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shushharley:

… .

his questions all came so very fast, she had little time to process and, much less, answer before the next one arose. but even if she had, could she have ? it was not that the answers didn’t exist, rather that yet another person – another person she cared for, no matter how strange their dynamic was in comparison to so many others – had learned of her affair. hardly able to catch a thought, the idea of catching an answer to one of his many questions was more than far-fetched. why had angel let it all free when she’d been making good on her end ? he had nothing to gain anymore. had it been angel ? who else could it have been ?

as far as she could remember, she had kept it well under wraps. it was easy enough to do when there were no direct questions regarding it. there was no truth to tell if no one asked. there were no lies to tell if no one asked. and yet, it had slipped. and yet, questions she could not answer – not for her own protection, rather for either a lack of processing or a lack of introspection – had now been thrown her way twice. who else knew ? a selfish thought, yes, but nothing else was quite sticking.

it was not until his final sentiment that she was actually able to conjure up and articulate a thought – a question, and a rather good one ! a rather automatic one ! “ what the hell are you talking about ? ” that could certainly be misconstrued. lying further about her affair with vidal would get her nowhere, oh how she knew that ! no, no, after a second’s thought – or, rather, an instinct, because thinking was off the table at the moment, she added, with genuine curiosity and perhaps a side of worry! , “ what does any of this have to do with your conviction ? ”

it was true, he was disorganised. he was chaotic. sometimes he was absolutely out of his mind and right in the path of trouble headed his way. not much was expected of them but this was just too far for even him. he looked directly at her when he addressed her now, his green eyes staring into eyes that resembled his own but didn’t feel familiar anymore. he didn’t even answer her question directly. the disappointment welled in his eyes and overcame his body in a way that he had never felt before in his life.

god, they had always been fuck ups -- there had been parts of them that slotted together like a really cheap jigsaw someone got in secret santa as a duff gift, there were parts of them that made sense but now he saw none of them.

“i just don’t know you right now ‘cause when i saw them pictures i didn’t see my sister, i saw some freaky stranger who didn’t care who she was hurting-” he spluttered, his voice hoarse and breaking. he wanted to understand how she could have sex with that creature, that monter who had made his children’s life misery. every time he walked through that door he felt like he was on broken glass but it was just broken spirits. “and harley, fucking hell, i never thought you were like that. you and me, we make mistakes, we fuck up so much but to do that... to know how twisted he must be, to know he drove my best friend into wanting to kill so many parts of himself over and over. to know how he locked them up in this haunted house, even without ghosts, ghouls and dead kids. wasn’t that enough? is there something so wrong with you and me that you had to take it that step further? what could he have possibly done to warp your mind into sleeping with him? i’ve been racking my brain the entire time i was locked up trying to come up with some excuse because i fucking love you but the truth is, there isn’t one, is there? is this just who you are?”

#c: harley

shushharley

@fckchandlerjohnson

although her responses were, more often than know, knee-jerk, a week of utter obsession yelled at her – before she could do anything, she, at the very least, had to see chandler. had to visit him. was his freedom not all she had been thinking about before the other night ? what her life began to temporarily revolve around ? yes, there were reasons it would be a poor choice – ones that could still be deemed as knee-jerk, but the house was large enough ! – hell, she hadn’t a clue how people could even say it was just a ‘house.’ and… it wasn’t as though chandler could exactly leave. problematic.

oh, how glad she was to find him with ease ! to not have to begin an inspection of the house ( possibly an entire investigation with his history of opening trapdoors ). upon catching full sight of him, she asked him the only question she really had !: “ how does freedom feel ? ”

fckchandlerjohnson

"freedom?” he splutters rum, wiping the trail from his mouth as he stumbles to his feet. a drunken, high mess is all he’s been for years but this is different. the two of them were chaos, they never really understood each other and even as brother and sister they accepted that they would always just be a hot mess. they had bickered, thrown each other under the bus and disappointed their parents time after time but this was different. how could she have done this? why would she have done this? “my freedom is over and it’s because of you. because for some reason you had to sleep with some deranged dirty old man,” he spat out.

he stopped, the bottle rested on the couch. somehow the fun was dragged right out of him, his green eyes danced with flecks of horror and rage about the situation. she didn’t even understand what she had done. “you let me talk to azra about that old mans dick knowing that it was inside of you. how could you sleep with that old bastard after seeing everything he did to my best friend? everything he did to his own kids, harley?”

he couldn’t believe it. maybe he shouldn’t of! maybe like so many other things this was some mess! yet those images were burned into his mind - he would never forget in a million years, they’d be in his nightmares. “and now i have to serve time for a murder i didn’t even commit because of your mistake. to protect you from being the next one up as vidal’s murderer. because you couldn’t even stop yourself from getting fucking caught. thanks a bunch.”

