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thedvilsinthedetails · 2 months

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rosekiller microfic band au pt3

heyyy pt3 is here yayyy

I haven’t rlly read it thru again and I’m feeling pretty tired today so if there’s a quality dip that’s why but also we have some nice Barty POV which I find easier to write sooo balances out ig

also we have some Marlene in this one (u can thank @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl because I wasn’t gonna put her in but she loves Marls [not that I don’t] to and yk she’s the boss so 🫡🫡🫡 Marlene is in the fic and I’m actually glad bc I love her part in this)

oh also Reg is autistic in this [in my mind] so when I mention him wearing headphones it’s bc he wears headphones on public transport/often in public/during gigs to help block noise <3

oh also all the skittles have matching nail polish and little tattoos on their wrists (idk if I actually mention it here but just so u have it in ur mind)

Tags for ppl that (I think?) wanted to be tagged <3 : @depressedtheatrekiddo @blu3stars @picklerab23 @lady-stardust-incarnate @always-reading @no-names-work @y0url0verb0y @2bluetwo85 @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @weirdtinkerbellversion @lulublack90 @nikholascrow (please please do tell me if you don’t want to be tagged bc idm and obviously won’t be upset but I just don’t want to tag ppl that don’t actually want to be tagged so I’m just sort of guessing by who commented last time so um yeah)

Link to previous part

link to part one

link to next part

(Cw: lil bit of homophobia in here sorry)

***

By the time the train arrived at their station both Barty and Evan had dozed off. Arms wrapping around each other, bodies curled into one another like a jigsaw puzzle. Evan didn’t wake up as gently as he fell asleep though because he was woken by Regulus kicking his seat aggressively. Once he finally opened his eyes he turned to face him. He was wearing his headphones, big and black originally but covered in splodges of spray paint from when Barty had offered to ‘customise‘ them for Regulus. He’d pushed them back though, now that the majority of people has filtered out of the little compartment.

“Hurry up and get your stuff.”

Regulus ordered before following Pandora and Dorcas who had already left.

Evan turned and tapped Barty gently to wake him up. Then when that didn’t work he shook him till he opened his eyes with a start.

It took Barty a moment to realise where he was but even once he did he just grumbled.

“Ev don’t make me get up, please.”

He pouted, eyes wide and dilated in some kind of cheap attempt at cuteness.

“Come on you know you have to get up baby- Barty!”

Evan gaped, realising his mistake just too late. A slip of the tongue and he’d gone and fucked everything up.

“D’you just call me baby?”

A grin spread on Barty’s face and he poked Evan gently and laughed.

“You’ve been single too long Rosier.”

“You- you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad, baby?”

Barty winked, clicking his tongue as he got up and shuffled past Evan with a wicked smirk.

•••

Barty was going insane.

Evan had called him baby. Baby. And fuck his reaction had been visceral. But like…in a good way? It made him want to bite down on something hard but that thing was the muscles on Evan’s arms. Or bruise something but that thing was Evan’s neck…with a hickey or two.

Something about the way it had slipped out so naturally, so warmly. It just made Barty’s heart flutter. Made him want to grab Evan and shake the sense out of him enough to like Barty. Something along the lines of ‘kiss me, ruin me, dear God I’m begging you.’ Ah well, nothing you can’t really do about these kinds of situations except get on with it. Lying was something Barty had gotten very good at from a young age and not stopped since. Some might call it acting but those were the types of people who were just trying to convince themselves they were good and moral. Barty didn’t really care enough about that kind of stuff to bother. White lies this and how it contrasts with malicious lies that, like someone trying to section off a gradient in two. You can’t, it’s all the same monochrome blur in the end.

Barty was lost in this little daydream when he heard Pandora roar.

“WHAT?!”

Now Pandora didn’t often roar, maybe laugh maniacally every now and then yes, but yell? Scream? That was never her type of thing. Save for some rare occasions that Barty could probably count on one hand. Pandora yelling meant it was time to stop daydreaming about Evan’s curls or Evan’s hands with their chipped green nail polish or Evan’s fucking tight t shirts. Yeah time to stop thinking about that and listen up. So he did.

“I do not intend to offend anyone by it.”

Riddle raised his hands up defensively with a cheap sleazy smile that immediately made Barty dislike him.

“I’m just saying that this venue prides itself on a distinct lack of…untoward behaviour. It’s not a massive deal, I think your lead and backup singers can use separate microphones for two nights of a six month tour.

“What the fuck man?”

Barty stepped forward immediately hands curling into fists, Riddle was pretty short, he could definitely take him if that’s what it came to.

“Barty stop, that isn’t the right way to solve things. Come on let’s just- let’s come back later ok? See if we can talk to someone else, not this piece of shit.”

Dorcas spat out the last three words as she pulled Barty back to the group.

He was going to argue till he felt Evan put a hand on his shoulder, instead he just left Evan guide him away after the rest of the group.

“We’ll figure it out ok?”

“Fucking- Ev we can’t play there. They’re fucking homophobic.”

“Barty the O2 has been your dream since-“

“I DONT BLOODY CARE!”

“Barty shut the fuck up. I said we’ll talk about it and we will, we will figure it out but stop acting like a goddamn CHILD.”

Barty looked over at Evan who had his teeth bared, slightly wild look in his eyes. He was seething too, clearly. Just more mature than Barty.

“Ok, yeah.”

He breathed in.

“I’m sorry Ev.”

“Hey it’s alright. It’s just important the band shows a united front against this you know? We can’t split up or in fight because then, well then we all lose.”

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right Rosie. But we will do something.”

“I promise you they’re not getting away with this.”

Evan nodded. He tossed a hand over Barty’s shoulder, pulling him in just a little bit closer as they walked. Barty wasn’t complaining.

•••

“You don’t get it Marls, we can’t just not play the O2. We’d lose way too much money off it, probably too much to be able to continue with the rest of the tour. Plus venues will think we’re unreliable and might cancel or pull out. Riddle is such a fucking dick, he only told us when we went there for a tech practice literally today.”

“Fuck yeah that’s shitty.”

Marlene was sat next to Barty on the floor of his hotel room, helping him repaint his nails. The entire band had them matching, a bright toxic green, his had started to fade though.

“What if you just…ignore them? Do it anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like they can drag us off stage mid performance.”

“Not without exposing their homophobia.”

“Still…I wanna make a statement. Something big you know? Show them they can’t straight wash us.”

Marlene looked up at Barty, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I might have an idea then.”

•••

Evan was sat in an alcove in the hotel corridor watching Regulus patiently braid and unbraid Pandora’s hair on the sofa opposite him. It calmed them both down whenever they were stressed. And Barty and Marlene, locked up together in Barty’s hotel room. Both raging homosexuals dead set on never following rules talking amongst themselves just before the biggest gig of the band’s history? Yeah that was a reason to be stressed. That’s when he heard the tell tale clump of Barty’s docs down the corridor. And he was walking with purpose.

As soon as he came into view Evan noticed the way his eyebrows were knotted together yet his eyes were glimmering with excitement. Evan had no clue what Barty was going to say next but it wasn’t that.

“Marlene thinks I should kiss you.”

Barty announced and Evan dropped his jaw, staring at him agape.

“What?”

“And I agree with her.”

“What?”

***

OK HOPE U LIKED IT

xxx BYEEEE

pt4 probs gonna come soon bc I swear this fic has a life of its own

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brownsplodge · 2 months

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They Howl at Night (10/?)

Huh i wonder what splodge has been doing- *BAM WRITES A NEW CHAPTER OF A FIC I KIND OF DROPPED 2 YEARS AGO AND PROBABLY LITERALLY NOBODY WAS WAITING FOR* (ao3 link uwu)

(I hope my writing has improved lmfao but I'm doing this for funsies so I guess it doesn't matter)

Alcor sat cross legged in the small room and picked at a very sticky sticker that had made its way into the collar of his shirt and attached itself to his neck.

He had to find the source of these evil stickers and eliminate them, there was no way they were not demonic in some way.

He was drawing a portrait of one of his nightmare sheep on the floor with a piece of chalk he’d found in his sock.

He felt a little bored, and he didn’t have the usual flow of random information to keep him occupied for some reason. Not that he wasn’t grateful to finally have some peace and quiet, but he was always a little on edge when his powers weren’t torturing him as they usually did, and they were being strangely nice to him lately.

He heard something in the hall, and looked up to see that girl from the supermarket with her face pressed against the clear plastic wall of the room where it led into the corridors.

Alcor froze, not sure what to do. Why did he not know she worked here? Shouldn’t he have received that information? He didn’t want to scare the Mizar or immediately break Lucy-Ann’s trust by going full brother mode.

What did humans do to greet each other again?

Alcor slowly raised a hand, and slowly bent each finger crunchily to prove he had joints and gain her trust.

The girl looked at him with a mild look of disgust, but not the scared kind, just the ‘nobody waves like that’ kind of way. Nailed it.

The girl bent down to one of the air holes that were drilled into the plastic wall in case the vents stopped working.

“Hello! Um… Mister…” She removed her mouth from the air hole to check the sign next to his room.

“Pines. We literally have the same surname, how did I forget it?” She mumbled to herself, before clamping her mouth against the air hole to make sure he could hear her (there was an anti soundproof sigil on the plastic, and it was completely unnecessary).

“Hello mister Pines! Do you happen to know about the guy who was in this room before you?”

Alcor stared at her for a second, instinctively waiting for the answer to pop into his head (he had not bothered to read the more boring documents, and had been relying on just knowing important information if asked).

But the answer never came, and the second he stared at her became half a minute of eye contact.

His powers were fucking him over all along after all.

He looked slightly to the side, the amount of eye contact feeling uncomfortable even to an immortal being above human awkwardness(lies), and tried to ‘dig out’ the answer.

He wasn’t sure what went on in a normal human brain anymore, not having had one for several hundred, maybe over a thousand years, (He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t counting the seconds of his life like he usually did, and he hadn’t even noticed until that moment,) but he was sure if it was possible for him to get one again, he was probably close. He couldn’t find anything in his mind that he didn't already know, and he even couldn’t find all the stuff he knew already.

“I don’t know.” (This was a sentence he hadn’t said completely honestly in years.)

He kept picking at the sticker on his neck.

“Oh.”

"Sorry."

“No, it’s alright! I just thought all that eye contact might’ve meant something.”

Alcor shook his head.

He finally manages to stick one of his long and very nicely painted fingernails under the sticker and peeled it off. Now his fingers were sticky. Great.

“And you’re sure you don’t know anything about him? His name is Xander? Xander McKindley?”

Alcor finally heard something quietly answering the question in his head, and he automatically started reciting it.

“Xander McKindley. 61. 3 living relatives, excluding people whose last shared ancestors with him were more than two hundred years ago. Until last week he went missing. Instead of it getting reported, someone working within the official werewolf safety program deleted all his files, and most people who had known Xander were told he moved.”

He was quite proud of himself.

The girl staring at him looked at him with her mouth wide open.

“What? Who? How come you didn’t know who I was talking about earlier?”

This time, the answer didn't come to him again. Alcor looked down and tried to remove the sticker's melting glue from his hands.

“I don’t know.”

He earned a frustrated groan in response, and the girl turned back to where she’d walked into the hall from and walked away rapidly.

#wdym where the wolves are right here #werewolves #writing #fic #transcendence au #gravity falls

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heyidkyay · 1 year

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I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name

Part Nine

A/n: This part's a little longer than the others, but it just ended up turning out that way, I started writing it over the course of the weekend and kept adding to it I suppose:) Hope you enjoy x

Also! Look back to my recent post if you'd like to see what Birdie and George see in the beginnings of this part!

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

Somehow we’d managed to find ourselves down by the canals, a portion of chips shared between the two of us from the nearby chippy, watching as all the houseboats sailed in.

Honestly, it all felt a little too much like the old days. When I would complain about there not being enough salt to counter the vinegar and George wrinkling his nose at the lack of ketchup.

But even with the ache I felt as we went through the motions, neither one of us commenting on the familiarity of it all, I still couldn’t bring myself to regret following after him. I mean, if I hadn’t then I’d just be sat at home, wallowing in self-pity, letting myself spiral over thoughts of him, and my mum, and life in general.

Here I was though. By his side.

And it was strange, because last week, if anyone had told me that I’d be here, with George of all people, I’d probably have laughed in their face.

But I guess it was sort of funny how much time could change things.

“Oi, leave it out, would you.” George muttered grumpily as he swatted my hand away from the sauce staining the side of the takeaway box. “You don’t even like ketchup.”

I scoffed at him, pursing my lips and picking up another chip to swipe through his precious red sauce just because I could. “I do- ’s just not my favourite.”

He rolled his eyes at my shrug, then pulled the box closer towards him. I glared halfheartedly. “Still, I fucking asked for it so you can piss off.”

“What and eat my chips dry?”

George just enlarged his eyes to show how little he cared about the issue at hand and shoved another two into his massive gob. I raised a brow.

“Twat.” I mumbled, but couldn’t stop myself from smiling like an idiot when his foot nudged my ankle.

We sat quietly then, just chewing away, and I diverted my gaze downwards to where our legs were dangling freely, just swinging in perfect time to the water’s current below. George’s big black boots and the vintage Reebok’s Matty had thrown at me the previous Christmas reflecting back up at us.

The canals were typically quite popular the farther upstream you got, especially during the day. But if you knew where to look, you could hide away from the rest of the city for as long as you pleased. Only having to deal with the braver lot of carp and the small boats which passed by.

George and I were currently tucked under a guardrail. One of those shitty ones that didn’t really do much ‘guarding’ and were mostly just bended poles of corroding metal- our arms were leant against its middle. He had the chip box propped on his left knee and there was now a small stain just beside it, blemishing his jeans from where I’d accidentally dropped a splodge of ketchup earlier.

George hadn’t minded in the least though, he’d merely licked his thumb and smudged it away, leaving me to nod dopily as he carried on with what he’d been saying. Him none the wiser whilst I’d struggled to advert my stare from his mouth. But when was he ever?

Time passed us by and my mind started to wander, ultimately I found myself wanting to ask him what he got out of all this. Out of today, I supposed. Because really, all of this had been his idea. From meeting up in the first place and having me tagalong to the pub, to us sat right here. Reenacting old memories like nothing was awry.

I happened to sniff then, the cold evening air had always had a knack for making my nose run, but there George was handing me over a napkin as though he’d been preparing for it. I stared at it for a second too long before I finally took it, thanking him softly. He just checked my shoulder in turn.

It all felt a little too perfect. Like the calm before a storm.

“You feelin’ any better?” George asked me round a bite as I stole another ketchup covered chip.

I glanced towards him, thinking it through, and decided on a shrug. “Reckon so.”

He merely hummed in reply, and so I did the same.

“How about you?”

The faint lines that worried his forehead deepened at my question, “What’d you mean?”

I chuckled under my breath already reaching back towards the box. “You.” I summarised, shaking my head softly at how lost he seemed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine?” George supplied with a tiny frown, phrasing his answer to sound more like a question. “Why you asking?”

“Am I not allowed to ask?” I shot back, resting my cheek against the arm which separated my face from the rail, feeling full now.

He thought about it, then jerked a shoulder, scraping the remnants of sauce from the side of the container. “No, you are. Just, I don’t know, didn’t expect it, is all.”

I continued to stare at him in wait, until he huffed and finally relented.

“‘M fine. Just worried about you, I ‘spose.”

It was my turn then to frown. “What you worrying about me for?”

George quirked an eyebrow at me, like I should’ve already known the answer to that question, but I kept my gaze steady. And in turn, he scrunched up his nose and sniffed, closing the chip box lid and placing it down somewhere on his other side so that he could shuffle more towards me.

“Truth?” He said, and I found myself startled by it.

It was just a word. One simple word, but it was ours. And the very mention of it had my heart wrenching in my chest as though he’d just gone and wrung it out like a wet towel to dry. Water puddling in the empty space between us where our legs should’ve met.

I forced myself to swallow down the sudden emotion and focus on him. Always on him.

“Truth.” I parroted back quietly, voice drifting in the open air, casting itself out like a line tethered to my soul and into the murky water of the canal. George’s dark brown eyes met mine.

“I’m scared you’ll drown.”

I blinked, eyes flitting between his own. Back and forth. Beyond confused.

“What?” I let go of an airy chuckle and tilted my head at him.

George just raised a hand, pulling a leg up from the towpath whilst he allowed the other to continue to dangle, bending it so he could better face me. “Just hear me out, yeah?”

Still a tad bewildered I merely nodded, unable to object.

“What I meant is,” He exhaled slowly, trying to piece together the puzzle of his mind.

I gave him the moment, knowing how much he preferred to gather his thoughts so that he could string them together clearly enough to get his point across. He wasn’t too fond of being misunderstood. Of people figuring that they knew what he meant, before he even did.

“I don’t know how to word it properly without you getting upset.” George licked at his lower lip, slouching slightly with his back to the guardrail. He seemed really worked up over it in truth, and almost thoughtlessly I found myself extending a hand out towards his knee. His stare flitted down towards it, but he didn’t pull away.

“I can’t promise it won’t upset me, but I’m a big girl, G. I can handle it, and if I can’t then I’ll let you know.” I assured him but I had to pull my hand away then, afraid that I was toeing a line I wasn’t too sure still existed after the way we’d ended things.

George worried the inside of his cheek but his stoney face gave away no note to his anxieties, eventually he dipped his head at me.

“I just- alright, I don’t want to dredge up the past, but I can’t help but think about how everything will affect you. Maybe not right now, but later on.” He spoke, “‘Cause I know you, Birdie. Better than most I’d like to think. And so I already know that once I head home, I’ll be up most of the night worrying over whether or not you’re actually doing okay, whether you’re still up too. Drowning in it all. ‘Cause even with everything that's happened between us, I still fucking care. You’ve got to know that much at least.”

He heaved a heavy breath out of his lungs and rubbed at his eyes before he casted a tired glance out over the canal, focusing on the mossy algae that lined its surface. But he wasn’t done there. No, that arrow he’d shot straight into my chest just had to splinter.

“And it killed me, you know. Seeing you fall apart today. Just at the simple fucking reminder of it all. Made me just want to take your hand and run.”

I stared at him. At the side of his face, the bridge of his nose, the fall of his lips. Eyes growing glossy and hands faintly shaking the longer I did so, trying to figure out what it was I was meant to say in response to that.

I had to use the second he gave me to figure my heart out.

“You can’t say things like that to me.”

George’s head snapped in my direction upon hearing my muted whisper, and his serious expression crumbled in the very same moment, having witnessed my own. He reached out, only to stop himself short before his hand could actually brush against the bone of my cheek, his stare never faulting, eyes trailing over the outline of where he should’ve been able to touch. Where he’d once been allowed to.

His hand stayed hovering there.

“You can’t, George.” I forced out, tears prickling my eyes again, nose tingling. I forced myself to turn my head, dragging down my sleeve to wipe at my face. “You don’t get to do that anymore.”

“Why? Why don’t I?” He stressed to me in a hushed breath and I could still feel the ghost of his touch. The brush of his fingers from where he used to tuck my hair behind my ear. The imprint of his thumb on my hip. His knuckles against my cheek. Mouth against my collar.

We were close now. Closer than we should have been. Because I could practically feel his warmth in the cold evening chill. His nose there, rubbing at my own. But I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him in again. Not after all the shit he’d put me through before. Not when I still didn’t know why he’d ended things the way he had in the first place.

I let my eyes slip close but forced myself to pull away.

“Because you can’t treat me like an old friend, George. Like someone who’s indispensable to you.” I replied, grateful for the fact I couldn’t see his reaction to my pitiful words. “Someone who you can push and pull out. ‘Cause I can’t do that, not right now. Not with you. I can’t be your friend when all I really wanna do is forgive and forget. But you put me through hell, G. Fucking hell. And never once have you given me a reason as to why. I’ve spent the last six months just trying to work it out. Agonising over where I went wrong. But it wasn’t me that fucked this up in the first place. Was it?”

I struggled to reopen my eyes, to glance back up and look at his face. But eventually I did, and even though the sight of him practically rendered me frozen, I still found the strength to push back. To pull away. And I stood in that next moment, on shaky legs mind, only to look down at him. He stared back at me.

“Let me know what you want when you finally figure it out.”

—

Leaving him there, it’d been hard. But when had things ever gone right for me, when had life ever given me an easy go of it? And even though both my mind and my heart had been screaming at me to turn back- just turn back! I’d forced myself to go on. To struggle through it.

So by the time I made it home, it was a ten to eight and I had to withhold a sigh when I noticed that I’d left the lights on in my earlier hurry to get out of the front door.

My bottom lip was also torn and bitten from where I’d been chewing at it during the long walk back, trying not to think about the way I’d left things. Fretting over whether or not I’d done the right thing, made the best call. And so I could taste the distinct tang of blood when I tugged my house keys from the confines of my coat, feeling like a complete wreck as I climbed the steps just outside.

I came to an abrupt halt though when I found a figure settled in my doorway, back pressed to the frame and legs splayed out carelessly before them as their head lulled against the brickwork, eyes closed in a peaceful slumber.

I kicked at the foot closest to me and continued to stare down at the sleeping twat laid out on my front step.

Said twat startled awake and appeared to jump at the unexpected connection- which would’ve humoured me any other day, but it seemed as though this one had taken its toll on me. Or in short, it had shat on my bed and made me lie in it.

“What’re you doing here?” I finally found the strength to ask as I moved in closer.

The lump only groaned groggily in response, rubbing at the bridge of its nose. Then with a furrowed brow, looking this way then that, it tried to get ahold of its bearings as the rush of adrenaline flooded its sleep filled brain.

“Ross called.” Was all that Matty had to offer me as I stepped over him, fumbling to try and find the right key to fit my lock.

