#soppy git

[slytherizz]

Chav Seb sobering up in the morning reputation in tatters and riddled with love potion hangxiety.

I feel like if ChavSeb was 'love potion-ed' he would be a huge cryer. Like an absolute mess. I think RD would handle his better ,rather than if it was the other way around, because she knows how embarrassing he might get. She'd try to calm him down and 'indulge' him here and there, mostly to keep another crying episode at bay.

[leiflitter]

It's been a year of You're Almost Home!

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Saltburn (2023)

Relationships: Felix Catton/Oliver Quick

For hi-ref images:

Here's some fun Leif Lore for you; I dropped out of my creative writing degree almost a decade ago, because apparently a combo of Life Stress and undiagnosed ADHD is really bad for academic success. Who knew? 

More importantly, a year ago today I opened a google doc and wrote, “Harriet went to Oxford the September after they threw Venetia's stone into the pond.” And I kept writing. And kept writing. And- well, you get the idea, we're coming up on 700k words, there's a reason I call it The Behemoth. 

In the past year I have done a lot. Moving house. Completing my apprenticeship. Lots of Gender Things. But I honestly consider You're Almost Home to be one of my greatest achievements. Not just because of the word count, but because my writing has made so many people happy. It's brought back a creative drive I thought I'd lost. It's brought me community and friendship. I've inspired people. 

I'm also going to be a soppy git here, but I mean it- I could not have done this alone. Every like, hit, kudos, comment, tumblr ask, discord message, ao3 bookmark, whatever, it gives my ADHD brain the chemicals I need to keep on going. So if you've interacted with YAH in any way… Thank you.

Some special thanks although I’m being vague otherwise this would be a mile long.

Extra special thanks to Vesper ( @mylovelookup ), for helping so much with this art project- and all my other art projects. I'm so glad we share crayons 🥰 You're an amazing artist and an inspiration on so many levels.

To all my friends (you know who you are). I fucking treasure all of you, I hope you know that. I'm so glad to have found people who I can vibe with so easily, and I'm proud to call you my friends. One day, when I rule the world, I'll buy a giant house and move you all in. Although I may not meet most of you in the meatspace, I hope we can, because I owe so many of you giant hugs. 

And, yeah, to Saltburn, for grabbing hold of my brain and refusing to let go. I hope that everyone can find something that resonates with them as strongly as this film did with me; it's been a fucking wild ride.

Happy YAHnniversary!

[joekeeryswife]

mason being really shy and getting flustered when you wear lingerie!!

lingerie - m.m

a/n: hello loves! i hope everyone is okay, this is a very short imagine but i think it’s pretty cute! flustered Mason but also sexy Mason #loveit. anyways enjoy reading 🩰

you were sat at your vanity doing your skincare after a long day at work just in your lingerie. there was nothing more comfortable than taking off your work clothes and sitting in your underwear before getting ready for bed.

your fiance Mason still wasn’t home yet, training had run late and you thought it would be nice if the two of you had a quiet night in. as you rubbed in your cream the bedroom door opened and a sweaty Mason came through the door.

“hey honey” he didn’t look up at you, he just walked straight into the room and started undressing. “hey baby, how was training?” you continued to do your skincare, sparing him a glance in your mirror.

“it was good, the boys wanted me to go out for a drink but i wanted to come home. i missed you” you stopped doing your skincare and turned to look at him, he was still getting undressed. “you could have gone mase, i wouldn’t have minded”

you wanted Mason to have freedom to do whatever he wanted. “no baby it was a long day and i just wanted to come back to you-” he stuttered when he looked up at you. “woah” mason said, his eyes fixated on you.

“what?” he shook his head but his eyes never left your body. “nothing” he looked away and blushed. “no, go on mase, you seem like you want to say something” you smirked, finding it hilarious that he was getting flustered.

he was in nothing but his boxers now “nothing you just- you look beautiful” he walked towards you and bent down to smother your neck in kisses making you laugh loudly.

“stop it, you’re being silly” your hand went to the back of this head as he continued kissing your neck. “not being silly at all actually. just in my feelings” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in closer.

“how can you be so beautiful. you’re just as beautiful as the moment i saw you. actually i’m lying, you look even more beautiful” you blushed ran your hand through his hair. “you’re such a soppy git” he giggled and pulled away slightly so he could look at you.

his eyes trailed down your body, you were beautiful. “you are the definition of perfect y/n, seriously” you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “i’m being serious, you look the best when you’re like this. or when you’re naked” he winked and your pushed him away and laughed.

Masons cheeks were red, he was flushed just looking at you. you were the definition of perfection, the definition of beauty and he couldn’t believe that he was engaged to you. the big diamond ring on your finger was was the best thing he ever gave you and he could wait to be your husband.

