#.all or nothing at all; (m. macdonald)

[whimsicalpolitical]

Tell him - Matty Healy x Ross MacDonald x Reader

in which matty realizes you have a thing for his best friend

content warning: 18+ mdni, smut, threesome, p in v, oral (f/m receiving), handjob, dirty talk, thigh riding

You sit next to Matty in a cozy booth at the pub, surrounded by his friends and bandmates. The lively chatter and laughter swirl around you, but your focus keeps drifting.

Your eyes are glued to Ross, drawn by some invisible force you can’t seem to resist. His dark hair is pulled back into a bun, a few loose strands framing his face in a way that’s effortlessly rugged. He’s wearing a black shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest hair. The way it contrasts against his shirt, peeking through like it’s daring you to look, makes your pulse quicken.

There’s an air of quiet confidence about him, a magnetic presence that makes it hard to tear your gaze away. Every time he leans back in his chair, his shirt parts just enough to show more of that patch of hair, and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to trace your fingers over it, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

The thought makes heat rush to your cheeks, a deep shame curling in your stomach. You’re sitting here with Matty, his arm draped casually around your shoulders, yet all you can think about is his best friend. It feels wrong, a betrayal, and the guilt gnaws at you, but that doesn’t stop the fantasies from creeping into your mind.

Matty notices. Of course he does. He always does.

With a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he leans in closer to you, his breath warm against your ear. “Am I bothering whatever this is?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with that playful tone that makes your stomach flip.

You blink, torn from your reverie, and turn to him, your cheeks heating up. “What?” you manage to stammer, but the word comes out more flustered than you’d like.

“You’re staring, love. Not at me, though. Should I be jealous?” His fingers trail lightly over your arm, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

You open your mouth to deny it, to come up with some excuse, but the words don’t come. You feel flustered, caught off guard by how easily he reads you.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, but Matty’s having none of it.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s nothing,” he says, his tone still light, still teasing. “What’s got you so interested in Ross, hm? Should I be worried?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to ignore the flutter in your chest. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, attempting to sound casual, but the flush on your cheeks gives you away.

“Ridiculous, am I?” Matty grins, obviously having way too much fun with this. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone’s got a bit of a crush.”

“Matty-“ you begin, not knowing how to end your sentence, “I wasn’t- didn’t.”

Matty laughs at your failed attempt to defend yourself, “it’s alright, love. Come with me for a second.”

Before you can respond, he’s already sliding out of the booth, his hand finding yours and pulling you along with him. The pub is a blur of sound and movement as he leads you through the crowd, his grip firm and reassuring. You’re not entirely sure where he’s taking you until you find yourselves in the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms.

Matty pushes open the door to the bathroom, the noise from the pub dulling to a low hum as the door swings shut behind you. The space is small, just barely enough room for the two of you, but Matty doesn’t seem to mind. He turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours as he gently lifts you onto the counter, his hands settling on either side of you, trapping you in place.

The cool surface of the counter seeps through your clothes, grounding you a little, but your heart is still racing. Matty’s so close now, his breath warm against your skin, his body inches from yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes it hard to focus on anything else.

He takes a moment, just looking at you, like he’s savoring the sight of you flustered and cornered. Then, with a tilt of his head and that familiar smirk, he says, “remember our talk about a threesome months ago? How you said you’d want to explore that?”

“I- Matty,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

Your eyes widen, breath catching in your throat as you process his words. The memory of that conversation—half-joking, half-serious, shared in the quiet intimacy of his bed—floods back, and your face heats up instantly. You open your mouth to say something, but Matty doesn’t give you the chance.

“You’re alright. I said I would want to do that as well, so no reason to be embarrassed.”

His thumbs are rubbing slow circles into your thighs, “so,” he says, “d’you fancy Ross? Or is there something you’d like to do with him?”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. “I—I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s not really something I’ve thought about seriously. I mean, I like Ross, but—”

Matty’s expression softens slightly, though the playful edge never quite disappears. “It’s okay if you do,” he says, his voice soothing. “It’s all about what you want and what we’re comfortable with.”

He leans forward to give you a reassuring kiss.

“Darling, if you want me to talk to Ross I will, you just need to tell me if you want that.”

“You would suggest having a threesome?”

“Course. If you want to shag him this bad.”

You can’t help but huff out a laugh as well, pushing his shoulders softly, “piss off.”

“Don’t brat. I’ve got to know,” he starts, turning to face you with a teasing smile, “why Ross? Why not George?”

You blink at the question, caught off guard by how casual he sounds.

“Why Ross?” you echo, trying to buy yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. You hadn’t really considered it in those terms—it’s just something about Ross that draws you in, something that feels different. But how do you explain that to Matty without feeling completely exposed?

Matty’s grin widens as he watches you struggle for words. “Yeah, why Ross?” he presses, his tone light but with an edge of genuine curiosity. “I mean, George is right there too. So what’s got you all flustered about Ross?”

“I don’t know… It’s just that Ross has this… presence, I guess,” you begin, trying to find the right words. “He’s quiet, but in this really intense way, like there’s so much going on under the surface. And he’s always so steady, so calm but at the same times gives off a dominant energy but also really… I don’t know, attractive.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “So it’s that quiet strength thing he’s got going on?”

You nod, relieved that he seems to get it. “Yeah, exactly. It’s like he doesn’t need to prove anything, he just is. And that’s��� well, it’s hot.”

Matty chuckles, clearly amused by your reasoning. “Fair enough,” he says, nodding slightly as if he’s filing away the information for later. “I can see that. Ross is solid. He’s a catch.”

You laugh at his enthusiastic undertone, “alright. I love you, Matty. Really much.”

“I love you,” he chuckles, “then it’s settled, yeah? I’ll have a chat with him. Freshen up a bit, you look… flustered.”

“I wonder why,” you joke, pulling him in by grabbing his shirt. You move forward to kiss him and to run your tongue across his bottom lip.

You move back, “I’ll see you then?”

“Fuck yeah.”

You take a moment to freshen up, splashing some cool water on your face to calm the warmth that’s crept into your cheeks.

When you finally step out of the bathroom and back into the pub, your eyes instinctively scan the room for Matty. But then you notice something odd—Ross is gone. Your heart drops, a sinking feeling of dread creeping into your chest. Did Matty talk to him already? What if Ross was utterly disgusted by the idea? What if he didn’t want anything to do with this… with you?

You can’t help but imagine the worst, your mind running wild with all the possibilities. Maybe you overstepped, maybe you read things wrong, maybe this was a terrible idea from the start. The excitement you felt just moments ago starts to evaporate, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty.

Before you can spiral any further, Matty appears at your side, his hand slipping naturally into yours. He’s smiling, but there’s something in his eyes—something secretive, almost. It puts you on edge, but you don’t ask him what’s wrong. Maybe you’re too afraid to hear the answer, too scared that it’ll confirm your worst fears.

“Ready to head home?” Matty asks, his voice smooth as ever, though there’s an undertone you can’t quite place.

You nod, feeling a bit lost in your own thoughts. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The walk to the car is quiet, the night air cool against your skin. Matty pulls out a cigarette as you get in, lighting it with a practiced ease. The smoke curls around him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other flicking ash out of the open window. The silence between you feels heavy, weighted with unspoken questions. You want to ask him what happened, why Ross disappeared, but you can’t bring yourself to break the quiet.

Instead, you stare out the window, lost in your thoughts. The city lights blur as you pass by, your mind replaying the evening over and over, trying to piece together what went wrong.

The car comes to a slow stop in front of Matty’s place. You both get out and walk towards your door, however Matty doesn’t pull out his house keys, he knocks.

You furrow your brows, a confused laugh escaping your lips, “what-“

But before you can finish, the door swings open, and there, standing in the doorway, is Ross.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes meet his. Ross looks just as composed as ever, his gaze steady, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you—an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. You glance back at Matty, who’s smiling that secretive smile again.

“Go on,” Matty says, his voice warm as he gestures for you to go inside first.

You hesitate for a split second, but then you step forward, offering Ross a small, uncertain smile as you do. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Ross replies, his voice deep and even, his expression unreadable.

Matty steps in behind you, closing the door with a soft click. “Hey, mate.”

Your heart is beating so fast you’re sure they can both hear it. You’re still not entirely sure what’s happening, but the way Matty and Ross are looking at you—there’s no mistaking the shared understanding in their gazes.

Matty’s the first to break the silence as he shrugs off his jacket and shoes, “let’s not beat around the bush, I talked to Ross and as you can see he’s here and quite into the idea.”

“D’you want something to drink?” He continues, walking into the kitchen, “I have wine.”

“Wine’s perfect,” Ross says, offering you a warm smile as he settles onto the couch.

You’re hyper-aware of every move, every glance, every shift of his body. The way he leans back, so calm and composed, only adds to that quiet intensity you find so attractive.

Your eyes meet, and there’s something unspoken passing between you—something that makes your heart race all over again. You’re not sure what to say, if you should say anything at all, but Ross seems content just to watch you, his gaze steady and patient, as if he’s waiting for the right moment.

A minute later, Matty returns with a bottle of wine and three glasses. He sets them down on the coffee table, pouring each of you a generous amount before handing you your glass. You take it gratefully, hoping it will calm the nerves that have you feeling like you’re on the edge of something you can’t quite name.

Matty settles in beside you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours, a comforting presence that steadies you a little. He raises his glass with a casual smile. “To this evening,” he says, his voice warm with underlying meaning.

You clink glasses, the sound delicate and sharp in the quiet room. The wine is smooth and rich on your tongue, its warmth spreading through you, loosening some of the tension coiled tight in your chest.

The conversation starts out light—just the three of you chatting about nothing in particular, the familiarity between Matty and Ross easing some of the awkwardness you feel. But there’s an undercurrent to it all, something more, something charged, that lingers just beneath the surface.

Eventually, you find yourself leaning back into the cushions, the warmth of the wine and Matty’s presence making you relax. You’re so caught up in the moment, in the easy flow of conversation, that you almost don’t notice when Ross shifts slightly closer to you on the couch. But then his hand brushes against yours—soft, barely there, but enough to send a spark through you.

You glance up at him, your breath catching as you realize that this is it—this is the moment where things are about to shift. There’s no going back now.

Ross holds your gaze for a moment longer, as if gauging your reaction, then his hand moves with a quiet certainty, resting on your knee. The touch is firm but gentle, his palm warm through the fabric of your jeans. Your heart skips a beat, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Matty, noticing the shift, leans back with a satisfied smirk, taking a sip of his wine as if this is exactly what he was expecting. His hand comes to rest on your lower back, a small but reassuring touch.

“Go on,” Matty murmurs softly, his voice teasing but encouraging. “I think we’ve all been waiting long enough.”

Ross doesn’t need any further prompting. He slides his hand up your thigh, the slow, deliberate motion sending shivers through you. You can feel the tension in the air thickening, the anticipation growing with every second.