I’d figured as much.

“You were out late.” He added after he realised that I wouldn’t be offering up much of a reply, pulling himself to his feet. I titled my head over towards him with a blank expression as I worked the lock, only to find him smirking back at me.

With a small shake of my head, I opened the door and stepped through, quick to kick off my trainers and coat.

“How vigilant of you, Matthew.” I retorted in a vacant tone. Hollow enough for Matty to cut his eyes over at me, lips pursing as he slowly hung up his trench on the hook beside mine.

“You only ever call me that when you’re acting all pissy over something.”

I shrugged at him then padded into the kitchen, flicking on the light whilst I headed on over towards the sink. I heard his footfalls follow me a second later and glanced up to see him reappear in the doorway, eyeing me closely.

“Ross reckoned you were alright, said he’d left you with G outside the pub.”

I braced myself against the counter and turned to look out the window, seeing a whole lot of darkness greet me in return, enough that I could visibly make out my own reflection in the glass. I looked a state.

“I’m always alright, Matty.”

Then I turned on the tap and proceeded to fill a glass with water.

I must’ve have lost myself staring into space because the next thing I knew, Matty was beside me and turning off the flow of water. I blinked down at the half full basin then over towards him. He looked as tired as I felt.

“Thanks.” I mumbled, but he only frowned.

“What happened?”

Matty wasn’t the type to let anyone evade a question, he was stubborn to a fault, almost as bad as me. Which is why I already knew that he wouldn’t be letting this go anytime soon.

“I’m knackered, Matty. Can’t we just fall asleep watchin’ the tele and talk tomorrow?” I sighed but was met with a hardened stare. He only prompted me on further with a raised brow and so I huffed and slumped my way out of the kitchen.

He was like a stray pup though, licking at my heels, because he followed me in a minute after.

I’d already taken up my usual spot on the end of the L-shaped settee I’d bought when I’d first moved in. It’d been during my first trip out furniture shopping and George had been with me at the time- was actually the one to spot it in truth. I remembered how he’d plopped himself down in the very seat I was currently sat in and hadn’t budged until I was laughing away and telling the salesman that I’d take it.

I found myself smiling faintly at the memory. Only blinking it back to the place where it now resided, in a far corner of my mind, when Matty waved the glass I’d left in the kitchen in front of my face. I took it from him silently, thanking him with a tiny smile for having brought it in. He took the open spot beside me.

“Gon’ talk now?” He roused, cross-legged on my settee, dressed in a pair of bootcut jeans and an all too familiar hoodie.

“Real question is, why’ve you got on George’s jumper?” I digressed, pulling the remote out of the side of the arm so that I could switch on the tv. I didn’t need to ask though, we both knew how typical it was for all of the guys to swap and steal clothes from one another whilst on tour, Matt and G especially. But this was just the easiest way to stall him.

He peered down at his torso, frowned, then rolled his eyes. “Trust you to notice- but I don’t know. Mine now though, ain’t it?”

I snorted, flipping through channels. “How so?”

“Comfy.” Matty shrugged, then sort of seemed to realise what was happening and shook himself out of it. “Anyway,” He drawled, digging a knuckle into my thigh hard enough for me to kick at him to get him to stop, “Ow, you bitch. Will you just talk to me now? I only wanna know what’s happenin’ inside that mad head of yours.”

I scowled and slapped at the finger he’d used to poke my temple with, he evaded my grasp by an inch. “Right now? It’s just many visions of your impending death.”

“Ooh, how emo.”

With a deadened expression, I chucked the remote at his head and stuck two fingers up at him in retort when he turned back towards me with a hurt squawk. “Piss off, Matty.”

“You piss off.” Matty grumbled, rubbing at the back of his skull in a sulk before he grabbed me by my ankles and tugged me forwards.

And to think I’d almost begun to feel bad about hitting him with tele remote.

“Come on, just let me in!” He pestered.

“I’ve already let you into my house, doesn’t that suffice enough?” I quipped back with an irritated sort of growl whilst trying to right myself again. I dug my heel into his hip as I did so and smirked at the hiss he fixed me with.

“No- and stop with the fucking fighting.” He retorted with a grumpy frown. “Gonna leave here with bruises tomorrow. Wouldn’t want your neighbours to talk.”

His eyes met mine then and I could see that he was serious, he wouldn’t be leaving without a fight. Stubborn prat.

I huffed. “Fine.”

Matty smiled in victory and lifted my own feet up into his lap, settling his arms on my calves. Obviously glad that I’d finally come to my senses and relented.

“Alright, so Ross said you were with G when he last saw you. Is that where you were just headed back from?”

I hummed a sound of accent, “Why’s it so important where I was anyway?”

“Don’t be a tit.” Matty scolded lightly, then continued on as though he’d not been interrupted at all. “Where were you two at then?”

“What are you my dad now?” I mocked, comfortable now in the position I’d been moulded into. “Want me to tell you we were shagging ‘round the back of a Kfc?”

Matty’s mouth tugged up into a sly grin. “Only if you were.”

I rolled my eyes and went to see what channel I’d happened to land on, but my attention was dragged back to Matty when he tugged on the cuff of my trouser.

“Come on! It’s like pulling fucking teeth with you.”

I bared my grin in return and he huffed out a reluctant laugh.

“Really, I just wanna help, love. Might stop you bein’ miserable.”

I released a lungful of air, slouching further into the settee in hopes that it would swallow me up. But when that didn’t happen, I just gifted Matty a small apologetic smile.

“Don’t wanna bore you.”

“Biggest lie. You love rambling to me about all the shit going on in your life. Just last week you were on the phone to me, crying about how badly you needed a piss whilst stood in the queue at Waitrose.”

I gasped in mock horror. “It was a Sainsbury’s, you toff! Some of us don’t have the cash to spare shopping there with the likes of you.”

Matty narrowed his eyes at me but didn’t have a leg to stand on here, knew it too. So instead he just jabbed at me again. And I had to retaliate.

We were both a breathless mess by the time we’d decided to call it quits, me getting one last hard hit in before scuttling back to my seat. I laughed, rosy cheeked and disheveled, when Matty used the side table to lug himself back onto the settee, half-dead.

“I was at a disadvantage.” He muttered, splayed out now as he tried to catch his breath.

“Disadvantage, how?” I chuckled, though I didn’t know how it was possible seeing that my lungs were still struggling to cooperate with me.

“Can’t hit a girl proper.”

“Oh yeah? And I here I thought you were a feminist!” I couldn’t help but tease, poking at his waist with my foot. He grunted, waving me away.

“I already surrendered. Leave off.”

I laughed to myself as I relaxed further into my seat and watched as Matty struggled to drag his body down the other end, feet finding mine somewhere in the middle.

We were quiet then for a while, just the sound of the tele and our laboured breathing to be heard.

I glanced back towards him when he sighed, locking his legs around one of mine. My hand found his ankle.

“Yeah?”

Matty stared back at me from under hooded eyes, he was getting more and more sleepy by the minute, that much was obvious, but it seemed he had yet to let up. “What did happen after you saw your mum?”

My gaze drifted down to where I was holding his foot, and I seemed to play thoughtlessly with the cuff of his sock. I shrugged a shoulder, pursing my lips as I blew out a breath. “I dunno. Just felt, off.”

“Off like shocked, thrown off kilter? Or ‘Oh shit, the world is now spinning on its head and there’s a clown stood in that far corner’ sort of off?”

“Second.” I deemed, not even fazed by his musings.

Matty hummed and thought it over. “But Ross reckoned you were doing alright by the time he left you.”

I shrugged again, unable to do much else it seemed. “I was. I mean, we had a bit of a tiff but I got over it and we hugged it out. But you know how Ross and me work.”

He just continued to watch me though and so I felt the strange urge to carry on.

“Said our goodbyes, then G and I went and got some food afterwards.”

This was where Matty decided to butt in. “From where?”

“Chippy up by the swing bridge.”

Matty’s eyebrows rose, “So you went down by the canals then?”

I peered back at him through slitted lids. “Alright, didn’t realise we had Sherlock on the sodding case.”

He winked in turn, “I’m just that good, babe.”

With a snort, I could only roll my eyes. “Hm, so you say. But I’ve got a line of girls who’d claim otherwise.”

“That right?” Matty replied, appearing to think it over. “Always wondered what it’d be like if all my exes got together in some sort of group.”

“What the self-help kind?”

I should’ve anticipated the kick he gave me.

“Oi, thought you didn’t hit girls!”

He gave me a snide smile, locking my legs with his before I could strike back. “Well, that was before I decided you look a lot like Woody Allen.”

“Bastard!” I gasped, pinching at his toe. He squirmed slightly, hissing, before he loosened his hold.

“Like calls to like, and all that crap.”

We shared an amused smile, and allowed the fight to dwindle.

“So,” Matty harrumphed, “down by the canals…”

I sighed, toying with a loose thread on his jean. “Yeah, ended up sitting on the edge sharing a portion of chips.”

He frowned at me, “What, like you lot used to?”

My jaw ticked as I hollowed out my cheeks to avoid actually having to answer him, and shrugged.

“Oh, love.” Matty consoled with a sad smile that SCREAMED pity, so much so that I wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Why do that to yourself? When I said that you two should meet up and talk things through, I didn’t mean dive headfirst in the fuckin’ deep end and spend a day off down memory lane!”

I groaned, slumping further into the cushions. “I know! Okay? I know. But I couldn’t help it. It just sort of… happened.”

“How the fuck does that ‘sort of happen’?” Matty shot back, knowing I didn’t have a full-proof answer to give him. I just threw an arm over my eyes instead. “And you wonder why it all went to shit.”

I peeled my arm away to send him a disheartened glare. “That’s the second time I’ve been told that today.”

“Well, there you go then! Only brought it on yourself, didn’t you? Hang on- did you even end up sorting shit out with G then?”

I couldn’t wipe away the pout that formed then, and Matty simply shook his head at me, patting my thigh.

“Come on, I’ll grab us something a bit stronger than just water to drown our sorrows in and then you can tell me what went on. Yeah?”

I nodded and tucked my knees up into my chest when Matty rolled away. I found myself staring blankly into space whilst he made his way into the kitchen, recalling all the words George had said to me during the course of the day.

But it only made me think back to the birthday wish I'd made the night before. Wondering if I regretted it.

Part Ten>

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kingkatsuki · 2 years

Note

you’ve tainted my bookstore meet cutes with your filthy mind!!! but who am i kidding 😫 look at what blog i’m on.

shindo is def a little bastard, fingering you in the stacks when you’re supposed to be reshelfing. it’s so slow and there’s barely anyone in the store, but that makes it all the more important to keep your mouth shut. and if you can’t shindo will just have to make you bite down on the hardcover book and just bought.

kiri is following you around like a little puppy as you’re pulling books for some online orders. rambling about his latest manga, but you’re not really listening. too preoccupied with the sight of his thighs in those shorts. so when you ask him if he can reach the tallest shelf for a book you need, you quickly drop to your knees, pulling his soft cock free and immediately taking it into your mouth. man nearly pushes over the whole bookshelf in surprise.

and bakugo? well that little fucker knows just how to wind you up. sliding some of the filthiest books across the counter, saying you should take a read and maybe the two of you can have an after hours book club. and how did even know about this series? it’s absolutely depraved you realize, both when skimming the first chapter on your break and when he’s forcing you to read the best parts out loud while his head is mouth at your cunt between your thighs

I’m sorry😭I just can’t help myself.

You can hear the little bell at the front of your shop to indicate someone’s just come in while Shindou’s fingers are buried knuckle deep inside you, his lips scorching your throat as he grins at the sound. “Yo, someone’s gonna see—” You break off into a sultry moan as he presses down harder against your clit, curling his fingers inside you. The lewd squelch almost enough to cause a scene as he directs his attention to that soft spot as you bite down on your glossed lip in a feeble attempt not to add to the noise. “Better cum quick if you don’t wanna get caught, sweetheart.”

The hardback book Kirishima was grabbing for you narrowly avoids your head as you slip his soft cock between your lips, feeling the telltale throb as he begins to grow inside your mouth. Your tongue swirling around the flushed tip as you lap at the first drops of pre that ooze from his slit, gazing up at him innocently as you hear a low groan leave his lips. “Fuck, baby. What you doin’? Anyone could see.” His knuckles are turning white as he holds onto the shelf in front of you, resting his forehead against his forearm to allow him to gaze down at you on your knees for him. You suck harder in response, leaving lines of your glittery gloss around his girth as you bob your head along his length. His hips stuttering as you reach up to palm his balks, “Gimme your cum, then I’ll stop.” You almost pout as you talk against his tip, your tongue lapping at the fresh pre as he twitches in response.

Bakugou makes you wear one of those remote controlled vibes while in the shop, smirking from one of the worn leather armchairs as he peers over his book at you. Thick rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he smirks at the way you clutch the counter, leaning your forearms against it as he turns the vibrations up. You were trying to read the book he’d gifted you, the words now just black splodges against the page as customers continue to walk by. Dropping his book to the side as he stalks towards you like a predator hunting it’s prey, leaning against the other side of the desk as his lips brush your ear, “Did I tell you that you could stop reading, princess? Tell me what happens next—”

#jo thirsts #thirst posts #Bakugou thirst #Kirishima thirst #Shindou thirst

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thethreebroomsticksficfest · 1 year

Text

Unwelcome

By: @floreatcastellumposts

Prompt(s): Frost & First Christmas without [Character]

Look alive my friends because Floreatcastellum has secured us an invite to the Potter family’s Christmas dinner! ✨Read all about their festivities – which may or may not include a dash of angst and some unexpected guests – right here or on AO3! _________________________________________

The Christmas tree was decorated in the same way it was every year, down to the last bauble. Aunt Petunia had a very strict colour scheme of white and blue, and at some point or another she had apparently found the ideal position for each and every ornament, for rather than risk changing it she simply wrapped the plastic tree in clingfilm for storage in the attic 362 days of the year.

Harry, eight years old and now well used to the Christmas routine, stared vaguely at the frosty tree, his eyes focused on the only new addition; a clumsy clay ornament. It was an unidentifiable splodge of glitter and a smear of paint, Dudley’s efforts of less than five minutes in art at school before they had broken up for the Christmas holidays. Harry had spent the whole lesson on his, making the star of Bethlehem, yellow paint with gold glitter. He had no idea what had happened to it, for he had not seen it since he had brought it home.

‘Bed,’ said Aunt Petunia briskly.

Harry huffed. ‘Can’t I stay up later to-?’

‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘Come on - last chance to impress Father Christmas.’

‘Father Christmas isn’t real,’ he said flatly.

Aunt Petunia made a hissing noise not unlike one of Mrs Figg’s cats. ‘Don’t say things like that in front of Dudders.’

Harry glanced over to the sofa, where Dudley was sitting, staring slack-jawed and staring at the telly. He clearly hadn’t heard. ‘Or what?’ he asked. ‘I’ll get something worse than coal?’

She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and heaved him up. ‘You’re lucky to have a roof over your head!’ she reminded him, and dragged him to his cupboard. As she pushed him in, she seemed to change her mind, and pulled him back, bent low so her face was inches from his own. ‘Don’t you dare speak to your aunt Marge like that tomorrow.’

‘She’s not my-’

‘I mean it! Do not spoil our family Christmas.’

With that, he was shoved into his cupboard, where thankfully she could not see him roll his eyes. That night, he stared at the thin line of light that acted as a halo around his cupboard door, where someone had left the hallway light on, and dreaded the next day.

***

Several years later, Harry was in full force in the kitchen. A knife was speedily chopping veg beside him, while a wooden spoon stirred a saucepan vigorously. He, a tea towel slung over his shoulder and an expression of mild stress over his face, was checking the large turkey in the oven. Despite the sound of the radio playing Christmas music, and the clattering of Ginny in the larder searching for more garlic, he heard the sound of a lid being lifted off a large ceramic pot he knew held the pigs in blankets.

‘Don’t eat those!’ he called over his shoulder.

‘Why not? It’s Christmas.’

‘You know wh- put them down!’

He heard James huff, but replace the lid. Lily’s voice, belting along to the Christmas music, passed through the room as Harry ladeled oil over the turkey. ‘Am I going to have-?’ he heard her interrupt herself.

‘Yes, you’ve got a nut roast,’ he called back, pushing the turkey back in.

‘Next year you should all consider refusing to participate in the needless slaughter of millions of birds-’

‘Harry, there’s absolutely none in here,’ said Ginny, sticking her head out of the larder door. ‘Are you sure you got some?’

‘Yeah, definitely - a whole braid. I was with Ron, he made a crap joke about vampires.’

‘Oh, are you looking for the garlic?’ said James. Both Harry and Ginny turned to stare at him. ‘Yeah, it’s my room.’

‘Why?’

‘Dora was playing with it.’

‘Yesterday?’

‘Yeah. I was a vampire. She was hunting me down.’

‘And it’s been in your room since then?’

He shrugged and nodded. Ginny gave a great sigh, held up her wand and summoned it. It zoomed into the kitchen and she caught it with the unerring skill of a chaser, then started speedily peeling a bulb.

‘Right, that’s that mystery solved,’ said Harry. ‘Next job - could someone nip into the garden and get some sage?’

‘On it,’ called James, heading speedily to the back door.

‘When’s it going to be ready?’ asked Lily. ‘I’m starving.’

‘I don’t know - soon,’ lied Harry. ‘Why don’t you set the table?’

‘I have, and I put paper chains up.’

Harry could easily imagine the web of paper chains he was sure would greet him in the dining room. He gave a non-committal hum and turned back to the oven, causing his glasses to fog over.

‘I thought you and Mum said Christmas dinner would be at twelve.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Ginny breezily. ‘Harry, how’s it looking?’

‘Still pink in the middle.’

‘Right, well bring it out anyway, I’ll add the garlic and then we can maybe add a charm or two to hurry things along, I reckon that’d be-’

‘Hello!’ James called, as he returned from the garden. ‘Look who I found skulking by the gate.’

Harry turned round from the stove. There, in his doorway, was Draco Malfoy, looking as uncomfortable as he felt. He wished very much that he was not wearing an apron covered in flour, or at that very least that his glasses had fully defogged from the heat of the oven.

‘Oh…’ said Ginny. ‘Hello.’

‘I came to pick up Scorpius,’ said Malfoy stiffly. He looked astoundingly out of place in their kitchen; Harry vaguely wondered if he had ever come into a house through the back door in his life. His black velvet robes cast a rather sombre atmosphere even with the radio blaring out A Christmas Cauldron For You and Me.

‘They’re out on a walk,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m sure they’ll be back soon - but - I’m sorry - I thought we said he was staying for Christmas dinner and then-?’

‘I was under the impression you’d be finished by now,’ said Malfoy. ‘You said you’d be sitting to eat at midday.’

‘Ah, well, yes, that was always ambitious.’

‘It is now nearly three,’ he said pointedly.

‘Dad got his timings wrong,’ said James helpfully. ‘He’s trying to give us all food poisoning.’

Harry cleared his throat. ‘James, why don’t you go and find Al and Scorpius?’

‘They could be anywhere.’

‘You’re an auror, I’m sure you can find them.’ He hoped that his tone struck the right balance between irritation and politeness in front of their guest, but judging from James’s delighted grin, it hadn’t. Nevertheless, he chucked a sprig of sage on the kitchen island, and bounded back outside.

Silence fell on the kitchen. Lily looked between her parents and Draco Malfoy. ‘I’m going to… go and do that thing,’ she said lamely, and then she too, swiftly left the room. Harry would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so uncomfortable.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked Malfoy.

Malfoy’s lips parted, but he said nothing, just looked slowly over his shoulder.

‘I think they’ll be a little while,’ Ginny prompted.

‘I… yes, then, thank you.’

‘Wine? Beer? Tea?’ When Malfoy continued to awkwardly say nothing, Harry offered, ‘something stronger?’

‘You don’t have any brandy, by any chance?’

‘We do,’ said Harry. ‘Erm…’ He glanced at the kitchen table, which was heaped with bowls of vegetable peelings, crumpled up Christmas wrapping, and a tin of chocolate from which James had been grazing all day. ‘Why don’t you take a seat in the dining room? It’s just through there. I’ll bring you the drink.’

‘Yes,’ said Malfoy stiffly. ‘All right.’

They parted ways, Malfoy to the door that led to the hallway, from which the dining room was opposite, Harry into the living room to their drinks cabinet in the corner. Luckily he had bought brandy purely for the purposes of setting the Christmas pudding on fire, so he opened up a new bottle and poured what he guessed was a normal measure. A vivid memory hit him suddenly, of Aunt Marge smacking her lips over a Christmas brandy, swirling it appreciatively. It left him feeling suddenly cold, though the fire was crackling merrily in their snug room.

He pushed it down, and took the drink back through to the kitchen, where he held it out to Ginny. She looked at it, then back up at him with a confused shrug. ‘What?’ she whispered.

‘Can you take it through to him?’ he whispered back.

‘Erm… no?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because then I’ll have to sit in there with him?’

He looked at her pleadingly. ‘I can’t go and sit in there with him, we hate each other.’

She closed her eyes and nodded with faux-understanding. ‘You’re right,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot how we’re best friends. Simply adore each other. Borders on an emotional affair sometimes.’

‘There’s less history between you two than us,’ he implored.

‘By about this much,’ she said, pinching the air. ‘You were the one who offered him a drink-’

‘Look, all right, let’s-’ He leaned quickly and placed the glass of brandy on the crowded kitchen island, and then held out his fist to motion for a game of rock paper scissors. Ginny won. ‘Best out of three,’ he whispered hurriedly. Ginny nodded, and then won again. Harry sighed his groan. ‘Best out of-’

‘No,’ she said dangerously, holding out her finger in warning.

