#Chip Crawford

[sercezgazety]

I'm getting married in less than 13 hours and this is what I've decided to dedicate my impressive intellect to

[fresh-armadillo]

i think that if a movie or show or whatever can make me absolutely hate a character than it has to be art. annoyed is one thing but absolute hatred is a whole other emotion. it takes a lot for me to become so passionately angry and filled with hatred so props to writers ig

[corallapis]

Henry ‘Chips’ Channon: The Diaries (Vol. 1), 1918-38, entry for 7th March 1923

—

Wednesday 7th March

I have reached a very advanced age!¹ I was pleased to receive a cheque for £100 from father. I danced at Lady Crawford’s.² They built a gallery to house the Dutch pictures inherited from Lady Wantage. The primitifs have all been moved to the dining room. They have a glorious collection of pictures ... and children too. There are about seven of the latter, all enormous and stupid except Balniel,³ who is a shy, reserved long-nosed rare creature whom I knew well at Oxford. He is knowledgeable about pictures. Lady Crawford looms like a Medusa and is vast. She wears unsuccessful frocks in dullish colours, which are a bad background for her heavy massive jewels. She always looks untidy, if not dirty, which Lord Crawford, the most charming of men, frankly is.

—

1. It was his 26th birthday, or as far as his friends were concerned, his 24th.

2. Constance Lilian Pelly (1873–1947), married in 1900 David Alexander Edward Lindsay (1871–1940), by courtesy Lord Balcarres from 1880 to 1913, when he succeeded his father as 27th Earl of Crawford and 10th Earl of Balcarres. He served in Lloyd George’s Cabinet.

3. David Alexander Robert Lindsay (1900–75), by courtesy Lord Balniel from 1913 to 1940, when he succeeded his father (vide supra) as 28th Earl of Crawford and 11th Earl of Balcarres.

[owlkalinity-books-and-music]

I had a feeling those two would win. They're the most normal of the cast.

Please refer to "Maple" as Justin

[honeygrahambitch]

"Weird." Jack said aloud.

"What?"

The question came from Jimmy who was just pulling the body they were supposed to examine out of the freezer.

"Last Tuesday Dr. Lecter asked Will to come over to fix his washing machine. Then on Friday, he said that his car was making a weird noise and Will insisted on coming over to have a look at it. On Monday it was the oven. And yesterday?"

"Yesterday it was the fridge." Brian said.

"Do you not see a pattern?" Jack asked, a deep frown appearing on his forehead.

"I do." Jimmy replied. "You'd think that someone as rich as Hannibal would invest in high quality stuff. But everything seems to be breaking down these days."

"Must be a stressful time for him, it's always like that. When something stops working in your house, another ten things stop working too." Brian continued.

"Good thing Will is good at fixing stuff."

Beverly watched the conversation in a complete awe, as if she was trying to convince herself they could not be serious.

"Honestly, my wife has been nagging me to fix the hood in our kitchen for a month and I did not get to do it. I could ask Will." Jack said thoughtfully, any previous concern disappearing.

"So the three of you believe that Hannibal would ask Will to drive for an hour to Baltimore a few times a week only to fix stuff in his house?"

The three men turned to face her.

"Will is definitely fixing something but it's not kitchen appliances. That's all I'm saying." Beverly added.

"That's far fetched." Brian insisted. "Are you going to say that the times Hannibal visited Will to go on a fishing trip or to go hiking were excuses as well?"

"Can someone answer this for me?" Beverly asked definitely looking at Jack.

"Dr. Lecter is definitely not the guy to go out in nature."

The room fell quiet as if everyone was letting everything sink in. The silence was broken only when Will and Hannibal entered the lab. To say that all eyes were on them would have been an understatement.

"What?"

"Mrs. Crawford has been giving Jack a hard time because he won't fix the kitchen hood. And we were suggesting that he should ask for your help." Beverly said and bit her tongue in order to keep a serious face. She definitely did not miss the side eye she got from Jack.

"I could have a look." Will replied still creeped out by everyone's glances.

"No, we need to make sure you won't ruin it even more." Jimmy chipped in. "Say, Dr. Lecter, is Will doing a good job?"

To that, even Will turned his head towards Hannibal, waiting curiously for feedback.

Beverly could feel a metallic taste in her mouth because of how tightly she was biting her tongue at that point.

"Definitely. However I don't think I can share him, I still need some help with my dryer this week. And my kitchen sink. One of my porch lights is also making an unusual noise."

[marnonxiv]

Let me compare Clannibal and Hannigram for one moment please because I need to talk about it.

