theprxdigalson-blog - Tumblr blog

[theprxdigalson-blog]

A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are.

Theo Decker from The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt (via moonlitprizma)

[theprxdigalson-blog]

astoriadahl:

The thing about their friendship, or whatever it was that they were now, was that, even when she was slapping him across the face, they had still been able to keep a conversation. There had never been any awkward pauses, nothing like what was going on right now, and Astoria couldn’t take it. It felt so strange having gone such a long time without talking to him. Still, she was nervously rambling. “Want something?” Tori asked, stopping short for a second, her eyebrows raising high up on her head. “No, no… Well- We’ve been ignoring each other, and I don’t like it.” Perhaps it had been a dumb idea, stopping him, he had left early the next morning, and since then they had hardly even spoken. And she didn’t know what to think, feel or say about what had happened between the two of them that night. Perhaps Darcy had forgotten all about it. Tori chewed awkwardly at her lower lip, gaze flitting across the hallway, and it was a full 20 seconds later when she finally spoke. “Are we friends, Darcy? I mean… Do you regret what happened, do you remember what happened at all?”

Friends. Whatever one might call the relationship he and Astoria had shared, all the ups and the downs, it was always tenuous at best and thunderous at its worst. There had been a time when he had wholeheartedly believed they could be friends, but then life threw up its arms and made sure the hurdles they had to jump were unforgivable. Darcy ran his tongue over one dry bottom lip before pulling his shoulders up, a subtle shrug. Honesty was the best policy, he repeated this like a mantra before speaking but it never helped, never mattered. What spewed from between his lips was a tangled mess of truths and deceits. ❝I don’t remember what happened that night…❞ Half a lie. He remembered sporadic points, Theodore finding him in the corridor, trying and failing to sober him up before Darcy took it upon himself to stumble to the tower searching for the one person in the castle who might truly understand. The rest was a blur. Snippets of warmth, the feel of lips against his and arms around him that most certainly didn’t belong to his future wife to be. Mira would’ve never let them anywhere near her much less that close, and it was the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory he’d woken up in the next day. He’d avoided her to avoid repercussions from whatever foolish mistake he’d made that night. ❝So theoretically I cannot regret anything.❞ Darcy half turned from her and then sighed, all the tension caught between his shoulder blades eased. ❝I do remember…one detail,❞ the words spilled before he could stop them. Infuriated with himself he snapped. ❝And, if kissing me was so revolting then I’m sorry, but from what I can remember you didn’t complain.❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

summerharlowe:

It was normally all serious whenever Summer was on Prefect patrol, but the last few weeks had been kind of stressful. Not being able to escape to her dorm whenever things got too complicated or too stressful was difficult. And then there was the fact that her parents and Darcy’s parents had decided that they would be married. Neither of them wanted it of course, but they were coming to terms with the fact that it might be happening for real. Which was why she was drinking disgusting pretend Firewhiskey while on patrol. “Eeh, a hole in my throat can be healed. Something that might make me giggle sounds like it would destroy my reputation,” she replied as she stared at the bottle, deciding it would be better left alone. “Drinkable… Questionable, but let’s do it.” Accepting the bottle from him, she tipped it back, and hissed at the burning sensation down her throat. “Don’t even get me started on the dorm situation. Did you know, the Gryffindor girls have girls nights, they do each others hair and giggle about boys. I cannot wait to finally go back to my own dorm.” Summer passed the bottle back to Darcy. “Are you surviving the Ravenclaws? I imagine it gets more loud than one would assume.”

❝You have a reputation to destroy?❞ He muttered, one dark brow arched up as he regarded her with overt disbelief. Darcy gratefully took to the bottle back from her and snorted, graceless and far from the gentleman he’d been supposedly brought up to be. ❝Sounds good to me.❞ Braiding hair and giggling about boys was obnoxious, but it was certainly simpler than a burst lip and bloody noses. If anything, his stint so far in the ravenclaw tower had forced him to brush up on his healing magic. Possibly aggravated his lack of sleep with a refusal to return to his bed each night — as enticing as it was to have a bed pressed up against Fraser’s Darcy would rather not. ❝I can assure you it’s not sunshine and rainbows in the raven tower but it’s tepid…❞ He drew his knees up to his chest, scraping polished squeaky soles against the stone as he exhaled with a low whistle. Darcy shrugged and tipped the bottle back, gagging as it burned but swallowing it anyway, and passed it back to her. He didn’t want to be here any longer. Seams were starting to burst and it was only a matter of time before Darcy Oldridge collapsed. He wasn’t sure he could pick up the fragments and glue them back together this time. Not with the school as an audience.