“Is this alright?” Ross asks, his voice low, a gravelly timbre that sends a thrill through you.

You nod, your voice catching in your throat for a moment before you manage to whisper, “Yeah, it’s alright.”

That’s all the confirmation Ross needs. He leans in slowly, his lips brushing against your jawline, testing, before he presses a soft, lingering kiss there. It’s gentle, almost tentative, but it sends a wave of warmth through you, your breath hitching as you turn your head slightly to give him better access.

Ross pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But all you feel is a rush of excitement, the thrill of being in this moment with them, of exploring something you’ve only ever thought about in passing.

When you don’t pull away, Ross moves in again, this time capturing your lips with his in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s different from Matty’s—less playful, more intense, with a depth that takes your breath away. You respond instinctively, your hand coming up to rest on Ross’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

Matty shifts beside you, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “just enjoy it, darling.”

You do. You let yourself sink into the kiss, into the warmth of Ross’s body, into the reassurance of Matty’s presence.

When he pulls back you want to kiss him again but Matty’s moving faster.

“Let’s move to the bedroom.”

You nod and stand up, letting the boys go first.

When you’re in your familiar space Matty undresses himself first, first unbuttoning his white shirt and then pulling his tank top off his torso.

You're not sure where to look - him, or Ross - when he unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans drop to the floor.

You're up next. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your body as he unbuttons your own shirt, peering over your shoulder as he undoes the buttons slowly, one by one until he reaches the bottom. He peels the fabric off of your shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, joining his pile of clothes. He unzips your jeans and bends down to help you step out of them and you're stood there in front of Ross, clad in nothing but a bra and panties. "Let him see you," Matty whispers, and you drop your arms.

Ross’ eyes drop down to your body and he smirks, “you’re a gorgeous one, love.”

You gain a bit of confidence and walk towards Ross to intertwine your lips again.

It's a burning ember of feverish desire as he parts himself open and open, tongues slowly rolling against each other until a moan slips out of you. "You like this? Don't think it's weird or anything?"

"M'fine." You answer

"Tell us to stop, we’ll stop.”

"No."

You can feel Matty pressing against your back, the pads of his fingers digging themselves into your flesh, marking the spots where Ross’ lips can't reach as Ross dips into your collarbone and sucks. Hard. He leaves you purple and aching, your neck craned as the your boyfriend dips your head back and gazes down at you.

"Christ, she likes that."

You sigh in bliss, slowly unraveling at the seams.

And oh, your whole body fucking stutters when Ross dips his hand between your legs, causing you to lurch for Matty’s mouth in order to stifle the whiny gasp of surprise knocked out of you. His palm envelops your jaw. He's warm. Wet. Lids moony and lips silky with an indiscernible impatience you can't recognize.

More. Give me more of you.

You jolt as Ross’ other hand carefully unclasps your bra, his nose nudging against the valley of your breasts before he's cupping you in a lazy grasp.

He mouths at your nipples and he savors it. He thanks you. He thanks you with a twist to one of the hardened buds, soothing the area with his tongue before his teeth climb up the front of your neck and he makes you whimper.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty." He hums. "Sensitive thing, aren't you?“

A bite. A bruise. An apologetic kiss even though he's far from sorry.

And while Ross traverses his way up to your mouth, Matty dips down to nurse a path all over your back.

Your shoulders are bare and waiting as he takes your flesh between smiling lips and leaves a glistening trail of wet, open-mouthed pecks on your flexing muscles.

Ross gives you another hungry kiss, only this time it's like you haven't kissed at all. He kisses you like he doesn't already have you yearning and yearning for more. He bites your bottom lip, drawing a raspy gasp from the back of your throat. His nose smashes against your cheek as he moans into you, the taste of cigarettes lingering on your tongue.

"You're so pretty." Matty ruts against your tailbone, collecting your hair into a careful fist and tugging until you're pulled away from your deepening kiss. "Hmm, you like Ross kissing you like this?”

"Yes,” you gasp.

Ross pulls his fingers from you and steps back causing you to try to move forward again to seek the same feeling he gave you seconds ago.

Matty chuckles and moves away from you, sitting against the headboard. “Come here.”

You obey and right as you want to sit on his lap he tuts, “nah, body towards Ross.”

Matty spreads his legs and makes you sit against him, back to his chest.

“Ross,” Matty says, “you have her, right darling?”

“Y- fuck, yes.”

“Can’t believe you’re sharing her with me, such a gorgeous, perfect girl. Bet she likes that, though. Having us both.”

It’s the first time you hear Ross talk like that and it makes your panties even more damp then they already are.

You watch Ross moving closer to the bed while he throws his shirt over his head, his happy trail on full display for you.

Your eyes travel down further, following his hair and stop at his obvious bulge. Your instinct is telling you to help him out but Matty’s got you in his grasp. You’re staying where you are.

“D’you want me to taste you? Make you feel good?”

You nod which causes Ross to throw his head back laughing, “haven’t told her to always use her words, mate?”

“Actually, I have. You’re not going shy on us, are you darling?”

You shake your head but stop when you realize that’s not what they want, “no, of course not.”

Ross chuckles, “course, ‘cause we can’t have that, can we?”

“Not shy,” you say, “just- this is just new.”

“Mhm,” he smiles, hovering over you now.

He tilts your chin up so he can kiss you, then kisses down your jaw and your neck, sucking and biting your skin on his way down.

“It’s alright, love. Relax for us.” He kisses down, down, down until he's reached your pussy. He presses a kiss over the already damp fabric of your underwear and hums in satisfaction. "Lift up," he says, pulling your panties down your legs before tossing the garment to Matty.

Matty catches the fabric, “fucks sake. What a mess she made," Matty comments, rubbing his thumb over the damp spot of your panties. His eyes flicker back down to you as he brings them to his face, inhaling your scent deeply. "They’re drenched. Ross really does it for you, hm.”

Ross grins into the flesh of your inner thighs, proud to trigger the same reaction your boyfriend does. He would never show or admit it but you stroke his ego immensely.

One of your hands finds Ross’ scalp and tugs on his hair, removing the hair tie. He kisses your slick folds, sucking one into his mouth and then the other. Ross dips inside your heat, all warm and slick just for him as he inhales you, tastes you - your musk, your sweet arousal, just like honey on his tongue. He uses the muscle to trace you lazily, more for himself than you before he finds your clit, licking and sucking the sensitive part of you.

His big doe eyes sparkle as he eats you the way he wants to - savoring you and your body. He's all passion and devotion.

“Doesn’t she just taste absolutely divine?” Matty asks behind you, his hand starting to move to your neck, squeezing before it moves over your breast, catching your nipple between his fingers.

“Fuck,” you moan.

Ross only hums against you, sending another wave through your body.

You throw your head back as much as you can, hiding in the crook of Matty’s neck, eyes closing but again, Matty is not satisfied.

“Open your eyes or we’ll stop right now. You wanted Ross and now you’re going to look at him.”

Ross is still lapping between your thighs and you physically can’t open your eyes, mumbling a bunch of ‘sorry’s’ while your hands grip his hair tighter.

Ross turns his head to the side and bites your thigh, not hard but enough to startle. "What did Matty just tell you?" Matty scolds. "Sorry, mate" he mumbles against your skin.

"S'alright. I know she's new to it." Ross’ words go straight to your core. It's that condescending tone, paired with that sugar-sweet smirk on his lips as he says it.

Ross’ tongue and lips on your clit continue to work magic. He eats you like it's not something he's doing for you, but to you, his own endeavor. It's all lust and hunger, fingertips bruising your skin under his vice-like grip, tongue relentlessly laving over your sex. His beard gently scratches your inner thighs, rubs you raw so that you'll be feeling him in the coming days after this.

“There we go, baby. Fuck, you take good care of my girl, don’t you, Ross?”

You writhe and grind against Ross’ mouth, attempting to take some semblance of control over your pleasure. Ross swats your ass cheek and holds you still. You're gonna take what he gives you, feel exactly what he wants you to. Feel his aquiline nose circling your clit, his tongue dipping in and out of your slick hole. You let out moans, pleasure building quickly. You feel it everywhere - deep in your gut, up your spine, down your legs.

Matty listens to everything while paying good attention to your nipples and sucking marks into the skin on your neck.

“You close, love?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “so close.”

"Not yet, Ross," Matty says. And Ross listens. Your mouth drops, your eyes wide and dismayed like a wounded animal as he retreats from you, his lips and chin shiny with your juices. You look at Ross with that same hurt expression.

"Hey. Don't you pout at him like that," Matty barks.

A contrite look washes over your face and you apologize quickly, "sorry.”

Ross looks impressed by the way you submit yourself so readily to him. "Don’t worry about it,” he purrs.

Matty moves from behind you and scoots to the left side of the bed, motioning to Ross to take his place, who sheds off his suit pants right now.

He takes a second to press his palm down his bulge to try to release a bit of pressure.

“Fuckin‘ hurts, doesn’t it?“ You take your eyes off Ross to look at your boyfriend. Matty‘s palming himself over his boxers in a slow, torturous pace, pre cum staining the fabric.

“Yeah, but it’s worth it.”

You turn around, kneeling on the bed waiting for anything.

Ross lays down exactly like Matty did and Matty copy’s Ross’ action, laying exactly next to him.

“Sit,” Matty orders, pointing at the thigh closest to Ross. “Take care of him.”

“What about you?”

You lean into him when he touches your cheek, “don’t worry about me, yeah? I’m enjoying the show.”

You accept his answer and move onto Matty’s thigh, his muscles immediately giving you a little friction which you will absolutely use for your own pleasure.

You wait until Ross got rid of his boxers and fuck, he’s big. You don’t want to start comparing in your head but it’s clear that Ross is bigger, in length and in thickness.

A shared moan from Ross and yourself cuts your thinking short as you give his long shaft an experimental tug, running your thumb over his shiny slit till he's hissing at you.

"Just like that, love." Ross groans, a hand coming to stroke the back of your head till he's grasping the nape of your neck and making you watch yourself stroke his cock. "See what you do to me, s’ incredible.”

“christ... fuck, your hand feels so good.”

His chin tilts back, eyes rolling into his skull as you crudely lick the palm of your hand and reach for his balls, coating him in a glistening film that has you drooling beneath the surface. "Let me make you feel good, please?"

"Yeah? That what you want?" He grits out, sighing as you drag your tongue along the ink on his pelvis.

"Please?"

"I could never say no" Ross hums, leaning back against Matty’s shoulder, your tiny fist instantly reaches for his heavy cock. He nods at it, dropping his look from your clouded eyes to where his cock rests against his lower stomach. "It's all yours.”

You test the waters out by rolling your hips against Matty’s thigh, moaning his name out in the process. When Matty supports you by holding on to your hips, you don’t stop, grinding your clit down harder.

Fingers covered in saliva as you pump Ross in your grasp, massaging the sensitive ridge under his tip with each upward stroke. A squeeze to his shaft everytime Matty grips your hips and makes you grind against him rubbing your clit just the way you need him to. Ross’ hands wander over your neck, gripping you flush against him until you're leaning over to take his cock into your mouth.