‘Fine,’ he muttered irritably, and he poured himself a generous glass of red wine before taking it and the brandy through.

In the dining room, Malfoy was sat on one of the chairs Ginny had decorated with giant Santa hats over the backs, at the table decorated with bright baubles stuck together to act as candle holders, beneath a canopy of paper chains, all clashing colours. The fairy lights strung around the picture rail and mirror were flashing rapidly so that Malfoy’s face was lit in red, blue, green and yellow within seconds. He did not, Harry noted, seem very impressed with their Christmas decor. His expression was that of someone trying to hold back revulsion. No doubt Malfoy manor was a little more elegant and co-ordinated in these matters. Perhaps, he thought viciously, with little glittery dark mark ornaments on the tree.

Harry sat on the other side of the table to Malfoy, as far away as he felt was socially acceptable. Another vivid memory struck him as he slid Malfoy’s drink over to him, of Snape and Sirius, sitting in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place, looking away from one another.

‘Thank you,’ said Malfoy, taking the brandy.

‘No problem,’ said Harry. ‘My apologies for running behind - years of Christmases where the children get you up at the crack of dawn and then all of a sudden they’re teenagers and everyone ends up sleeping off Christmas Eve drinks.’

‘I see,’ said Malfoy.

There was a long silence. ‘Then Ginny and I were having problems with the cooking,’ Harry continued, to fill it. ‘Turns out the oven wasn’t actually on for a good hour, and then we couldn’t find the garlic and - well it’s a bigger turkey than I realised.’

‘Right,’ said Malfoy. He looked around the table, at the pristine plates and the un-pulled crackers. ‘So you haven’t eaten at all?’

‘No,’ said Harry, who thought that had been obvious.

‘You still have a tea towel on your shoulder,’ said Malfoy.

Harry snatched it off, and smoothed down his floury apron. ‘All part of the… look,’ he muttered, his cheeks hot.

‘Diligent househusband?’ said Malfoy lightly.

‘Something wrong with that?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Glad we’re agreed. But you know that I do in fact work for a living. I think your family have seen me in a professional capacity.’

‘Well, my parents have, certainly, thank you for bringing that up,’ said Malfoy, the edge in his voice as sharp as Harry felt he probably deserved for the jibe. He could not bring himself to feign an apology, however, so simply let the silence continue for some time, looking down at the dark red wine in his glass. At last, Malfoy cleared his throat. ‘If… if you all still need to eat I can go - Scorpius and Al can floo back later, once you’re all done.’

Yep, Harry wanted to say. Good idea, you do that, bye.

‘Please don’t feel you need to do that,’ he said politely instead. ‘We agreed the boys would spend the morning and lunch here, and that they’d go to you for the evening and tomorrow, we’ve taken up too much of your time with your son as it is.’

Malfoy nodded, still clearly irritated.

‘And - once they’re back,’ said Harry reluctantly, ‘we can see if they’d prefer to eat with us or take some food back to yours. I expect you’ve already eaten.’

‘Of course,’ said Malfoy. ‘Is it,’ he checked his watch, ‘gone three now.’

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort by sipping from his wine, and falling back into thick silence. By the fire, the enchanted nutcracker soldier burst into a merry tune and began dancing enthusiastically, as it was charmed to do every few minutes. Both men ignored it.

‘Just so you know,’ said Malfoy eventually. ‘I wasn’t, er… skulking by the gate.’

‘Oh, no I’m sure you weren’t-’

‘Your son came out just as I arrived and I was checking my watch-’

‘Please ignore his comment, he just likes to wind people up-’

‘So I’ve heard.’

‘He’s not doing it to be mean,’ said Harry defensively.

‘I’m sure, not what I meant to imply,’ said Malfoy swiftly.

‘He just likes a laugh.’

‘Yes.’ Malfoy cleared his throat. ‘So does my son.’

‘He does, yes,’ agreed Harry. ‘Very confident, charming…’ Once again, thought Harry, he deserved another Order of Merlin for not adding ‘unlike you’. Malfoy simply nodded in response, and they both drank from their glasses far longer than necessary.

‘Wow, it’s so loud in here,’ said James, as he entered the room a painfully long ten minutes of silence later. For maximum effect, he leant back and grimaced as though he had walked into a heavy metal concert. ‘Don’t you two ever shut up?’

Both Harry and Malfoy stared at him. This did not seem to phase James at all; he called over his shoulder to the kitchen. ‘Hurry up, you two!’

Moments later, Al and Scorpius walked in, stopped dead at the sight of Harry and Malfoy, and burst into fits of laughter.

‘What are you doing here?’ Scorpius asked his father.

‘Are you both having a nice time?’ asked Al. ‘How long have you both been in here?’

‘All right…’ said Harry wearily. Scorpius was actually wiping at his eyes as he spluttered through his laughter.

‘James told us dinner was finally ready,’ Al said.

‘It’s not,’ said Malfoy flatly.

‘It nearly is,’ said Harry hurriedly.

‘Seven minutes!’ shouted Ginny from the kitchen.

‘You have a decision to make, boys,’ said Malfoy authoritatively. ‘Either you stay here for your Christmas dinner or you come home with me as was the prior agreement. Mr Potter has suggested that you take some food with you.’

‘How about you join us for Christmas dinner, Mr Malfoy?’ asked James innocently, causing Scorpius to let out a scream of laughter and Al to nearly bend double, his shoulders shaking.

‘I’ve already eaten,’ said Malfoy. ‘And I don’t wish to impose any further. I’m perfectly happy with whatever you choose, boys.’

They seemed to collect themselves, the laughter fading away in little bursts. ‘Are… Granny and Grandpa still there?’ asked Scorpius.

Malfoy hesitated, and to Harry’s astonishment, he glanced to him, the way one would seeking reassurance. ‘No,’ he said, with great gentleness. ‘No, they’ve gone home.’

Scorpius nodded slowly, and his usual easy, bright smile was now rather forced. ‘Sure. All right. Safe to come home then.’

‘Always safe,’ said Malfoy. Scorpius hummed, and then looked at Al, who looked back.

Harry, sensing that the conversation would be too awkward to have in front of parents, rose, seizing his glass. ‘Can I get you more, Malfoy, while the boys make their decision?’

‘Oh, no thank you,’ said Malfoy, missing Harry’s intention altogether. He tried to give him an exasperated look to hint further, but Malfoy’s eyes were fixed on his son.

Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Harry left the room and went through to the kitchen to help Ginny with the last of the dinner, James following. Lily was there too, spooning brussel sprouts into a serving dish.

‘Well?’ Ginny asked.

‘They’re making their minds up,’ said Harry. ‘Want me to carve up?’

‘Please.’

‘Will you at least try my nut roast, Dad? You might prefer it-’

‘I try it every year, Lily, it’s very nice. Not as nice as turkey.’

‘More ethical-’

‘Lily, Dad’s a soft target and you’ve still not convinced him,’ said James. ‘Give up.’

‘Aunt Hermione says-’

‘You’ve not convinced her, either.’

Albus entered the room, looking rather sheepish. Harry knew what he was going to say before he said it.

‘Do you mind if Scorpius and I take a few bits and go? We won’t take a lot, Mr Malfoy says he has loads left over and cheese and stuff.’

It would be their first Christmas dinner without Albus. Without any of their children. The thought of it quietly devastated Harry. He wanted to scream and shout - could Malfoy not wait another bloody hour? Could they not stay just a little longer? The food was ready now.

‘It’s just…’ continued Albus meekly, ‘Mr Malfoy… if he goes home now without us he’ll be on his own, now his parents have gone home…’

‘Have they definitely gone?’ asked Harry abruptly. ‘Because that was - you know our condition, we’re not sending you to spend time with Death Eaters.’

‘They’re definitely gone,’ said Albus. ‘You know, after what happened last year on the cliffs… they’ve not exactly come to terms with the gay thing, let alone me being that gay thing, so to speak.’

Harry sighed, continuing to carve the turkey. He felt Ginny’s hand on his back, she had come to stand beside him.

‘Are you sure you couldn’t both eat with us, Al?’ Ginny asked pleadingly. ‘The plan was for you both to eat with us and then spend the evening-’

‘I know, but…’

Harry understood. ‘We weren’t on time,’ he muttered bitterly.

Al looked guilty, and Harry deeply appreciated it as he said, ‘it’s no one’s fault. None of us - not even Mr Malfoy - are annoyed or anything, it’s just… I don’t like the thought of him being on his own…’

Harry looked at Ginny. She gave a wry smile. ‘Why don’t we ask Mr Malfoy if he wants to stay for dinner? Wouldn’t be at all frosty or awkward.’

‘James already made that joke,’ he said warmly. He looked back at Al. ‘He’d be completely alone if he went back now?’

‘Yeah,’ said Al. ‘And I don’t get the impression he had a great Christmas dinner with his own parents.’

Harry nodded, sought one last look of reassurance from Ginny, and said, ‘OK. Can’t really argue with that, especially when we’ve been so late.’

Al beamed at him; they had come such a long way, the pair of them. Harry was quite sure that just a year or two previously this would have caused an argument of huge proportions.

‘Let’s carry all this through,’ said Ginny, ‘the pair of you make up your plates and then take them to go.’

They did so, Malfoy standing to one side and watching as they piled their plates high.

‘Take another Yorkshire, Scorpius, go on,’ said Ginny. ‘Al, I can’t remember, do you like braised cabbage?’

‘No - I’ll have some of those carrots though.’

‘This turkey’s still pink in the middle,’ said James, then snickered as Harry checked it with sheer panic.

‘That’s not funny - it’s fine.’

‘Scorpius, white or dark meat?’ Ginny asked. ‘James has bagsied a leg, but the other one’s still-’

‘Oh, no, I’ll have some of the breast meat, thanks-’

‘Thank you,’ said a quiet voice to Harry. He turned. Malfoy was beside him, still unable to look him in the face, but clearly reluctantly speaking to him. ‘I’m sorry to intrude on your family Christmas and pull Albus away.’

‘Not at all,’ said Harry.

‘It’s a hard time of the year,’ said Malfoy stiffly. ‘For some people,’ he added, rather forcefully. ‘I - my apologies if it’s made things difficult for you-’

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Harry swiftly. He had no desire for a heart to heart with Draco Malfoy of all people. ‘My apologies for being so late with the Christmas lunch.’

The boys’ plates were now so high that it felt ludicrous, and Ginny had to concede defeat on plying them with more food. She waved her wand so that tin foil covered the plates as the boys held them, and gave another jab of her wand up to the ceiling. Harry heard the suitcases clunk clumsily down the stairs and wait by the front door.

‘If you didn’t pack properly like I asked, that’s your problem,’ she said, as she gave Albus a tight, squeezing hug and a kiss on the cheek.

‘We did!’ Albus assured her.

‘Remember we’re at Nana and Grandad’s tomorrow, probably going to stay overnight.’

‘OK, send them my love.’

She embraced Scorpius next. ‘Did you remember your present from me and Harry?’

‘Oh, nearly forgot! Dad, hold this-’ Scorpius shoved the plate into his father’s hands, and raced from the room.

‘You got him a present?’ Malfoy asked, his pointed face slightly softened with surprise.

‘Of course,’ said Harry. ‘He’s very welcome.’

Scorpius returned with the selection of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products and chocolates Harry and Ginny had gifted him tucked under his arm, and took the plate back from his father. With a last few goodbyes, Harry watched them through the dining room window as they walked down his driveway, through the large wooden gate, and vanished on the deserted lane.

‘Come on, stop moping,’ said James. ‘Your food’s getting cold.’

Harry turned, and joined the rest of his family at the table, where they toasted, and then pulled their crackers. Harry donned his hat; a rather extravagant fascinator. Ginny passed him the gravy. ‘I wasn’t moping,’ Harry told James. ‘Just annoyed with myself for getting the timings wrong. Though I think if you lot had got out of bed and showered quicker that would have helped too.’

‘And if Al and Scorpius had come and helped with dinner prep instead of going for a walk,’ added Lily.

‘And if the planets had aligned and we’d won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Draw and all that,’ said Ginny airily. ‘No point in fussing.’ She reached out and grasped Harry’s hand. ‘It was the right thing to do. He’s not had an easy time of it.’

‘Still think we should have made him stay,’ said James. ‘Love an awkward guest. Let’s invite Dawlish next year.’

‘Yes, you made that clear,’ said Harry.

‘It’s our turn to go to The Burrow next year, along with the Granger-Weasleys,’ said Ginny. ‘Anyway, what’s Christmas without an awkward guest or unwelcome relative? God, the Christmases we went through with Muriel… or that cousin on my Dad’s side who went a bit funny and ended up becoming an accountant, we had a horrible Christmas with him.’

‘What?’ asked Lily, bewildered.

‘Have I never told you? Oh, he was ridiculous, such an odd man - Dad always said it was a potion accident, but your Uncle George and Fred always said it was more like potion abuse-’

Harry’s mind had wandered. For some reason, perhaps it was the brandy Malfoy had been drinking, he was thinking once more of that Christmas where Aunt Marge had swirled the glass, smacking her lips. ‘There you go, my little nephy-poo,’ she’d squealed at Dudley, as she’d handed over his present. Harry had watched, eyes round with awe, as Dudley unwrapped a toy robot. The box said that it really moved, walked around the room, even responded to commands.

Then, to Harry’s astonishment, Marge thrusted a gift at him, too. He looked up at her in disbelief, but she was already turning back to Dudley, who was throwing a tantrum because Uncle Vernon could not find AAA batteries for the robot. With numb fingers, he very gently unwrapped the present.

WINALOT, the box said, right at the top. A happy looking bulldog seemed to smile on the front. KEEPS YOUR DOG FIT, NOT FAT.

In hindsight, Harry could generously suppose she had got him something but that she was the type of woman to also get her dogs Christmas presents, and take the time to wrap them. Perhaps it had been a mistake. No doubt he had not meant to receive something along the lines of a toy robot, but perhaps she had intended to give him at least something as a gesture. It did not matter. At that age, after his seven years of experience with the Dursleys, he had said thank you in a small voice, and taken the dog biscuits to his cupboard, where he stayed for as much of the rest of the day as he could.

For Harry knew full well what it was like to be an unwelcome guest, an awkward relative, an unwanted presence at Christmas. He had not wanted that for Scorpius, but nor had he wanted it for Malfoy either, as much as he detested him. He knew too, what it was like to feel lonely at Christmas, to feel grief more strongly at a time where forced cheer was in the air, to feel ostracised by those around him. Perhaps it had been the world’s most awkward drink, but it had felt important to offer it.

Suddenly, having his son miss the latter half of the day didn’t feel as devastating.

‘Dad,’ said Lily suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘Dad, try some of my nut roast.’

‘All right,’ said Harry, as James groaned dramatically.

‘Lily! Give! Up!’

‘Never!’ she cried. ‘After Christmas, I’m going to campaign the house elves at school-’

‘I’m going to tell Aunt Hermione you’re giving them more work,’ said James quickly.

As they bickered, Ginny leant closer to Harry. ‘We��re lucky, aren’t we?’ she murmured. ‘That we have so many people we want at Christmas dinner with us.’

He smiled at her. ‘Certainly are.’

#submission #ttb yule bash 2022 #harry potter #ginny weasley #draco malfoy #albus severus potter #scorpius malfoy #next gen #post-epilogue

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kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings · 2 years

Note

Hello, can I request Kyojuro with an s/o after the Mugen Train Arc and their life after. Could be them doing Kankagari.

Hi there Anon! Honestly thank you for requesting something with the potential to make it fluffy!!

Also I love Kyojuro, sooooooooo........yeah!

I had fun writing this one anon, I hope you don’t mind a oneshot instead of headcannons etc. (￣∀￣) heh, opps?

Anyway! Everythings under the line so it doesn’t take too much of your screens + time up when scrolling

Title: Fluttering Flame - Rengoku Kyojuro x (FEM) Reader

Word-count: 1283 WORDS

Warnings: None - That I can think off?

You could remember the day that your husband set off on a mission, having packed him a bento and sweets and let him set off with a kiss and a whispered “Come back safe Kyojuro” falling easily from your lips.

You and your brother-in-law had watched him until he had walked out of sight, an awful churning in your stomach as his blonde hair disappeared – haori not even leaving a flutter left – watched as he set off for one of the longest missions that month….

Time past in a blur, days turning into weeks and the awful feeling grew longer before his crow came calling followed by a weeping Mitsuri Kanroji at the door – her hug making your ribs creak as she buried her face into your shoulder drool, snot and tears wetting your kimono – wailing words of worry as she already began to partially drag you out of the door to go to the butterfly estate (You barely managed to grab your katana or haori…..).

Senjuro sending you off with tears streaking down his face, broom clutched tightly between his worn hands – knuckles having gone white beneath the force of his grip – while Shinjuro remained uncharacteristically quiet, alcohol bottle lowered as he calmed Kyo’s crow.

Time blurred, faces blurred, and words blurred, nothing made sense as your heart thumped a screaming chorus in your ears, Mitsuri’s grip and Shinobu’s words didn’t make sense simply washing over you and muted beneath your hearts pain.

Kyojuro laid there.

Bandages wrapped from the left side of his face down to his chest, feint splodges of blood stained and even so injured he looked beautiful.

Tears fell hotly and the candle on is bedside flickered and flickered.

Just as quickly as those memories came, they disappeared with the flickering of the torch in front of you.

The doors remained tightly shut, all cracks sealed up and windows carefully blocked from letting in any natural light. The room was quiet and sparse of any decoration’s that it usually held, to any normal person it would have felt ominous, and they’d have been put on edge, but luckily enough for you, you were used to it having to enter twice a week for two hours.

Flames flickered and danced across the floors and walls, warm tones searing themselves into your very being as you watched the torch.

Watched and watched and watched until its flame danced imprinted on your eyelids.

You blinked languidly.

Form still kneeling with a giant cushion supporting your knees from the polished floors – and from aching too badly - with a blanket draped over your shoulders, you were the picture of comfort.

A yawn passing your lips as you raised your hand to cover your mouth, a habit that wasn’t currently needed seeing as you were by yourself, well….

Not entirely.

The baby inside of you kept you company.

The baby who was a product of Kyojuro’s and yours love, nestled and growing so strongly in your tummy.

Who would have his hair and eyes – “And Your personality my love!” Kyojuro said with a laugh, arms folded over his chest as you tended to his scarred back

A smile curved your lips as you ran a hand gently over the still forming bump of your baby, tuneless humming echoing through the room as the torch’s flame danced in a rhythm of unknown origin.

Time was non-existent in this room.

But you weren’t really bothered, rather happy – and filled with a sense of loving pride – at being able to spend time with your developing baby in the quite stillness of your husband’s family ritual – part of his family’s history.

“(Y/N)? My love?” Kyojuro’s voice was gentle as it came through the closed door “May I come in?”

You hummed quietly, gaze never leaving the flame as you spoke,

“Has it been two hours already?”

Kyojuro’s warm laugh made its way pleasantly through the door’s foundation,

“Yes, it has my love,” His voice soft and mellow like honey “May I come in then?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, hand poised to cover your mouth,

“Of course, Kyo!”

The sliding door opened with a gentle but solid push; a cooling breeze flushed against you as Kyouro carefully padded over to you – the subtle tapping of his cane along with his steps – a warm look of love probably already crossing his scarred face.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked away the flames behind your eyelids as you finally turned to him, looking up with a tired smile,

“Kyo, my love,” You cooed, taking hold of the hand he offered so you could stand “You know, you didn’t have to ask… you could have just come in!”

Kyojuro’s eye stared at you with a certain gentleness - a smile tugging his lips up to show off pearly canine’s – taking you all in as a hum rumbled through his chest, before replying softly,

“I know, I know… but I just felt it right to ask instead of barging in….”

Your husband had always been so considerate…

A small sigh escaped your lips as you shook your head, laughter practically threatening to bubble up and explode out of you at his cute and rather puppy-like response.

But you simply looped your arm with his, a small “Ah!” leaving your lips as you grabbed the torch and started making your way out of the room in slow and steady steps.

Kyojuro smiled down at you.

Before something seemed to come over him and caused the concerned new expecting father mode to come over him – as well as the “My wife is fragile and is carrying our child and if anything is wrong or I think anything might harm her, god dammit I’ll kill everything in my path until she’s safe and sound” mode…

“Careful of your eyes (Y/N),” He fussed, making sure to leave the room first, casting a subtle shadow over you before leading you out into the evening light “I don’t want you harmed…”

You hummed with a smile, tiredness clouding your brain in a crashing wave of haze,

“I’ll be fine my lovely husband,” you yawned “Just tired and hungry and ready to sleep in your arms tonight”

Every time you blinked, the torches flickering dance still shimmered in the brief darkness and Kyojuro’s warmth remained strong beside you, helped ground you to the cooling evening and the tenderness of his love.

You remained smiling gently, walking slowly and steadily, listening to Kyojuro fuss as the smell of food wafted from the kitchen – The form of Senjuro moving with practised ease as Shinjuro sat waiting on the engawa outside – and Kyojuro’s fussing quietened when hearing your rumbling stomach.

A well-timed cough hid the laugh that escaped your lips as Kyojuro fussed even more – thinly veiled worry lurked in his eye and in the small furrow of his brow.

Shinjuro simply chuckled dryly at his eldest’s fussing, moving with purposeful steps to meet both of you half-way something softening the harsh contours of his face as he took the torch from your hand, signalling with his head towards the kitchen,

“Kyojuro,” He warned lightly “(Y/N)’s simply hungry, give her a rest from your mothering…..”

You didn’t really hear Kyojuro’s response, too busy giggling at the terms Shinjuro used and the softness he showed

This was what Kyojuro would have missed if he’d passed, if he’d not fought with his bright stubbornness, the developing baby, the warmth of a fixing family and the continuous love from you that you drowned him with whenever you had the chance.