❝Look—- Summer,❞ he fumbled over her name as if it had burnt his tongue. ❝About our situation… I didn’t ask for it but I don’t think my parents will be easily persuaded out of it.❞ At that Darcy reached for the second bottle and despite the foul taste, took a hearty swig of it. ❝I’m sorry.❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

don't go to war for me i’m not the one that you want me to be

[theprxdigalson-blog]

am-flying-solo:

Solomon smirked; a cruel thing.

“Afraid? No, I don’t think you’re afraid of me, exactly,” Solomon didn’t bulge, full of the certainty that Darcy wouldn’t reach for his wand. He’d known the boy for more than seven years - Darcy wouldn’t dare. He was predictable, constrained both by the strict rules of his own upbringing and his own fear of losing. “I think you’re terrified of the way I make you feel. Powerless. Humiliated, innit? Am I close, Darce?” That was the burden of names as heavy as Oldridge. Darcy carried on his shoulders the weight of a legacy he’d never surpass. It was a heavy crown to wear for feeble shoulders, a constant reminder of what you’d never be. Solomon was under no such pressure. As a bastard, he had nothing to his name but shame - and he knew shame like an old lover; he laid in bed with shame and swallowed it, refusing to let it eat him away.

“I’m a poor excuse of a man, Darce?” He arched both eyebrows, amusement seeping onto his voice like fresh poison. “What about you? Are mummy and daddy proud of their golden boy? Do they brag about you at parties?” While Darcy was rage, Solomon was velvet - bending words around with the slick control of a man who’d faced worst. “Oh, yes, you see, my boy Darcy– he’s the twelfth best at his dueling club, and maybe the nineteenth best in his class in every other subject, if you don’t count any muggleborns and halfbloods. A real taker, pride of his family. That’s a real man.” Solo said, voice deeper, full of a fatherly tone as he impersonated Mr. Oldridge.

Solo often wondered how far would ever be too far with Darcy - and maybe they’d reach it when the bigger boy grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer. There was a brief flash of fear in Solomon’s eyes, and then he remembered this wasn’t Lennox - this was just good old Darcy, too proud of his heritage to resort to muggle violence. “If I’m an accident, Darce, what does that say about you, the world’s best planned failure?”

The hand fisted into his shirt tightened, a reflex when put under pressure but never had he been faced with the proximity of Renfield. His fingers caught in something other than soft pale palms. Every syllable that left Solomon’s lips was a carefully primed weapon leaving Darcy a hollow shell of dynamite. His jaw tensed, grinding as he seethed on the poison that Solo had dealt. Too fuelled on the fire that burnt within the whisper sweet little nothings with vehement, Darcy resorted to a primal course of action. He lost himself in a manner that was entirely Oldridge but not, in the least, proper. It was simple, none too dissimilar to a dance if only a little vicious and bittersweet. His hand tightened further into Solo’s shirt, careless and reckless to his need for air, and with pent up momentum, he drove Solo into the tower wall.

It was no good to rely on the reflex that would lead to him grasping his wand, he was frankly useless in a duel much less against Solo, that was proven. This, this was primal, nothing about it was planned or orderly. He’d watched his father lose it like this once, as a boy, on the pitch after a fellow team-mate had missed the snitch. Anthony Oldridge had swung his bat around the head of a chaser. Darcy didn’t think memories weren’t a conscious part of his decision-making, if anything truly could be, when he swung his curled fist at the side of Solomon’s head. They’d had to drag his father off the pitch in an immobilising charm. It hadn’t been a pretty sight for anyone to see much less six-year-old Darcy Oldridge. His grandfather had sighed, groaned, what has this family come to—-

Darcy snarled like a dog, words a haphazard inconvenience as he hauled Solomon up by the scruff of his shirt. He was not a failure. The word burned like a brand. Echoed the warped dreams that haunted him on nightly basis. He could never be a failure, he was an Oldridge. Success was a given. ❝Don’t lie,❞ he hissed. And he swung again, and again, for good measure. ❝Shut up!!❞ His voice was hoarse, rough from screaming the same succinct message over and over. The rest was history.