“Such a lovely girl,” Ross groans as you take him, lips suctioning around the aching head of his dick before you're dragging your tongue down the velvety, wet base of him. He shudders visibly once again. "Jesus fucking Christ, babe. you’re p-perfect.”

You try to suck him in deeper when your own movements get faster, his mouth back around your nipple, biting and licking as Ross instinctively pushes on the back of your head and shoves you further down his cock. He holds you there, mewling at the way saliva and cum dribble down his ruddy shaft, pooling around his balls.

“Baby,” you hum back in response, continuing to move yourself up and down his thigh.

The pressure in your lower belly grows quickly, the ruined orgasm from earlier building. Moans, whines and whimpers are leaving your lips as your hips move faster and faster, desperate for some release.

“Matty,” you whine, sound muffled by Ross’ cock down your throat. Your hands gripping onto soft skin on Ross’ hips while Matty’s lips are still attached to your neck, nipping and kissing and sucking at you.

“Are you going to cum for us, baby?” you nod your head rapidly, a whiney ‘uh huh’ falling from your mouth which falls open as you screw your eyes shut. A mantra of ‘please, please, Matty’ can be heard as you speed up your movements, moving more harshly against his thighs, now, as you get really close.

“Be a good girl, love,” his voice is husky, his words and his hands gripping your hips and the friction makes you fall over the edge. Your legs seized up, but you continue moving, hoping to make it last as long as possible, ‘fuck’s and ‘oh god’s fall from your lips, alongside matty’s name.

“fuck, you’re so good for us,” your hips slow as your orgasm comes to an end.

“Should I pull off?” Ross asks, still groaning as you move up and down his cock.

“Nah, let her taste you. She deserves that.”

“Yeah, fuck, course.”

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock, relishing in the way Ross’ dick twitches.

“I- christ. I’m coming.” He paints your tongue with his hot, salty spend, ropes and ropes of it spurting from his thick, twitching cock. He fucks your mouth through his orgasm, his thrusts turning slower, more shallow in time as you take every last bit of his come, swallowing it all. 

“Sorry, was that too much?” He pants.

“No,” you smile, leaning forward to kiss him, squeezing his dick one hard time so he groans into your mouth allowing you to slip him the tongue, showing him how he feels.

“Minx,” he breathes against your mouth.

Matty watches the both of you in awe, still holding on to you hips but moving closer to the both of your faces.

He grips Ross’ jaw, moving him away from you to repeat the motion you just did. You feel yourself clench around Matty’s soaked thigh at the view of the both of them making out.

They’re lazily slipping each other the tongue, breathing in each others mouths and Ross gripping the back of Matty’s neck to not stop whatever they’re doing.

Matty’s the only one who didn’t finish tonight and it’s obvious. He bucking his hips into the air, not gaining any friction and therefore whining against Ross’ lips.

You decide to make him feel good as well, he’s the reason you’re having fun with Ross and you don’t want him to feel like you don’t care anymore.

You pull his boxers off of him, his cock springing up to his stomach, burning red and aching. You spit into your hand and press your palm against the tip at first, watching as he struggles to keep kissing Ross.

“Fucking christ,” he moans, not wasting any second to start thrusting himself into your hand, “fuck.”

You keep your pace slow, your other hand gripping his balls trying to get every sound out of him as possible.

He swats your hand away when you try to speed up.

“Need to be inside my girl now, show Ross how good you are.”

“Yeah, yes.”

Matty grins at Ross before gripping your waist and pushing himself on top of you.

You know he’s desperate because he slides inside of you immediately, no teasing, no mocking, he just needs you.

He slides inside you inch by inch, letting you feel the delicious stretch, fingernails deep into his shoulder, face in his neck.

His chest rises and falls in tandem with yours, both of you sharing in the euphoria. "Fuckin’ hell.”

Matty whispers in your ear, teeth nipping your earlobe, tongue soothing it over. “You're doing so good, love, look so pretty spread open.”

You feel yourself growing slicker and sweatier at his words until, finally; he's fully sheathed inside you.

You're so full. He's taken over your senses; plugging you, filling you to the brim.

"Move, Matty. Please."

He's crowding over you, fucking into you. It's a heady realisation: you urge him on, and his thrusts deepen, and you're already cresting the wave, riding the blisstul sensation of him inside you.

“Ross-“ you moan, “do something, please.”

Matty nods and Ross reaches between Matty’s and your body playing with your clit, dragging his thumb around the sensitive bud.

Matty looks down at where Ross’ hand is and his hips falter, “fuck, I’m not gonna last long.”

Matty’s breathing is ragged. You feel him everywhere, fucking you in a way you've never experienced before. You're so close, and you know he is too.

"Want one more from you first, darling.“

“And I want-“ you whine, “Ross inside, next time, please.”

Ross’ eyes widen but he smirks and kisses your cheek, “Is Matty not enough? Need me as well, you’re filthier than I thought.”

Matty’s hand closes round your throat, claiming you as his own. “This is not the last time we’re doing this, don’t worry.”

You bite and scratch and sob in his arms, falling over the edge as your legs shake around him.

Ross grins at the both of you, his thumb still putting pressure on you.

You can hear Matty, vaguely, calling you his good girl, telling you he's coming, painting you with him.

Foreheads pressed together.

You're sticky with him, drenched in sweat, and sated beyond belief.

He kisses you, tenderly this time. In a way that feels more strangely intimate than anything that's already passed between you both.

“Fuck.”

“Can’t believe we just did that,” Matty says, pulling out of you and rolling over leaving you in the middle of you and Ross.

You’re cocooned between them, the heat of their bodies surrounding you, their breaths slowing as the adrenaline fades. Matty's arm is draped possessively around your waist, his leg tangled with yours, anchoring you to him. Ross, on your other side, has his leg thrown over both of you, his large hand resting comfortably on your thigh. The room is thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and something else—something tender that lingers in the quiet moments that follow.

You turn your head toward Matty, your eyes meeting his. There’s a softness in his gaze now, the teasing edge gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable. You lean in to kiss him, your lips brushing against his with a gentle sweetness that contrasts sharply with the intensity of everything that came before. He kisses you back, slow and languid, as if savoring every second, every taste of you.

When you pull away, you shift slightly to face Ross, who’s been watching the two of you with a small, satisfied smile. You reach up to cup his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss as well. His hand tightens on your thigh as he kisses you back, his lips warm and insistent, drawing out a quiet sigh from deep within you.

When you finally break apart, Ross rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You enjoyed yourself then?” he asks, his voice low and slightly rough from exertion.

You can’t help but smile, nodding as you let out a contented sigh. “Of course,” you murmur, the words heavy with truth. “That was… incredible.”

Ross chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Good,” he says, his thumb brushing over your hip in a soothing motion. “That’s what we wanted.”

Your eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion tugging at the edges of your consciousness now that the adrenaline has worn off. You yawn, nestling closer to Matty, your body sinking into the mattress as the comforting weight of his arm wraps around you.

Matty chuckles softly, noticing the way your body is starting to relax. “You’re knackered, aren’t you?” he teases, his tone gentle, a stark contrast to the commanding edge he had before. “You can sleep, darling. I’ll clean you up.”

You nod sleepily, feeling safe and secure between them, every muscle in your body heavy and warm. “Thanks,” you mumble, your eyes already starting to close.

Matty presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Rest now,” he whispers, his hand rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back.

Ross stays put next to you and when Matty’s done with cleaning you up you all fall asleep next to each other.

[yaggy031910]

A fun little ask: the Marshalate is informed there is cake in the break room. How do each of them react?

Who ever you are, thank you for this sweet little question and I apologise for my late response. 🙈💕

I have ideas for some of them, however I am **not** aware of the maréchals eating habits so any input is welcome here. Also, I don't know all of the marshals well enough but I will try to include as many as possible. Don’t expect any historical accuracy in this.

See this post as a very big headcanon and as one ongoing story where I am going to try to mimic the marshals characters and miserably fail.

Shall we begin? :D

Les Maréchals and cake

Berthier would hear about it and quietly get excited by the idea of having a nice little piece of cake, just for him to be too busy with everything so that he isn't able to leave his desk. Either this or someone (probably one of his adcs) would be nice enough to get for Berthier his piece of cake.

Murat: You bet he is one of the first ones to look at this cake. His reaction might depend on how the cake looks. If it's a huge cake with a lot of golden details, Murat will carry it around so everyone admires this phenomenal cake because it deserves to be looked at.

Augerau and Masséna wonder why there is such a fancy a cake in the break room in the first place and who might have put it there. Augerau asks Masséna with a low voice: “How much money do you want to bet on the cake being poisoned?” Before Masséna is able to answer, Lannes enters the scene.

Lannes runs after Murat with the cake knife demanding to finally get his damn piece of this cake while Murat can't make himself to cut it because this cake is “so damn beautiful that it would be a waste to eat it.” This little game goes on for a minute or two until the other marshals grow impatient, one of them being Ney.

Ney who is known for his hotheadedness tries to save this cake from a disaster aaaaand fails. :) The three of them dispute over who is the actual culprit of this mess.

L: Murat, what have you done? M: I have done nothing. You followed me with a knife. N: You let the cake fall. M: You intervened in my business with Lannes.

The cake has fallen to the ground as Davout, Suchet and Macdonald watched. “Aaand here goes the cake”, Macdonald says; “At least the floor was able to taste it.” Suchet asks: “What do you think was its flavour?” ”Chocolate vanilla.” Davout answers. After a moment of silence, he adds. “Soult has a good recipe.” Mortier walks in, seeing how Lannes, Murat and Ney are loudly disputing while Masséna and Augerau get themselves black coffee and Davout, Suchet and Macdonald talking. Lefebvre who was walking right behind Mortier gestures him to move away from the door so he can get into the break room: “What is going on?”

Suchet: “We found a cake-“ Davout interrupts him: “We found a chocolate vanilla cake which we don’t know how it got here or if it was poisoned and now it’s inedible because his royal highness, the King of Naples, made it fall.”

Murat shouts from the back: “I didn’t let it fall.” Lannes: “Oh, you did.”

Lefebvre offers a solution like the good fatherly figure he is: “Do you still want cake? We could bake a new cake, messieurs.” Davout replies: “This sounds like a smart idea, Monsieur. Maréchal Soult knows an excellent recipe.”

Lefebvre: “Ahh, excellent. Where is our maréchal?”

Mortier: “He is in his office.”

“Then this where our journey goes next.” Lefebvre slams the door open and accidentally hits Oudinot. “Ah, Monsieur, my apologies. If I had known you were there, I wouldn’t have slammed the door as hard as I did. Are you alright? Yes? Until the next time then.”

Davout walks up to his friend to make sure how Oudinot is doing and explains to him in the meanwhile what is going on and also promises Oudinot to bring him a piece of the cake they are going to bake.