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scorpsik · 1 year

Text

Fic: All The Better To See You With

Written LIIIIIVE to the board for @travelling-light Thank you for the prompt xxxx

psst.... @leftoverenvy ... :)

I hope you like it xxxx Em, BAU team, aging, humour...

All The Better To See You With

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit.”

Emily Prentiss cursed and glanced out of her office window. The rest of the team were already making their way to the briefing room and she had to get moving too. She chewed at her lip and looked at IT sat on her desk, debating whether or not to actually pick IT up this time. The last three meetings she left IT tucked in a drawer and spent the rest of the day massaging the bridge of her nose trying to rid herself of the headache.

Damn headaches. They’d been coming for a while, and when aspirin and/or wine wouldn’t do the trick, she’d seen a doctor and he’d said….

She exhaled.

He’d said that… she needed….

No. Nonononono.

It had taken all of her courage to go grey. If it weren’t for lockdown, she’d still be dying it every week, still be staring out at people from underneath her safe, black blanket of hair. But she did it. And yes, she had been absolutely terrified of stepping out back at work, afraid of the jibes and ribbing that she was SURE would becoming her way… jokes about her being old and… fuck it, being ‘old’ was pretty much as bad as it got.

She’d perhaps always been a tiny bit vain. Ian Doyle stabbed and burned much of her vanity away, but her hair? It was her protection for a long, long time. And she shed it and stepped out into the world and much to her surprise, she received only compliments from those that knew her and she thought that maybe those insecurities that had dogged her since she was a teenager might just have gone away for ever.

But Hello, here they were again in the form of a small box sitting on her desk.

She really should be heading into the briefing room. Shit, he mind was racing, thoughts of IT erasing the details of the case they were due to investigate.

She stared at the box. God, she really didn’t want to spend another meeting trying not to squint and the rest of the evening pretending her head wasn’t pounding.

“Jesus Prentiss just do it!” she ordered herself, picking IT up and shoving it into her suit pocket before jogging out of her office to join the others round the table.

“Hey Baws.” Luke greeted, seeing her first.

She nodded and sat at her spot, glancing around the small group; Luke, JJ, Tara and Rossi.

Her friends.

Although her mind pictured Derek, lounging at the far end, his eyes teasing her like they always did. In her illusion, he hadn’t aged a day – still that boyish smile, still a body that Adonis would kill for. And he was grinning at her, his eyebrows raised, daring her to take IT out of her pocket. Waiting to gently rib her about IT.

“Ohmigod, you’re here!” Penelope trilled, trotting in to the room, looking slightly flustered like she always did. “Right crime fighters, have I got a doozey for you. And by doozey I mean sick and twisted and God-don’t-make-me-look-at-the-screen awfulness.” She paused as everyone opened their tablets and stared at the images on the screen.

“Hey look at that.” Tara said. “On the wall behind the victim.”

Emily stared at the blur on her screen. She could see there was a body and blood; there was a pink splodge on her screen surrounded by a red splodge. But writing? Shit, she couldn’t even see the fucking WALL let alone th writing! She was just deciding that Tara must have supersonic vision, when everyone else agreed and started to launch into a debate on what it could mean.

And then, worse, they turned to her.

“What do you think, Emily?” Rossi asked.

“Uhm… Yeah. I think… uhm… yeah.” She continued to stare at the screen, willing the splodges to morph into something clearer.

“But the wording.” JJ said. “The letters don’t make sense.”

She had no choice. She pulled IT out of her pocket, coughing awkwardly and waiting until everyone’s eyes were on their own tablets, before popping the case and slipping THEM on.

And instantly, the screen came to life! She saw a young blond woman, she saw the injuries – she saw the fucking wall. And the words. “Oh, that’s the Cryllic alphabet.” She said instantly. “The letters are similar to look at but they sounds are different.”

Everyone turned to look at her, and Penelope’s excited screech tore through the room.

“GLASSES! Oh God you look so CUTE!!” she squealed.

Emily blushed and went to take them off, but JJ caught her hand.

With a chuckle, she asked “Glasses, Em? How long have you had them?”

“Uhm… a few weeks. Maybe.”

“And you haven’t worn them?” Tara grinned.

“I, uh…” she could feel her cheeks blushing.

“You look SOOOO good.” Penelope insisted, watching as Emily peered back at her through absolutely DARLING clear frames. “OH EM GEE! We can swap frames! I have SOOO many frames that….”

Dave laughed. “I think perhaps Emily’s rather discrete frames are best for this side of the job.”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, you don’t wanna be talking to grieving relatives with unicorn sparkly frames, right?”

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him and hissed “*I* am a grief counsellor and *I* wear my sparkly unicorn frames.”

Luke swallowed and winced.

“Why were you embarrassed to wear them?” JJ asked.

Emily shrugged. “You know. Derek would say that –“

“He’d say you looked beautiful. Which would be true.” Dave assured her. “And you’re not allowed to argue with me Prentiss, because I am older and wiser than the lot of you.”

Emily couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips as she pushed the glasses a little higher onto her nose.

#travelling-light #leftoverenvy #emily prentiss #glasses #criminal minds #fanfic

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toxapex-zone · 1 year

Note

Splodge!!!!!! Your oc designs looks very cool, do you have a particular design process for them?

Awww thank you!! Just a warning that there’s major design spoilers for some of the important Scarlet/Violet Pokémon under the cut, although no story spoilers!

It does depend on whether I’ve had a certain idea in mind before starting the drawing, or if it’s something I’ve come up with during - sometimes I’ll know what an OC is like before I start drawing them, or if I’m just in the mood to draw a certain Pokémon, and I’ve grown attached during it! I’ll get some examples!

For example, these are all OC’s who I’ve had an idea of before I started drawing!

The Banette’s current design is actually a redesign of a much older initial first design - scars became patches, the bow became much more pronounced, and I actually started incorporating her lore (the needles) into her design!

I knew what I wanted to do with the other’s design from the start as well -> a Decidueye/Yveltal hybrid, and a Carbink that has mutated into a Diance!

Often if I have an idea for an OC, but I want to test it out first, I’ll save the official art and start drawing on that!

For example, these are a couple of ideas I’ve had for one of my OC’s Nova/the Homunculus - a brief summary of them is that they’re a witch’s failed attempt to bring her dead boyfriend back to life. Once it becomes obvious to the witch that she’s failed, she abandons them - Nova does not take this well, and oscillates between utterly heartbroken and completely pissed.

Keeping that in mind, I thought ‘wouldn’t it make sense if they had tear scars?’ as both Ceruledge & Armarouge are fire types, and are made of coal, so with how much they’ve cried it could easily have scarred them!

If I don’t have an idea for an OC design going in though, or I just start drawing a Pokémon? It’s a mixed bag - I tend to go off model a lot less, most often just adding accessories or minor changes, but it’s pretty fun when I just want to draw!

For example - none of these designs are particularly daring; the Nuzleaf simply has some gloves and a scarf, the Tinkaton is wearing a necklace and her hair is styled slightly different, and the Flutter Mane has a mix of their regular and shiny colours, as well as one of their eye colours reversed!

Still, there’s something about these simpler designs that I do absolutely love, both during the process and execution!

I hope this answered your ask pretty well!

#pokemon #but yeah; the process I use does change if I have a visual image in my head already!#otherwise it’s just sketching out my little dude first and then fucking around and try and make them a little unique!

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casitafallz-a · 2 years

Photo

Fall From Grace | P3 | Pariah Julieta’s start

“She’s the divergence point.”

“I figured. Julieta never winds herself up in that situation without a reason, let alone 24 miles away from Encanto.”

The voices were hushed but Julieta woke to them first before she really felt the weight of her body return to her presence of mind. Her mind clouded in darkness, barely light touching through her eyelids.

Warmth pressed around her, soothing against the delicate areas under her back where some of the aches were most present, lingering a stinging sensation at the base of her skull. Her arms and feet felt like led…or as if someone had restrained them to the surface bellow. Pain throbbed at the base of her feet each beat of her heart.

Her throat no longer had the same dryness but new pangs seemed to rise through her gut, very different to her longing for water. Julieta dimly realised she had forgotten about food in the desperation for water. As her stomach growled, it was accompanied by pain through her abdomen, much higher than the lingering pain further down that ached differently.

Either way, enough to make her groan out.

“She’s awake.” Mirabel’s voice echoed before suddenly light seemed to press against her eyelids as the sound of fabric seemed to flutter suddenly. “We’ve given you some water through an IV since…well you clearly needed it and it looks like you’re hydration levels are more acceptable. You’ve been quite battered so you’re feeling that.”

It took a lot of effort to move, rolling her head away from the light, mirabel’s sound echoing through her brain.

“Ow.”

“Step back, Wanderer. It’s been four hours. She’d barely going to follow anything your saying.” The voice echoed rang a bell, one that made her frown but couldn’t open her eyes to see…

“Pe…Pepa?”

The woman sighed. “Of course she picks up on me.” There was a dull thump before the sounds of steps echo before Pepa tittered and two steps moves back.

Julieta rolled her head, groaning as pain ran down her skull and down her spine but she forced herself to keep going, eyes fluttering until she finally peeked through her lashes to see the face of her triplet leaning over her.

Only… Pepa looked so different.

Orange curls were in it’s usual braid. Once warm green eyes had become prominent purple hues with a cool distance in them which was very confusing.. Julieta frowned softly, hazily noticing that…the woman was wearing very weird clothing and two highly coloured, blue and yellowish bracers on each of her wrists with two purple gems on each one’s centre.

Julieta wanted to reach up, to see more closely but she couldn’t find the will to move.

“I am not your sister, Julieta. It’s…complicated.”

“She’s seen two of already.”

“That opens more questions than answers, dear.” Pepa spoke, turning towards Mirabel’s voice. “She’s went from drowning to…well us.”

Mirabel snorted. “I’ll get the Arepa. That should speed up the process.”

Pepa turned back to her. “Don’t panic. I’m just sitting you up.”

“I heard.” Julieta mumbled out, last thing she wanted was to choke… she swallowed as she felt the vague sensation in her throat; the inability to breath. Her hand came to her chest, feeling her chest rise and fall a comfort as she heard something unzip before Pepa lent towards her.

Julieta tried to help, slumping weakly into her side, the woman quick to support her, an arm slipping under her and pressing against her ribs that ached in particular spots. A glance down showed she was…in some sort of sleeveless nightgown, through the fuzz even she could see the purple splodges and tiny scratches at her skin.

Looking around, her hazy gaze noted the small set up of a sleeping bag she had been in, a few bags but there was a lot of…machinery she saw.

The figure of Mirabel swam into focus but Julieta found herself staring in confusion to this glasses-less version of her daughter to…the one that simply had her long mass of curls tied back who was looking through one of her bags before pulling out a paper bag.

“Okay, got them!” she declared, opening it and Julieta flinched as it was suddenly shoved into her face.

“Hold it, Wanderer.” Pepa pulled her hand back, “Let me.”

“I can do it.”

“Be civilised then.”

The Mirabel glowered then blew a raspberry then handed her the entire bag.

Julieta’s stomach growled painfully again, turning her focus away from her double-daughter confusion to the bag; her mouth-watering but it only took a few mouthfuls before the whole arepa was done a second one was handed and it took nearly all her energy to not scoff down quicker; not wanting to choke the prime reason at the forefront of her mind.

All too toon the bag was pulled away, leaving Julieta to whine out.

“Not too much at one time.” Pepa tisked softly. “let your body digest what it has first then we’ll give you more.”

The fact she was a healer, Julieta didn’t disagree with the logic but the starving-human part of her wanted more; to feel her belly full.

“What do we do with her now?” Mirabels, the one without glasses asked, “Leave her? Send her back?”

The Mirabel with her glasses rolled her eyes, taking a seat.

“We could take her with us?”

Both Pepa and the other Mirabel snorted as if to say ‘really?’

Julieta felt mildly insulted, but she knew she was deadweight in her current condition; she literally couldn’t look after herself and that was…embarrassing. The food though, she could feel her mind sharpening up, processing more of the weird doubles of her family.

“Look, we all can’t just appear back in her Encanto. Leaving her will… just kill her. The woman’s still half-dead so I don’t think her chances are any better than her forced bath-time out there.” Nodding to the riverside. “It might take some recovery time and…the fact your mother’s food hasn’t healed her opens up questions…”

“What?”

Both Mirabel and Pepa seemed to look at her, before the other Mirabel lent forwards and pulled her arm into sight. Julieta hissed out, the muscles burning under her skin which were looking far more horrendous as ever in her cleared-vision.

“Ow.”

“I thought Watcher Julieta’s food is more powerful than the other Julieta’s food.”

“It is.” The glassesless one spoke, tracing one of the bruises with a curious look, “Why aren’t you healing?!”

Julieta licked her lips. “My food….doesn’t work on me.”

The glassessless Mirabel sat back, nose wrinking. “I did not see that coming.”

“Ironic, for a Watcher.” Pepa sniped, earning a sharp look.

“What… what’s going on?” Julieta spoke up this time, licking her lips again, “Why… do you…look the same? Why…like my family?”

Both Mirabel’s look to each other then to Pepa before she felt her odd-sister inhaled deeply.

“We’re from different versions of Encanto. When we make choices that differ from each other, a new world is created. I am Pepa Madrigal, but from a world where I lost my ability to feel, thus my gift and so I left a few weeks after Antonio was born. If I had to guess, your Pepa Madrigal is still in Encanto.”

Julieta felt like her mind was spinning with new information but…she could follow the train of logic but there was a lot of things missing.

“I think you’re leaving out a few crustal aspects, Hallow.” The glassessless Mira spoke.

“Irrelevant right now. I don’t want to overwhelm her more than she already is.”

Julieta gestured to the other two tiredly, “how…you to different?”

“My world got….deleted.” The one with glasses spoke, her face falling. “My….family are scattered throughout the worlds. You can call me Wanderer Mirabel, or just Wanderer; we all get a nickname depending on the divergences. This Pepa is called Hallow”

“I’m Watcher Mirabel.” The glassesless Mirabel spoke next swiftly; impatiently “My world is…like a hub for travellers like us. We travel the Multiverse of Encanto’s, for fun mostly but it’s typical to catalogue worlds if we need to quarantine it from interference or recommend deletion, or to see how magic interacts with the choices made; or just explore. We can’t have too many people traveling constantly through the Encanto’s; it’s disruptive.”

Julieta wanted to think was all part of some fevered dream, that the toll of her travels were playing tricks on her mind and she was really dying on the forest floor somewhere, or this was some sort of purgatory.

But she drew a line that…. Not even her subconscious would draw up anything to do with…other Encantos; the thought could never had occurred to her before; too crazy to be a figment of her imagination.

“Sounds…crazy.” But not impossible. Magic did exist so who was she to dismiss this either. “What do you plan…to do with me?”

“We’ll, you’re going to have to heal naturally which will take a few days. If we leave you here, you’re dead. We could take you closer to your Encanto be to found, but that doesn’t change much for you.” Wanderer spoke up, elbowing Watcher sharply, “If Watcher agrees, you could come with us? You’d…still take a while to heal but I think…you’re up for more in life than where you come from.”

“Wanderer, we don’t know how she’s divergent from the original universe.”

“So? Clearly she’s out here for a reason.”

The two began to bicker back and forth faster than Julieta could follow so she settled her head back onto her Alternate sister’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as she weighed her options.

She was exhausted; her body ached her for to go back to sleep; to rest and feel better now she had food in her. Would they wake her or leave her to sleep before they made their choices.

Staying, no—going to Encanto was her only way to live in that scenario. She couldn’t find her way back; she didn’t want to die out here. What would she be returning to?

Julieta could almost picture the family’s reaction; they’d keep her in casita. Nurse her back to health and worry. But… would she even be trusted to leave Casita again? Would they...think she did this on purpose or that she intended to…die? Her heart clenched at the thought. Would she be allowed to be alone again?

Did she lose all their trust in her now?

That was just her family.

The entire Encanto would know; god only new the gossip that came if one person thought she was suicidal then… that’d spread. Julieta could imagine the looks already and it made her queasy. She’d never live this down.

What sort of a life was that?

“I… I can’t stay here.” She mumbled, feeling the ebbs of sleep tugging at her. “Not… not this Encanto…” though she couldn’t say much more before fate decided it was time for her to rest before she succumbed to her body’s needs.

#pariah au #julieta madrigal #pariah julieta #encanto #encanto au #pepa madrigal #la familia madrigal #mirabel madrigal #wanderer mirabel #watcher mirabel #pariah madrgials #hallow pepa #drabble

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whumping-seven-days-a-week · 2 years

Text

A Little Out of the Ordinary

This wasn’t supposed to happen-

[whumpee] sat on the small park bench, dodging the splodge of bird poo in the middle.

The moon and stars were masked by the grey fog of clouds leaving a night, illuminated only by the street lights. They shifted their weight, bringing a finger to their cheek to wipe away the tears dripping down.

It’s not like they wanted to be out this late, it just kind of… happened. They got into a fight, their first bad fight with [caretaker].

Another tear dribbled it’s way down [whumpee]’s cheek. They didn’t mean to make [caretaker] upset, they’ve just been kind of short-tempered after starting their new job, early mornings and a shitty boss.

A stranger slumped down next to them, tapping away at their phone. It lit up the night and [whumpee] just couldn’t help but take a peek… The stranger looked over and [whumpee] quickly averted their gaze back to a pigeon in the distance.

“You okay?” The stranger asked gruffly. [whumpee] turned their head slowly to look at them, tears staining their face.

“Sorry, a- are you talking to me?” [whumpee] stuttered.

“Yes, I see you’ve been crying.” the stranger replied. For the first time, [whumpee] took a proper look at their appearance. Straight, black hair, a cruel though somehow comforting smile played across their face. Their eyes were a crystal blue, filled with understanding yet also something unknown- something deadly.

“I-I got into a fight with my partner, b-but y’know, I should probably head back.” They mumbled slowly rising from their seat. They were getting a bad vibe from whoever this was. “I- uh, nice talking?” They finished, wiping the fresh tears from their cheeks.

“Why don’t you stay?” They smiled, but it was not a kind smile, it was one filled with malice and hunger.

“I-I,” [whumpee] furrowed their brows as they tried to read with person. What did they want? “Sorry, I need to go.”

A firm hand grabbed their wrist and [whumpee] flinched in terror. The stranger rose from the bench and swiftly stood beside [whumpee] pressing a knife to their throat. “I expect you to walk with me to my car and I expect you to do it quietly- understood?”

[whumpee] swallowed and gently nodded their head but inside, their mind was screaming. Their eyes darted side to side, desperately searching for an onlooker, someone to notice the situation, but only a never ending darkness surrounded them.

The stranger gripped [whumpee]’s shoulder and forced them into a slow walk. Their breath hitched as they were pulled into a tight embrace, restricting their movement further.

They concluded that if they were going to get out of this, it was going to be now. [whumpee] twisted the knife-holding arm to the side, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain before darting away down the path. They made it all the way to the gate by the road before looking back as their breath came in short panicked gasps.

They squinted, trying to make out the silhouette of the stranger as they held their hands on their hips, doubling over for air. [whumpee] was never much of a runner.

It didn’t seem as though they had come after [whumpee], so they calmed. The stillness of the night only lasted a couple of seconds and they felt a hand press over their mouth, silencing their screams as the bigger man jabbed a needle into [whumpee]’s neck.

“Sweet dreams.” They mocked, chuckling as [whumpee]’s knees buckled and they fell into a drug induced sleep in their arms.

#whumptober #whumptober 2022 #no 1 #this wasn’t supposed to happen #forced drugging #whumpblr

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prodigaldaughteralice · 2 years

Note

Had more random thoughts about your Indulgent Au with Creed in the human realm. I adore where the little snippet you gave us left off, complete chef’s kiss as a written piece, with their clear hesitance and trying to talk without having to say their traumas out loud. I love this Au just as much as the fic’s actual canon. But now I’m thinking of when they eventually get to introductions!

Now, maybe Creed and Hunter actually give their names without any prompting or maybe they don’t and Luz or one of the other’s start giving their name to fill one of the tense silences with something less charged. But the when Creed actually gives his name out loud, oh my god. There’s going to a second or so of Hunter’s mind processing before it hits him. Creed. Literally the only thing Darius told him of his predecessor was that name (and that he would be proud of him??) and the second the connection hits him all rational thought goes out the window and he slaps his hands on the table in surprise and just shouts, “CREED!” And gives nearly the whole table a heart attack.

(Not to mention, that in explaining himself for the outburst, Hunter mentioning Creed was Darius’s mentor to the others. Which opens the whole can of worms with the ‘Darius’ label on the front for both of them. With Creed who knew Belos intentions to kill everyone just in time to be separated to another realm and probably suffered his own survivors guilt and Hunter who can’t even answer if Darius is alive or not. Not sure which sequence of events happen in this Au so I’m sorta mashing together actual canon DoU and Forgone Conclusion canon DoU in my head)

Also, Luz getting Creed’s number to stay in touch (if not from Creed, then from the Hannah-Marie he mentioned). Creed getting somewhat pulled into the crew brainstorming to build a new portal). Luz texting him if a portal is ever fixed, regardless from which side it was fixed, and Creed immediately driving over but his therapy dog having to help him through an anxiety attack in the driveway because seeing the idea of seeing the demon realm is a hell of a lot to unpack.

Also, Camilla only knowing Creed vaguely as [insert therapy Doberman’s name]’s owner and not really by his actual name or appearance feels like a very veterinarian thing to happen and I love it. ~Novis_Trove

gawd I love all of this thank you omg.