Burning Out | Solo & Darcy

[theprxdigalson-blog]

astoriadahl:

Awkward hellos and cautious smiles had been just about all the interaction Astoria and Darcy had had since that night he had come up to the Gryffindor dorms, drunk out of his mind. It had been nice, truly, they had talked, and then there was that incredible kiss. And several more incredible kisses. And then of course there was the night spent cuddling. But after that, things had been… Weird between the two of them. Tori was preparing for another awkward hello when she saw him walking down the hallway towards her, but just as she had prepared her warm smile, she stopped and stepped in front of him. “Darcy, hi. Umm… How have you been?” Cringeworthy, absolutely embarrassing, there was instant regret to the comment. And it showed on her face. “Sorry, that was incredibly lame. Perhaps we should just continue the awkward hello’s in the hallways.”

Thanks to a few people and then ultimately, Dahl, he had managed to slip through the grasp of trouble from that misfortunate evening. Darcy had kept his head low ever since, cautious enough to not repeat his mistake, at least not until sufficient time had passed, time was forgiving but Darcy preferred to dodge his fate. Keeping all those that he had encountered on that blunderbuss evening at arm’s length. He had every intention to slip by her as Astoria came from the opposite direction, determined not to let murky hazy memories disturb whatever had come before. Lines were blurred and he didn’t fully understand the entirety of how he’d ended up in the lion’s den. Darcy stalled, a drawled uh as his path was stopped short by her. ❝Fine—❞ She’d cut him off before he could even begin. ❝I’ve been busy?❞ Darcy offered, the interrogative incidental. ❝Do you—- want something?❞ Questions burned the tip of his tongue, but as much as he wanted to know what had occurred that night, part of him wanted to leave whatever it was behind.

[theprxdigalson-blog]

@summerharlowe

The perks of being a prefect were slim, but when Darcy considered the bootleg booze he’d managed to confiscate, and divert from ending up in a dusty dungeon cabinet, the long night patrols didn’t seem so bad. He had a bottle in each hand to offer to Harlowe. ❝Hooch firewhisky that might burn a hole in your throat, or…❞ He angled the second bottle to slosh the contents and take a guess. ❝Something that most definitely isn’t giggle water…❞ Darcy grimaced, the perks weren’t necessarily always fantastic. He tossed Summer one bottle and kept the haphazard firewhisky discarding the stopper to take a sniff. It was repulsive, but good enough he assumed not to kill them. He took a swig then passed it to her. ❝I’d stick to this…seems drinkable.❞ Darcy took the moment to roll the sleeves of his pristine shirt to his elbows, back firmly against the wall and then soon after the back of his head too. He muddled for abit in that awkward silence before delving back to familiar, easy conversation. ❝How’s the new dorm?❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

I used to see beauty in people But now I see muscle and bones

[theprxdigalson-blog]

am-flying-solo:

Solomon Renfield liked to test people.

That wasn’t news for anyone that had ever shared classes with the boy - Solo would grow bored quickly, and when he did, his interest turned away from books, and landed on people. Carefully crafted comments would immediately disrupt classes sometimes, like well-placed bombs, much to the chagrin of his teachers. He was the sort of person that would always test limits, rules and patience, often wondering how far he could go before getting in trouble. Life would be easier for his peers if he didn’t welcome trouble with open arms, but detention never did stop him - there was some wicked pleasure in driving people out of their comfort zone, stripping them of that strict sense of self-control they carried around like medals. 