#c: harley

DHTASK. my favourite things.

mcdonalds, funky shirts/all shirts, kfc, old school orlando bloom, scarlett johnasson, blonde women, vans, ripped jeans, retro hats, donuts, vodka, alcohol, smoking, partying with anything available.

#dhtask

belva-athanas:

We’re bad people. For a moment, the blonde thinks her heart might actually be about to stop. What is it that he’d seen? Was it something about what had happened to them in the bunker, to the missing children? Was it news regarding her mother, or July, or the grisly murder the two of them had each been accused of? What could be so horrible that they were the bad people, that Chandler seemed as if he were about to well and truly drown his sorrows.

The horrible possibilities that had been running through her head fall around her as he throws a photo to the middle of the room, but where she’s expecting body parts or threats, all she finds is a photo that makes her narrow her gaze slightly in confusion. “Okay,” she trails off, studying the way that her best friend’s hand is placed on her father’s shoulder. The pose in and of itself isn’t altogether concerning, a bit weird perhaps, but it’s the location that truly sets her on edge. It’s her father’s study. The same study he would lock himself away in until he needed them, until he needed her to dress up and shut up, the same study that they were never allowed in. And yet there Harley was, against all reason. Belva blinks, trying to process his words, trying to make sense of the picture. “I don’t understand. I mean, it’s weird, but,” the blonde begins, gaze shifting to Chandler, confusion clear on her face. Maybe there’s a small part of her that knows why Chandler seems so distressed, but the lost little girl needs someone to tell her that she’s wrong. That she’s exaggerating again, making something out of nothing. Because surely the photos can’t mean what they seem to mean, surely she’s wrong.

“Look, I know you’re like super virgin or something but you get the picture,” Chandler gestures. Literally she has the picture. Does she really need more imagery? He doesn’t want to be responsible if she like throws herself off a building because she can’t live with knowing her dead Dad’s wrinkly old penis has been inside his sister! Plus, he wouldn’t be able to chase her on account of being on house arrest. He’d probably be accused of killing her too! He could not catch a break around here! “I’ve seen the full collection and they weren’t hanging out to exchange Pokemon cards or connect tamagotchis. They were meeting up to swap STI’s and connect crotches, Belva. Don’t even make me get the rest of the crusty old folder out because whoever took them pictures probably had one finger on the camera shutter and the other hand around their dick getting off on it all,” Chandler droned off. Maybe it would of been better if he was more intoxicated. His face is stone cold serious -- it’s an expression he doesn’t wear well. “It’s like, fucked.” Literally.

#c: belva

belva-athanas:

Belva blinks, then blinks again, shrinking a bit further into the counter. It’s not that she’s scared of Chandler, it’s just that she’s scared of whatever it is that has him so stressed. (Although, it wasn’t as if the two of them were new to panicking and the dramatics, but still, this feels different). As his hands come up beside his head, she attempts to pull herself back into the situation. To, for once, remain calm and collected about all of the mess that has unfolded since her father’s death.

“What do you mean your parents? Oh no, don’t tell me they’re bad guys too. What’s with the parents around here?” Her tone is exasperated, although still marginally calm. Calmer than it would be without the amount of effort she’s currently putting in. Except, as he rambles on, that calm-adjacent facade begins to slip and soon enough she’s having to physically resist the urge to pace. “Chandler, stop. What was sent to you?” Even if she didn’t want to know before, if she doesn’t get answers soon enough, she feels as if she’ll be as freaked out as the man in front of her.

A more reasonable person would of probably saved information but Chandler was basically torn corner to corner like the page of a book trying to contain too many misprinted words. He stared blankly almost spitting out a mouthful of vodka when she mentioned her parents as if they were up to something. They were two normies that had never done a thing wrong in their lives, gulping he splutters in response, “No, they’re not bad people, that’s the problem. We’re bad people,” he whined feeling desperately sorry for himself. Nobody else was going to so he had no other choice, really.

He placed down his glass and walked towards a solitary bag on the floor, it was battered and old and filled with a few random items of clothing that he had packed in haste trying not to face his parents. How could he look them in the face knowing what he knew? Did they think he was guilty too? How much guiltier would they find him if they knew what he now knew? He pulled out the pristine cardboard envelope, sealed and addressed to him in print alone. He slid his hand inside and took out one picture, throwing it out into the middle of the room. “Read it and weep or whatever, I did,” he says gesturing towards the image of his sister meeting up with Vidal Athanas in his study. “That’s just the intro. You don’t want to see the finale,” the message is bitterly delivered.