I hadn't really thought about it before but there's a great opportunity with this AU to mirror Darius's lack of closure in WSIA canon; instead of Darius losing his beloved and having no one to talk to and not really knowing how it happened, Creed lost his beloved by running away and has no idea how he's doing-- and now that the kids are here, has the specific knowledge that He May Or May Not Be Dead. It's a lot to handle, especially after like a decade of the quiet human realm life.

god though I love that idea of Hunter just slamming his hands on the table like HOLY SHIT IT'S YOU. And then trying to explain to each other (and the other witchlings) what's going on, like, Creed and Darius called each other things like love and mine but how do you admit to these kids that the person you're talking about was your... boyfriend? does that word even work? And simultaneously, Darius is Hunter's closest thing to a real father figure but he certainly hasn't called him dad or anything, so there there going

"wait you know Darius how do you know him now is he"/ "he's my uh coworker who gave me a phone and I'm terrified he might be dead he said you two were close?"/ "yes we were uh. close."

there's so much meat here

And yeah damn, if a portal ever opened back up, which we gotta hope it will... the idea of going back? So fraught. And if Belos came through as a splodge of curse-phlegm like he did in canon, shit, how would THAT go when he finds out? That his previous Grimwalker, the one who escaped and left him having to find a new Galderstone for the replacement instead of getting to dismantle and reuse his, is hanging out in the human realm. With a dog. Chilling out.

And Hunter getting to talk with Creed about their experiences, about how Belos treated them both-- Hunter would probably feel ashamed he hadn't twigged to how flawed Belos was until he saw in his mind, and Creed could remind him that he hadn't figured that out yet at sixteen either-- and Creed never knew Belos's real motives, which Hunter does, so they both have information to share.

Thank you so much for this ask I love your thoughts on this and it's very exciting to get to think about it more to aaaaaaa

#novis trove #asks #pd alice writes #toh fic #owl house

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melisa-may-taylor72 · 3 years

Photo

QUEEN BEFORE QUEEN

THE 1960s RECORDINGS

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

PART 4:

THE OPPOSITION

JOHN DEACON WAS THE QUIETEST MEMBER OF A MIDLAND-BASED FIVE-PIECE WHOSE GREATEST AMBITION WAS TO PLAY ANOTHER GIG.

Initial research John S. Stuart. Additional research and text: Andy Davis.

John Deacon was the fourth and final member to join Queen. He became part of that regal household 25 years ago this month, enrolling as the band’s permanent bassist in February 1971. His acceptance marked the culmination of a six-year ‘career’ in music, much of which he spent in an amateur, Leicestershire covers band called the Opposition.

From 1965 until 1969, Deacon and his schoolmates ploughed a humble, local furrow in and around their Midlands hometown, reflecting the decade’s mercurial moodswing with a series of names, images and styles of music. The most remarkable fact about the Opposition was just how unremarkable the group actually was.

Collectively, they were an unambitious crew: undertaking precisely no trips down to London to woo A&R men; winning only one notable support slot for the army of chart bands who visited Leicester in the ‘60s (opening for Reperata & the Delrons in Melton Mowbray in 1968); and managing even to miss out on the option of sending a demo tape to any of the nation’s record labels. The band’s saving grace is its solé recorded legacy: a three-track acetate — although even this was done for purely private consumption, and has rarely been aired outside the confines of their inner circle.

It is perhaps indicative of the Opposition’s modest outlook that their most promising bid for stardom, a beat contest, was called off before they had the chance to play in the finals. For John Deacon and friends, it seems, merely being in a band was reward enough.

Considering of all of this, it’s easy to imagine the response to the following story, related in the ‘60s to one of the Opposition’s guitarists, Ronald Chester:...[ ]

...[ ] “There was a teacher who worked at Beauchamp School, which John attended, who told fortunes. They went to see her one Saturday and were told, ‘John Deacon is going to be world famous and very, very rich. Of course, they all fell about laughing. She was determined that this was going to happen. But they all thought it was a joke."

What particularly amused Deacon’s colleagues was the unlikeliness of this scenario, given the plain facts of his demeanour. John was born in Leicester in 1951, the product of affluent, middle-class, middle England. As a youngster, he was known to his friends as ‘Deaks’ and grew up to be quiet and reserved, what Mark Hodkinson referred to in ‘Queen — ‘The Early Years’ as “a ghost of a boy".

“He is basically shy,” confirms Richard Young, the Opposition’s first guitarist/vocalist, and later keyboardist. “I suppose he was quieter than the rest of us — but he was fairly static with Queen if you look at him on stage.”

Ron Chester agrees: “John was quiet by nature. His sister, Julie, was the same. Once he got going, though, he wasn’t any different from anybody else. But on first approach, you really had to coax him out of his shell. We’d have to pick him up. He couldn’t walk down the road to meet us."

CONFIDENT

Despite any lack of personal dynamics, Deacon was a capable teenager: “He was very confident," recalls another of the band’s guitarists, David Williams. “But in a laidback sort of way. He didn’t have a problem with anything. ‘Yeah, I can do that’, he’d say. We used to call him ‘Easy Deacon’, not because of any sexual preferences, but because he’d say something was easy without it sounding big-headed. I remember saying to him once, I’m going to have to knock off the gigs a bit to revise for my ‘A’ levels. What about you?’ ‘No’, he said, ‘I don’t need to. I’ve never failed an exam yet, and I’ve never revised for one’. Ultimately, he was just confident, with a phenomenally logical mind. If he couldn’t remember something, he could work it out. And, of course, he got stunning results.”

John’s earliest interest was electronics, which he studied into adulthood. He also went fishing, trainspotting even, with his father. Then music took over. After dispensing with a ‘Tommy Steele’ toy guitar, John used the proceeds from his paper round to buy his first proper instrument, an acoustic, when he was about twelve. An early musical collaborator was a school mate called Roger Ogden, who like Roger Taylor down in Cornwall, was nicknamed ‘Splodge’. But his best friend was the Opposition’s future drummer, Nigel Bullen.

“I’d first got to know John at Langmore Junior School in Oadby, just outside Leicester, in either 1957 or 1958,’' recalls Nigel. “We were both the quiet ones. We started playing music together at Gartree High School, when we were about thirteen. We were inspired by the Beatles — they made everybody want to be in a group. John was originally going to be the band’s electrician, as he called it. He used to build his own radios, before we had any amps, and he fathomed a way of plugging his guitar into his reel-to-reel tape recorder. He was always the electrical boffin."

The prime mover in the formation of the group was another Oadby boy they met on nearby Uplands Park, Richard Young. “Richard was at boarding school," recalls Nigel Bullen. “He was always the kid with the expensive bike. He played guitar, and what’s more had a proper electric, with an amplifier. He instigated getting the band together. Initially, we rehearsed in my garage, and then anywhere we could. John played rhythm to begin with. He was a chord man, the John Lennon of the group, if you like."

SWITCH

Despite his later switch to the bass, Deacon’s technique on the guitar also developed, as Dave Williams reveals: “Later on, I remember he could play ‘Classical Gas’ on an acoustic, which was a finger-picking execise and no mean feat. It’s a bit like ‘McArthur Park’, a fantastic piece of music, and when I heard it, I thought, ‘Bloody hell. You dark horse!’ Because he never showed off."

The Opposition’s first bassist was another school friend of John’s called Clive Castledine. In fact, the group made its debut at a party at Castledine’s ouse on 25th September, 1965 (their first public performance took place the...[ ]

...[ ] following month at Gartree’s school hall). Clive looked good and appreciated the kudos of being in a group, but he wasn’t up to even the Opposition’s schoolboy standards. “I was the least proficient, to put it mildly,” he admitted to Mark Hodkinson.“His enthusiasm was 100%,” adds Richard Young, “but his actual playing ability was null, so we had a meeting and got rid of him.” Deacon took over, initially playing on his regular guitar, using the bottom strings. “John was good,” Young continues. “It was no problem for him to switch to bass. He hit the right notes at the beginning of the bar, and we were a better band for it. Whereas Clive made us sound woolly, as anyone who just plonked away on any old note would, John was solid.”

DIARY

Young turned out to be the Opposition’s archivist, keeping a diary of each gig played, the equipment used, and the amounts of money earned (as indeed did John Deacon). Richard’s diary documented the day Deacon — now, of course, bassist in one of the world’s most famous groups — first picked up his chosen instrument. “In an entry for 2nd April, 1966,” says Young, “it reads, ‘We threw Clive out on the Saturday afternoon. Had a practice in Deaks’ kitchen, and Deaks went on bass. Played much better.’ John didn’t have a bass, so we went down to Cox’s music shop in King Street in Leicester, and bought him an EKO bass for £60. I paid for it, but I think he paid me back eventually.”

“John’s bass style with the Opposition was the same as with Queen,” reckons Nigel Bullen. “He never used to play with a plectrum, which was unusual, but with his fingers, which meant that his right hand is drooped over the top of the guitar. Also, he plays in an upward fashion, which I’d never seen before, certainly when we were in Leicester. Over the years, I’ve watched many bass players adopt that style. I’d say he has been copied a lot. I’ve mentioned this to him, but he doesn’t agree.”

Clive Castledine wasn’t the last member of the band to be dismissed. “The vocal and lead guitar side of the Opposition was changing all the while,” recalls Nigel. “Myself, John, and Richard Young were always there — as were Dave Williams and Ron Chester later on — but we had a succession of other musicians who I can hardly remember now. There was a guy called Richard Frew in the very early days, and a young lad called Carl, but he didn’t fit in. After we began playing proper gigs, Richard decided he wasn’t happy with his singing and wanted to move onto keyboards, so we brought in Pete Bart (formerly with another local band, the Rapids Rave) as a guitarist and vocalist. He was good, but again, didn’t last long.”

“Bart was a bit of a rocker, while we were all mods,” remarks Dave Williams. “We were impressed by mod bands like the Small Faces and the original Who. Bart seemed to come from a different era altogether.”

“Deaks had the Parka with the fur collar,” remembers Ron Chester. “And short hair, a crew cut. Mirrors on his scooter.” Richard Young agrees: “John was more of a mod than us. But you couldn’t really pigeonhole the band, because our music went right across the board”.

”Buying Deacon his bass was no one-off, and Richard Young is remembered as the group’s benefactor. Being older than the others, he had a steady job working for his father’s electronics company in Leicester, which brought him a regular, and by all accounts, generous wage. He rarely thought twice before splashing out on equipment for the other members.

RECEIPTS

“Richard bought me a P.A.,” recalls David Williams. “But he didn’t ask, he used to think that the group needed it. He’d buy it and then say, ‘You owe me this’. My mum used to get really annoyed. She’d was at that going- through-my-pockets stage, probably looking for contraceptives. She once found a receipt from Moore and Stanworth’s, a local music shop. It was for a Beyer microphone, which cost about £30. I was still at school, getting pocket money, and my mum said, ‘What on earth is this?!’ Receipts on the Sunday dinner table, that sort of thing. It was good, though. The group needed it.”

“I was dead serious about the band,” claims Young, who switched to organ with the arrival of Williams in July 1966. “Perhaps more so than anybody else. I could see it going nowhere if money wasn’t pumped into it.”

“Dick Young was an accomplished organ player,” adds Dave, “and he improved the group quite a lot. He always had plenty of dosh, and a car. But he was totally mad, a crazy bloke. He’d come round with an organ one week, then next week, he’d have a better one. He ended up with a Farfisa, with one keyboard on it, then one with two keyboards — one above the other. Then he had a Hammond, an L 100. which was really heavy. Then he had a ‘B’ series one. The ‘L’ was top-of-the-range and he sawed it in half to make it easier to carry!”

Dave Williams helped to improve the group as well. “He was at school with us,” says Nigel Bullen, “but in another band, who we always looked up to.” That band was the Leeds-based Outer Limits (who went on to issue several singles — without Dave — in the late ‘60s). “I joined the Opposition after they asked me to watch them and tell them what I thought,” recounts Dave. “The Outer Limits were older lads, all mods, but I was after something a bit more easy going, and the Opposition were my own age. They were okay, but I first saw them at John’s house, when they were still practising in bedrooms, and they were absolutely awful. I said, ‘Have you thought of tuning up?’ They said they had. But it sounded like they were playing in different keys — totally horrendous. It was so funny. They were so conscientious, they’d all learned their bits, but hadn't tuned up to each other. That was my first tip.”

“Our first proper gig was supporting a local band, the Rapids Rave, at Enderby Coop Hall,” recalls Nigel Bullen. “They used to play at this village hall every week. and then we ended up doing it every week for quite some time.” Richard’s diary records the Opposition’s debut taking place on 4th December 1965, and that the band’s fee was £2. Thereafter, they began to offer their Services in the local ‘Oadby & Wigston Advertiser’, which led to bookings in youth clubs and village halls in local hot-spots like Kibworth, Houghton-on- the-Hill, Thurlaston and Great Glen.

SCHOOL WORK

By spring 1966, the Opposition were playing every weekend, school work permitting. The peaks and troughs of their career are illustrated by the following memorable gigs: one at St. George’s Ballroom, Hinckley, on 23rd June 1967, when just two people turned up and the band went home after a couple of numbers; and a September appearance in a series of shows at U.S. Airforce Bases in the Midlands, at which they were required to play for four-and-half hours with just two twenty-minute breaks. It was nothing if not diverse.

“It didn’t seem to matter what you played,” says Dave. “People would clap simply because you were making music. They never said, ‘Do you do Motown, or soul stuff?’ ” The band’s repertoire initially consisted of chart sounds and the poppier end of the R&B spectrum. “Although we were inspired by the Beatles, we never did any of their songs,” claims Nigel. “But we covered the Kinks, the Yardbirds, and things like Them’s ‘Gloria’, and the Zombies’ ‘She’s Not There’.

They also altered their name slightly to the New Opposition, which they unveiled at the Enderby Coop Hall. “The name-change was decided overnight, when John moved from rhythm to bass guitar,” recounts Richard, whose diary records the date of the transition as 29th April 1966. Interestingly, though, it makes no mention of another local group also called the Opposition, long thought to have been the reason for Deacon’s crew adopting the ‘New’. The change did act as an impetus for further development, however, instigated by Dave Williams, who soon took over as the group’s lead vocalist.

“When I joined they were doing all Beach Boys stuff,” he recalls, “and I think I may have brought in a little credibility. In the Outer Limits, I’d been playing John Mayall, the Yardbirds, that sort of thing, plus that group was into really good soul like the Impressions, and fantastic vocal bands from the States. So I had a broad musical knowledge by then, whereas the Opposition had been a bit poppy.” Appropriately, the words “Tamla” and “Soul” were now added to the Opposition’s ads and calling cards.

Towards the end of 1966, the New Opposition were enhanced further by the arrival of Ron Chester, who’d previously played with Dave Williams in the Outer Limits, as well as in an earlier band, the Deerstalkers. “Ron Chester was a bit eccentric,” claims Richard Young. “He never used to go anywhere without his deerstalker. He was a really good guitarist (“stunning”, adds Dave Williams). We were probably at our best when Ron was in the band.”

On 23rd October 1966, the New Opposition entered the local Midland Beat Contest. They won their heat, landing themselves a place in the semifinals on 29th January 1967. They won this, too, and steeled themselves for the finals, which were due to be held on 3rd March 1967, when they were to be pitched against...[ ]

...[ ] an act called Keny. The stars of the show would have been the nearest the Opposition came to having a rival: an outfit called Legay. (A year later, incidentally, this band issued a now collectable single, “No One” (Fontana TF 904,£80J.) Unfortunately, for all concerned, however, the contest never took place. “That was a fiasco,'' laughs Ron. “Somehow we won those heats, but in fact, I don’t remember seeing anybody else playing. I don’t know whether we won by default or not. After that, they pulled the plug on the competition — probably because they knew we’d be playing again!”.

CASINO

“The heats took place in a club in Leicester called the Casino, which was the place to play,” adds Nigel. “The guy who ran the competition was an agent for the club. His company was called Penguin (or P.S) Promotions and he walked like a penguin too, with his feet sticking out. The final was going to be held in the De Montford Hall, which is still the main venue in Leicester. We thought, ‘Crumbs, this is it, perhaps we might make the big time.’ But the guy did a runner with all the money — people had to pay to come to the heats. So the final was called off.”

David Williams wasn’t too fussed, as he scored another prize that night: “I remember taking a girl back to Dick’s car on the strength of us winning our heat. I said, ‘Can I borrow your keys, Dick? He said, ‘What for? You can’t drive!’ “

Were the New Opposition — or the Opposition, as they dropped the ‘New’ again in early 1967 — left in limbo by the cancellation of the Beat Contest? Having achieved the most public recognition of their talents so far, were they disappointed with the loss of the chance to prove themselves further?

“No. It was almost insignificant,” reckons Ron. “We didn’t really look upon it as a stairway to stardom.” And what would John Deacon have thought? “Nothing really,” suggests Chester. “ ‘It’s cancelled. What are we doing next, then?’ That would have been about the depth of it. We were a village band, all gathering at the church hall to try and improve our abilities. The financial aspect of it wasn’t in the forefront of our minds. We were more concerned with our music, and if we could get a booking doing it as well, to pay off some of the equipment, then that was a real bonus. Three bookings a week was enough for us while we were working or still at school.” Despite any dodgy dealings, history does have the Penguin promoter to thank for the only professionally-taken photograph of the Opposition. (“We didn’t go much on photos in the band,” remembers Dave Williams.) On Tuesday, 31st January 1967, two days after winning the semi-finals, the ‘Leicester Mercury’ dispatched a staff photographer over to Richard Young’s parents’ house in Oadby. Here, the group lined-up in the front room, looking more like refugees from 1964, rather than 1967. The only indications of the actual date are perhaps Ron Chester’s deerstalker hat and the ridiculous length of David Williams’ shirt collars — seven inches, no less, from neck to nipple.

“Dave was very extrovert,” recalls Nigel. “But we all had those silk shirts with the great long collars made by our mums and grandmas for our stage gear.” Dave admits: “Our clothes were all a bit mixed up. We had silk shirts with tweed jackets — which were fashionable for a while — and bell-bottoms. Musically, we were pretty good, better than...[ ]

...[ ] most of the local bands around that time, but we had this squeaky-clean, schoolboy image which let us down. I used to get frustrated when we were billed with other bands, and they’d all play with so many wrong chords but had a better image and still the punters applauded. Were they stupid? We were still at school — we didn’t leave until we were eighteen — and weren’t allowed to grow our hair long”.

“After the mod thing,” he continues, “long hair became really important. Bands were growing their hair right down their backs. I remember getting to one gig with John and Nigel a year or so later, and the other group were already on. And when they saw us they turned round and said, ‘Look! They’ve got no hair!’. We were quite upset about that”.

“We also went through the flower-power look,” Dave adds. “And then we got into those little jumpers without any sleeves that Paul McCartney used to wear, the ones so small that half your stomach showed. And then it was grandad shirts without the collars and flares.” Ron Chester: “The flowery shirts and flared trousers were everywhere. We looked like a right shower of poofters. But so did everybody else. You stood out if you didn’t wear them.”

1967 also heralded the arrival of an additional attraction to the Opposition’s stage show: two go-go dancers. At least, it did if the existing literature on the subject is to be believed. “I vaguely remember it,” admits Richard, “but speaking to Nig, neither of us can recal who those dancers were”.

Dave Williams throws some light on the subject: “They were the jet-set girls of the sixth form, they came from the big houses. They came to a couple of gigs and just started dancing. Somebody who booked us for the following week actually advertised us ‘with go-go girls’. But they were never really part of the show.”

ART

On 16th March, 1968 for a gig at Gartree School, the Opposition changed their name once again. “We called ourselves Art,” reveals Nigel, “because Dave was arty, that is, he was training as an artist. It was as simple as that.” Dave agrees: “It was my idea, because I’d been doing art at school.” Nigel Bullen was aware of another band using that name around the same time (the pre-Spooky Tooth outfit), but assuming them to be American, reckoned they’d be no confusion. As the Leicester-based Art never made it to London, there wasn’t.

Despite wording like “A time to touch and feel, to taste and experience, to hear and understand” appearing on the group’s tickets, Richard maintains that Art was “just the same band” as before. “Nothing changed."

“It was mutton dressed up as lamb, really,” admits Ron Chester. “We thought if we were called something different, people might come because they were curious. But it didn’t make a lot of difference. The audiences were captive at the places we played anyway. There was nowhere else to go on a Friday or Saturday night. Everyone used to roll up to see whoever was on, whether they’d heard of them or not.”

1968 was the year psychedelia caught up with many provincial British bands. The Art were no different, but their acknowledgement of what had been last year’s scene in London was via sight rather than sound. Their light shows seem to have been particularly memorable, as Dave Williams explains: “They were brilliant. We used the projectors from school, filled medicine bottles with water and oil, and projected through them to get this lovely golden, amber backdrop. As the image came out upside down, when we poured in some Fairy Liquid, it dropped straight through in a blob, but came out on the wall like a giant green mushroom cloud. It was amazing, and we had about four of them at the back, projecting over the band.”

John Deacon was party to another of Dave’s exploits. “One day,” recalls Williams, “John and I bought a 100-watt P.A. — which was pretty big for those days — and took it into the lecture theatre full of kids at Beauchamp School (which Deacon had attended since September 1966) for our version of Arthur Brown’s ‘Fire’. We cranked it up as loud as we could, put the light show on, and let off these smoke bombs, which were DDT pellets we’d got from the chemist. All the kids started choking, and then the headmaster walked in...[ ]

...[ ] with a load of governors. You could see the fury in his face. One of the governors asked what we were doing. ‘It’s a demonstration in sound and light, sir,’ I said. ‘We’re using these ink bottles turned upside down, but we’re a bit worried about these DDT pellets so we might knock the smoke on the head, but we’re still experimenting.’ And he fell for it!”.