“you getting flustered just looking at me honey?” you loved teasing him and his cheeks turned a darker shade or red. “you know i am, stop teasing me it’s not funny” he wrapped his arms around your stomach and rested his head on your stomach too.

“aww poor baby” you ran your hand through his hair and before you know it Mason had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. you screamed, completely shocked at what had happened. he never done this before. “Mason fucking hell put me down”

Mason walked to your bed and laughed at you “should i drop you on the bed? or should i carefully put you on the bed?” he said playfully “Mason seriously put me down” you laughed, you could never be serious with him.

he put on on the bed carefully and climbed on top of you. “you look perfect” he said making you smile and blush, maintaining eye contact with him. eye contact with him always made your heart flutter. he smiled and kissed you passionately “i love you, you know that?” you nodded “i love you more”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 28 - Yearn

@wolfstarmicrofic February 28, word count 260

Previous part First part

Remus was back on the rota for prefect duties, and Sirius had to stay behind in the Common room and wait for him to return. He’d tried to convince Remus to let him tag along, but Remus had told him no. 

“I’ll have to give you detention for being out after curfew.” 

“I could use the cloak?” Sirius had suggested. But Remus had just kissed him and told him he’d only be a couple of hours, and then he left through the portrait hole. 

Sirius thought he’d been hiding his sulking quite well, but Lily came over and sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“What’s up, buttercup?” She singsonged at him. He rested his head against her.

“What time is it?” He asked. Lily craned her neck around to look at the big grandfather clock behind them. 

“Half eight,” She told him. He groaned. 

“Why is time going so slowly?” Lily patted his head. 

“Aww, do you yearn for your Lover boy?” She teased. 

“Yes,” He looked at her sadly. Lily hadn’t expected him to be that honest, so she wrapped her arms around him properly and hugged him. 

“He’ll be back before you know it, you big soppy git.”

Soon, Remus returned, and Sirius was clambering into his lap, squeezing him hard. 

“Sirius, you do know there’s a whole week of this?”

“Nope, tomorrow I’m coming with you. You can put me in as many detentions as you like.” Remus chuckled at him but placed a kiss on his temple. 

“Alright, sweetheart, whatever you want.” 

Last part

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Ooooh that chat is such a teaser. Are we about to see drunk james get a little saucy?

More in the other direction. Drunk James is a soppy git.

[may--hawk]

ask for answers (ineffable remix)

Always coming second best / Pictures of my lover’s chest

He nips back into the bookshop to steal the picture. Call it a souvenir. He knows exactly where Aziraphale keeps it: tucked inside a folio of Anthony and Cleopatra, the soppy old git. Crowley’d found it once back in the 1980s when Aziraphale’d left him in charge of the shop - clearly in spite of his better judgement - while the angel had nipped across town to see a man about a manuscript. Crowley had gone snooping, of course, had been drawn towards the book by the faint but persistent sense of sin, of a light angelic oh-no-I-really-mustn’t. He’d expected pornography, or maybe an unpaid tax bill, but not what he’d found. Crowley’d been shocked to find the picture, their startled pale faces staring at the camera, the gun held between them like Tristan’s sword. Crowley had always felt a little responsible for the two of them, Tristan and Iseult. Still, he’d thought, what was it to him? Just a routine temptation, tempt the maidservant to swap the potions and there you had it. Crowley hadn’t understood their plight for the longest time. If they had really wanted to stop loving each other, they would’ve. Wouldn’t have let it take them over.

Ha. Crowley goes into the bookshop, which is already so silent, so empty, just the too-loud ticking of the clock, the creaking of the floorboards under his tread, his own harsh breath. He walks over to the shelf picked out by sunlight, as if illuminated by Heaven itself. The book’s right where it should be, and he pulls it off the shelf and opens it. It falls right open to the photo. Terrible for books, he knows, keeping things in them like this, if Aziraphale’d told him once he’d told him a dozen times, so why then did Aziraphale do it? He pulls the photo out, his fingers trembling slightly. It’s a gut punch to see the photo worn smooth as if touched often, its corners chipped off, soft and frayed. Like everything Aziraphale’s ever loved. Like Crowley, who has become soft, losing himself at the edges to Aziraphale.

Muriel says something behind him, then, and he turns, badly startled. He wipes the dust from his eyes, shoves the picture into his inside jacket pocket, and leaves the shop. He gets in the Bentley, his patient steadfast steed, and drives until he can’t anymore, until he’s hit the sea. That’s what everything comes down to on this Someone-forsaken island, isn’t it? The sea’d done Tristan and Iseult in, too. Crowley cuts the headlights. It’s dusk, night coming on, and the air from the sea is cold and briny, rising up to him where he stands on the cliff above. How many seas have they been on, in, across, separated by? The sea below is dark and inscrutable. He could miracle himself across it, if he wanted to. But where too? He’s tired, too tired for miracles of that kind, too tired to try anymore. He’d still just end up right where he started.