I love how Hannigram is based on Clannibal. I love all the ways it differs. Clarice really has to suffer to be with Hannibal, Hannibal wants her to be entirely different than what she is. He displays the same abusive behaviours as he does in the NBC adaptation, but in my mind: it's for two completely different reasons.

Clarice has a sense of self, throughout the events of Silence of the Lambs. She has a clear objective, and she genuinely does want to help people. She isn't presented as having this "dark" side to her (for a lack of a better word). Her trauma elevates her pathology; it's a driving force for her decisions. She's also a brave woman, and this shows in her interactions with Dr Lecter. Dr. Lecter is the only person in Silence of the Lambs who truly recognises her, and what's she is capable of. His response? To keep her.

Hannibal kidnaps her, attempts to drug and wane her and break down her mind to become Mischa, his sister. This doesn't work, because of Clarice's sense of self. She is resilient in challenging Lecter, and this maintains. This back and forth, and a range of events furthers her disillusionment with the FBI.

Will Graham is introduced as having this disillusionment towards the FBI, a resentment towards Jack Crawford. Will Graham's sense of self is a conflicting battle that consumes him. The reasons Hannibal goes after Will is different than his reasoning towards Clarice because Hannibal doesn't recognise Will, there's layers of Will's own human suit to chip away. Clarice is respected, Will is a convoluted interest. Hannibal wants to see how much Will can endure, and open him up.

And this surely happens. But Hannibal doesn't want to turn Will into anyone else, he wants Will to recognise himself. So, his abusive behaviours have a different cause than his abusive behaviour towards Clarice because she can call him out, there's a clear power imbalance between Will and Hannibal. When Hannibal drugs Will, sticks Abigail's "ear" down a tube, down his throat: Hannibal's framing Will. Is this to make Will recognise himself? To punish him because of how Hannibal feels towards him? Was it an easy escape? It's probably all three combined.

And Will, he responds and he responds to the point it's an equal measure. People see Clarice's compliance and relationship with Hannibal Lecter to have ruined her character. The cannibalistic dinners and breast feeding seems unlike the Clarice we're introduced to. Her character seems less consistent, and what made her be respected by Hannibal Lecter, for him to say that this world is more interesting with Clarice in it? It feels like she's just following along.

With Will, everything Clarice does: Will would be able to do because he's always been presented as someone with this darkness. If Will kills Bedelia and dines together with Hannibal in Cuba, this wouldn't present itself as a problem. It's both Will and Clarice's endurance and the way they challenge which makes Hannibal love them both as entirely themselves even though this is gradual. But in order to Clannibal to work, Thomas Harris felt as if he had to take away Clarice's character. For Hannigram to work, it can endure as it is. As Clannibal should've.

[breadbrobin]

the bet

part one.

cedric diggory x reader — harry potter

[fem!best friend reader]

summary: you could turn down many things. good, romantic advances, friendship. but you could never turn down a good bet

warnings: quite a lot of swearing, betting/gambling, GOD they’re so in love it’s stupid, minor character death (sort of???), i think i’m a comedian (i’m not), switched from an x oc story so might have a few mistakes oops

word count: 1.1k

(this is the x reader version of this story! i figured i might as well put it out there. why not, ig? anyway this story is kinda old now but i love it sm it’s so silly and fun so enjoy!!)

(i’ll be posting part two and three anyway but lmk if you want them!)

part two

part three

—————————————

The Inciting Incident

It all started when Lizzie Crawford entered the bathroom.

“God, Liz, do you ever knock?” You asked, mostly unfazed. You were used to her friend bursting in unannounced almost every time you were showering.

“No,” Lizzie said, perching on the edge of the closed toilet and picking at her chipped nail polish. “Now, I have a proposition for you.”

You poked your head around the opaque shower curtain. “Oh?”

She hummed absently, running her hand through her hair. “So you know how Diggory’s spending some of the summer with you, and then you don’t live that far away so you’ll probably be in each other’s pockets all break?”

“Uh… yes? Obviously, I know that? Why does that matter?”

“Well, I’ll bet you twenty galleons that you’ll get some action with him over the holidays.”

You turned the shower off and peeked around the shower curtain at your friend. “Come again?”

“I bet you twenty galleons that you’ll get some with Diggory over the holidays.”

“He’s my friend.”

“And? Do we have a deal?”

You paused, considering your options. On one hand, you knew you didn’t have feelings for Cedric. On the other, it felt wrong to take a bet like that. Finally, your lack of moral compass won. “Fine. We have a deal.”