INFLUENTIAL

Towards the end of 1968, a crop of new groups began to have a profound effect on the maturing schoolboys: Jethro Tull, the Nice, Taste, and in particular Deep Purple. Ron: “We used to buy Purple records and learn to play them. We’d seen John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers and the Downliners’ Sect in Leicester, the Nice, King Crimson. These sort of groups. We learned a lot from just watching them. They were influential. There was always a big discussion in the band as to whether we should do a particular song. Once we’d decided that, there’d be another big discussion as to how we should do it. Everybody had their say.”

Hair, too, had finally began to grow: “John grew his quite long,” recalls Ron. “We all had longish hair, but not shoulder length. We couldn’t look too unkempt for the normal side of life, but we didn’t want to be too prissy for the other end of the spectrum. That was when we started playing universities, and we went a bit heavier. The audiences were far more serious minded about music and more enthusiastic. In some of the youth clubs we’d been playing, the audience would be moving around on roller skates, or peeling bananas all over the place, things like that”.

“We felt we were making an impression towards the last year or two of the band,” he continues. But it went no further: “We were at school, some of us had jobs, and there was an element of common sense overriding what we would have liked to have done. None of us wanted to chuck in our apprenticeships or courses. If we’d had a flair for writing our own material, we might have taken off. But we just played what was popular, nothing different from most other groups. That wasn’t a basis on which to launch ourselves. So it never happened."

“We didn’t think that far ahead,” admits Richard Young. “I just thought of playing and getting repeat bookings. John was probably the least ambitious of all of us, to be honest. I think he felt that there was no mileage in what we were doing, although it was good fun. I think he had the impression that this was a hobby, a phase he was going through.”

Sometime in the Sixties, possibly 1969, but maybe earlier, Art recorded an acetate. Whatever the date, the crucial point is that John Deacon was present at the session. “We weren't asked to do it,” recalls Nigel. “We just wanted to make a disc. I think it cost us about five shillings.”

The venue was Beck’s studio, thirty miles south east of Oadby in Wellingborough, Northamptonshire. “I’d never been in a studio before and it seemed awesome, really,” recalls Dave Williams. “It was a fairly decent-sized room for acoustics. It was all nicely low-lit, with lots of screens. The guy knew what he was doing.” Richard Young was less impressed, though: I’ve been in studios all my life,” he says. “That was just another session. Nothing about it stood out.”

The “guy” Dave remembered was engineer Derek Tomkins, who informed the group that they could record three tracks in the time allotted. “We’d only gone in there with two, ‘Sunny’ and ‘Vehicle’,” says Nigel, “and we didn’t want to waste the opportunity, so Richard knocked up a little instrumental called Transit 3’ — named after our new van, the third one — right there in the studio. Although we were purely a covers band, everybody had a bash at writing, but we never did anything of our own on stage. The exception was Transit 3’, which was incorporated into the set after this session.”

“ Transit 3’ was about about the only track we ever wrote," reckons Richard Young (“Heart Full Of Soul”, as reported in ‘As It Began’, is in fact a Graham Gouldman nurnber). “I initially had the idea, but I can’t really remember anything about it. It’s very basic. It wouldn’t take a great deal of effort to write something like that.” To the objective observer, “Transit 3”, taped in mono but well recorded, is a fairly uncomplicated, organ-led scale- hopper, reminiscent of Booker T & the MGs.

“Everybody was listening to ‘Green Onions’,” confirms Nigel, “so Booker T would have been an influence there.” But for all that, it’s well- played, with memorable lead and twangy, wah-wah guitar passages courtesy of Dave Williams. And, crucially, John Deacon’s thumping bass is plainly audible throughout. On this evidence, the Opposition were clearly a tight, confident outfit. “Transit 3” could have been incorporated into any swinging ‘60s film soundtrack, and no one would have jumped up shouting, “Amateurs”!.

UNFAMILIAR

The other two tracks, covers of Bobby Hebb’s ‘Sunny' and the more obscure, soul- tinged ‘Vehicle’ (later a hit for the Ides of March), featured a vocalist, but an unfamiliar one: another of the Opposition’s fleeting frontmen. “We had a singer for a while called Alan Brown,” recalls Nigel. “He came and went fairly quickly. He was good, really good. Too good for us, I think. That wasn’t him saying that. We just knew it.”

On both songs, Brown is in deep, soulful voice, sounding not unlike a cross between Tom Jones and the early Van Morrison — if such an amalgam can be imagined. The Art’s reading of “Vehicle” is edgy and robust, dominated by Richard Young’s distinctive keyboards and Nigel Bullen’s bustling drum work. Dave Williams is again in fine form, delivering more sparkling wah-wah guitar, while on the cassette copy taped from Nigel Bullen’s acetate, at least, John’s bass is very prominent, over-recorded in fact, booming in the mix.

“Sunny” goes one better, breaking into jazzy 3/4 time halfway through, before slotting back into the more traditional 4/4. It’s an imaginative arrangement, with alternate soloing from both Dave and Richard, while the whole track is underpinned by swirls of Hammond organ and John Deacon’s pounding bass.

“We did ‘Sunny’ as part of our stage set,” says Nigel, “but I don’t recall us ever going into the jazzy bit. That’s quite interesting. We might have talked about that before we went into the studio, but I think it was just for this session. Dave had two guitars, a six-string and a twelve-string, or it could even have been twin-necked. I still quite like the wah-wah he played on that track. By this time Richard would have been onto his second or third organ — he was heavily into Hammonds and Leslies."

Operating as they did in a fairly ambition- free zone, and having prepared the listener for a mundane set of recordings with their trademark laid-back approach, Art’s acetate comes as something of a revelation. Let any bunch of today’s schoolboys loose in a studio for an afternoon and defy them to come up with something half as good!

Just two copies of the Art disc are known to have survived. John Deacon’s mother is believed to own one and Nigel Bullen has the other. “I’d forgotten all about this record,” admits Nigel. “We know that one copy was converted to an ashtray!. We stubbed out cigarettes on Richards at rehearsal one night.” Although treated with anything but respect at the time, the importance of the disc is now apparent to Nigel Bullen: “This is probably John Deacon’s first recording, apart from tracks he did in his bedroom on his reel-to-...[ ]

...[ ] reel, which are probably long gone. Although, knowing John, they’re probably not!”

The beginning of the end for Art came in June 1969, when John Deacon left Beauchamp. With a college course lined up in London, his days with the band were obviously numbered. He played his final gig with the group on 29th August at a familiar venue, Great Glen Youth and Sports Centre Club. By October, he’d moved to London to study electronics at Chelsea College of Technology, part of the University of London.

Another blow was dealt in November, when the band's lynchpin, Richard Young, left to join popular local musician Steve Fearn in Fearn’s Brass Foundry.

“They were a Blood, Sweat and Tears-type of group,” recalls Richard, “and paid better money than I’d been used to. I was out five nights a week, on about £3 per night, against an average of about £10 between us.” The previous year, Richard had played session keyboards on the Foundry’s two Decca singles: “Don’t Change It” (F 12721, January 1968, £10) and “Now I Taste The Tears” (F 12835. September 1968, £8).

SAVAGE

Ron Chester departed shortly afterwards, and gave up music: “I left in the early 70s, after John Deacon moved to London. John was replaced by a bass player was called John Savage, who unsettled me. He had different tastes and drove us a bit hard. His approach was totally different from Deaks's, and he was much more interested in the financial side of things. We’d all been mates before, we didn't just knock about for the band. It just wasn’t the same.”

Nigel, Richard and Dave pushed on into 1970 with the new bassist, changing the band’s name again, this time to Silky Way. They returned to Beck’s studio to record a cover of Free’s “Loosen Up” with another vocalist, Bill Gardener, but that was the band’s last effort. Dave left after falling into Nigel’s drumkit, drunk on stage at a private party one Christmas. “I waited for them to pick me up the next day,” he recalls sheepishly, “but they never carne.”

Richard and Nigel moved into a dinner- dance type outfit called the Lady Jane Trio — “Corny, or what!”, laughs Bullen — but Nigel left music altogether soon afterwards to concentrate on his college work. Richard turned professional, moving into cabaret with the Steve Fearn-less Brass Foundry, before forming a trio called Rio, finding regular work on the holiday camp and overseas cruise circuit. In the late ‘70s, he joined a touring version of the Love Affair.

Down in London, John Deacon caught a glimpse of his future world-beating musical partners as early as October 1970, when he saw the newly-formed Queen perform at College of Estate Management in Kensington. “They were all dressed in black, and the lights were very dim too,” he told Jim Jenkins and Jacky Gunn in ‘As It Began’, “All I could really see were four shadowy figures. They didn’t make a lasting impression on me at the time.”

While renting rooms in Queensgate, John formed a loose R&B quartet with a flatmate, guitarist Peter Stoddart, one Don Cater on drums and another guitarist remembered only as Albert. The new band was hardlv a great leap forward from Art: they wrote no originals, and when asked to perform their only gig at Chelsea College on 21st November 1970, supporting Hardin & York and the Idle Race, they hastily billed themselves — in a rare fit of self-publicity for the quiet Oadby boy — as Deacon.

A few months later in early 1971, John was introduced to Brian May and Roger Taylor by a mutual friend, Christine Farnell, at a disco at Maria Assumpta Teacher Training College. They were looking for a bassist. John auditioned at Imperial College shortly afterwards. Roger Taylor recalled Queen’s initial reaction to Deacon in ‘As It Began’: “We thought he was great. We were so used to each other, and so over the top, we thought that because he was quiet he would fit in with us without too much upheaval. He was a great bass player, too — and the fact that he was a wizard with electronics was definitely a deciding factor!”

How did the members of the Art/Opposition back in Leicester, view John’s success with Queen? “It wasn’t sudden”, says Ron Chester. “First we heard he’d got into another group. We couldn’t believe that — were they deaf? There were all these sort of jokes going along. Then we heard he’d got a recording contract and the next thing he had a record out. It was a gradual progression. No one dreamed he would end up the way he did.”

“I don’t think we expected success for any of us" admits Nigel Bullen. “Richard maybe. He was the first one to go professional. But when John left for London to go to college, he left all his kit here. I thought that was the end of it for him. He had absolutely no intention of continuing. His college course was No.1. It was only after he kept seeing adverts for bass players in the ‘Melody Maker’ that he became interested again.”

He also seemed to lose some of that ‘Easy Deacon’ touch which so impressed Dave Williams in the ‘60s. “He’d ring up these bands,” continues Nigel, “but when he found they were a name act, he bottle out. When he went to auditions for anonymous bands, where he would queue up with about thirty other bass players, he had a bit of confidence. He just wanted to play in a decent band. Once I heard what Queen had recorded at De Lane Lea, and John played me the demo of their first album, I thought they were well set.”

CABARET

By early 1973, Dave Williams had forsaken a career in animation to join Highly Likely, a cabaret outfit put together by Mike Hugg and producer Dave Hadfield on the back of their minor hit, “Whatever Happened To You (The Likely Lads Theme)”. While Dave was in the band, they recorded a follow-up single which wasn’t released, before evolving into a glam rock outfit, Razzle, which later become the Ritz, who issued a few singles. “During Queen’s early days, before they’d had any real success, John came to see us once,” recalls Dave, “and said, ‘I wish I was in a band like this which could actually play some gigs’.” Dave concludes: “I remember John coming round once around that time, saying I’ve got a demo’. ‘So have I!’, I said. So we put his on first, and the first track was ‘Keep Yourself Alive’. My mouth dropped wide open and I thought. ‘Bloody hell! What a great track’. I remember saying that the guitarist was as good as Ritchie Blackmore — who was still our hero then — and thinking ‘They’re serious about this. This is the real thing’.”

RECORD COLLECTOR Nº 198 FEBRUARY 1996

⬅PREVIOUS: SMILE

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@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy, @briianmaay, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @aslongasthereismusic, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @drivenbybrianmay @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @sailawaysweetbrimi, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @foxmonkey, @deakysgurl, @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks-deactivated2, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @autumnscenemcyt, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @frejudy, @drivenbybri, @yourlocalmusicalprostitute, @saik-ava, @omb-xx, @sassymaylor, @somekindofroger, @starlightmay, @freddiemercuryismylife, @sunshine112, @chrysochromulina, @glitteryloveravenue, @deakyislife51, @0-primejive-0, @just-a-skinny-lad, @bluewillowmom, @sassiesillie, @stesichoreanpalinode, @farrokhbulsaramercury, @tayloredofqueen, @rushingheadlong, @izzy-is-slightly-mad, @scandalacious, @0-my-fairy-queen-0 @39-volunteers-to-space@zodiacaldust, @deakytaylor, @queenband70s, @deakyeveryday, @drivenbybrimay @70smay

#Queen Before Queen #Pre-Queen Series #John Deacon #The Opposition #🎤🎵🎸👑⭐

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femininenachos · 3 years

Text

Make America Gay Again (10/?)

Previously: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

“You don’t have to go.”

In the lazy, hazy comedown after a really fantastic orgasm, Clarke’s mouth has a tendency to engage before her brain does. There’s a second or two of lag before the sex fog lifts and her mind catches up, before she registers that Lexa has gone perfectly still, frozen to the spot on the other side of the room.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Clarke kicks herself mentally.

Because of course it’s too much, too soon. Lexa has barely dipped a toe out of the closet in years. She’s probably having a discreet, controlled mini panic attack over there, like Clarke just asked her to fucking U-haul, not spend the night together cuddling and shit.

Just because they wasted the day and most of the evening screwing on the couch (a couch she’s probably going to have to get professionally steam-cleaned before Linc returns from his weekend getaway with O), it doesn’t necessarily mean Lexa wants, or is comfortable with that level of intimacy yet. Sleeping over. Waking up beside one another. Doing that whole tentative dance of navigating the morning after.

Okay, it’s fine. I can handle this, Clarke reasons once she’s done castigating herself. No need to blow it out of proportion. Maybe she can save face and rescue things if she downplays the suggestion.

She licks her lips, and it really doesn’t help that all she can taste is Lexa.

“I mean,” Clarke clears her throat to rid her voice of its extra raspiness, a little hoarse from the ragged noises Lexa had coaxed from her many times over. She adopts her most casual, unaffected tone. “It’s already late so… no big deal.”

At last, Lexa turns around slowly. Backlit by the diffuse yellow glow of the uplamp in the corner, her expression is hard to decipher when it’s shrouded half in shadow, but Clarke’s attention is soon diverted elsewhere.

In the past several hours she’s been treated to Lexa in varying stages of undress, but there’s something about this in-between state—blouse open and only partially buttoned—that’s unbearably erotic. It’s been forever since Clarke last felt the urge to pick up a pencil and sketchbook but, God, Lexa like this makes her itch to draw.

Transfixed, Clarke drags her eyes up the slope of Lexa’s ribs, over the small swells of her breasts encased in pale satin, the sharp jut of her collarbones and the graceful length of throat that Clarke had the reckless audacity to leave her mark on. It gives her such a thrill to see those mouth-shaped pink splodges, knowing that Lexa might have to put on concealer and wear scarves for the next couple of days until they fade. It makes her want to suck deeper bruises into Lexa’s skin, ones that can’t be hidden with makeup and a high collar.

“Stay,” she blurts before she can stop herself, doubling down on her complete inability to exhibit any fucking chill around this woman. “Just, stay tonight. And in the morning we can get coffee and bagels from the deli across the street, and—”

“Clarke.”

It’s no louder than a whisper, but that single soft exhalation of her name is loaded with so much longing and hesitance and regret.

Lexa draws in a breath, about to say more when they both hear a faint buzz, accompanied by the trill of a musical ringtone that sounds far too obnoxiously cheerful right now.

Sitting upright, Clarke runs a hand through the tangled mess of her hair, in quiet observation mode as Lexa hurries over to fish her phone out of her coat pocket. She makes a face at the screen then wanders closer to the window before she answers with a neutral, “Hello.”

Despite her burning curiosity, Clarke makes a concerted effort not to eavesdrop. All she can hear is a garbled male voice on the other end anyway. But green eyes flick towards her briefly, apologetic, as Lexa tells the caller without inflection, “I’m fine. I’m with a friend.”

Then, in a sharper tone, “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Roan.” Silent for a tense stretch before she sighs heavily. “Just inform her I’ll be home shortly.”

After the call ends, Lexa bows her head for a moment. Like she needs those few seconds of silence and stillness to collect herself.

Clarke waits.

Gnaws on the corner of her bottom lip, reluctant to pry into what was clearly a thorny personal matter, but her care and concern wins out.

“Everything okay?”

Lexa straightens her posture. Tucks her blouse into her skirt, and when she faces Clarke again, her small smile is strained around the edges.

“Just my step-brother checking up on me at Nia’s bidding.” She rolls her eyes a bit and resumes buttoning up her blouse. “Roan isn’t around much. He runs a VC firm in New York, but he’s agreed to join the final campaign push to present a united front.”

Her lip curls.

“Unfortunately, that means I’ll be seeing a lot more of him in the coming weeks.”

Clarke tries to be attentive, she does, but there’s something mesmerising about the nimble movements of Lexa’s hands when less than thirty minutes ago those long, slender fingers were buried inside of Clarke, fucking in deep while she frantically ground her hips into Lexa’s open mouth.

The recollection makes her flush hard, a fresh trickle of arousal pooling between her thighs.

When she finally snaps out of her trance, it’s to find Lexa watching her intently too, that dark stare trained on her chest. Clarke had pulled on a loose, oversize t-shirt after a trip to the bathroom, and she doesn’t need any visual confirmation to know her nipples are half-poking through the thin brushed cotton. They already feel tight and sensitive against the soft fabric but under Lexa’s heavy-lidded gaze, they stiffen to aching, fully erect points.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that and expect me to let you go,” Clarke warns.

Lexa’s jaw grinds a little before she forces her eyes up, and the undisguised hunger Clarke sees reflected back at her only makes her wetter.

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

There’s a rough catch to Lexa’s otherwise soft voice. Like it pains her to even contemplate going anywhere else when there’s the guarantee of more orgasms if she remains. She appears to have some kind of internal debate, weighing a decision before her resolve hardens, a determined glint in her eyes as she strides over to where Clarke sits.

Wordlessly, Lexa pulls her up by the wrists and draws Clarke’s arms around her waist. Cups Clarke’s neck. Kisses her with such depth of feeling that it scrambles her brain and leaves her swaying on her bare feet when they separate for air, Lexa towering over Clarke in her expensive black pumps.

“I would love to get breakfast with you someday,” Lexa says, the warm gust of her breath hitting the bridge of Clarke’s nose. “Hopefully once this election is over. Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Clarke nods slowly, distractedly, trying to piece her scattered thoughts back together while eyes and lips compete for her attention. She flattens her palms at the small of Lexa’s back, feeling the warmth of her skin soak through the silk blouse. “Uh, so... are we still on for tomorrow? Dinner, I mean.”

The fingers that are curled around Clarke’s

neck shift and thread into her hair, wreaking havoc on her nerve endings, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. Without conscious thought, she pushes her hips forward, brushing against the tops of Lexa’s pencil skirt-clad thighs.

“Mhm.” A smirk plays at the corner of Lexa’s mouth. Far too pleased with the reaction she’s gotten from a simple touch. “Should I bring anything?”

Clarke tamps down on her first instinct to say “an overnight bag and no PJs” and instead shrugs, “Wine or beer, whichever you prefer.”

“Planning to get me drunk?”

“I think you proved you’re uninhibited enough without any alcohol being involved.”

That raises a faint blush, Lexa’s tiny ears tingeing pink as her eyes slide away. Charmed by this sudden bout of shyness, Clarke pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to curb her grin. A second later, she gives up the ghost.

“Never would’ve guessed a temptress lurked beneath that twin set.”

A pout. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Sorry,” Clarke says in a tone that expresses the opposite. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

Lexa shoots her a cautious look. “In a good way?”

“Well, duh.”

Clarke squeezes Lexa’s waist in gentle, genuine reassurance, and with it the slight tension in Lexa’s frame ebbs. Hands wander further south, rounding the tight curves of Lexa’s perfect, perfect ass in that skirt.

“Apparently, GOP girls gone wild really does it for me.”

She chuckles at Lexa’s subtle eye roll, the slight pinch of full lips.

“Although, it doesn’t have to be like that every time.” Clarke tightens her grip, earning a hitched breath. “We can take it slow too.”

Dark lashes flutter oh so prettily.

“Okay.”

But then Lexa gives her this long, searching look. Deep and penetrating. Growing more pensive in the lull, and Clarke isn’t really sure how to interpret it.

She moves her palms back up to safer territory.

“What?” she prompts, offering what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

Lexa moistens her lips and Clarke does her best to ignore her body’s automatic response to that brief glimpse of tongue: the sudden leap of her pulse, the heat that curls low in the pit of her stomach.

“I wanted to ask—well, to clarify.” Lexa stops short and takes a breath. A tiny grimace pulls at her mouth, but she seems to gather herself and forges on. “Are you… dating anybody else?”

For a moment, Clarke just stares.

Does a slow blink.

Her face must have rearranged itself into a particular expression, because Lexa rapidly backtracks. Literally. She shrinks back a step when it dawns on her that the question didn’t land the way she intended.

She noticeably flusters and under any other circumstances it would be endearing, but right now Clarke is just… floored.

“What I mean is, I’d like for us to continue,” Lexa waves her hand in a euphemistic manner that alludes to boning. “And if you’re seeing someone, or even multiple people—”

“Right,” Clarke scoffs. “Because I’m bi I must be a big ol’ slut?”

Lexa blanches.

“No! That’s not…” Her jaw drops as she stares in mounting bewilderment and dismay at how this conversation took such a disastrous turn. She clamps her mouth shut. Knits her brows together, looking chagrined now. “Clarke.”