He can feel Aziraphale up in Heaven even now. He takes the picture out of his pocket and looks at it again. They stare, caught out, frozen in time. The photo flutters in the breeze like some ridiculous flag. A white flag, a surrender. Crowley snaps his fingers, miracles a stone from the beach below into his other hand. He’s got half an idea to tie the photo to the rock, to throw it into the sea so he never has to look at it again. A parody of Aziraphale’s tantrum with the holy water note. Crowley thinks he understands it, now.

“Why?” he asks, looking up. The sky is darkening and deepening to purple, the stars revealed impossibly far away. A gull cries. He might as well be asking the sea for all the answers he gets. But it doesn’t matter. No one’s ever answered his questions, not really. Besides, he knows why. Crowley looks down at the rock he’s still holding, all smooth edges he’s gliding his thumb along. The sea, of course. It chips the edges off everything, smooths everything out, until it’s utterly transformed. And the sea’s always there, isn’t it? Deep and unfathomable. All kinds of things going on down there out of sight. He’d been down there, once, trying to recover the ark of the covenant from a shipwreck. Long story. It had been so silent down there, so dark, and all around him, a pressure, a heaviness, which had whispered to him stay down there forever. You don’t have to come back up. But of course he did. There’s no running from things, not forever, is there? Eventually, you run out of time, of space, of places to go.

Crowley tosses the rock into the sea. He listens, but doesn’t hear it hit. He clutches the photo in his other hand, nearly crumpling it, then slips it in his pocket again, presses his hand against his chest, as if to remind himself it’s there. The wind picks up, growing colder, riffling his hair, his jacket, making his eyes water.

He sits down on the cliff edge, arms around his knees. It’s as good a place to wait as any.

Some background on Tristan and Iseult and the rest of the mixtape can be found on AO3.

[randomquadballpun]

DAY 32 (attempt no 6)

"It is not like Sherlock to miss one of Rosies competitions."

John checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. Still no message from Sherlock. He frowned, crossing his arms and looking back up at the 8 to 10-year-olds in full fencing gear who were currently fighting each other in the centre of the spacious room. Some of the spectating parents cheered, but John was too distracted to properly pay attention to the matches at hand. It would be another 15 minutes before Rosies last bout of the day.

Molly stood by his side, mirroring his frown, as she scanned the crowd around them again. As if they would have missed the lanky git among the hustle and bustle of parents, coaches and kids.

"Oh, they had a long talk about it this morning and he has her explicit permission to miss this one - it's about this experiment that they have going. But he told me that he would at least try to be there for the last one."

Molly nodded in understanding. "Rosie mentioned something about an experiment that they are running. Something about science not always going in a straight line and glowing bacteria."

John barked out a laugh that earned him a few disapproving glares from the people around them. "That sounds about right", he confirmed in a quieter tone. "It was meant to just be a quick little project, but for some reason it is not working the way Sherlock imagined it to go, and now he has been obsessing over it for weeks." There was another cheer from the crowd and somewhere out of sight a baby shrieked in excitement. "I don't think I ever saw him this absorbed with something that wasn't related to a case", he added through the din.

Molly chuckled. "Must be a nice change though." He gave her a puzzled look so she continued. "To have him obsess over something that is not about death and crime for once."

"Huh ..." He stared at her for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts on the matter. "I actually haven't thought about it like that before. I suppose it is nice that it is just a harmless little project without any stakes attached. The only thing that has been a bit annoying was his insistence to do the experiment in our kitchen." She winced in sympathy. "But I was able to send him off to Barts for this attempt so that he can do it in a proper laboratory for once. I am very hopeful that I will soon have the kitchen back for actual cooking and eating." His expression softened. "But it is great that he is able to share this little project with Rosie, it really has been a lot of fun to observe the two of them trying to puzzle this out." He gave her a wistful grin as he remembered his two mad scientists exchanging excited whispers, both of them bent over the kitchen table, their heads almost knocking against each other. Molly rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his soppy expression.

"The three of you really are sickeningly sweet."

He gave her an offended little scowl. "Oi, I am certainly not sweet!"

"I have been reliably informed that I am adorable." Two big hands came to rest loosely on Johns shoulders out of nowhere. "And I think we can all easily agree that Rosie is awfully cute, as long as she is out of earshot. Take the attribute 'sweet' and wear it like a medal of honour."

"Jesus!" John flinched at the unexpected voice so close to his ear and spun around on the spot, ending up face to ... well scarf, with his boyfriend, who was looking down at him with an unrepentant, sparkling grin.

"Give a man a warning before you sneak up on him like that."

"I am afraid that would defeat the purpose of sneaking." The smug bastard directed his gaze overtop Johns head to meet Mollys, who - on second thought - must have seen him coming up behind John from a long way back, the traitor. "How are you Molly? Did I miss Rosie?"