Lefebvre takes the lead and walks straight to Soult’s office while Davout and Mortier follow him. Suchet decides to stay behind while Macdonald thinks about it. Lefebvre knocks on Soult’s office door: “Monsieur, le maréchal? Are you here?” *Lefebvre knocks again with his energetic manner.* “Monsieur, le maréchal, it’s me, Lefebvre. Open the door!*

Soult opens the door with his usual unimpressed demeaner: Hm? Lefebvre: “Excusez-moi, mon maréchal, I heard you have a recipe for a delicious cake?” Soult: Cake? What cake? Davout: The chocolate vanilla one… the one you baked for your daughter Hortense’s birthday. The delicious one. Soult: Ah, yeah. That one. What of it? Mortier: We would like to bake this cake, which is why we want to ask if you mind us borrowing the recipe? Soult stares at his co-maréchals for a second, he shuts the door, opens it again with a piece of paper in his hand which he gives to Lefebvre. “Here. Is there anything else you need?” Macdonald who decided to join the baking group walks up to them and asks Soult: “Would you mind to lend us your baking equipment?” - “No. Have a nice day.” Soult shuts his door while Lefebvre shouts: “Thank you for your help, Monsieur Soult.” Macdonald asks: “What are we going to do now?” “We are going to bake the cake now, my good friend”, Davout answers. Mac: “Where? Where do you want us to bake the cake? Do we have the right ingredients?” D: In the kitchen and I don’t see why we shouldn’t have the ingredients. Macdonald looks at Davout with suspicious eyes about the matter if they are going to manage to bake this cake… The group of maréchals appear in the imperial kitchen where they start to gather the right ingredients. While the group is busy with the preparations, les maréchals Pérignon and Sérurier appear, wondering what is going on. As Lefebvre is explaining these two their baking journey up until now, Pérignon and Sérurier decide to join them: “A cake made by maréchals for maréchals.”

What could possibly go wrong with two additional heads in the kitchen? As it turns out: Everything. Pérignon and Sérurier manage to overdo the cake by confusing salt with sugar. The cake tastes salty, the icing itself is fine because it was made by Davout who religiously followed Soult’s directions. In addition to that, monsieur Lefebvre manages to mix up usual paper with baking sheets.

Bernadotte walks into the kitchen as he sees his fellow maréchals working on their baking project. He comments on the scenery: “This is just pure chaos without any discipline, a chaos which can’t possibly create something edible.” Davout replies “Well, have you ever baked anything in your miserable existence which you so call your life?”; to which Bernadotte says: “wELL, no, BUT-“ Davout continues: “Then get out of this room and give me my peace back or shut up.” Bernadotte decides to leave.

As Bernadotte is leaving, Jourdan walks right into the scene with an apple in his hand. A fire starts to break out in the oven and Jourdan, like the team player he is, turns and leaves this mess to his co-maréchals without saying one word.

Nothing is going as Davout had it planned. He sits in a corner, mourning this beautiful chocolate vanilla cake he had in mind. Macdonald sits right next to him with a spoon, telling him: “Well, at least the frosting you made yourself is delicious.” Davout, completely shattered by the fact that he wasn’t able to make his desired chocolate vanilla cake, puts his face into his palms until a surprise visits the kitchen: It’s maréchal Soult. With a cake. A chocolate vanilla cake. A chocolate vanilla cake which is neither burnt nor oversalted. A chocolate vanilla cake according to the recipe. Next to Soult is Oudinot who cuts two pieces of the cake: one for himself and one for his good old friend, Louis Nicolas Davout.

After Soult, Ney and Lannes enter the kitchen. Ney silently takes a piece of Soult’s cake, saying nothing except a simple “thank you”. So do Macdonald and Mortier. Soult tolerates Ney’s presence. Lannes on the other hand goes straight to the oversalted and burnt cake which the older maréchals made and are also eating. Kellermann and Grouchy, as late to the party as ever, also go for Lefebvre’s bad cake while Soult’s good cake is still sitting there. Soult can’t hide his look of disgust.

At some point, Bessières and Murat join or rejoin retrospectively the scene, walking up to Soult’s cake. Bessières, as well mannered as he is, takes one piece of a cake to which Murat comments: “I know how much you like this lovely type of cake, Bessières, take a second piece.” - “No”, Soult replies: “That’s not your cake. Take your piece and leave.” Murat adds: “For whom are the other pieces then? I don’t see anybody who would possibly want to eat this gorgeous baked good. We want to eat your delicious creation of a fabulous cake.” - “One piece each. You can give him your piece if you like to.” Bessières interrupts the two: “I am content with my piece.” Murat doesn’t listen to what Bessières says and continues his conversation with Soult: “My fellow maréchal, I don’t understand, why do you struggle so much with allowing somebody to have one additional piece of cake than the other ones?”

While Murat and Soult continue their dispute which leads to nowhere, one adc enters slowly the kitchen. He looks at Soult who recognises this man as one of Berthier’s adcs. He came to get a piece of cake for his marshal. Soult lets him take one of the few pieces left. All of a sudden, Kellermann seems to be chocking on his salty cake piece. All the maréchals are gathering around him and in the chaos, the last few pieces of Soult’s cake fall to the ground. Soult looks at his cake or what’s left of it. One could argue that everyone who wanted to eat it was able to eat it. One could argue that these fallen pieces can be ignored and Soult could go on with his day never ever thinking about the pieces again. However, we are talking about maréchal Soult here who sees the art in baking. The love, the accuracy of it. Today he didn’t just bring cake to his fellow maréchals. Today he witnessed how some of them have no sense of dignity for what it means to be able to eat good food. Good cake. Soult is leaving the room, not bothered about Kellermann as he wouldn’t be able to help anyway. He is going to his wife, his Louise Berg, who asks him about his day. He tells her the whole of it. How he was surprised by his fellow maréchals who wanted to bake a cake. How he knew that they are going to mess up his recipe. How he baked that cake properly and how a part of it went to waste. “Some of them ate oversalted and burnt cake. Who eats bad cake? Who likes bad cake???”

Davout on the other hand was thankful for Soult. With a smile on his face, Davout enjoyed his so desired chocolate vanilla cake, unbothered by the event surrounding him. The end. :)

[thetorturedpoetsfest]

Welcome to Day 17 of The Tortured Poets Fest!

Click the links listed below to check out all of the content our lovely Tortured Poets have created for all of us today! (and go to our bio to access the rest of the AO3 Collection)

✍️ cloud of sparkling dust by billi_mausi @billi-mausi

Ship(s): James Potter/Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon & James Potter, [Minor or Background Relationship(s)] Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Mary Macdonald/Lily Evans Potter, Barty Crouch Jr./Evan Rosier 

Rating: T

Summary:

"He loves me?" "He loves me not?" "He loves me not."

James knew unrequited love was painful, sad and heartbreaking, but he never knew it would be flowers-wrapped-around-his-heart-and-lungs-blocking-his-air-supply-making-it-hard-for-him-to-breathe-and-live painful, but, oh well, what can James do if he doesn't like James back, he might just die it would make no difference.

OR James is in love with Regulus, Regulus doesn’t love him back. Now he is coughing up flowers and petals because this time, feelings might actually be fatal.

🕯 New Gods by @thecouchsofa

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Harry Potter

Rating: E

Summary:

It rocks Sirius to his core every time he thinks about it, because they aren’t the same – Harry and James.

Sure, Harry pushes his glasses up with the knuckle of his pointer finger. James used to do the same thing when he had dirt or sugar or random potion essence on his hands. Other people do that too. Sirius has never seen it, but they do.

🗝 you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days by albondiguilla @albondiguilla007

Ship(s): Harry Potter/Hermione Granger

Rating: M

Summary:

Who, she wanted to ask. Who, she wanted to cry. Whose ghost is haunting you right now? As if his parents’ death wasn’t enough tragedy, as if the nineteen year old boy trembling in her arms hadn’t experienced enough pain to last a lifetime.

Tell me who you’re crying for and I’ll cry with you. 📜 In fifty years, will all this be declassified? by birbsletter

Ship(s): Mary MacDonald/Peter Pettigrew

Rating: M

Summary:

In her horror and regret, mornings like these felt like a slap, a cruel show of how beautiful life would be if she wasn’t broken, like a clockwork toy smashed against the wall by a spoiled child.

the aftermath

🖌 I Choose You and Me, Religiously by shewritesmaybe

Ship(s): James Potter/Regulus Black

Rating: E

Summary:

James and Regulus played together one time seven years ago and for the next five years they pretended it meant nothing. After two years of dating but still playing with others at their local BDSM Club, they're going to have one last hurrah before committing to monogamy.

“If any of the other players give you an order I don’t like, I’ll step in and stop it or you can use your safe words any time. Otherwise, I expect you to be obedient, pleasing, and silent. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. Stand back up so I can kiss you, love, and then I’ll put your blindfold on.”

**************

Be sure to check our page for Day 18’s reveals! Until then, Tortured Poets <3

🩶 Your mods,@wolfpadx @multiimoments @heartsoncover @lemonlans @mercurial-witch @steveahoi damagecontrol & shewritesmaybe

[dramoor]

I want thank ALL of the lovely people for their kind birthday wishes for me today on my 60th birthday.

I am the luckiest man in the world. I have a wonderful partner in life, my beautiful wife Patricia and three lovely daughters; Elle, Miranda and Madeline.

Today, I am reminded of what Dr. M Scott Peck told me over 30 years ago: At 40, you feel like you can conquer the world and there’s a sense that nothing can stop you.

But at 60 you realize the very real fragility of life and temporariness of it all. A humbling knowledge that there is indeed a time limit for all things and that God’s design though perfect, is precious far beyond its brevity.

Today, I am also reminded of the Hindu story that my friend Bill from Lowell Arkansas told me about a man at his funeral. Looking at the man, “Would this man lying here ask for more riches and Gold from the world? Would this man ask to be more famous and well regarded by others? Would he ask to be taller or look more handsome? No. The only thing this man lying here today would ask for was much simpler…more time.”

If you are reading this now, then you too have time! Use it wisely, use it unwisely too! But USE it. Be IN it. Be aware that you are part of ALL of it and that the separateness you sometimes feel is an illusion. Just as your heart beats without being told, you are as integral to the Sun that fires and the planets that circle it as your heart is a part of you.

For the atheists, God loves you too. The mistake you make is to think the universe is a stupid thing that just bumps into things and expands ignorantly and without reason or intelligence. And that somehow we human beings, with our intelligence is just some kind of ‘freak’ universal accident. To you I say this, if there is such a thing as kindness, empathy, compassion and love…it is because you found it in other people.

And as my dear friend Norm Macdonald once said, “We are part of this universe, indeed a mere fraction of it, so if we have kindness and love, how much more the universe itself.” For if we are capable of love, it is because it is endemic to the universe itself.