It feels like someone dumped ice water in Clarke’s veins, dousing her earlier ardour.

“For your information, I don’t fuck around.” She sees Lexa wince at the acidic bite of her words. “When I’m into a person, I’m not busy scoping out other options. Jesus.”

Clarke folds her arms and angrily stalks away, needing to put some distance between them.

Seconds pass before she hears Lexa’s quiet, cautious footfalls on the carpet as she draws nearer. And despite Clarke’s annoyance, her body is attuned to Lexa’s proximity. It makes the skin on the back of her neck tingle, raises goosebumps along her forearms.

“I realise I’m making a horrible mess of this but, please,” Lexa says from behind, voice so soft and earnest that it tugs at Clarke, even as she stubbornly fights to hold onto her aggravation. “Will you give me a chance to explain?”

She stares at a spot on the wall. Heaves a sigh. But after a prickly stretch of silence she turns her head a fraction, just enough to show that she’s listening.

“I was going to say that I’d understand. If you did choose to see other people. If you wanted a romantic partner who’s open and unafraid and available in all the ways I can’t be right now.”

Her frown deepening for a different reason, Clarke turns around. “Lexa...”

“Please, let me finish.”

Lexa might be putting on a brave facade, but Clarke doesn’t miss the watery gleam in the corners of those sad, solemn green eyes, and it thaws her frosty mien a little more.

“Alright,” she says evenly.

A small, grateful nod.

Lexa’s gaze barely flickers.

She weighs her words before she speaks.

“Clarke, you deserve so much more than clandestine hookups with a closet case. And it isn’t fair to expect you to wait around while I untangle myself from my hellish family.”

Her bottom lip does an almost invisible tremble, but then she sets her jaw and the planes of her face become tense and drawn, and Clarke kind of hates that she finds it so damn attractive.

“So I can’t—won’t—ask for us to be exclusive,” Lexa goes on. “Because all I want is for you to be happy and fulfilled, even if it isn’t with me.”

At this point, Clarke doesn’t know whether to kiss Lexa or yell at her for this stupid, misguided martyrdom. Instead, Clarke gravitates closer until they’re almost nose to nose. This time Lexa holds her ground, although her lips tighten and her throat bobs, betraying her unease.

“You keep talking about what I want,” Clarke says, “Like you’ve made up my mind for me without consulting me at all. Well, I’ve got news for you.”

She prods Lexa lightly in the chest.

“You don’t get to decide.”

“Clarke—”

“No. Listen. Did you miss the part where I said I’m emotionally invested?”

Another poke; hard enough to force Lexa a quarter-step backwards. Entirely worth it for the flash of surprise on her face.

“I was talking about you, Lexa. I am into you. Not the hypothetical dozen or so lovers you seem to think I should be juggling.”

Lexa‘s mouth twitches. “That’s a gross exaggeration.”

“Hey, if I’m going to be a ho, I’ll be the best one I can be.”

“I admire your ambition.”

They share a wry look.

And just like that, the chord of tension that’s been strung tight between them slackens.

Relief visibly drains through Lexa, her features softening, a ghost of a smile there now. The absurdity isn't lost on Clarke either. She cracks a small smile too, and when she touches Lexa again, it’s to run a conciliatory hand down her arm, all the way down until she catches Lexa’s fingers.

Clarke gives a little tug.

“You have got to get this idea out of your head that you’re somehow not worthy just because you’re not out yet.”

Lexa dips her head and expels a quiet sigh, avoidant of Clarke’s gaze.

“Coming out is a process—a lifelong one—and everyone moves at their own pace,” Clarke says. She squeezes Lexa’s fingers. “So what if you weren’t going to Pride when you were fifteen? It doesn’t invalidate your experiences or make you any less gay.”

Lexa glances up, raising an enquiring eyebrow. “Did you go at that age?”

“My Mom and Dad were like the poster children for PFLAG, so yeah, they took me.” She chuckles in fond remembrance. “The summer I told them I liked boys and girls, they stuck a ‘best bi’ bumper sticker on the car and flew a huge fucking rainbow flag from our front porch.”

“Quite a statement.”

“Mm, the neighbours thought so too. We even got some anonymous hate mail.” That part she remembers less fondly. “But anyway, the point is, I was lucky to have a strong support system.”

She lifts her other hand to cradle Lexa’s cheek, sweeping a gentle thumb over the apple of it, heart tripping at the way Lexa leans perceptibly into the touch.

Clarke lets the weight of the moment settle before she half-whispers:

“I could be that for you.”

A glimmer of wetness returns to Lexa’s eyes, and it makes the lush, deep green of her irises all the more vibrant.

“I’ve had to stifle this part of myself for so long in order to survive,” she confesses thickly.

Clarke nods and strokes Lexa’s cheekbone again, doing what little she can to soothe the hurt of untold years of anguish. Her hand drops to the ball of Lexa’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles there.

“I can relate. Our community can be biphobic as fuck. In the past, I didn’t always correct people when they assumed my sexuality because I just didn’t want to deal with the prejudice and hostility.”

“At least your parents, your friends and associates never made you feel ashamed, made you believe your entire existence is a mistake.”

“No,” Clarke allows, “but I’ve been told to pick a side. That I don’t belong in queer spaces when I’m dating a guy.”

Lexa is silent, but her eyes soften with sympathy.

Clarke draws in a deep, cleansing breath and blows it out slowly; an attempt to course-correct, to reset the conversation, because this isn’t about her.

“I just—I want to help you embrace this aspect of your identity. Because you’re a lesbian Lexa. Such a lesbian. And when you hide that, you’re hiding one of the best parts of yourself.”

Lexa regards her a little dubiously. “It’s a sexual orientation, not a personality trait.”

“Yeah, well, for many of us our shared queerness confers a sense of belonging and solidarity. It’s a source of strength.”

Clarke slides her hand to Lexa’s nape, nails scratching lightly back and forth over warm skin and through the short curls that escaped Lexa’s hastily put-up bun.

“Look, being gay doesn’t have to define you any more than being a Republican does.” Clarke allows herself that small barb, smirking at Lexa’s answering eye roll. “But if you open your heart and your mind, on both counts, you might be surprised at the acceptance you’ll find.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Lexa slips an arm around Clarke’s waist, pulling her in closer until they’re pressed tightly together along the length of their bodies. And Clarke melts at the soft kiss Lexa dusts against her temple, how Lexa rubs her nose into the fuzzy shaved hair above Clarke’s ear. Her own lips seek the tender skin of Lexa’s throat, that spot where her pulse beats strong and fast, where the faint trace of perfume lingers, mixing with the natural scent of Lexa’s skin.

For a full minute they just absorb the heat and comfort of one another, their breathing and hearts in sync.

Lexa is the first to withdraw, leaning back to meet Clarke’s eyes. Under that infinitely soft gaze a warm feeling washes over her, Lexa’s affection a tangible thing that causes a wild flutter below Clarke’s ribs.

“Our people are extremely fortunate to have you as an ambassador, agitating for change,” Lexa murmurs, and Clarke can’t get over the way her eyes appear to glow, even in the low lamplight.

It takes Clarke a second to latch onto the “our.”

The subsequent small upturn of Lexa’s lips is like a personal attack.

It’s impossible not to kiss her then. Clarke, living for Lexa’s whimper as she licks over that plump lower lip and dips inside. She gets consumed by exploring Lexa’s mouth, kissing her deep and heavy, directing every movement with a hand on Lexa’s jaw.

When they separate, several heated minutes later, Lexa’s pupils are blown and her breath is coming in quick, shallow puffs. She has Clarke’s t-shirt roughly bunched in both fists, her grip only loosening gradually.

While every cell in Clarke’s body is screaming at her to drag Lexa back to the couch for one last tryst, she reminds herself this is a marathon not a race, and she needs to conserve some energy for their date tomorrow. Because she has plans. Plans that involve stretching Lexa out on her bed and keeping her captive there, possibly for hours.

So Clarke lands a final kiss on Lexa’s parted lips and extracts herself, twisting out of reach.

She adores Lexa’s pout.

Does nothing to hide her grin when she says, “What? Gotta leave you wanting more, right?”

Dark, dark eyes run up Clarke’s bare legs and over her body.

“I do, Clarke.”

#MAGayA retired

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mlmxreader · 3 years

Text

Mr & Mr | Rick Grimes

request; ""We should get married" with Rick Grimes please" // @brymalibu

summary; Rick’s got something on his mind.

notes; male!reader, mentions of canon-typical violence

As Rick’s best man and boyfriend, you were often given jobs that he would have done back in the days of Hershel’s farm and the prison, and if you were honest, you quite liked it; but now you were in Alexandria, he didn’t have much time to do those jobs, which meant that most of them went to you, instead. Returning from a supply run, you wandered off and allowed your team to sort what was what out, they didn’t need you to tell them where canned food went and where ammunition went, or at least, you hoped they didn’t; your boots still stuck to the ground slightly, rotten intestines stuck to the grooves of the soles, some splashes of long gone and rotten brains stuck to where it had smashed after you managed to stomp its head in until it died for good. You almost regretted it. Almost.

As you climbed up the side of one of the empty houses, you took a second to appreciate the wind and sun on your face, it was almost like home. Almost. But then you saw Rick sat up there, and you smiled, making your way to his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Honey, I’m smile,” you almost sang, kissing his temple sweetly. “You okay?”

Rick nodded, fiddling with something in his hands that you couldn’t quite see, his bright blue eyes filled up with a questioning storm. “How long we been together?”

Your face fell as you thought on it; time passed differently, now, not at all to like how it was back in the old world, the world where you didn’t have to use the undead’s head like a football in order to make sure its brain was destroyed... although you had quite enjoyed kicking them up against fences when you were particularly bored. “We got together on the same day Michonne joined us... I think... wait, no, yeah it was the same day because everyone caught us having our first kiss... why?”

“That’s a long, long while for a couple,” he told you, leaning his head on your shoulder and sighing heavily, a small smile coming to rest across his face as he looked at the afternoon sun. “Especially in this world.”

You shrugged. “I dunno, I think we’ve done alright, all things considered, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ve done good,” he agreed, moving so that his legs were dangled over the edge of the roof slightly, his head in your lap as he looked up at you fondly. Fuck, he loved you. “But, uh, it’s... it’s hard, all the shit we’ve been through, the things we’ve done and seen and, y’know, we’d have to be walkers not to have changed.”

You caught a glimpse of what he was fiddling with, something round and metallic that dazzled your eyes and caused you to see splodges of colour when the sun caught it. “Rick, what’s on your mind?”

He bit his lip, catching a loose bit of skin and tugging it off, sighing as he looked at the bulge in your chest pocket. “Those cigarettes?”

“I may have sneaked a packet while I was on the supply run,” you admitted. “You want one?”

Rick shook his head, no, but he had to appreciate that no matter how much the world changed and how much you both changed, some things stayed the same; you still smoked, although it had been a long time since... since you used to sneak away with Shane so that you could smoke and he could shoot at logs to blow off some steam. Rick still remembered the time he caught you and Shane together - you were halfway up a tree, laying on your chest with your legs dangling over either side of the branch, a cigarette between your lips as you teased Shane for not being able to hit the log. He never spoke about it, always figured it was best to let something so harmless slide. Those days were long gone.

“We should get married,” he said gently. “Mister and Mister Grimes, y’know?”

You fell silent for a moment, more shocked than you wanted to admit, and it took you a moment to gather your thoughts; with Rick, it felt as if you had switched from mittens to gloves - all of your previous relationships had felt loose and heavy and still allowed the cold to get in, but with Rick, it was a perfect fit and wasn’t heavy nor light and refused to let any cold in. You remembered the time that you had caught him singing love songs and changing every pronoun to your name instead, he was on his own, doing a patrol, and you were up in a tree, happening to listen whilst teasing Shane about the fact that he failed to hit some rotten log; you never spoke about it, always thinking it had been how he had remembered the song. But things change, sometimes, after a fair amount of time, things make more sense. “That day I was in the woods with Shane... you were singing some stupid love song and kept singing my name...”

“You were up in a tree,” Rick smiled for a moment before he continued, “draped over a branch like it was nothin’, Shane was... he was being Shane, but you... a cigarette between your lips and you somehow managed to keep it there when you teased him.”

“You saw that, huh?” You asked with a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

He nodded, humming softly. “You heard me singin’ over all that?”

“Hard not to,” you replied, “maybe... maybe we should get married, I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like I can sneak off with anyone to smoke and to sit up in a tree, right?”

“Well...” Rick sat up, getting on his knees as he smiled oh so fondly at you. “You could sneak off with me.”

“I do anyways,” you grinned. “You really wanna go through with it, though?”

“I’m sure,” he reassured. “Will you marry me?”

“Yeah, of course I will!” You all but shouted, nodding eagerly.

With a growing smile, Rick gently took your hand in his, slipping the thing he had been fiddling with onto your ring finger; a plain gold band, a little too big for you, but you didn’t care. You were going to be Mister Grimes, after all.

#male!reader #male reader #x male!reader #x male reader #male reader insert #male!reader insert #rick grimes fanfic #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x reader #Rick Grimes #the walking dead one shot #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #twd #andrew lincoln #mlem writes

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emmarzhere · 3 years

Text

3am AU time: Sanders Sides Swap!!

Once again I can’t sleep due to my brain insisting it’s much more important to write down these ideas for a Light and Dark side swap AU than sleep, so 3AM TUMBLR RAMBLE IT IS BABYYYY!!!

So I wanted to try using traits already existing in each character to make their inverses, rather than just swapping traits or completely changing the character’s core values, and these are my initial late night ideas:

(Note: I saved this as a draft and revisited it in the morning / afternoon to make sure it all actually made sense and to add to it with a fresh mind)

(Extra note: I accidentally lost all my additions and the entirety of Patton’s and Virgil’s descriptions by refreshing the page, so it’ll now be written out again in a less formatted way. DAMN YOU TUMBLRRRR!!!!!!)

Roman:

My initial reaction was to make Roman “Pride”, and extend on his egocentric nature (like what is done with many Dark!Roman interpretations), however five minutes of laying in bed thinking about it later I found a trait I felt fit him better: Delusion.

This Roman could still be very much “Netflix kids and family”, living and trying to make Thomas live in a fantasy land where everything is always fine and dandy. This insistence of only seeing things through his figurative or not so figurative rose tinted glasses makes this Roman very naive and hard to get through to, and while on the surface appears very appealing to Thomas (when they first meet Thomas doesn’t understand why Roman counts as a dark side) can be very dangerous if Thomas leans too much into his ways of escaping reality, aka making Thomas a delusional person. The best part of this choice of trait for Roman is that I can still tie in his ego; delusions can be fuel people’s egos, and also to protect them from harsh realities, hence why Delusional works as a role for Roman.

While normally I see Dark Side Roman designed to be an evil prince or king, I decided to go for a more glamorous look which I think fitted my version more: Roman would wear a pristine black and red suit consisting of a red waistcoat, tie and trousers, a black button up shirt and black or red heeled boots. I also wanted his design to link to the white peacock (a rare type caused by a genetic mutation), so I topped off the outfit with either a vintage white shawl or a Cruella style coat (leaning towards Cruella because we know Roman and Disney!) with white peacock feathers attached (still trying to decide if I want Roman to have decorated the feathers with red and black accents or not), and a pair of literal rose tinted glasses to hide his white peacock eyes - pale blue with a glassy look to them which always gives the impression that he is far away, even when he’s not.

Finally his sword is replaced with a grandiose black walking stick with silver details, along with the handle being a silver peacock head (note: possibly detachable from the cane to reveal a silver knife?). I chose this as weapons like these in fiction are often used to appear innocent, only to reveal a hidden depth of skill and character; a description which I think applies well to Delusional Roman.

Extra note: Delusional Roman gets snappy, angry, or even threatening when people try to break him out of or correct him on his delusional ways, though he will often try to slip deeper into his fantasies than actually deal with emotional confrontations.

Extra extra note: Roman is incredibly jealous of his brother as he can’t understand why he’s been accepted despite Roman being the one who creates such wonderfully perfect worlds for Thomas to escape off into! He’s also jealous of how his brother doesn’t care what others think of his work and doesn’t seek validation from the others, not that Roman would ever admit that he does either of those things.

Patton:

So the 3 main aspects of Patton I felt would work best for a Dark Side are his destructive selflessness, his overly strong morale compass and how he encompasses many of Thomas’ more negative feelings.

I couldn’t decide whether to officially label him as “Denial” or “Repression”, but either way he holds a similar role: he represses his / Thomas’ negative feelings, as well as tries to push Thomas to do the morally right thing (as he still represents Morality, just not as his main trait) which almost always is the selfless option. It’s almost impossible to convince this Patton that his viewpoint is not necessarily the correct choice (he’s in denial that he as Morality can ever be in the wrong), and he becomes hostile when his views are continuously challenged.

The light sides see Patton as the main holder and cause of Thomas’ negative feelings (eg. makes Thomas act selfless and do things for others until he’s burnt out and depressed), and when Thomas is feeling these negative feelings Patton experiences them but more strongly to the point where the others have to force him out of bed (usually Logan) and take care of him until he and Thomas get out of the depressive slump. However once he’s out he will deny that he was the problem and begin pushing Thomas down the self-destructive path again.

While this Patton will deny his depression and many negative feelings, he is still not as upbeat as Happy-Pappy-Pal-Canon-Patton, matching more with how the side acts in more serious moments such as at the end of SvS redux. He will smile and comfort others, but laughter and puns are rarely seen.

Another thing about this dark side Patton is that he is very manipulative (a trait shifted from Janus to Patton), even if he doesn’t believe himself to be. He uses his role as “morale compass” to invalidate other’s opinions if they clash with his, and often emotionally hurts the sides he gets close to by caring for them and performing selfless acts for them to show his love (eg. makes breakfast for the other Darks sides every morning, goes out of his way to learn more about their interests so that they can have someone to talk to them about) followed by him simplifying complex morale dilemmas in a way that makes it appear that his option is the only correct one, making the others feel bad about their differing viewpoints (a bit like how Roman felt invalidated and morally wrong throughout SvSR as his views didn’t line up with Patton’s).

This Patton wears a worn out pale blue shirt with a fraying black jumper over the top, leaving only the collar of the shirt visible. He has frog features too; with blots of green skin scattered all over his body, slightly webbed hands and he croaks! The splodges grow larger the more emotion Patton represses. He also really doesnt like his frog features as they don’t align with the perfect image of himself that Patton has in his head, so he tries to cover them up as much as possible with his black jumper, pale blue gloves (leather ones as he tried woollen ones and his frog skin made them go sticky) and baggy trousers, although there isn’t much he can do to hide the blots on his face or his brown frog eyes....

(He’s also constantly worn out as frog-pops has no clue what self-care even means)

Extra note: Patton goes through a sort of alternate character development to canon Patton, where as he begins to be accepted by some of the Light Sides and Thomas they discuss how he doesn’t just represent Thomas’ negative feelings, but all of his feelings; a lot of them are just also accidentally repressed alongside the “bad” feelings. As time goes on Patton becomes more cheerful and goofy, even dropping the occasional dad joke, although never quite to the levels of canon Patton.

Extra extra note: The happier this Patton is, the less faded the blues on his clothes become (much like Virgil’s eyeshadow), until at moments of peak happiness his gloves and shirt are canon Patton blue (eg. when Thomas is with Nico, or when Janus and Thomas first accepted him). Cute blue embroidered designs also form on his black jumper at peak happiness, such as butterflies, simple cats, pawprints and frogs.

Logan:

So Logan is the only side I have decided to leave with the same official trait title: Logic, although he also has the orange trait Anger within him. He will also be taking the place of Virgil as the Dark Side who is prematurely accepted.

However Logan here is still different from canon Logan: he represses and denies his emotions even more than canon due to the other dark sides attitudes towards him (Delusional Roman in particular does not appreciate the truth bombs and logical reasoning the calculator watch drops), leading to more angry outbursts / orange showing through. This makes Logan a horribly unstable side, with him appearing completely apathetic to any sort of feeling for an undetermined period of time until he next reaches his limit and has an explosion of rage - he holds both Logic and Anger/Orange in him here, but the anger shows through a lot more due to his circumstances.

His clothes are always shredded and falling apart due to him tearing them when he’s angry + the rage can come out like an explosion that wrecks everything in his surrounding area, including the clothes on him. He sticks to plain black t shirts and trousers to start with as he claims he doesn’t see the point in putting effort into an outfit as he has no desire to please others.

However when Thomas starts making videos Logan can’t help but show up from time to time. He is unsure why as he could not care less what Thomas or the idiotic “Light Sides” think of him, though he figures while he’s there he might as well educate the buffoons so they can reach more informed, educated conclusions to their constant dilemmas.

At first the Lights don’t take his presence well, and more times than one he’d leave towards the end of an episode to explode in the privacy of his room. But surprisingly they eventually start listening to him, considering his inputs, and Logan leaves filming shoots satisfied, even popping into the Light Side’s area occasionally outside of filming days to talk to them.

However Logan notices a pattern as time goes on: the more he’s around the Light Sides, the less he goes Orange. He tests it by spending a week only hanging with the Lights and finds that his anger barely built up at all. Logan quickly reaches the conclusion that his orange trait isn’t actually uncontrollable, it’s how the others treated him that made it so hard to act civil. That is what leads to Logan hating the Dark Sides (much like canon Virgil does) and finally joining the lights.

Soon after being accepted Logan has an outfit change, where he goes from his burnt, tattered rags to his canon outfit, as he finally feels stable and appreciated enough to trust himself in not ruining a nice new Logic outfit. From then on his journey is about accepting that he has feelings and learning that they’re valid.