He was convinced, after years of constant pushing around, that Darcy Oldridge was just a plain, weak coward - which didn’t surprise him, considering the way Darcy had dropped him at the mere hint of disapproval from his parents, when they were children. Still, Solo had some sort of morbid curiosity sometimes - how long would it take Darcy to snap? How many times did Solo have to humiliate him in the dueling club for the Slytherin to lose it? “With you? Never.” Solo grinned, mocking the threat of violence just under Darcy’s voice - despite their very obvious size difference, Solomon never took Darcy for a physically threatening person. He was no Lennox, with fists flying easily at every insult. He thought himself calm and composed, your typical example of pureblood mediocrity - too soft to follow through a threat, too dense to come up with more than subpar insults, or simple charms. Solo was content with his string of victories over Darcy, and thought nothing more of it.

That was, until they had to share a dorm.

The idea made him want to scoop his eyeballs out with a spoon - he’d managed to somehow survive living with three other hormonal boys but none of them was Darcy. They’d managed to avoid each other for the best part of the first day, which was just as good by Solo. It was bad enough to have snakes desecrating the Ravenclaw common room as it was. It was bound to happen, however, and when it did - reaching for the door only to have it reveal Darcy on the other side. - Solomon couldn’t help but grimace. “Yes, let’s make one thing clear, Darce. This is my room. My house. You’re a guest here, so I suggest you start acting like such, polishing up your thank yous and excuse mes, since we both know I’m not scared of detention, and you’re not man enough to face me, yeah?” He arched one eyebrow, “so don’t embarrass yourself further. Merlin knows you need no help with that.” 

Darcy recoiled, the purse in his lips souring as he tried to swallow Solomon’s spite with dignity. If he closed his eyes, which he’d never dare within the close quarters of this hellish dormitory, he could envision a Solomon quiet, obedient, as he should be. Servant to a King. But reality was painfully different and Darcy had to curb the reckless impulse to grasp his wand, he’d never been fast or smart enough to win a duel against him. The humiliation of every club meeting rung fierce and hot across freckled cheeks as he dug short nails into pink palms. ❝You think I’m afraid of you Renfield?❞ He spat, blowing as much conviction into the syllables as he could, even if his chest tightened and pulse thundered. Darcy breathed in through his nose, lip curled in between his teeth as he adjusted the polished cufflink holding together a virulently white shirt. Robes be damned, Darcy had his own way of living.

And, that did not include sharing a room with Renfield.

❝Shut up,❞ he barked. ❝You are a poor excuse for a man.❞ His insults were clumsily put together, strung up by the bite of Oldridge rage and nothing more. Darcy’s fingers dug tighter into the cufflink, pinching and twisting it as he tried to temper the rising storm. It was no use. Even the sight of Solomon was enough to push all the wrong buttons. He strode across the space until the space between the boys diminished. Eyes dark in the dim light of the dying fire met his. ❝Shut up.❞ Darcy repeated, lips curled and forehead wrinkled as he tried and failed to control the ire that had brewed. There was no telling what rational part of Darcy broke in those few seconds, but between storming half way across the room and spitting in Solomon’s face his hand had reached to grasp his shirt. Fisting and pulling at it to hold Solomon close, closer than he’d like but it was a show of power, impulsive, rash.

❝This is not yours don’t act like you own it Solomon, you are nothing but a pitiful wretched excuse of a human, an accident.❞ Fingers tightened, muscles flexed and held taut as he tensed his jaw, any hope of a peaceful calm evening drowned in the violent invasion of personal space.

Burning Out | Solo & Darcy

[theprxdigalson-blog]

lennoxfraser:

Being honest with Darcy - actually telling him a secret, something that was personal and potential blackmail material - itched at Lennox’s insides. He’d spent so long closing off every door that led to Darcy and sealing it tight that blowing them all open at once felt as though his world had tilted a little. It had been so long since they’d both been those kids who’d hurt each other - kids who had been scared and in love and wanting something, just one thing, that was good. And Lennox knew it was his fault, even if he couldn’t imagine that they would’ve worked out, in the end. The person that Darcy was now wasn’t someone that Lennox could be with - they’d grown up and grown apart, to be sure, but they’d become different people. Lennox hardly recognised the boy sitting before him, and he wondered if Darcy felt the same. But when Darcy apologised - more as a formality than any actual need to shell some of the blame - Lennox had to wonder if they were so far from who they’d once been. 