"I am doing okay, work is busy, but when is it not. And you did not miss Rosie, she should be up any minute now."

"Good."

John took a reluctant step back. "How is the experiment doing?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It looked fine to me. I should be able to see the first results by Sunday."

"That's good. How was performing it in a proper laboratory for a change?"

That earned him an unimpressed glare. "It was fine. It lacks some of our kitchens familiarity and charm but I was able to make do - oooof"

Some of the haughty attitude slipped, when a padded figure barreled into him at stomach height.

"Sherlock! You made it!" Rosie, in full fencing gear, was clinging to Sherlocks middle. John had to grin widely at the befuddled expression on his partners face and Molly made a point of mouthing 'sickeningly sweet' where both of them could clearly see it. "I wasn't sure if you would be on time. My match is in two minutes. You can watch!"

Sherlock closed his hands around her shoulders in a loose embrace. "Of course Watson, I wouldn't miss it for all the experiments in the world!"

--------------------

Troubleshooting, part 16/?

-> A late chapter because I spent way too much time yesterday fighting with a machine - the machine won. Thus I have to channel my frustration into Sherlocks suffering with science. Fair is fair. (I thought I had posted this late last night, but apparently I only saved it in my drafts. oops)

-> The next snippet can be found here.

-> Until then you can start reading this series at DAY 0 (tumblr/ao3) or read the previous snippet here.

[oneofthosebells]

Hi! for the ask game: 4, 9, 11 (and 12 <3) I hope you have a lovely weekend!

Hey, thank you for the ask! 🥰 And you too. 💜

4. 🧭 An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

I am terrible at being creative with titles, alas - the absolute giddy glee I felt when I came up with Incognito Mode was something to behold, practically every other fic I've ever written has been named after a Gershwin or Cole Porter song (also where this username comes from btw.)

I guess one of my WIPs could also be titled as 'The Worst Day of Queen Kristina's Life'...

9. 🤔 What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

A closeted, older (I'm thinking 30s or even 40s) Wilhelm, now a surplus Royal with no purpose in life now that his brother has children, decides to learn the guitar. Simon ends up being his teacher for reasons I've yet to work out. They fall in love (duh).

I'm thinking that Wilhelm has several failed relationships behind him with men who couldn't cope with either being a secret or handling the intense public/press attention if it became public, so he's a bit cynical and jaded about relationships. Haven't quite decided on Simon's backstory yet! It's fermenting in the background at the moment.

11. 🛠️Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

Ha, yes. The fluffy parts. Also smut.

Angst? Piece of cake, writes itself. Fluff and warm fuzzy feelings? It's like pulling teeth. I keep having to remind myself with every sentence that these people actually LIKE each other, a lot, and are both canonically warm, emotionally available people who tend to be honest and open about their feelings for each other.

I've spent the last four years writing about an emotionally constipated little sod who doesn't do all that 'soppy git' stuff, so it's an adjustment. I'll get there. 😂

12. ❤️ Thank you so much for extra kudos!

[silentt-angel]

to love and to kill – chapter 1

summary: Draco Malfoy has been tasked with fixing a magical wardrobe and killing Albus Dumbledore. But he isn't the only Slytherin who received a task from The Dark Lord that summer - Magnolia Stellifer has to make sure that Draco doesn’t fail, and if he does, she has to finish what he started... An enemies to lovers retelling of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. pairing: draco malfoy x oc

1. A Beginning 

Sunday 1st September 1996

To say that Draco Malfoy was annoyed, would have been an understatement. He had only been at Station 9¾ for a total of seven minutes, and he was already cold, his new shoes were making his feet hurt and he was beginning to regret skipping breakfast that morning – just like his mother had told him he would. As if that wasn’t enough, some snotty first year student was wailing about something loudly right next to him. Had Draco’s mother not been standing beside him, he would have definitely hexed the boy into oblivion by now. Since she was, though, he settled for imagining all the things he could do to the boy with a single spell. His list was getting quite impressive.

There was something that was gnawing at the back of his mind that was annoying him far more than all of this, though – Draco missed his father. 

And he didn’t like it. 

Lucius Malfoy had never been the warmest of people, and certainly not the warmest of fathers. He could be stern and demanding and strict, but he was Draco’s father, and since Draco started Hogwarts six years prior, Lucius had been there every single year to see him off. It felt strange not to have him there. It made Draco feel like things really were changing. 

It also made him feel like a soppy git. 

Draco didn’t think he would care, and going back to Hogwarts was usually accompanied by a buzz of excitement he was certain would drown out any other emotions. This year the feeling was nowhere to be found. Instead, all Draco felt was a strange emotion he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Needless to say, so far, his day was going pretty shit. 

“Are you sure you have everything you need packed, dear?” Draco’s mother asked him, straightening the collar of his cloak. 