To quote Alan Watts, “For we didn’t come ‘in’ to the world, we came ‘out’ of it. We are the universe evolving to the point of consciousness, so that the universe, us, can experience existence and life in all it’s wonder and beauty and glorious exuberance.”

Lastly, as I am a new convert to Catholicism, I offer my apology for my lack of Christ’s forgiveness to my fellow man. I was so angry at the people who shut down schools and indeed the world and who coerced others to do things against their will which hurt many people deeply. I offer my unconditional forgiveness and amnesty.

For how can I stay mad at the famous singer who would not let others in to his Broadway show unless they had an experiential jab. I will never forget how kind he was to me and my friends when he was the musical guest on SNL.

How can I continue to hold a grudge against the actor who shamed people like me but has been such a great example for other actors to never give up and keep fighting for their dreams.

How can I still be mad at the lovely actress that said she could no longer be friends with people like me who didn’t ‘get’ it, knowing how incredibly kind she is with every child she meets.

I am humbled by the example of my mother Pilar and how she was able to forgive the WW2 occupiers of her Philippines who killed both her brothers.

At last it is forgiveness itself that is the gift that we give ourselves because it frees us as The Christ intends for all of us to be free. For His gift of ultimate and unlimited forgiveness is indeed the gift for all humanity.

May God bless you and your families now and forever.

With all my “You can do it” love, Robbie Schneider

(X - twitter post Oct. 31, 2023)

[girlthateatscashewswhilereading]

Title: wedding ring girl

Author: girlthateatscashewswhilereading

Summary: Mary is a plastic surgeon who enlists her loyal assistant Lily to pretend to be her soon to be ex-wife, because she is romancing a much younger schoolteacher, Sirius, and wants to cover up a careless lie. When more lies backfire, Lily's son Harry becomes involved, and everyone heads off for a family trip to Hawaii that will change all their lives.

“Right. Would you like to be my pretend child for an afternoon?” “Why don’t you just tell Sirius the truth?,” Harry asked, munching. “How do you know about Sirius?,” Mary asked, though she knew the answer. Harry shrugged. “Mum tells me everything, wedding ring girl.” “That’s- okay. Fine.” Mary took a deep breath. “Still. I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t, so I am asking you to act as my child. For one afternoon. That should be fine, right?” “If I act as your child, I should be paid.”

Words: 25,458

Chapters: 4/4

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M

Fandom: Harry Potter

Relationships: Mary Macdonald/Lily Evans (and Mary Macdonald/Sirius Black)

Important Tags: Fake Dating, Fake Marriage, Domestic Fluff, No Smut, Friends to Lovers, Endgame MaryLily

Language: English

i am back with a sapphic fanfiction just as promised! And it's a "just go with it"- au!

this is fluff only. we have some off the camera intimacy scenes between Sirius and Mary, but really there's nothing there, and we have a sexual joke then and now, and a kiss. oh, and a hickey. so really just fluff all the way as it should be (as my sibling suggests).

comments and kudo's (on ao3 and on tumblr!) are always appreciated, let's (just) go (with it) (<- see what i did there haha)

love, cashew xxx

(For more tags, click the link!)

[gaslightgallows]

2024 TBR Pile of Good Intentions

(crossposted to Patreon)

This year’s TBR pile looks very much like last year’s (hence the reused banner image) but last year was also a shitshow so I’m giving myself a do-over. Although looking back, I did actually manage to read two (2) of the books on last year’s list! I even wrote about How to Live Like a Monk for my patrons! The other one was Mexican Gothic… Y’know, I should really write about Mexican Gothic…

Lion’s Paw Reads: (aka books I’m planning to do patron content about)

Orlando, by Virginia Woolf

A Haunted History of Invisible Women: True Stories of America’s Ghosts, by Leanna Renee Hieber and Andrea Janes

The Haunting of Alma Fielding, by Kate Summerscale

The Octagon House: A Home for All, by Orson Squire Fowler

Other Reads (Fiction):

Our Wives Under the Sea, by Julia Armfield

The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories, by Susana Clarke

Radiance, by Catherynne M. Valente

Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsin Muir

Piranesi, by Susanna Clarke

The City We Became, by N.K. Jemison

Nothing but Blackened Teeth, by Cassandra Khaw

The Story of Silence, Alex Myers

A Psalm for the Wild-Built, by Becky Chambers

Viriconium, by M. John Harrison

Queer Little Nightmares: An Anthology of Monstrous Fiction and Poetry, Edited by David Ly & Daniel Zomparelli

What Moves the Dead, by T. Kingfisher *I actually finished this last week!

Phantastes: A Faerie Romance, by George MacDonald

Other Reads (Non-Fiction):

City of Sin, by Catherine Arnold

The Mutual Admiration Society, by Mo Moulton

Monster, She Wrote, by Lisa Kröger and Melanie R. Anderson

The Gilded Edge, by Catherine Prendergast

Dickensland, by Lee Jackson

I might also do posts on some of these other books, provided I get to/through them. If you’re at all interested in my thoughts on this assemblage of horror, fantasy, scifi, and very niche historical non-fiction, I hope you’ll consider subscribing and telling me what else I should be reading!

[argyrocratie]

"I define a strong tie as a tie that 1. cannot be dissolved by a unilateral decision of one of the parties, 2. endures until death and beyond, 3. is enforced by an external agency, not the parties themselves.

In this sense love or friendship are weak, citizenship or loyalty to a nation are strong. We tend to be fooled by the habit of disguising weak ties under the appearance of strong ties (“love beyond death”, “friends forever”, etc.), but they are not the same. A quick look at the obvious personal experience of everyman confirms this view easily. Weak and strong ties pass for each other in the rhetoric of noble sentiments (marriage as a life‐long contract or love for one’s “motherland”).

It appears that strong ties of a personal nature were predominantly displayed at a certain historical stage, under the form of collective killings of followers, what Testart has analyzed and brilliantly theorized under the name of “les morts d’accompagnement” (Testart 2004). Archaeological evidence of mass graves predating the birth of great empires, such as Rome or China, tells the story of a particular practice observed around the world: slaves, servants, followers, dependants, consorts and familiars (including horses) were put to death after the demise of a prominent person or man of high status. If we follow Testart (id.) these deaths are a clear sign that personal links of loyalty and fidelity (“fidélité personnelle”) were institutionalized, leading to the killing or self‐sacrifice of dependents and followers.

Loyalty to a person until death and beyond became in many places around the world an institution.

It is only this kind of personal loyalty, together with the widespread development of slavery and debt‐bondage in primitive and pre‐state societies that led to the formation of early states. These were nothing but transference of strong ties between persons, to strong ties between subjects and rulers and, later on, between citizens and nation. Strong ties once internalized make tyranny acceptable as La Boétie told us five hundred years ago in his aptly entitled essay “De la Servitude Volontaire”.

Anarchic and open‐aggregated communities observed by ethnographers do not put any premium on such ties. They display loyalty and trust to a high degree but very rarely to the point of self‐sacrifice and death outside the domestic family. Instead they rely on weak ties, like those of friendship and partnership. Weak ties are, and probably were in a majority of pre‐Neolithic communities, the material with which communities were built. These ties entail a continual negotiation between partners and consociates, leading to frequent and repeated fission and fusion of groups, bands, local settlements and other temporary forms of association (Dentan 1992). Weak ties bind people together but do not weld them together. They permit solidarity and cooperation, occasionally create intense feelings, but are not forever, and at any moment anyone can and may shake them loose. They imply no long‐term commitment. They must match certain requirements and obey what I have called “conditions of felicity” (Macdonald 2008 b, 2009, in press c)."

-Charles J­H Macdonald, “Can anarchism be a critical point in the new anthropological imagination? Contributions of anarchy and anarchism to social theory.” (2010)

_ _ _

"One could object that strong ties exist, since they exist within the Palawan domestic family: one cannot ever deny a relationship to one’s parents. A mother will always be a mother. This statement however is not true in all respects. Palawan and Semai people share with North American Indians and Inuits a belief in the autonomous agency of very small children, including infants. Actually the Inuit (Saladin d’Anglure 1986) and some Indian cultures like the Mohave (Devereux 1961) perceive of agency and autonomy in unborn babies*.

(*The theme of intrauterine awareness and intrauterine memories is highly developed in Inuit culture (Saladin d’Anglure 1986) and Mohave people think that still-born babies are babies who, in the fetal stage, have decided not be born. They are then counted as suicides! (Devereux 1981).)

Against this ideological backdrop one understands better why Palawan people may consider a baby’s repeated illnesses as expressing a rejection of the baby’s parents. New parents are then selected and will become the baby’s true parents. The saying that one does not choose one’s parents is not true in this case. The fact that a mother-child tie can be denied is proof that even the strongest possible kinship tie (the only one, with same mother sibling, predicated on a tangible biological reality) can be culturally contingent. Another widespread institution in this culture area that points to a similar idea is adoption. The notion that a strong tie (mother-child) can be transferred is very much like saying that the tie is weak in the sense defined above."

-Charles JH Macdonald, “Kinship and fellowship among the palawan”

The reason I can tell that on some bone-deep and fundamental level I am temperamentally a liberal is that, like -

Even if all the wonky neo-trad arguments about the declining marriage rate and the collapse in church attendance/thick inherited community obligations and etc etc were entirely correct on the object level and (to the first approximation) everyone really would be happier and more fulfilled if we ended no-fault divorce and brought back shotgun weddings and arranged marriages -

My incredibly powerful visceral reaction is no, not worth it. The dissolution of all unchosen bonds is a terminal value to be pursued for its own sake. You are a citizen of a the world and a cousin to every living soul, all else is (should be) as fleeting and contingent as your passions and whims. Concessions to reality on this are purely temporary and pragmatic.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"MEN BEHIND BARS CONFRONTED WITH RIOT AFTERMATH," Montreal Gazette. June 6, 1933. Page 6. ---- Convict Caron Denies From Stand Having Damaged Penitentiary Property ---- QUARTET BEFORE COURT ---- Four Other Inmates Working at Time in Shed Declare They Saw Nothing Happen --- "I could not have been assaulting a guard in his cage and causing property damage in another part of the penitentiary at the same time, could I?" Romeo Caron, a convict who has already entered pleas of guilty to two charges arising out of the penitentiary outbreak in November 7, 1932, and who was on trial in the Court of King's Bench yesterday along with three other inmates charged with having damaged the penitentiary property asked that of Dan P. Gillmor K.C., Crown Prosecutor in the course of givng evidence on his own behalf.

"The four men on trial are Caron, Marcel Belair, Howard MacDonald and Sydney Woods. MacDonald and Woods are two of the cobvicts indicted on a series of charges in connection with the penitentiary riots who have not eithe rpleaded guilty or been found guilty. Woods stood trial on a charge of attempting to murder a guard, Albert Miron, but was acquitted by a jury. MacDonald appeared for the first time yesterday as an accused, his activities so far having been confined to giving evidence for the defence. At the close of the afternoon court sitting the cases for the Crown and the defence were declared closed. This morning addresses to the jury by counsel and the charge of the presiding Judge, Mr. Justice Charles A. Wilson, will be disposed of and the case will be in the jury's hands. A verdict is expected this afternoon.