#c: belva

belva-athanas:

Apart from the alcohol, Chandler seems so different to what she’s used to. That intense amount of energy that he always seemed to have was nowhere to be found, and although it is perhaps unfair to expect it of him after being released from prison, she still is slightly surprised. His answer causes her to pause as she leans against the counter top, the cold granite chilling her skin from where her top has ridden up slightly. “Oh,” she replies quietly, blinking, an uneasy feeling rising in her chest. “Do you want to…talk about what you saw?” Her voice is uncertain, unsure if it’s something he’d feel comfortable reliving, unsure if she even wants to know what it is. From the way that he’s acting, she doubts it.

It seems that the alcohol never stops pouring, that Chandler’s set his mind on getting unbelievably drunk, and yet his response causes her to frown in concern nonetheless. An alcohol overdose. Always wanted to go out partying. How exactly could she even respond to that? Respond to it in a way that would make any difference? “You couldn’t have killed that guy. They won’t be able to prove it and keep you locked up,” she responds, arms coming up to cross over her chest. Belva doesn’t doubt the first part of her comment, can’t imagine that Chandler would have been capable of committing such a crime, but the second? A small part of her worries she’s wrong. “Look, where are you staying? I have an air mattress in my room you can use. Stay with me or take it into December’s room, whatever you want.” It was the least she could do given how horribly the past week or so must have been for him, and her voice is soft as she settles her gaze on him.

Drowning in a sea of alcohol would probably be his preference in the absence of a little thing called time travel that could relieve him from being mentally scarred. He raised the glass of vodka to his lips and took a swig that was more like 3/4 of the glass but didn’t quite feel like it. “I’ll tell you what I want,” he says, the glass swinging and alcohol sloshing over the edges of the rim and splashing onto the kitchen counter top. “I want to pour this into my eyeballs until I can never see out of them again and even that wouldn’t be enough.”

“Look, I’m sorry, like, it’s not your fault. It’s not mine either but I really can’t deal with my parents or your family right now,” Chandler babbled. For once his stammering nothing to do with illegal highs or having drank but simply the traumatic experience that he has had. He can hardly believe it but being stone cold sober has left it hard to deny that what he has seen is anything but real. “I’m fucked and you’re fucked and if anyone ever finds out then we’re all fucked. But I don’t know what I’m meant to do with it. I don’t know who sent it or why or what they want me to do.”

#c: belva

belva-athanas:

It wasn’t particularly late, but Belva was all but ready for bed nonetheless. Or at least ready to try to get some sleep, which was getting harder and harder the longer she remained in the house. Combing her fingers through her still damp locks, she absentmindedly braided them to the side as she walked down the steps towards the kitchen. In a pair of sky blue pajama shorts and a matching cami, the blonde lets out a small yawn as she enters the room, a bit surprised that the light is on. That small amount of surprise quickly grows as she takes in the person chugging from a bottle of alcohol, and her blue eyes widen as she exclaims, “Chandler!”

Excitement rises within her, an urge to call Harley, even though she’s sure the other woman must already know. “Oh my god, when did you get out? Are you, like, starving? Do you want me get you a…McDonalds, or whatever?” Hadn’t Harley mentioned that was what he’d used his one phone call for her? Even if she wouldn’t touch the stuff, she could at least get it delivered for him.

"No, actually,” he removes the bottle from his lips to look over at the girl that has appeared in front of him. How odd it was to see real people again but he supposed everyone had been real, some had just thought things about him that could never be true. As if he could kill someone. His mind was drawn back to the newest revelation that made him kinda think he could of killed someone, if he had known at least that is. “For the first time in human history, I’ve seen something so disturbing, so impossible, so frightening that I don’t think I could eat a bite,” he says as the alcohol burns it’s way down his throat and his eyes divert to the rim of the bottle. A quick gulp as he clunks it down.

He is grabbing a glass, a bottle of vodka opened beside it with he other drink pushed aside as he watches the clear liquid flood inside of it like an ocean. There’s not enough vodka in the world to knock him out cold and make him forget what he’s seen. What would have been worse? This or being sent down for murder? Somehow he’s starting to think he may end up in a situation where he gets both. Shit. How could this even be real? “I think I’m just going to enjoy my short freedom getting pissed as a newt and pretending that this isn’t real life. Maybe an alcohol overdose. Always wanted to go out partying.”