Any sign of summer had disappeared completely with the start of September. Everything was already cold and grey. The wind tugged at his mother’s hair angrily, blowing the black and white strands. 

It felt fitting. Having the sun shine over him brightly all summer felt sacrilegious. 

“Yes, mother. You’ve asked me that thrice since we got here.”

“I just want to make sure,” Narcissa said softly, drawing her hands away from him. 

Draco mustered up a weak smile. 

“I need you to be careful.”

“I will,” Draco assured her.

“I mean it,” his mother said. “I won’t lie to you, dear – I’m worried about you. What you are doing is extremely dangerous, so I need you to promise me that you will be careful .”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I promise,” he said. 

He hated having conversations like this with his mother, and they were having an awful lot of them as of late.

“And remember: the only person you can talk to about this in that castle is Severus. He is the only one who you can trust. Understood?”

Draco pursed his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his mother use such a harsh tone with him. He didn’t fault her. Her husband was in Azkaban, and now her only son was risking the same fate. 

He wished his mother didn’t know about the task. Wished that he could at least take this burden from her. 

“Understood.” 

Narcissa’s eyes softened again. “I'm going to miss you very much, Draco.”

“I hate to leave you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She smiled. “I shall manage just fine. I always do. Now,” she smoothed out her dark skirt, “I believe I have just spotted the Stellifers. Let us go and say hello and then you should be on your way.”

Draco felt the stares that followed him as they walked. He was used to people looking at him. He was a Malfoy, after all; everyone knew who he was since he was a tiny baby. This felt very different, though.

Death Eater. 

Scum. 

He’ll be joining Lucius soon.

Bastard should have got much worse.

Hope he rots in Azkaban like his daddy.

Insults were hurled at him in hushed tones.

“Do not listen to them.” His mother pulled him closer, shooting daggers with her eyes at anyone who looked their way. “They will find something new to gossip about soon.”

Draco replied with a low hum. “Unlikely,”  he said. “But I’m not concerning myself with what some mudbloods have to say about us, and you shouldn’t either, mother.”

“It does not bother me when it is me they are talking about,” Narcissa frowned. A faint line appeared between her brows. “But I hate it when they speak about my boy that way. You are right, though. We must not bother ourselves with that type of nonsense. People will always talk.”

To Draco, it sounded like his mother was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him.

“It’s fine. I don’t care, really,” he said.

It didn’t feel good, but Draco was slowly getting used to it. He had to. Since his father had been sent to Azkaban, Draco couldn’t cross the street without hearing the words ‘Death Eater’ being spat at him. There was no point denying it or saying anything, really. It’s not like they were entirely wrong, either. 

“Now,” his mother smiled at him, “please try to look a bit less miserable for the next few minutes.”

Draco scoffed but mustered up a neutral expression. 

“Leonidas! Idris! Lovely to see you as always,” his mother greeted the Stellifers politely. “You too, Magnolia.”

Draco shook Mr.Stellifer’s hand and sent Magnolia and her mother a polite nod as they exchanged pleasantries. 

“Doesn’t time just fly? When did your Magnolia grow into such a wonderful young woman?” his mother gushed.

“Isn’t she just precious?” Idris Stellifer cooed, pleased at the compliment, a hint of French in her accent. 

It took a lot of effort for Draco to stifle a laugh.

He had only seen Magnolia once the entire summer, at the annual ball her mother organised. It was probably the longest they had gone without eachothers company their entire lives. Draco considered it one of the major advantages of the Dark Lord’s return. 

She looked the same as her had remembered her, in her brown overcoat. Maybe a bit older. A bit more tanned with a few light freckles decorating her slender nose that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps her hair had grown a bit over the summer too – it fell over her shoulders in long, dark curls. 

Draco felt his mother nudge him gently and realised he hadn’t been listening to the conversation at all. 

“Your Draco has had to mature incredibly these last few months, hasn’t he? Step up and be the man of the family,” he heard Magnolia’s father say. 

“He certainly has.” Narcissa nodded.

Draco hated these types of conversations. Hated how people would always speak about him as if he wasn’t standing right there. 

“These are strange times we are living in,” Leonidas went on. “We need to look out for each other.”

Draco thought that ‘strange times’ was a generous way of putting it. 

“We just wanted to remind you that if you ever need any help, we are always here,” the man added. 

“That’s very kind of you, Leonidas.” 

“It must be so difficult without Lucius.” Idris Stellifer gave them both a sympathetic smile. “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like,” she said, and turned her gaze to her husband. 

Leonidas smiled at her gently and grasped her hand in his.

Draco couldn’t understand why people said things like that so often. Did they really believe it would make anyone feel better? It made him want to scream. 

His mother gave them a small smile that Draco had come to know very well in the last few months and said, “It is certainly quieter at home.” 

It was quite the opposite, actually.

“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” Magnolia spoke suddenly, “but I think me and Draco ought to go. The train will be leaving soon.”