Romeo Caron who has played the leading role in the legal drama that has been enacted in the Court of King's Bench since the convict trials. began a fortnight ago was up to form again yesterday

On being called to the stand by M. H. Franklin, defence counsel, the diminutive convict, asserted at the outset that he had been man enough to plead guilty to charges of which he was guilty but that he was not fool enough to admit a guilt in connection with something with which he was not acquainted.

Caron it was who assaulted Guard Miron while the latter was in his cage medically treating the eyes of convict Marcel Belair. He admitted that the idea had come to him suddenly that here was his chance of getting Miron and that his attack upon him had been spontaneous and not premeditated."

"Then, Caron," Mr. Gillmor asked him, "none of the other convicts knew of your sudden inspiration to assault Miron?" "Naw," replied the witness, "I don't trust anybody and I wouldn't any of those guys of my plans."

MacDonald and Belair also took to the stand and stuck to statements, which alleged ignorance of the riot that had been shown to have started in the stone shed, in the course of which stones and bush-hammers were thrown out of the windows; stones were hurled at a guard, and at least one convict was heard to shout "Kill them, dead men carry no tales."

Damage, consisting or broken windows, smashed toilet appliances and a broken padlock totalled $39 according to Chief Instructor Provost. Part of these damages, Provost admitted in cross-examination, might have been done previous to the uprising but not much of it, he contended.

Guards Alber Miron and Isaie Galarneau, the ones on duty at the stone shed during the riot, asserted hat the men in the shed had got up at a given moment and that some of them seized hammers and stones and threw them through the windows and the door. Both of them swore that MacDonald had thrown a bush-hammer in the general direction of Galarneau but that fortunately his aim had been poor.

Frederick Beauchamp, a "liter", James Latimer, Bil Brown, and Georges Gratton were called by the defence and testified that they knew nothing that would implicate the four accused. They were all working together in the stone shed, they said, but had not seen MacDonald or either of the other three throw stones and hammers or damage the property in any way. Latimer was ordered to expose his record for the benefit of the jury, he smiled and said: "My record is pretty long. I don' think I remember exactly." Beauchamp was reticent about telling the story of his misdeeds but on being reminded by Mr. Justice Wilson that it was he who had sentenced him he told of his three convictions: one for robbery, one for indecent assault, which also included the lash, and finally, life imprisonment for another assault of the same nature.

Evidence was closed with the testimony of these convicts.

[joshuasearing]

Tuesday 16th may 2023

Hey journal so sorry that I have not wrote In here for days on end. The past few days I have just felt so busy especially with work and trying to fit in other things like seeing my girlfriend going to the gym etc. anyways the past couple days I have been at work and it has been pretty shit, however luckily yesterday was good as it was a day of work. So basically yesterday I started my day off waking up with my beautiful girlfriend, we hugged and relaxed with each other for a couple hours. Then after a while we got ready and got the bus. She got the bus to town with Alyssa however I went to the gym. In the gym I did a leg session, however I couldn’t push myself to hard as for some reason I felt so drained from just everything and felt somewhat weak. Anyways after the leg session I walked home. Whole in the way home I walked into a shop and got myself some chocolate raisins and I ate them whilst in the way home. Then once I get home I relaxed for a little while before leaving the house again but with my mum this time. We were going out as I had my theory test for driving today. So firstly when we got into town we quickly checked to see where it was. Then we went to boots and it had nothing my mum wanted. Then we walked back to the theory place. When I walked into that building I felt really nervous and scare that I may fail. When I went inside they asked for my id and asked for me to turn my phone fully of so that I could no long use it for research. Then after this I went to the toilet I was in there for a good while as I was really nervous so this made me poo really badly. I know this is tmi and you probably don’t want to hear that. Anyways after this I say on this chair and read the rules and guidelines, then I had to show this woman my I’d and she told me to put my valuables in this locker my locker was number 13. Then after this they told me to walk to room two this is where I was brought to this woman and she asked for my name and told me things I needed to know and also answered my questions that I had. Then she told me where to sit for the test. Anyways whilst in there I was still feeling really anxious and worried I was going to fail. At one point I was 5 questions in and I thought I was doing practice questions it took me a while to realise I was now doing the real thing. At first doing the test I felt I was answering the questions really quickly this means once I got the near the end I decided to go over all the questions that I answered and I did this about two times before completing the test fully. Then after doing the multiple choice I did hazard perception and absolutely smashed out the park. Anyways after all this when I got the results I was so happy but also shocked that I had past my theory and this was first attempt and I knew many people where it took them loads of attempts to pass but luckily for me I passed first time. So my results were multiple choice I got 44 out of 50 and hazard perception I got 61 out of 75. The pass mark for multiple choice is 43 and the pass mark for hazard perception was 44 so I smashed that one. After this I walked to the car park and waited for my mum to pick me up from there. Then once she picked me up she quickly went shopping. Also when In the car I told some of the family the good new about the theory test m. Then after my mum went shopping we went to macdonalds as a celebration for me passing. Then after this we ate it at home. Then after a while I decided to watch Liverpool absolutely dominate against Leicester and Liverpool were the away team. Anyways after this I came upstairs made a couple tiktoks, FaceTimed my girlfriend and played on my pc.

Speak to you later journal, bye journal!

[dormiensdracones]

@miss-marlene-mckinnon

“Pleeee-eease?” Mary whined, though her laughter made it sound less as though she were begging, and more like she’d gotten sidetracked (yet again) when telling a joke. It was just so difficult to keep a straight face when it came to Marlene.

    Not that Marlene was someone who needed to be laughed at! No, well, maybe. If she said something funny. Or told a funny story, but that was the same as saying something funny. Regardless, it didn’t matter. Or, well, Marlene mattered, but whether funny stories and funny things were different didn’t matter.

    What did matter was that Marlene was doing her hair. It didn’t need much doing, but the doing which was being done was taking from what Mary asking for. Which was--which--Mary’s hair! No, Lily had already done that. What was it?

    Marlene would remember, but she’d never do whatever it was if she knew Mary had forgotten what it was. So, it was best not to let her know that.

    “Didn’t you always say I could--could always--always--” Mary took a breath to try and compose herself, but only succeeded in turning the laugh into a snort. Her hands flew to her nose, but alas, it did not stop her laughter. She fell forward and wrapped both arms around Marlene’s shoulders, then stuffed her face between her shoulderblades.

    “Marleany on you.” Is all she managed to get out before collapsing into utter hysterics.

[gravityr00m]

The Shape and Way

M. MacDonald

Measure, meter, psyche, soul—relativity of strangers

Is cut adrift (oh, what’s adrift?) And lost between (what is between?)

A map and what comes, after.

The shape of things, as I would see it, the shape of all the things I see,

Is boundless, bound in tape and glue—nested, waiting out the season.

Measure, meter, tired and toll—diplomacy and danger

Is what’s between (oh, what is that?) And drifting fast (how fast you say?)

Unmapped and often lied about.

They say we know the shape and size, they say we have the answer

But I have seen the boundless and how little of that matters.

Measure, meter, self and whole—segment without border

And what is lost (oh, where are we?) And where it flows (how do we know?)

Is local and is hunkered down.

Such storms I’ve seen, such ruin! Is weather, weathered on and on…

Formidable but angled so, coordinated, keyed and legend.

Measure, meter, song and dance—the time and place is local!

It has drifted home (oh, where is that?) Retained itself (what is the self?)

And is terrained, encapsulated.

The shape of this I cannot say, I wish I could but cannot say

But if I could, the liar—me! Myself is mapped and gone.

Measure, meter, window, view—relative to forces

I’m cut adrift (oh, what is done?) And lost between (what did I say?)

The map and what was, never.

The shape of things that I can see, is nothing like I’ve ever seen

They are the boundless, tempered by a temporary time and frame.

Meter, measure, apart, together—unified, divided by

A soul at large (oh, what’s the soul?) Expanding fast (how fast you say?)

Falling into, on itself.

I see you in your stillness there; I see how we’ve been measured

I see your face, your eyes and space—I wonder if you see me too?

Meter, meter, measure not— relative perception

It’s gravity (is that what pulls?) I’m drawn to this (oh, what is drawn?)

Of strangers all unbounded.

The shape of us, the map of us, the radius and local space

Is captured in a minute way, is stable but is changing.

Meter, measure, psyche, soul—diplomatic, blameless

Of broken hearts (oh, why the pain?) And humanness (why does it end?)

Of atrocious and of spiteful things…

And if I meant it, then bad it was and if I didn’t—then it was not!

The shape of this, the place of it—

I am responsible—for it.

Snowy Mint Bilbao (#dbfee6 to #1a8a0e)

[lesbianjackies]

🍒cherry🍒

mary macdonald x lily evans

word count: 535

warnings: SMUT, sub/dom, dom!mary macdonald, sub!lily evans, cunnilingus, overstimulation

summary: mary tastes like cherries and lily tastes like peaches. (inspired by the song by lana del rey)

taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1 @regulusblackswhorecrux @sw34terw34ther @puppy-coded @starstruckwillows @katsukis1wife @manyfandomsfanvergent

a/n: this is like my first time writing smut so please be nice!! also this was requested by @goosetheluce <3

mary’s room was the colour of cherries. dark, crimson, seductive, mary. lily couldn’t breathe.

she was laid out on silk sheets—white-gold like honey mead—with mary hovering above her. the sheets were cold on her hot, bare skin, and she trembled as mary’s eyes raked over her.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmured, staring into lily’s eyes. lily whimpered and mary’s expression darkened. “i want to ruin you.”

her lips devoured lily’s at last, and lily fell instantly to pieces.

lily would never make it to heaven. she didn’t care. this, this right here—nothing could be better than it. nothing could be better than mary’s soft sweet lips moving passionately against hers; her cherry-flavoured tongue inside lily’s mouth. nothing could be better than mary’s hands on her breasts, on her sides, on her waist. nothing could be better than mary’s lips trailing down her body, painting her red and purple and blue. nothing could be better than mary’s tongue striping up her soaked pussy, eliciting moans and trembles and pleas for more.

“shit, lily, you taste so good,” mary moaned. “like peaches, i swear.”

lily tried to laugh, but she was so overtaken with pleasure it sounded pained. “m-mary—“ she begged.

“i know, darling, i know.” mary pressed a kiss to lily’s clit and lily moaned, loudly. mary licked up her juices before inserting her tongue in lily’s slit. lily screamed out in pleasure.

mary’s motions were fluid, gentle, passionate. lily felt like she was floating, like the world had drifted away and all that was left was her, mary, and sweet, sweet pleasure.

“more, mary, more, please!” lily gasped out.

“patience, sweet girl, ‘m gonna make you feel good.” she pressed a quick, gentle kiss to lily’s inner thigh before returning to her work.