Extra note: Logan’s worst fear is the idea of going Orange in front of Thomas or the Light Sides - he finally has people who listen to him and if they see his orange side it might scare them off or they’ll lose any respect for him they had. Worst of all they could get hurt…

Extra extra note: Neither Thomas or any of the Light Sides apart from Janus are aware that Logan holds the Orange trait, believing that he only ever was Logic, just more apathetic to start with (and they actually all buy his reasoning of his old outfit being trashed due to him not caring enough about appearances to fix it, to Janus’s dismay but not disbelief - a bunch of himbos, the lot of them!).

Virgil:

Virgil still represents the “Fight or Flight” response in this AU, just without the excess Anxiety. His official title would be “Instinct”, and he would be more confident than canon Virgil. The decrease in anxiety would also make him better at making rational decisions, though he would still freak out and make not-so-great choices in stressful situations.

Rather than a spider, I decided to link this Virgil more strongly with a cat, with heightened senses, lightning reflexes and eyes that reflect light much like a cats. These additions also match with his change of aesthetic from patchwork emo to fantasy vigilante mixed with bright purple punk, plus the addition of purple eyeshadow applied actually correctly. I made this choice as both canon and this Virgil see themselves as a protector of Thomas, yet Virgil is still slightly more morally grey than the other 2 Light Sides (sort of like canon Logan) hence a darker design. Plus is it really Virgil at all if he doesn’t spend his free time listening to MCR?

Virgil also takes the role of canon Roman when it comes to Patton being accepted: he initially falls strongly for Patton’s caring qualities, with the Dark side helping sooth his anxious moments and suggesting that Thomas make other non-selfish options that don’t make Virgil feel as anxious as some of Janus’ options. So for Patton’s first few conflicts Virgil sticks up for him, claiming he’s not all bad. Then he witnesses how Patton’s selfless choices affect Thomas and realises he’s been manipulated; there was no reason to go all the way with Patton’s choice and hurt Thomas, yet Patton had convinced him that it was either his way or the wrong way, no compromises available.

So by the time Patton reveals his name Virgil really dislikes him and makes a snarky remark in which Patton replies with a jab at how he didn’t realise being Thomas’ protector meant that you could be as evil as you wanted with none of the consequences. Virgil’s equivalent line to Roman’s hero one could be something like “Don’t you trust me?” or “I thought I was your best friend?” - then again Roman’s hero line does work with this version of Virgil.

Janus:

This was one of the easiest traits to decide: with a lot of his more manipulative and deceitful traits being distributed between Patton and Roman, Janus is officially titled “Self-Preservation”, and while he doesn’t claim the father role like Patton does, he is still very much seen as a parental figure and guiding light for Thomas and the lights. He tries to be warm and welcoming to the Light sides (part of his role is to take care of Thomas, hence taking care of the parts that make Thomas), and they naturally gather around him as he gives off a safe aura.

However he is not quite as kind to the Darks - he still has the role of managing what truths Thomas can handle, so he controls which sides stay hidden from him. The darks being revealed tends to be down to him slipping up or the side finding a way around his defences more than by him deciding Thomas is ready to meet them, and each time it happens he beats himself up over it and tries to work harder to not let it happen again. The problem he doesn’t realise is that the slip ups tend to happen in the first place due to him overworking himself to make the others / Thomas happy - he doesn’t quite perform the self-care he preaches about.

I’m still not quite sure where I want to go with Janus’ outfit: the initial thought was to put him in a more Patton inspired attire, however this is still Janus, and he is still a theatrical boi. I ended up settling for a mainly cottage-core aesthetic with a flowy long sleeve yellow shirt made out of a light fabric, brown trousers and an overly large sunhat. He also drapes himself in bright patterned shawls and wraps (still predominantly yellow in colour) as while he doesn’t look as snake-like as he canonically does he still has certain snake traits, such as a weakness to the cold and a yellow tint to his left eye.

However snake features do begin to form later on into the AU as Thomas’ views on Lights and Darks alter over time: he begins to realise that despite how it appears Janus is not always in the right, such as how if it hadn’t been for mistakes Thomas would never have met the Darks and learnt to grow as a person - in fact if Self-Preservation got the say in everything he would likely do little growing whatsoever. He and in turn the other Lights begin to find Janus too stifling until SvSR happens where under the stress Janus becomes a true snake boi. The scales and proper snake eye don’t fade afterwards due to Thomas’ subconscious change in perspective, and while it is a big new insecurity at first over time Janus learns to accept these new changes to himself and the Mindscape, and begins adding a touch of darker mystical aesthetic to his look (slightly fantasy fortune teller based) to match his new look better - although cottage-core remains his go to!!

Extra note: In this AU Janus is definitely the side that would most likely be seen going around the Mindscape in a dress (Roman would also wear dresses on occasion but mainly only within his daydreams in the Imagination); he is all about taking care of yourself, and that includes wearing what makes you happy! Though I’m still kind of tempted to put him in a dress full time...

Extra extra note: while Janus is very much the “adult figure” in the Light Mindscape, he still has his goofy moments like in canon - in general he is more relaxed and jokey with the others...though he’s still a sarcastic shet.

(I struggled finding images that matched at all with the ideas in my head, so take these as very vague links to the actual design)

Remus:

Oh boy, Remus is a fun one...

So now that Roman is the twin known by a different title (like how canon Remus is referred to as “Intrusive Thoughts”), Remus now has claim to the Creativity role!! However Remus isn’t going to do a 180 personality wise - he’s still going to be a chaotic gremlin, just with a light side twist.

His design is purposely all over the place: his aesthetic is mainly pirate based with a long sleeve pirate shirt, loose black trousers and heeled black and silver pirate boots, alongside a dark green pirate jacket and slightly brighter bandana. However he has other seemingly random elements thrown in there, such as a white and green hero cape (fuck what Edna says) coming off the back of the coat, and random colourful potions in the green belt under his coat alongside a knight’s sword. This mismatched look is due to the type of imagination Remus provides: while he still represents and creates intrusive thoughts, he also creates adventure stories and life goals/dreams for Thomas, hence takes a form that has mixed elements from Thomas’ self-inserts and protagonists for said stories. While he personally loves his messy design (do you know how much fun can be had with magic potions, swords, tentacles, and a day in the Imagination? Remus sure does), it does cause some arguments between him and Logan over how illogical him and his ideas are (like canon Roman and Logan).

Roman makes this Remus....uncomfortable. Not necessarily because of his ideas (those are just dull and vomit-worthy in his opinion), but because of how he can’t separate dreams and reality - while Remus loves coming up with Imaginative stories for Thomas and setting slightly outlandish goals for the future, he has a level of awareness that Roman lacks in how he knows Thomas won’t ACTUALLY end up being a morally grey pirate travelling the seas to claim back the magical pendant of octopus powers (unless...). He’s also uneasy with how easily Thomas can fall for Roman’s delusions of grandeur and romance, in fact it opens up quite a major insecurity on how despite being the “good” twin his brother seems to succeed more as the creative role, eg. how Thomas will come up with a dream future career path, husband and even car in a matter of seconds yet Remus has to slave and hone in on decent ideas for weeks to reach his own standard.

This leads to another thing about Remus: while he doesn’t care what others think of his ideas (the trait I mentioned earlier that Roman was jealous of) he hold a high standard to himself and gets extremely happy when he perfects an idea. Besides he still wants his ideas to actually be used by Thomas as them being dismissed for not being good enough does hurt (a bit like how Remus got frustrated in the recent episode with how his “good” intrusive creations were being torn apart by Logan’s methods).

Extra note: The fact that Thomas doesn’t like or appreciate some of his darker ideas / intrusive thoughts doesn’t bother Remus too much as he tends to put less effort into them as he knows they won’t be liked - he just can’t help that they pop into his head and he has to get them out - repression is bad after all! However maybe there can be some episode drama about Remus wanting to be less stifled and have Thomas at least consider some of his more mature themes that he thinks would be good to expand upon.

Extra extra note: Just assuring the fact that Remus not caring what the others think about his work does not correlate with him not caring about the others. He loves his fellow Light Sides and Thomas - he’s just confident in his own craft and while appreciates advice and improvements from the others (he and Logan have a field day on creating biologically accurate gore together) he also is aware that HE is Creativity, and he understands his craft better than the others.

Extra extra EXTRA note: Wasn’t really sure how to put it in there but Remus still represents Thomas’ lust. Do with that what you want.

Thomas:

So all these changes to the sides....of course it has it’s effects on character!Thomas! However I’m getting REALLY tired now so this will be done in bullet points:

Not as Disney-centric as canon/real Thomas.

Has less issues with Anxiety, and more issues dealing with Depression

His morals start off a bit more flexible than canon due to always having we-live-in-a-society Janus as his guide

Still has intrusive thoughts, but not as debilitating with the lower levels of anxiety and the much better relationship with Remus.

Still overworks himself trying to help others (nice one Patton!)

Might have a different career due to Roman being more out the frame - maybe goes into writing instead with Remus’ more diverse form of creativity.

Does explore more diverse creative ideas and darker themes, but still out of habit sometimes puts down possibly good ideas as on surface level they appear too morally wrong.

However could possibly be in a non-creative career, and his major longing for a new career path could be what allows Roman through for the first time.

Less dad jokes but still incredibly goofy with both Remus and Janus being more present.

I think I’m going to wrap up there for now! I may make some art for this at some point, but I also want other’s opinions and ideas for this AU.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!!

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damonsvftie · 4 years

Text

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝

MASTERLIST☁️

Summary: When Draco has completely pushed himself away from you, things take a dark turn especially when your best friend, Harry Potter casts a sectumsempra spell on him.

Warning: angst and fluff☁️

Timeline: set during the half blood prince

I sat in my bed reading my favourite book while the moon shone brightly and rain poured down heavily. It had been raining all day however i didn’t mind. I loved everything about the rain and considered it as relaxing while I would open up a book and get lost into my own imagination.

It was 10.30pm, when I had read nearly half of the book that was in my hands but I couldn’t seem to finish it. My mind was pondering somewhere else, preventing me from completely finishing the book. What seemed to bother me was Draco.

He had promised that he would write to me during the summer break whenever he could but he never wrote to me once. I sent him a few letters then and there but I still didn’t earn a reply back. I was mainly worried about him. I wouldn’t stop sending him letters until I made sure he was completely fine but then I thought to myself, ‘what if he doesn’t want to write to me? What if he thinks I’m being clingy?’ So I eventually stopped from doing so.

There wasn’t much time left anyways. One more week and we would be going back to Hogwarts for our 6th year and how I yearned to see Draco badly than ever.

—

One week had gone by and there I was making my way to platform 9 and 3/4. A bunch of 1st years were bidding their goodbyes to their parents while the others boarded the train.

When I got inside my compartment, i was greeted by the golden trio. “Oh Merlin y/n, you haven’t been writing to us all winter,” groaned Hermione while she gave me a warm hug while Ron popped my suitcase onto the upper tier. I turned to face Harry, embracing him while he cradled me ever so slightly.

“You said you would write to all of us, what happened to that,” questioned Ron making his way towards me for a warm, welcoming hug. I lowered my gaze in disappointment and shame, looking at the floor.

“It’s Malfoy isn’t it?” Spat Harry furiously while he clenched his fists tight. My hand travelled to his bicep lightly gripping on it.

“Yes..but no,” I sighed, deeply exhaling while both Hermione and Ron cocked their heads in confusion.”He hasn’t been writing to me all summer...and I’m afraid that something’s wrong with him,” I blurted out quickly while I tried to not meet Harry’s gaze as my eyes filled with tears blurring my vision.

“I just knew he would do something like that, I warned you-,” Harry started venting before I cut him off.

“Harry please.. that’s not important right now. What’s important is Draco,” I muttered in defense of my boyfriend.

—

The whole train ride was awkward and the tension could have most definitely been cut with a knife. No one dared to say a word until we reached Hogwarts. Harry had glanced at me a couple of times and somewhere deep down I knew he only wanted what was best for me, and I couldn’t have appreciated it anymore but anyone who would say a word against Draco would have to fight me first.

—

In honour of all the students, a feast was held in the great hall. We all took our positions as we sat huddled together with our other fellow house members. I sat besides Harry while Ron and Hermione took their places opposite us. Purposely, I took my seat where I sat just so I could get to see Draco Malfoy.

While Dumbledore started his welcome back speech, I glanced at the platinum haired boy from across the hall as a look of depression smeared across his face. He looked different. His skin had turned paler than it already was and the spark that was usually in his eyes had faded away. I was becoming really concerned about Draco and seeing him look so devastated made my heart shatter into millions of tiny pieces.

When the feast had started, I had completely lost my appetite. Seeing my boyfriend look absolutely weak and mundane made me non- famished. My heart ached for him. I just wanted to be there for him assuring him that whatever he was going through I would be there for him no matter what. But what if I wasn’t? What if whatever that was causing his depression made me want to stay away from him? But I wouldn’t let that happen. No matter what.

—

A week had already flew by in a instant blur. I tried everything I could to get Draco to start opening up to me but nothing worked. He was constantly ignoring me as if I didn’t exist and as the days went by his depression seemed to get worser and since he kept neglecting me I started to feel heavily inferior.

—

It was way past curfew when I sat near my desk writing a letter addressed to Draco. My hands started trembling as I used my quill to write. Tears were spilling down my cheeks onto the piece of paper, staining it and causing the splodges of tears to become soggy and transparent.

To my beloved Draco,

I know that you don’t want anything to do with me right now but I just need you to know that I love and care about you and will continue to do so until the day I die. Whatever it is your going through I’ll always be with you no matter the circumstances but please don’t distance yourself away from me like this.

Yours, y/l/n

Sealing the envelope, I handed my ptilopsis owl, named Elvis, the letter that was in my hands a second ago. He took the object between its beak and flew out of the open glass stained windows, soaring high into the blanket of darkness, on its way to deliver the message to Malfoy.

—

The next day, I hoped that I had gotten a response from Draco however I was wrong. I never got a reply back. I wanted to help him overcome whatever it was but if he wasn’t going to cooperate with me then I couldn’t do anything to comfort him during this dark time.

—

Weeks started to pass by and I was becoming closer to Harry. It was no secret that me and Draco weren’t together. Or that’s what others thought as they never saw the two of us together again. And let’s say that’s what I also thought.

Harry and me became more than best friends. It was more like a situationship since we weren’t dating but we were closer than ever. It wasn’t until one evening Hermione word-vomited Harry’s secret to me.

—

“If only you knew about Harry,” she mumbled under her breathe when I started teasing her about Ronald.

“What did you say?” I questioned curiously while I pushed my silky hair behind me.

“It’s nothing, besides we should get going,” she replied defensively as she played with the hem of robe.

“No... what did you say about Harry? “ I asked eagerly while I stopped walking, completely facing the brunette girl in front of me. She awkwardly shifted her feet while she smoothed the fabric of her robe trying to avoid any eye contact. I gave her a slight nudge so she could snap out of it.

“He’s in love with you,”. That was it. Those were her words.

The phrase that came out of her mouth made me shudder. He couldn’t love me because I didn’t want him too.

Typically, many Gryffindors thought that I was simply using Harry, trying to make up for the loss of no longer being with Draco but that wasn’t the case. Harry was always there for me, a shoulder to cry on, someone to make me laugh when I was feeling down as ever but he could never replace Draco. No matter how hard I tried to move on from my former lover, nothing seemed to work. Thinking to myself that maybe Harry could fill in the missing gaps, the extra pieces to a lost puzzle, a way for me to escape my completely distorted imagination but I was wrong. No matter how much Harry loved me I assured myself that he would soon get over it, because he needed to. He had to.

—

Sitting in the great hall, I tried to sit as far as I could from Harry but he would scoot up closer towards me. Frequently asking me if I was okay or if I needed anything making sure I was completely fine, but how could I be ‘okay’ if I was stuck between my true love and someone I considered as my best friend. No no, I wasn’t stuck. I was certain about what I wanted. I wanted Draco. But things between the two of us came crumbling down.

Then there was Potter, someone who stuck by me when Draco made me feel inferior but how selfish was it of me too view everything from my perspective. Had I once put myself into Malfoy’s shoes and tried figuring out what demons he was battling with, that had caused him to be in such a state. But the issue was that I did. I did try my hardest to find out what was happening with him. What was going on inside his brain.But nothing helped.

I got up from my seat as the tension between me and Harry rised. I needed to honestly give myself a break from whatever was happening. Before I could leave, someone gripped my wrist gently. Turning myself around, I noticed Harry’s fingers wrapped around my wrist holding me back from leaving. It wasn’t until I noticed my eyes were beginning to tear up. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t look him in the eye and disappoint him when he immensely cared for me. I wanted to give him the same passion back but my heart belonged to Draco and only him.

Suddenly, he hastily removed his hand from my wrist causing me to turn around, my back now facing him. There stood Draco. He shifted on his feet before he went striding out of the hall.

Harry started chasing after him and I intended to do so until Hermione pulled me back down onto the seat next to her.

“Y/n-“ was all she murmured before I wriggled out of her grasp running as quick as I could, heading out of the massive, substantial doors.

Luckily, I managed to hear the echoes of someone running down the hall way into the boys bathroom. The more swiftly I ran, the louder the clattering of the footsteps became audible.

I barged into the bathroom while I let out a blood curdling scream. Running to Draco who laid lifelessly groaning in pain in a puddle of murky blood infused water, i kneeled beside him resting his head onto my lap as I moved his platinum blonde hair out of his gashed face.

He was heavily injured as he had deep cuts carved all over his body. He whimpered in pain, while tears spilled out from the corner of his half shut eyes.

A piercing sensation depleted through my body, while my tears came streaming down my face, tasting the saltiness of my tear drops that lingered onto my quivering lips.

“Draco-“ I whispered while I swallowed the thick lump at the back of my throat while my face scrunched up in sorrow.

Standing from across the bathroom was Harry. His wand gripped tightly in his hand as I looked over my shoulder not fully turning. From the corner of my eye, I could still see the expression of guilt smeared across his face before he left in silence.

“SOMEBODY HELP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my shrieking voice echoing. My trembling fingers slowly glided across Draco’s cheek, wiping all of his tears away as he tried his best to stay awake, fluttering his wet eyelashes every now and then. My face hovered over his as he stared at me through his blurry vision trying to fight back his tears.

“Go get ... snape,” he said trying to muster all the courage he could to try and get up.“I can’t leave you here like that!” I sobbed through gritted teeth while my face flustered from all the heat. “Y/n... I’m sorry- I really am,” he apologised while the end of his lips curved into a frown and he desperately tried to hold back his tears.

Feeling a pang of pain in my chest from the sincerity of his words, I started sulking harder than before while he bought his hand up to my face wiping my tears. “Please don’t cry,” he mumbled while he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Seeing the pain that he was going through, i wiped my face with the sleeves of my robe, smudging my mascara even more. I was a complete train wreck at this point as I squeezed his hand.

“Y/n... do you know- how much I love you?” The end of his sentence finishing of like a diminuendo. I cradled him slightly, letting out a small giggle while I plastered a small smile across my face.

It was the first time Draco had ever confessed his love for me and I couldn’t have been more elated. My smile then turned into a fine line as I pursed my lips and knitted my brows. “You don’t have to say... it back,” he murmured as his dark blue eyes softened.

“I love you too... and I really mean it. Draco your my everything,” I said confidently, exhaling deeply as I got those three words of my chest. Our eyes met and I found myself dipping low as my lips met his. I kissed him passionately as if it was the last time I’d ever kiss him again. I kissed him like there was no tomorrow.It felt like a whole moment of bliss until he started whincing in pain. I pulled back as I noticed his hands holding onto his side. Removing his head from my lap I scrambled to my feet heading for the door. “I’ll be back...just stay put!” I yelled back to him as I went to go and find Snape.

—

“Someone casted a sectumsempra spell on Mr. Malfoy, Miss . Y/l/n do you know who has done this to him?” He asked in his lifeless tone but more furious than ever.“It was Potter... he chased me here and casted the spell on me. He’s trying to kill me!,” interrupted Draco once Severus had healed him completely. “I’ll be dealing with him,” bellowed Snape as he stormed out of the bathroom, the back of his robe flaring.

“Are you okay Draco?” I questioned as I looked up to him. “Better than before,” he responded before taking his hand into mine.“Draco we need to talk,” the tone of my voice more mature than ever. He simply nodded while we walked to the slytherin common room.

Since no one was there, we sat in front of the warm, blazing fire holding one another as a blanket draped the two of us. One of his hands made its way into my hair, gently stroking it as my head leaned against his chest. “Why were you ignoring me all this time?” I interrogated as I pulled away from him tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

The same depressing look painted across his face. His eyes had turned a dark grey as he glanced at me before he started playing with the silver ring that was on his finger. I placed my hand on his arm giving him a reassuring look.

He started to roll up one of his sleeves as if something was plastered across the surface of his skin.

His wrist was branded with the signature dark mark and a tear drop glided down his pale face. My hand covered my mouth as I examined the familiar piece of dark art that was embedded into his arm.

“Your- your a death eater,” I gasped gently. He avoided meeting my gaze as I gawped in awe. “This ... this was the reason why I kept neglecting you. I didn’t want to drag you into any of this mess .. I-,” cutting him off I lifted his chin glaring into his emotion filled eyes. “Draco.. you know that I’ll always be there for you no matter what right?” I questioned as my thumb drew tiny circles on his cheek.

He hummed before I pulled him in for a kiss wrapping my arms around his neck. His lips were slightly chapped but I didn’t mind. A feeling of euphoria ran through my body like adrenaline while his breathing became more frantic and fast.

Pulling away panting, I locked his hand into mine as I sat in front of him. “I’ll always be here for you no matter what,” I panted while staring into his cold eyes as he slowly nodded.

A teardrop slipped down his cheek as I brushed it with my finger

“We can figure this out,” I reassured him.

“A mark doesn’t define who you are,”

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