“It’s fine,” Lennox said, even if it wasn’t. If anyone could understand what it meant to be outed as anything other than straight and “normal” to a pureblood family, it would be Darcy - the pressures of the Oldridge family already making themselves known. He looked over at Darcy when he cut himself off, the phrase toying with feelings ringing loud in the quiet library, a bit of guilt getting lodged in Lennox’s throat as he tried to speak. “My family owns me because I let them - you don’t have to,” Lennox tried to say, skirting around Darcy’s near-confession. They’d have to speak of it sometime, to lay everything out on the table, trawl through the memories of the past, but it would not be that night, and Lennox could feel he’d lost Darcy as he spoke, words quicker, body beginning to shift, packing his things. Lennox watched, brow furrowed, wondering what he’d said. “Darce,” Lennox protested when Darcy stood, his belongings already filling his hands, and Lennox couldn’t help but reach out, fingers looping around Darcy’s wrist, trying to stop him from leaving. “Stop running. Can we talk?” and suddenly it seemed like now or never, and the words tumbled out of Lennox. “Survival is key, but you should have the option to enjoy your survival. Just– can we talk? About what happened? About us, or Harlowe, or… anything?” 

He didn’t know why he cared so much; maybe it was because so much was ending, and even though he acted like it was what he wanted, the truth was that it scared him, too. And maybe it was because Darcy would know about the life Lennox would lead, knew Lennox better than most, and could help him. Lennox was a drowning man reaching out, banking on nothing but a few faded memories with Darcy, wanting them to work miracles and mend the bridge that he’d burned. He hadn’t earned it, but that didn’t matter - he still wanted Darcy to sit down and speak to him like five minutes ago, when reconciliation had seemed possible.

Everything had warped and contorted in a manner that left him momentarily speechless, Darcy wanted to scream in the silent library, now that they’d traded secrets he wanted to lay down the dynamite and destroy the evidence. But Lennox’s fingers burned like a brand where they grasped at his wrist and Darcy was helpless to go anywhere. Us — at that he had to laugh, forced, compulsive. His lips reeled back as he steadied himself to speak, words sharp and laced with every ounce of poison he could summon. ❝There has never been an us to discuss Fraser and do not think for a second, that because I told you about Harlowe you have a right to tell me what to do.❞ The words tasted bitter against his tongue, brought out a heavy guilt that Darcy didn’t know what to do with, but still, he carried on. Set on his path with that fiery Oldridge anger, there was no turning back. He sunk back, letting whatever it was that had fuelled him to snap so abruptly take over completely. ❝We talked that should be enough for you, I’m not one of your sluts Fraser…❞ Darcy snatched his wrist back, not careful enough to catch the books that had lost their charm and plummeted to the floor in the heat of his anger. Advanced Potion-Making clattered to the floor spine up.

❝Don’t touch me again, or speak to me and lest you wish to lose your tongue don’t ever repeat what I’ve told you.❞ He snarled, as he motioned with his wand and a wordless charm to bring his textbook back to hip height. Darcy wanted out, he wanted away, as far from Fraser and his scalding touch, the words that twisted and snaked their way around his head like a tool of destruction. ❝Your family owns you because you’re weak Fraser.❞ He reached to grasp the potions textbook, grateful for something to dig his nails into, desperate to relieve the pressure building up inside. ❝Whereas, being an Oldridge is an honour.❞ This time, Darcy didn’t wait or give Lennox a second chance to stop him. He turned with two hands on his belongings and stormed for the library’s exit. He didn’t stop, it was a wonder Darcy hadn’t burned a hole through the castle, Oxford’s grating against the stone as he thundered to the dungeons.