“mary, mary, mary,” lily whimpered. “mary, i’m getting close.”

“okay, baby, hold on.” mary removed herself from lily’s cunt and lily whined in protest. “hold on, m’love.” she leaned up and kissed lily softly, slowly, transporting the juices from lily’s heat into lily’s mouth. “you taste good, don’t you, darling?” she said sweetly.

lily shook her head, not in objection, but in desperation for mary to go back to her cunt.

mary chuckled and kissed her forehead. “okay, honey, here we go.” she moved back down to lily’s lower region and slipped her tongue back into her pussy.

lily groaned out, grabbing onto mary’s hair and pulling as she shook. mary went faster this time, tongue pointed and moving intricately inside her; lily felt herself near blacking out from the pleasure.

“oh, f-fuck, mary, i’m so c-close,” she managed.

mary went harder. lily moaned and screamed and shouted her name until she couldn’t any longer, reduced to a whimpering sweaty mess on the silk sheets.

mary pulled out and sighed, licking her lips. she crawled up beside her girlfriend and gently brushed away the hair sticking to her face. “you okay, my love?” she asked, kissing her forehead.

“mhm,” lily hummed, clearly exhausted from the overstimulation. “y’make me feel so good.”

mary smiled. “i’m glad. you wanna take a nap now?”

lily nodded sleepily, cuddling into her. “love you, mary.”

mary kissed the top of her head. “love you too, lily.”

[josefavomjaaga]

Macdonald goes to Italy...

Just a bit more about how Macdonald returned to the army:

From Darnay’s “Notices Historiques”:

S. A. I et R. [Son Altesse Impériale et Royale = His Imperial and Royal Highness = Eugène] wrote to the Emperor to ask him to send him two or three generals suitable for such commands. He dared, in his letter, to designate the generals Macdonald and Dessoles, who were then both in the disgrace of Napoleon (*).

The asterisk indicates yet another of Darnay’s endless footnotes. In this one, he takes the opportunity to refute something that Italian historian Carlo Giuseppe Guglielmo Botta had claimed in his Storia d'Italia dal 1789 al 1814:

The historian Botta, who, as we have already said, was ignorant of matters of fact, and who consequently knew nothing of the noble step taken by Prince Eugene in favour of Generals Macdonald and Dessoles, says rather lightly in his History of Italy, volume 5, page 169: "Eugene alone was not very happy with the arrival of General Macdonald in his army, fearing to see him attributed all the successes which the army could win", an imaginary assertion which proves the passion of the writer. Prince Eugène, as loyal as he was judicious, asked the Emperor for disgraced generals whose talent he esteemed; his intentions were as pure as they were delicate. M. Botta wants to criticize them without knowing them. Prince Eugene had the sweet consolation of having given back to the Emperor and to the fatherland a distinguished servant, whose talents and courage contributed to the brilliant victory of Wagram, and earned for him, on the battlefield, with the accolade of reconciliation, the baton of Marshal of France from the Emperor. On learning this fact, M. Botta would no doubt be ashamed of his invention.

Or, he would double down on them because that reaction seems to be much more common.

That Macdonald, as a friend of Moreau, had been in disgrace ever since Moreau’s exile seems to be a fact. And Macdonald’s memoirs do not hint at any animosity from Eugène’s part, to the contrary, so that claim by Botta seems indeed dubious.

As to the letter about Dessoles and Macdonald that Darnay writes about, I could not find it, and Dessoles in particular seems to have been in Spain at the time, so I’m not sure Darnay is in the best position to critisize Botta 😋. I did find, however, a letter from a certain emperor to a certain viceroy mentioning Macdonald:

From DuCasse, “Mémoires et Correspondence”, Vol. 4

Napoleon to Eugène. Paris, 2 April 1809

My son, I have given letters of service for the army of Italy to General Macdonald; he will go there shortly. This officer has talent and nerve, but I do not trust his political opinions. However, things have changed a lot.

Implied: since we exiled Moreau. In 1809, Napoleon obviously felt at the peak of his power at that point, having put Austria and Prussia in their respective places and having made an ally of Russia. I guess what he tries to say is: No matter what Macdonald thinks of me, there's nothing he could do.

I assume that he will serve you with all his means, and that he will want to win somewhere where his talents and his former services are called to mind. I have not told him anything. He will be employed as a general de division, but he will be one of the divisional generals to whom you could give command of a wing. This grace which he will receive from you will attach him to you entirely [...].

Ah, a fine little ruse to secure Eugène Macdonald's affection! To which Eugène probably replied: Sure, Sire, we could try that. Or I just do what I usually do when I want people to like me: make huge blue puppy dog eyes and turn on the Beauharnais charm⟨™⟩...

[marlmckitten]

If you're still accepting prompt i would love "Sirius getting jealous because Marlene is dancing with other boys at a party so he confesses his feelings for her". Thanks so much, I love your writing!

Sirius threw his hands over his head, clicked his tongue and swore loudly. James who has been trying to get Lily's attention was forced to stop and look at his mate instead. "Longbottom now too? Everyone knows he's been dating Alice, what the hell is wrong with her?"

James followed his gaze, then rolled his eyes. He should have guessed. Marlene McKinnon's long blonde hair shone as she awkwardly danced around with Frank Longbottom in what everyone except for Sirius could see as nothing but a friendly dance. Even Alice watched and laughed as Marlene waved her way. If James knew Marlene at all, which he did quite well, he would assume she drank a little too much and was just enjoying being the life of the party. More than likely aware of the effect it was having on Sirius as well.

"I think they're just dancing as mates, Pads."

"Right after she was throwing herself at Tonks? What are all these boys doing here anyway don't they know it's a Gryffindor party?"

Again, James had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "If you fancy her so much, why don't you just tell her?"

Frank twirled Marlene away from him and she fell into the arms of someone else. She was loving the attention. Looking at Sirius again, James was surprised to see how red he had become. "I don't fancy-"

He cut him off, not wanting to go through this again. Peter came along bringing them some drinks and James gave both to Sirius. "Have something to drink, relax. If you don't fancy her then I see no harm in her dancing?"

"I don't. Yeah," he downed one drink and chased it with the other.

"That's Marlene's new boyfriend." Peter spat out. James groaned. "Sirius told me to let him know if she started dating anyone new."

"That THING is her boyfriend?" Sirius scolded.

"Good going Wormtail, I'm getting out while I still can." With that James ducked away, not that Sirius even noticed as he decided to storm up to Marlene until he was glaring down at her.

"Black," she nodded in greeting. He only huffed then she looked up at him more carefully. "You gonna be sick or something? Thought you could handle your liquor better." She tapped his nose and laughed, her newest boyfriend put an arm protectively around her waist. Marlene had no trouble wiggling out of the grasp.

"You gonna dance with everyone here tonight McKitten?"

Marlene shrugged, "I haven't danced with you yet."

"Or me," her unnamed boyfriend cut in. Marlene ignored him. If Sirius had any sense about him he would see that Marlene clearly had no interest in this guy. And 'new boyfriend' was a very loose term for he asked her to come to this party with him and she didn't say no.

"Would you like to?" She winked at Sirius and put her arms up, swaying a little as she did so.

"You're drunk."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Once again her boyfriend tried to pull her back but this time she glared at him. "Stop putting your hands all over me. I'm not /yours/ and I don't think I'll go to another party with you."

This made Sirius finally crack a smile. Marlene tried to shoo the guy away but tripped instead. Luckily Sirius was still there to catch her. However his luck ran out when Mary MacDonald appeared and took Marlene's hand in hers, "Care to dance McKinnon?"

Without saying no, Marlene was swept into Mary's arms and Sirius was left to further sit in rage all by himself. James sat beside him where Marlene's date had been previously. "Just tell her, mate. What's the worst that could happen?"

Sirius' eyebrows shot up, "What's the worst that could-" He pointed at Lily, then back at James, unable to form real words.

"Right well... Marlene likes you. Just talk to her."

To both of their shock, Sirius did listen. He went back up to Marlene and cut between her and Mary, pulling the blonde into his own arms. "When are you gonna stop trying to make me jealous McKinnon?"

"I'm making you jealous?"

"That's not-" He let out a frustrated moan and grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the party.

"Hey!? I wanna go back."

"And I want you." Marlene froze, and blinked, Sirius took a moment to realize what he said. "Wait, I meant-"

"What did you mean /exactly/ Sirius?" Any sign of Marlene's drunkenness disappeared. His words sobered her up and now her clear blue eyes were piercing his.

"I meant that... I want.. you." Smooth Sirius. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket lighting it, mainly just to buy himself time. "I want you to stop dancing with everyone else. I want you to be in my arms, I want to be the one to take you to the parties, I want to take care of you when you're drunk and I want- you."

Marlene chewed on his words, eventually, instead of speaking, she took the cigarette from his lips and put it between her own. A long drag, then turning to the side before blowing it out. "It's a bad idea you know?"

"Yeah, yeah smoking kills."

"Not that. You and me." She kept the dart between her fingers, looking him over much more softly than he had ever see her watch him before.

"Why's that?"

"Dunno, just feels like a bad idea."

"So is getting drunk in the Gryffindor dorm and dancing with every boy and girl you think is a little pretty."

She laughed, then put her arms around his shoulders. "I like bad ideas." And she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. He kissed her back, arms wrapped so tightly around her. He had been waiting for this moment since the year began, dreamt about it the summer before, Merlin he wouldn't admit even to himself how long he imagined what her full lips against his would taste like. Right now is just tasted like alcohol and cigarette smoke but he didn't care. He pushed her right up against the wall to deepen the kiss, hands wandering her body freely. Finally she broke their kiss and whispered into his ear. "It's about time you said something Black."

[isolemnlyswear]

can i request a remus fic?

maybe one where the reader has a crush on him but he has a crush on somebody else and talks about it to the reader all the time. the ending is up to you!! i just love angst.

thank you <33

mary f*cking macdonald

young!Remus Lupin x gryffindor!fem!reader

a/n : thank you for the request babie!! i’ll let you be in suspense for the ending mwahahaha

warnings : angst, kind of nightmares, one part may be kind of scary? loads of swearing, food mention

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @blacksbooksx @punkrific @truly-insatiable @cedricsbrowncurls

---

“Truth or dare, Moony?” Sirius asks, taking a swig of firewhiskey and handing it over to James, who smirks.

Remus and you are relatively sober, but after James and Sirius asked to play a muggle game they'd heard of, you couldn't resist. He’s lounged across the maroon velvet couch of the common room, shaking his head at the two boys.

You've known the Marauders for three years, nine months, and sixty-four days. Coincidentally, you'd been in love with Remus Lupin for three years, nine months, and sixty-three days.

“Truth.” Remus says, and you shake the thoughts that are riddling your mind when he bites his lip, looking away from him.

“Hmm,” Sirius muses, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “Do you-” he giggles “-fancy anyone?”

