphazardly like they were. She was just going to the toilet, she was drunk, why would she notice anything out of the ordinary? And then, as she was going to wash her hands, she saw him in the reflection of the mirror. Sprawled near the tub, one hand loosely gripping the edge. Her screams echoed throughout the house, her throat still feels hoarse from it, even now.
Nick, hair disheveled, was the first person to burst through the doorway. He was followed closely by Ryan who was repeating "what happened?" over and over, breathlessly. Nick hadn't moved from where he'd stopped, hands braced on either side of the doorway, so Ryan had to try and peer around him, ("Dude, move.") before he could take in the scene.
William was still half-sprawled over the floor, his long arms and legs bent at what would have been unnatural angles for anyone else except for him. Emily had collapsed beside him, pulled his head into her lap and as she look up at the boys standing, still in the doorway, they could see how her mascara had run down her cheeks as tears flowed freely.
Emily remembered the night clearly. As vividly as if it was happening right now. She doesn't know how they forgot about Bill, or who found them in the bathroom, who called the ambulance and who called their parents. But she remembers choking back tears, wrapped in a blanket on the front lawn, wrapped in Nick and Ryan's arms as they stood in shock, watching as the paramedics wheeled William out on a stretcher, body bag zipped up.
She remembers the first droplets of rain and finally letting all her tears go, burying her face in one of the boys shoulders as they held her close. She often wonders how they forgot Bill, as she wakes up screaming, her voice hoarse as it was that night, surrounded by the stark white walls of the hospital room.
fuck.