END.

emissary | darcy & lennox

[theprxdigalson-blog]

astoriadahl:

Just a few months ago, Astoria probably would have had a completely different reaction to Darcy kissing her, she probably would have pushed him away, but not now. She knew that reason he did it in the first place was because he was drunk, but still, she couldn’t help but enjoy it. He was an excellent kisser, firm, yet gentle. She found herself leaning in even closer to him when he put his arm around her shoulders, his fingers tangling into her hair. It was a move of passion, and she absolutely loved it. She didn’t want it to ever stop, now that she had experienced it, she couldn’t imagine not having this experience. Astoria gave a breathless laugh as he drew back from her. Of course she had thought about kissing him, several times. Her and Darcy got along great, he was one of the people that she trusted the most in this world, and she cared about him. And she would most certainly be lying if she didn’t admit to being attracted to him. “Of course I have. So… You’ve thought about it too?”

There was no point in lying to him, but Astoria had always been incredibly self-conscious, she never would have thought that Darcy would be interested her in any other way than her being a friend. But then he drew her back in for another kiss, passionately this time, and it just about knocked the breath from her chest. Her hand that had been holding onto his collar moved a little, to sneak just underneath the fabric to touch the soft skin of his chest. The hand remained there when he pulled away, resting his forehead against her own, and she gently trailed her fingers along his collar bone. “Just… Out of curiosity… Is this happening just because you’re drunk?” Either way, she really didn’t mind. She didn’t want for it to stop.

❝I don’t know,❞ he whispered against her lips. It was startling honesty from a boy who lied by default. They were still so tightly intertwined and he didn’t want it to end, but he couldn’t say precisely say whether he wanted more. He lay in an ambiguous realm between the two, caught by the warmth of her lips and the hazy face of someone else. For a moment, he didn’t let it lull him to a stop. Darcy was insistent on leaning in for another kiss, dully aware that her hand had disappeared beneath his shirt, he drew her closer still and without thinking, one hand fell to her thigh. Again, he didn’t think much as his hand slipped beneath the soft fabric of her skirt, traced up the softer still skin of her upper thigh. He broke the kiss, again, ❝it—❞

❝Might be,❞ he admitted. This time, he did draw away. His selfish determination to bask in her warmth difficult to overcome but he curbed the need, momentarily. Untangled half way until he could face her properly, his hands fell away to rest stagnant between them and his gaze sheepishly met hers. Through the haphazard haze that now formed his mind he tried to form a coherent reason for why he was doing this, other than, it had felt right. He couldn’t explain it, or put it into words as to why he had kissed her. Why he’d felt so compelled to do so or even why he’d always been drawn to her company even when they’d fought. It all meshed together and left Darcy tongue-tied. In the end he shrugged, just a sheepish foolish boy who’d forgotten how to use his sharp tongue. ❝I can stop—❞ He slurred, somewhat half aware that he already had.

❝I don’t think I want to...❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

leanderparrish:

Leander’s smile faltered slightly at the blatant way he was being dismissed by Darcy. He of course knew of him, but didn’t really know him.  As only a casual Quidditch fan, and for lack of anything else to do on game days, Leander memorized the names and positions of the players, if only to keep track of them on the field and when others were referencing the games.  “Ah, alright then.  If you do happen to find something that you might need help with, I’m in the sixth year rooms, next to the trunk that says ‘Parrish’.” Leander continued on, undeterred by the boy’s standoffishness, but now wary. “If you need help with the riddles, I have gotten rather good at them this year. Haven’t been stumped since December.”

Parrish. He’d be lying if he said the name had clicked. Darcy still didn’t know, or care, who the kid was. ❝Fantastic,❞ he drawled, voice heavy and low as Darcy Oldridge stooped to the level of eye rolling. ❝I’m quite capable of answering your ridiculous riddles but I might add it is entirely preposterous.❞ He didn’t care for riddles, or for Parrish’s. Just like any other selfish spoiled boy he wanted his own bed, in his own room, with the water lapping against the windows and dripping down the walls. All the things he both loathed and loved about the dungeons were nothing but a wistful concept. ❝Believe me the world will need to end and the castle burn, before you’d ever find me in the sixth year dormitories.❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

DARCY OLDRIDGE MOODBOARD

❛ So you can paint me any way you like I can be the villain if it helps you sleep at night

[theprxdigalson-blog]

summerharlowe:

“Vampires. As if freaking werewolves were scary enough, in comes the bloodsucking vampires to add to the fear. Amazing. Fucking awesome.