James laughs loudly, and you shush him, partly out of consideration for your dorm mates upstairs, but mostly because you want to hear what Remus says next.

A blush spreads across the apples of his cheeks, and he glances at you for a fleeting moment before clearing his throat.

“Uhm-” a deafening pause, “-Yeah. M-Mary. Mary MacDonald,” he gulps, pursing his lips. Your lips part as if you would be able to say something, to tell him that you're so despondently in love with him, but instead, you're left with a trembling lip as tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

“Ooh! That girl Lily’s friends with?” James asks, grinning. Remus nods, clearing his throat again.

“Well? Tell us about her, Moony!” Sirius raises his eyebrows, looking expectantly at the boy.

“H-he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to,” you speak up, swallowing the bile that’s settled in the back of your esophagus.

“Thanks.” he says quietly, almost as if he's embarrassed that you were the one to get him out of the situation - or so he thought.

“No, go on!” James declares, taking another sip of firewhiskey. Remus is quiet for a moment, and then he parts his lips to speak.

“She’s... It's like I'm entranced by her, y’know? And I don't think she feels the same way. It's just-” he glances at you for a moment, “-I don't know how I’d tell her.”

Blood is draining from your face as you sit utterly paralyzed, mulling through your options in your mind. He's obviously mad for this Mary girl, so what good would telling him do? “Hey, Remus, I'm kind of hopelessly in love with you!” So no, there was no good outcome.

So instead, you clear your throat.

“Um, I-I’m gonna go to bed,” you announce weakly, attempting to push back the growing lump in your throat.

“Already?” Sirius questions, chuckling. You nod, waving a stiff goodbye without meeting Remus’s gaze.

The rest of the night is agonizing; you can't seem to fall asleep, and the only thing on your mind is Mary fucking MacDonald. You’re aware you have no reason to be mad at her - or Remus, for that matter - but there's this jealousy that boils in your stomach, and you can't rid yourself of it no matter how hard you try. That should be you.

You finally are able to succumb to the blanket that is sleep, hoping to have some sort of release from the pain that licks at you like flames.

But alas, dreams are unspoken demons that shift into nightmares, pouncing on you when you least expect it.

He’s kissing her. Passionately, desperately. Like he wants nothing else in the world but her. Not you. Her. You're standing on ice, and it's cracking under you, but the pair - Remus and Mary, that is - are elevated above the surface like angels, surrounded in warm yellow light. A single tear falls from your eye, and the ice shatters violently below you. You're plummeting below, limbs numbing as they hit the freezing water. It's lapping at you like fire, like it's burning, even though it's sheathed in frost. You're trying to scream, but your throat is raw and blocked from the cold, and your eyes are still open as you fall below, so that you can see through the translucent blue that’s above you. You can make out Remus, who’s laughing. They're both fucking laughing at your retreating figure as you succumb to the cold, eyes falling shut as your tears freeze against your face.

You're shaken from sleep by Lily - who’s your roommate - and she's wearing a tired expression, green eyes clouded with sleep.

“What is going on, Y/N?” she asks, rubbing her eyes. You sit up, knuckling at your irises.

“Hmm?” you respond, eyes foggy.

“You're fucking screaming. Loud.” she replies, pursing her lips, and you furrow your brows.

“Bad dream?” you reply warily, uncertain of your own response. Was it the dream that made you scream, or the worries raging inside you?

“Seems like it,”

---

“Where’s Y/N?” Remus asks the two as he sits down, eyes searching the great hall.

“Hasn’t been here all mornin’, mate,” James responds through a mouthful of toast, and Sirius nods in affirmation.

“Shit,” Remus mutters, appetite suddenly disappearing.

“What? She's probably still sleeping, r’something.” Sirius says, shrugging it off.

“No- no...” he says. “What all do you guys remember from last night?”

“You said you fancied Mary, then Y/N went to bed. The rest of it is foggy,” James replies, sipping his coffee.

“Oh, Merlin. I fucked up.” Remus shakes his head, running a shaking hand through his hair.

As if on cue, Lily and yourself make your way to the Gryffindor table - or Lily does, as you're so out of it that she has to guide you there.

“Come on, then,” she’s saying, pushing you into your seat - which just so fucking happens to be the one next to Remus, and you're recoiling, suddenly not hungry.

“No- I'm- I'm not hungry,” you mutter, getting up and trying to walk away, doing your best to fight the tears that threaten at your eyes. You stumble around, struggling to run out of the hall and into the corridor, collapsing as soon as the doors shut behind you.

But when you blink back the tears that are clouding your eyelashes, you're met with Remus, who has ran after you, and is crouching in front of you.

“What? I- I'm just- not hungry,” you choke out, and Remus’s expression is unreadable as he stares into your eyes.

“M’sorry,” he finally says, taking in a tremulous breath.

“Wh- what are you sorry for?” you ask, shaking your head incredulously.

“I fucked up... last night.”

“W-what?”

“I said I liked Mary, and- the truth is-” he pauses, gulping, “-I don't. I like you, I was just too much of a dick to admit it right there.”

“Wh- if this is some prank, I'll-” you say defensively, withdrawing from the boy.

“It's not, it's not, I- Fuck, I messed up again, didn't I? I'm sorry, I overstepped-”

You're shaking your head, trying to process the information you've been given, and the only thing you can think to do is throw yourself into his chest, arms around his neck, clutching onto him like a vice.

He responds quicker than you could've hoped, pulling you in to rub small circles into your back, shushing your soft cries.

“You really don't like her?” you whisper, and Remus responds with a small laugh.

“Why would I want Mary fucking MacDonald when I could have you, m’love?”

[fortheloveofhoneys]

Article written by Norm's sister in law

In the heart of Hollywood, an un-Hollywood celebration of Norm Macdonald

At the Fonda Theatre, a block down from the Walk of Stars from Hollywood and Vine, the marquee read: “Celebrating Norm.” On the two windows adjacent the entrance, N-O-R-M was spelled out vertically in black letters.

·        Joyce Napier

·        CTV National News Ottawa Bureau Chief

Updated May 6, 2022 8:19 p.m. EDT

Published May 6, 2022 8:14 p.m. EDT

At the Fonda Theatre, a block down from the Walk of Stars from Hollywood and Vine, the marquee read: “Celebrating Norm.” On the two windows adjacent the entrance, N-O-R-M was spelled out vertically in black letters.

That was it. In a neighbourhood where just about every message is promotional, shamelessly blasted into your face, the event at the little theatre existed out of time. Which was utterly appropriate. Norm was famously a purist; he didn’t make his name hyping his funniness, he made his name by simply being funny.

It has been eight months since Norm Macdonald quietly left us. He chose to die privately, his cancer undisclosed to all but a tiny family circle. In an era when people write soul-baring essays about a torn rotator cuff, he kept his condition a secret from just about everyone – from his friends, from his million-plus Twitter followers, from the vast audience of fans who to this day spend the wee hours surfing his talk show appearances on YouTube.

As the New York Times pointed out after he passed, Norm loathed today’s confessional trends. He offered the public his comedy and nothing else.

And on this day in early May, a few hundred people gathered, in the words of Conan O’Brien, the day’s emcee, to make some sense of his death. As though that is even possible.

The audience was arranged as Norm would have wanted. Family members sat up front. Three rows back sat the gravitationally famous and somewhat sad-looking Bill Murray. At the table next to him the woman who tended bar at a Vegas golf club Norm liked. When Molly Shannon, an old SNL friend, spoke onstage about how Norm used to write “Don’t do crack” when people asked him for an autograph, she yelled, “That was me! He wrote that to me!”

The woman who took care of Norm’s ancient cat Kitty while he was on the road was there. A bunch of chronically unappreciated writers, from SNL and onwards, who worked on some of Norm’s shows and who clearly regarded him as a comedy antihero, were there.
The woman who actually tried to teach Norm Pilates was there. Adam Sandler, who used his fame and Hollywood power to boost the careers of his old comrades when they hit tough times - including Norm - was there, masked and quiet and somber.

David Spade did a very funny bit about Norm texting in the middle of the night, waking him up, asking some inane question about professional basketball, and then, when Spade eventually replied, going silent: “Crickets for the next two weeks.” Norm frustrated just about everyone with his text-then-ghost routine, with the exception of his mother, whom he always answered promptly.

Conan O’Brien told the origin story of one of Norm’s famous comedic moments. Forced to do a last-minute second segment during a late-night gig on The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien, Norm took a fifteen-second joke about a moth visiting a psychiatrist he’d heard from Colin Quinn and stretched it into a five-minute essay on existential dread. The joke went down in comedy history.

Jim Downey, the immensely influential comedy writer whose writing dominated Saturday Night Live for decades – the fellow behind Tina Fey’s definition of Sarah Palin – was given a standing ovation when he took the stage. Downey helped Norm score his Weekend Update gig in the Nineties, beating out Al Franken. He then helped write all those OJ Simpson jokes, and was fired from SNL, along with Norm, for it.

Downey talked fondly about Norm’s habit of constantly lying about his past. So did everybody else. After the speeches, the old comrades asked Norm’s brother Neil, my husband, which of their favourite Norm reminiscences were true, and which ones weren’t. Neil obliged, to the best of his memory. Not that it mattered. As Norm said about his book, a lot of it wasn’t fact, but it was all truth. Which makes a weird kind of sense.

Downey, like most of the other speakers, talked about Norm’s fearlessness. That was a popular theme. Norm’s fearless skewering of OJ. Norm fearlessly roasting the very concept of a roast by telling corny fifties jokes from an old book of gags during a roast of Bob Saget, who back then grinned in delight as the audience sat in confused silence.

Actually, Norm so fearlessly refused to compromise or pander that he died without achieving the spectacular wealth of most of the people there to memorialize him.

To be clear, this was not a televised event. None of the people who spoke at the lectern was paid to appear, and these are people accustomed to being paid very well for taking a stage. All of them, like Norm, made it out of the merciless comedy-club circuit on sheer talent, and all of them have been reminded in recent months that of how short their moment is.

One year ago, Norm was still with us. So was Gilbert Gottfried. So was Bob Saget. So was Louie Anderson.

The event ended with the projection of a black and white photo of Norm, looking like Samuel Beckett, as his voice, modulated and unweakened by cancer, read an excerpt from his so-called autobiography, “Based on a True Story.”

He talked about his gambling, and the price he paid for being so damned unbending. But, he said: “I’ve been lucky. It’s true I lost it all a few times, but that’s because I always took the long shot and it never came in… The only thing an old man can tell a young man is that it goes fast, real fast, and if you’re not careful, it’s too late. Of course, the young man will never understand this truth.”

And then it was done. We’d celebrated Norm. It was poignant, it was funny, it was lovely, and he’s gone.

Oh, wait: there was an Easter egg. It turns out Norm left an hour of new material behind, recorded in his apartment during the lockdown. It’ll be a Netflix comedy special soon. So, we have that. Which is precisely what Norm wanted.