“Right, of course.” Her mother smiled. "We wouldn’t want you missing it,” she said. “But before you go, let me give you one last big hug.” She pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. 

Draco turned to his own mother. 

“Do not forget to write to me,” she said with a tired kind of smile on her face.

“I won’t,” Draco promised.

“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “Off you go.”

He made sure to look at her for as long as he could before he had to turn away and start walking towards the train – to try and remember every detail of her face. Draco didn’t let the thought form into a sentence in his head, but a tiny part of him was afraid of that being the last time he would see his mother.

He pushed the thought away quickly. He wasn’t going to let it be. 

“Goodbye, mother.” Draco swallowed thickly before turning back to the others. “It was good seeing you, Mr and Mrs Stellifer.”

“Draco, dear,” Magnolia’s mother stopped him. “Would you mind helping Magnolia with her bag?”

“There’s really no need, mother,” Magnolia protested. “I wouldn’t want to trouble Draco.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, with a smile that he knew made all mothers like him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

They walked side by side towards the Hogwarts Express, Draco stealing quick glances at Magnolia’s face. There was a tiredness in her eyes and a frown on her lips that he hadn’t noticed before. He wondered what could have caused it. It was difficult to remember what kinds of problems people who weren’t doing the Dark Lord’s bidding had. 

“You look ravishing today,” he drawled sarcastically, finally breaking the silence.

“Tiring summer,” was all Magnolia said in response. 

“Oh, right. It must be awfully taxing having to attend so many balls and picnics,” Draco said, with pretend sympathy.

“You’d know all about that.”

“Would I?” He smirked. “I don’t recall attending many tea parties this summer.”

She furrowed her dark brows. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”

He laughed. Given by how quickly he had managed to get her riled up, it seemed he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood. 

It felt good to pick a fight – finally have someone to snap at. 

“Were the balls any fun at least?” he asked.

“Certainly the ones you weren’t at,” Magnolia snapped back. 

Draco would have been at all of them if Voldemort hadn’t been spending his time in Draco’s living room most nights. 

“I’m sure my company was dearly missed.”

She laughed back at him. “I beg to differ.”

“I’m doubtful.” 

“I wouldn’t expect any different, you arrogant twat.”

“Good, you know me well then, and you shouldn’t miss me too much now, either.” Draco grinned at her one last time before letting go of her suitcase, giving it a hard push towards the train tracks and strolling off, “You’ll manage just fine with that, I presume?” he called over his shoulder.

Magnolia stood where he had left her, giving him the middle finger, the two green ribbons in her hair blowing wildly in the wind. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It didn’t take long for Draco to find the compartment his friends were sitting in. 

“About time,” Blaise Zabini said, shaking his hand. “We thought you weren't going to make it.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t.” 

“But you’re here.” Blaise grinned. “And that means you owe me a galleon, Goyle. Don’t think I forgot,” he shouted across the compartment. 

Goyle groaned and started rummaging in his pockets. He slid a few coins over the table to Zabini. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, mate.” 

“I’ll be having a percentage of that,” Draco said. 

Blaise frowned. “We’ll see about that.”

“We were actually just talking about you before you came,” Pansy Parkinson said, changing the subject.

“You were?” Draco raised a brow.

“Just wondering,” Pansy said with a sickly sweet smile, “what Master Malfoy was so busy doing that he couldn’t be asked to reply to a single letter all summer?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Some of us didn’t spend our entire summer sunbathing in Italy,” he said. “I’ve had to take on some of my father’s responsibilities. It’s kept me pretty busy.”

He noticed the way Blaise and Pansy looked at each other awkwardly, but chose to ignore it. 

“How was Italy?” he asked, in part because he wanted to stop her from having a go at him, but also because he was dying for a normal conversation that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord, and his father, and the war.

Luckily, Pansy didn’t need much encouragement. She started babbling happily about the beaches, all the food she ate, the people and all the wine she managed to swipe from her parents. Draco was grateful not to have to speak for a while. It was nice to listen to something so down to earth.

It didn’t last very long, though. 

“You know,” Pansy said, “apparently some people aren’t coming back this year.”

“Muggle-borns,” Blaise chimed in. 

Draco leaned back in his seat. “People are starting not to trust Dumbledore with their precious children as much.”

“Took them long enough,” Blasie sighed. “He let a bloody werewolf teach us.”

“Lupin wasn’t all that bad,” Pansy countered.

“Did you fancy him or something, Parkinson?" Draco joked.

“You think I’m into hairy guys?”

“I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at him.  “At least he actually taught us something. Better than Umbridge.”

"S’ppose” Blaise shrugged.

The compartment doors swung open and the freckle-covered face of some Ravenclaw student peered inside.

“Hi, sorry, is there a Blaise Zabini in here?” the girl asked.

“Depends who’s asking,” Blaise drawled.