❝Does that not please you Harlowe?❞ He refused to call her by anything else, as if to cement that they were too diametrically opposed to gracefully fall into their fate. ❝I thought you yanks were all about beasts?❞ Darcy recoiled in his seat, not sure how they’d come to be within speaking distance, he had made his best effort since the news broke to keep her at arm’s length. Not that it was particularly hard. They ran in different circles. Now with the dungeons sealed off it seemed especially unusual for them to have crossed paths. ❝Not enjoying the company of the lions, are we?❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

leanderparrish:

“Well, probably not the most conventional of arrangements, but I hope that this is an opportunity to get to know each other better.  If anyone needs help with anything, I’m more than willing to assist.”

Darcy groaned, allegedly any time the kid opened his mouth it physically pained him. Not that he could recall the raven’s name. ❝How sweet,❞ he snarled. ❝On your way to the charitable nutcase. Do me the great assistance —- ❞ Darcy searched the air between them for a name. He drew naught and carried on regardless. ❝Stay out of my way, or heed the consequences.❞

[theprxdigalson-blog]

I lay in bed alone. And I longed for him. And he disgusted me.

Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber  (via diionysxs)

[theprxdigalson-blog]

Burning Out | Solo & Darcy

@am-flying-solo

The castle was beginning to feel claustrophobic, it made Darcy’s skin crawl, he longed to escape to the pitch, lake, anything other than this dull hour of charms. Unusually alert despite his lack of sleep which could be seemingly put down to the show-down that had occurred that morning. It seemed there was no end to Renfield’s urge to humiliate him. The tic in Darcy’s jaw grew tighter and tighter as the day wore on, by the time Solomon came for a second round at lunch Darcy was quite finished playing games. One way or another the boys had ended up outside. It was not taunts that flew now, nor the spark of magic. Darcy had him backed up against the wall hissing like a snake. ❝Are you quite done Solomon?❞

Heat had begun to rise, Darcy’s temples pounded with a rush of blood and adrenaline. He had dreamed of this, between the dreary hours of charms and potions. His fist tight around Solo’s neck as the boy turned a vicious shade of blue. The nasty Oldridge streak for violence was innate, whether Darcy liked to admit it or not. There was only ever so long he could run. The wind buffeted them both, scarcely shielded even tucked into the corner of the courtyard. It was a dangerous game, to threaten him so publicly, but little Darcy did these days much logic sense. The teenage boy was finally rampant—his final parting rebellion in the form of violence and alcohol. ❝Or do we need to make an example of you?❞ He snarled, his jaw clamped together in a way that made the words narrow and contort into long tendril hisses. Someone whipped around the corner and like that, he fell away to put reasonable distance between them. His shoulders rose, breathing heavy through his nose, ❝this isn’t over. Mark my words.❞

Darcy didn’t manage to finish what he’d started, not before the castle was turn inside out. The following morning lead to upheaval and whilst the rest of his house stood on the benches to shout, he withdrew. To leave the dungeons was grave news, the last place in the damned castle that he felt at home, and worst of all he was to be thrust into ravenclaw. Darcy felt queasy for the rest of the day, dreading for when night fell and doing anything to avoid it, he took a needless shift patrolling to stave off the inevitable. But even Darcy could only run for so long. As the hour ended he trudged to the dorms, and after nearly getting the riddle wrong, he was finally permitted entrance. The tower felt draughty in a way the dungeons never had. Unfamiliar.

He had not, in his apprehension for leaving the dungeons thought about exactly how the sleeping arrangements would work. Somehow, he’d thought the slytherin boys would have their own rooms. It was made plain that he was wrong as he pushed into the dorm, met with the face of Solomon. Shoulders tensed as if expecting an immediate strike. Frozen in the doorway he made the foolish mistake of standing his ground, ❝let’s make one thing clear, Solomon.❞ He spotted his trunk and other belongings, ❝keep out of my way or you’ll regret it. Lest you forget, I am quite happy to dock points.❞