“Great! I can’t wait to be twenty galleons richer.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, turning the shower on again and letting the water run through your hair. “Keep dreaming, Liz.”

“What are the conditions?” Camilla Maquez asked, leaning across the table at dinner.

“Conditions?” you asked, buttering a bread roll and handing it to her.

“Yeah, like, what constitutes as ‘getting some’,” she used quotation marks. “Because you two are so affectionate anyway, so Liz, you need to specify.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled a face at your friend.

“No, she’s right,” Lizzie cut in. “Kissing? That counts.”

“Only lips though right?” you clarified.

“Yes, babes. Holding hands romantically counts. Gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.” she hummed in thought. “Hugs with romantic context.”

Camilla snorted into her bread. When the other two shot her a confused look, she raised her hands. “It’s funny because they do all of this anyway.”

“Not romantically,” you pointed out.

“Mhm,” she smirked.

“Piss off.”

“Anyway,” Lizzie continued. “Legs. Anything to do with legs. Touching your leg with his hand or leg or anything romantically.”

“Mm, that’s sexy stuff,” Camilla mocked.

“Like I said, piss off.”

“Obviously sex.”

“Liz!”

“Which you probably won’t do, but I need to keep my options open here.” she rectified.

“I have a bet myself,” Camilla spoke up again.

You sighed. “Yes?”

“Not with you.” she waved you off. “Five galleons says Diggory makes the first move.”

“That is not fair. We all know Y/N’s a pussy.”

“Hey!”

Lizzie laughed. “Just speaking the truth, hun. Oh! Pet names, but like, meaningfully, counts.”

“Are you taking my action, Liz?” Camilla implored, sticking her hand out.

She shook her head. “I guess so. You better prove me doubly right, Y/N!”

“Not planning on it,” you sang quietly, returning to your dinner.

The Cow Situation

Before you knew it, the school year was over.

You woke up around midday, that first day back, and stared at the ceiling, relishing in the silence that surrounded you. The birds chirped outside you window and a thin ray of sunlight peeked through the tan curtains, leaving a golden line across your body and room.

With a sigh, you rolled out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Your hair was a tangled mess around the back of your head, but you simply pulled it into a loose bun and headed downstairs.

A note sat on the kitchen counter.

Taken the dog for a walk, be back around 1:30. Hopefully you’ll be up by then…

Love, Mum

You smiled softly and put two pieces of bread in the toaster.

You leaned against the counter and stared out into the yard. A few chickens pecked and scratched the dusty ground and a pair of cows grazed in the field behind them. A small girl sat on the trampoline, not bouncing.

You frowned as you opened the door and walked over, scaring a chicken out of her way.

“Hey, Little C,” you called. “What’s up?”

Cordelia Ridge, your nine year old sister looked over her shoulder and looked back. “Hi.”

Your smile fell from your face and you climbed up onto the trampoline beside her. “Uh oh. What’s going on, Cords?”

“Mummy says Diedre is sick,” she pointed at the black and white cow.

“Sweetie, Diedre’s always getting sick.” you sighed. “Shoddiest immune system I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen you.” you poked her side, enticing a giggle out of the girl.

“So she’s gonna be okay?”

“Of course. It’s Diedre. She’s always pulled through before. Why not now?”

They were holding a funeral for Diedre the cow.

Cordelia was absolutely beside herself. You stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder, the other hand holding a bouquet of long grasses, hand picked and arranged by Cordelia that morning.

It was a dry day, and the sun was shining, and Cordelia was glaring up at it like it was personally offending her.

“Don’t look at the sun, Little C. You’ll go blind,” you chided, pulling your sunglasses off and slipping them on your sister’s face.

“Maybe I want to,” she sniffed. “Maybe I deserve it.”

Your face contorted in confusion. “What?”

“I should have realised sooner,” she wept. “I should have given her the love she deserved.”

You stared down at your younger sister, whose bottom lip was wobbling precariously. You crouched down and tucked her wispy hair behind her ear. “Listen to me, Cordelia. There was nothing you could’ve done. The animal doctor said that it was just time for her to go. Like Grandma.”

That apparently did not help.

The floodgates opened and the sunglasses fell off. Cordelia planted her face in your shoulder and wailed.

As the young girl cried, your eyes caught onto two tall figures walking towards the family.

Your mum smiled softly at you before walking over to the people.

The larger of the two hugged her and she led them over to you and Cordelia.

You saw it was Cedric and waved slightly.

He raised his brows at the crying girl you held before crouching down beside her and tapping Cordelia’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dells.” he said quietly, making her sobs quieten and her head turn towards him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She sniffled once, then twice, and detached herself from you. You breathed a sigh of relief, believing the worst to be over, when the nine-year-old launched herself onto Cedric, crying into his black shirt.