#c: belva

God. It felt like a bloody lifetime that he had been locked up in that cell. He’d never done more than a few days and some reparative litter picking. Worse than the lack of funny company when everyone thought you were a murderer was the lack of booze, drugs and good music. It had been a real buzz kill. Not to mention the envelope someone had kindly delivered him which had made his stomach turn. He thought he wouldn’t even have gotten out if it weren’t for threats from some out of town cop who seemed to be on his side or at least think he was rightfully too fucking stupid to even have hide something like that. Only the Lord himself would know why. Chandler just thought it was a real life miracle.

Or maybe it was the opposite of one... of all the crimes that he HAD committed, how could he be charged for the only one that he had absolutely no idea about? Even the few nights that he blacked out he’d never woken up in a ditch covered in human blood -- now that would of been enough to stop him drinking (probably). Right now though, he was sure the only thing that would hit the spot was a bottle of whisky right back in the kitchen of that house on the hill that he had now bound himself to by a flashing ankle monitor. If he even managed to stay inside to fulfil house arrest in someone else’s home.

#dhstarter

i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky

addictions 1x01 & 2x04

voicemail: harley

Chandler: Listen this is super like important, [pauses] you have to do exactly as I say. Every detail. It's life or death. It's my last request. You need to go to Mcdonalds and order a Big Mac meal but under no circumstances can there be a PICKLE in sight. When you've got it hand deliver it to the Vertmoor police department, don't get any ice in the Pepsi else it'll be flat as fuck. If you don't do this then I'll know you never lov-- [muffled] Okay, jeez, can't you see I'm leaving an extremely important message for my sis-- [disconnects]

#c: harley

chandler absolutely kills me all of the time, he is way too funny and provides such great comedic relief in this roleplay. HOWEVER his lowkey threatening comment to azra is making me think!! perhaps he isn’t as harmless as he seems!! we just gotta see!

#anon love #Anonymous

ci! chandler's like an ogre. he has layers. and we love to see them!! i love how simply clumsy and erratic he seems to be on the surface, but how he actually has some pretty interesting thought processes when you whittle him down. he's such a fun character who brings such light to this dark group!! we could all use a chandler!! and we could all use a ci, an admin who works tirelessly to make the group an amazing place but still acts totally human to her members!!

my beloved ogre. accurate tbh. we love that for him. thank you, thank you, thank you! i try my best to make it all happen all the timeeee. love youuuu ♡

#anon love #Anonymous

text: chandler

Bluebell: I know it's late but did I leave my phone charger there?

Chandler: Was it you that snuck into my room last night?

#texts #t: bluebell #c: bluebell #sees a dead body? irrelevant

erebusathanas:

erebus had been following an odd lead that had brought him to the outside of a bar, standing outside incredulously. the smell of piss and vomit permeated through the crisp air of the establishment, making him take a step back. almost falling face first into the leaning figure of chandler that seemed to be drinking. well that was an unfortunate turn of events, having to deal with that little pest.

“fuck sake, chandler. can’t you breath far away from my face,” he said, pressing a hand against his face to push him away.”you’re stepping into dangerous waters, chandler. wouldn’t you rather go back inside and drink some more? it’ll be my treat, go on.” erebus guided chandler into the bar, using him as a way to open space for him to walk through. “is there anything strange with a mother saying their child’s name? it isn’t even recent.”

"are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me? people think i’m stupid but i know a thing or two and that’s definitely not socially acceptable, shame on you,” he shook his head stumbling back a step. did he think erebus was the killer? probably not. after all, weren’t movies always saying it was the person you least expect? this was definitely on the level of a well written one like scream so it was probably someone who’d turn around at a sleepover and stab you in the heart. good thing he wasn’t invited to any sleepovers, right !

“i didn’t say i thought you killed anyone, i just wanted to know what it was all about,” he shrugged, his green eyes struggling to focus on any one fixed point but giving a pretty convincing impression of someone who knew what they were talking about. he’d end up in lock up again and being yelled at by adina... probably... that was the best case scenario but to be honest, the night was only just beginning. he was nowhere near too drunk, nowhere near real disorder even, he wasn’t even ready to piss in the street and get screamed at by the landlord of an apartment block ! “ya know, maybe you should level with a simple guy like me. being friends with the people makes you more likeable and less weird and creepy. i mean, look at me, nobody thinks i’m a serial killer so i could totally get away with it if i ever wanted to.”