“I’ve been asked to deliver a message from Professor Slughorn.”

The girl passed Blaise a wax sealed envelope. Pansy peered over his shoulder as he opened it. 

“That’s the new Potions professor," she said. “He taught my father.”

Blaise scanned the letter quickly and scoffed.

“What is it?” Draco asked. 

Though he wouldn’t admit it, the mysterious letter had sparked some curiosity in him.

“Looks like I’ve got lunch plans today.”

“Who would have thought you’d be such a teacher’s pet, Blaise,” Pansy giggled. “Getting invited to lunch by a professor on the first day back? Must have been a busy summer.”

“What does Slughorn want with you?” Draco asked. “You’re awful at potions.”

“Beats me.” Blaise shrugged. 

“Maybe Slughorn’s doing special classes, for those most in need, this year,” Pansy suggested, smiling innocently. 

“Rude.” 

“Only logical explanation.” Draco smirked.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on either of you,” Blaise said, standing up. “Let’s hope the food is good. See you later.”

He left the compartment whistling, his hands in his pockets, leaving just Draco and Pansy in their booth. 

The girl pressed her forehead against the window. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her jumper, each of them decorated with chipped black polish and silver rings. They both sat in silence for a while, looking at the rolling hills they were passing, before she said, “Isn’t it strange that we’re only going to get to do this one more time?”

He raised a brow. “Pansy Parkinson getting sentimental?”

She laughed. “Maybe a bit. Hogwarts is a shithole, but I’m going to miss it. I’ve spent most of the last few years of my life there.”

He decided not to tell her that he may not be there with her on the train next year. That by then he might be onto bigger things.

This was going to be a good year for him. Draco was going to make sure of that. It was going to be difficult, but it would all be worth getting his father out of prison, restoring his family’s good name and keeping his mother safe. There was a lot he was willing to do to accomplish that.

Apparently even murdering his headmaster.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Blaise returned after an hour. He already had a scowl on his face as he swung the compartment door open, and it only deepened when he couldn’t get it to shut again.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” he asked angrily, as he tousled with the door. 

Just as Draco got up to help him, the door slid open completely, and Zabini toppled over sideways, landing straight in Gregory Goyle’s lap. Pansy and Draco both erupted into laughter.

“Oi!” Goyle snarled. “Get off me.”

“You’re acting like I wanted to land on your fat arse!”

“We all know you like it, Goyle,” Pansy jeered.

“Get your hands off me,” Zabini spat.

“You’re the one sitting on me!”

“Keep telling yourself that, mate.”

Blaise leapt up before Goyle could shove him off and slumped down next to Pansy. Draco sprawled out across the free seat next to him. He listened as the two slytherins continued to squabble with a smile, when something white flashed before his eyes. Draco frowned slightly.

“How was it?” Pansy asked, still laughing slightly.

“One of the biggest wastes of time,” Blaise groaned.

“What did Slughorn want?” 

Draco was glad that Pansy asked before he had to. Blaise was always far too pleased when he forced someone to try and pry information out of him.

“Just trying to find some well-connected people,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Not that he managed to find any.”

“Who else did he invite?” Draco asked.

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Blaise replied.

“Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry.” Pansy filled in.

“–somone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw.”

Pansy scowled. “He’s a dickhead.”

“Magnolia Stellifer was there too,” Blaise added, and Draco noticed the way he looked at him, searching for a reaction.

It didn’t surprise Draco one bit that she was invited. She was brilliant at potions – he had to give her that.

“– and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl,” Zabini finished.

“He invited Longbottom?” Draco laughed in disbelief. 

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,” Zabini said indifferently.

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?” Pansy asked.

Blaise shrugged.

“Guess the whole Potter fan club scored an invite,” Draco sneered. “Even the Weasley girl.”

“A lot of boys like her for some reason,” Pansy said. “Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please.” She wriggled her thick eyebrows suggestively. 

Blaise made a gagging noise. “I’d rather snog Goyle.”

“I don’t have a hard time believing that after what we just saw,” Draco teased.

“Not that I want to spend my free time with that old man,” Pansy said, “but I’m a bit surprised that Malfoy and I weren’t invited.”

“I wouldn't bank on an invitation,” Blaise said. “He asked me about Notts father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry, he didn’t look happy. And Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters. At least not convicted ones.”

Draco let out a single humourless laugh. “His loss.”

“We’re nearly there,” Pansy said. “We should get our robes on. Blaise needs all the time he can get in front of the mirror.”

The boy clutched his chest. “How thoughtful, Pansy.”

As they all stood up and Goyle reached up for his trunk, Draco heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a faint grunt. He looked over at Pansy and Blaise, but they were still going back and forth about something, oblivious to the strange noise. Draco continued pulling on his robe like he hadn’t heard anything and reached for his trunk. The train halted.

“You guys go on,” he told his friends. “I just want to check something.”

Draco waited until he couldn’t hear anyone in the corridor and lowered the blinds. He bent down and reached into his trunk, then spun around and pointed his wand at the luggage rack.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Just as he had suspected, Potter came toppling down from the rack, his head and torso sliding out from underneath an invisibility cloak. He landed right at Draco’s feet. 

Draco smirked down at him. “Hello Potter. I thought it was you,” he said jubilantly. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you and thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back… It was quite rude of you not to say hello.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on Potter’s face as he considered how much he could get away with. 

“You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here…” Draco stamped down hard on Harry’s face. He heard a crunch under his shoes as Potter’s blood spluttered everywhere. “That’s from my father.” He kicked again. “And that’s from me.”

Potter’s glasses had snapped into three pieces and the glass had shattered, some of it slicing into his – definitely broken – nose. 

It felt good to see him so defenceless. The legendary boy who lived at his feet. It was his fault that Draco was in the position he was in.

“Oh, dear” Draco cooed cruelly. “You’ve made quite the mess.” He wiped his shoe on Harry’s shirt, then dragged the cloak from under Harry’s immobilised body and threw it over him. “I don’t reckon they’ll find you until the train’s back in London,” he said quietly. “See you around, Potter… or not.”

He took care to tread on his fingers as he left the compartment. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Does Potter’s nose have anything to do with what you left on the train?” Pansy asked Draco during the feast. 

“Perhaps.” He smirked, pleased with himself. What he did was going to be the highlight of his week. 

The Slytherin table erupted into laughter. They were silenced only by Dumbledore stepping onto the podium. 

“The very best of evenings to you!” Dumbledore said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide enough to embrace the whole room.

Draco groaned and buried his head in his arms. 

“Now...to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you...” 

He mostly drowned out the sound of Dumbledore’s annual speech.

“...those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise. We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn. He is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Professor Snape, meanwhile,” Dumbledore said, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, “will be taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.” 

Draco lifted his head off the table at the name ‘Lord Voldemort’.

“I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others’ safety.” 

The old man had no clue what he had coming. 

[beatlepaul4ever]

Big soppy gits, needing a big strong man to help them down.

Chaotic arrival.

The Beatles being helped to climb over their car to avoid fans waiting outside the Futurist Theatre, Scarborough, 9 August 1964

[fireessie]

OHH THE PROPOSALS🥹🥹 literally the sweetest thing

AND THE RINGS 😍 gorgeous

I know! Soppy little gits aren't they 😅

I wasn't originally going to have them both propose but then someone on here said about it and I knew I had to.

The rings - I'm not going to lie, I looked at sooooooooooooo many rings. Honestly my google history is ruined because of this fic (and the follow up fic) but it was quite fun, although I couldn't decide on the style they'd have for ages and ages 😅

[f0rever-baby]

I follow you because:

You’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met in my life, you’re intelligent, strong, independent, hilarious, best Mum to Howie, Vinnie, Leviathan, Ada, TabTab and BooBoo. Your ethereal beauty is just stunning and your sea sapphires for eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen. Your selflessness is an inspiration and I think if there were more people like you in the world it would be a better place. It’s a genuine delight and pleasure to get to talk to you daily and I adore and value the time you give me. Sharing books and music with each other is a personal favourite and I’ve discovered so much new knowledge and genres to explore. I enjoy learning new things about you and learning things about myself through you as well, I’ve genuinely became a better person since you came into my life and that’s down to you (you’ll disagree that you’ve done anything but that’s just you). I could go on and on here but I’m trying to say is, I follow you because you’re you, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Our friendship so far is one of the best and most dear to me, I feel like we’ve known each other before and we’re now picking up where we left off. I know I’m a soppy git but I don’t think you hear these kinda things often enough. Thank you for being you my lil Suede 🦤

Ok, first of all I was like "wow this person knows A Lot...." but then I realised you'd written a book, that was clue no.1 and then Suede for Swede 😅! And finally the Dodo 🤦🏼‍♀️😂

You're still the silliest fucking goose going but ily 🖤🫶🏻

Even if you do talk absolute nonsense 🤣

[rememberingthesugden-dingles]

he’s so happy to see the ring back on aaron’s finger 😭

[noonmutter]

At its simplest, love is showing someone the softest, most vulnerable part of you and inviting them to share that with you, while hoping against hope that they won't just tear it out and run.

Leon

[dinglesugden-af]

and also let me just point out I just love how my ask gets filled after every emmerdale episode like I never have chance to answer them all because there's loads and I get distracted but I just love it 😆 like I see myself as someone with a boring blog who people look at think "shut up" so the fact people bother following me sending me messages and asks makes me so damn happy

[henryspearl]

i knew ben would wing those vows and he winged them beautifully. when i’m with you i’m better, i’m whole. you see me, you get me. who knew ben could speak poetry too?