He shot you a small smile, reaching out and patting your knee gently as he comforted her sobbing sister.

Your stomach lurched.

That should have been your first sign.

[mclmora]

✧ 5 midcin flirts - headcanons ✧

~note: hiya, this is my first midcin post! i don’t really know if the fandom is alive, i’m just gonna drop these here because i still love this game. the pictures used aren’t mine, ct to the respective owners on pinterest & all headcanons are SFW! xoxo mora

✦ Louis Howard.

his favorite instrument is the violin. he can’t really play it, he took a few lessons, but he’d rather listen to other people play it than playing it himself. he enjoys it more that way.

he is scared of big dogs. nothing ever happened, but hearing them bark agitates him a lot, he’s more of a birds/cats guy.

he despises alcohol. he drinks it forcefully every time when he’s in business dinners, he’d much rather drink tea or coffee. the taste is just too strong for him.

✦ Alyn Crawford.

loves rings. he is a silver guy, and wears them whenever he isn’t working. also necklaces & chunky earrings too.

when he was a child he was obsessed with pirates. he readed so many stories growing up, and is the number one fan of pirates of the caribbean.

he used to have his hair super long, but had to cut it short to become a royal knight.

✦ Giles Christophe.

has a secret tattoo in the low part of his back. he tattooed a little saturn planet, which is the planet he likes most (he loves space).

enjoys indian food so much. he loves spices and spiciness, his favorite dish is aloo gobi (a vegan dish, made of potatoes & cauliflower + typical indian spices).

hungry reader. he reads around 30+ books per year, of all genres. particularly, he fancies historical ones the most.

✦ Nico Meier.

a huge sanrio fan. he loves keroppi, and has so many plushies all around his bedroom. actually, he loves toys in general. action figures, dolls, ect.

sweets addicted. he loves milka chocolate, chip chocolate cookies, strawberry cheesecakes & blueberry muffins, could eat these all day long.

believes in angel numbers a lot. very superstitious in general (he will shit his pants if he breaks a mirror).

✦ Sid - Lloyd Grandier.

sports lover. he jogs every morning, loves basketball, swimming and so much more. he’s super muscled.

he is a huge fan of metal music. he loves Metallica more than anything and has several shirts of the band.

only wears baggy clothes. he hates tight fitting ones, he finds them to be incredibly uncomfortable and can’t stand that feeling.

✧

~ heyyy. thank u sm for reading, i hope u enjoyed! i’m planning on doing more headcanons about louis because he’s my favorite and tbh i don’t know much about the other characters because i haven’t yet played their routes. but i’ll make up for that :)

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Season Four Master Post

Season four is one of the most beloved seasons of The X-Files, and we had a lot of fun exploring the background characters that helped make it so special!

Check out this thread to see all the characters we got to meet this season!

Herrenvolk (4x01) | X

No one would remember him, and if they did, they would struggle to remember a name they were never told. The memory of his existence would remain occluded by the shadows he lived in.

Home (4x02) | Sheriff Andy Taylor

For protection, his father had said, as he pressed the unfamiliar cold metal into Taylor’s warm hand. To keep your family safe.

To keep your home safe.

He shuts the drawer. He isn’t ready for this reality, not now. Not yet.

Teliko (4x03) | Special Agent Sean Pendrell

With them, it was never something simple. It was a computer chip so fragile he could barely study it. It was a complex string of numbers and letters tracking a smallpox vaccination program for reasons he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

This was what he went to school for.

Unruhe (4x04) | Gerry Schnauz

Gerry knew she needed his help the moment they met. There was a howler inside of her head — a black mass invading her body and mind.

The Field Where I Died (4x05) | Melissa Rydell Ephesian

Melissa struggled with the idea of reincarnation, but dared not show it. And as it turned out, a broken link in the chain of her faith led to more broken links.

When she first saw Vernon hurt a child, the chain shattered.

Sanguinarium (4x06) | Dr. Theresa Shannon

The face on the computer had looked just like Jack, but that had to be impossible. The science of surgery hadn’t come that far. To spread the eyes further apart, change features completely… and besides, she knows him. Knows the person he is…

Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man (4x07) | Albert M. Godwinkle

All Albert M. Godwinkle wants today is to read a halfway decent manuscript that puts a smile on his disgruntled face. Today is not that day.

Tunguska (4x08) | Alex Krycek

If looks could kill, Alex would be a dead man. But he thrives off this, off making Mulder squirm. It’s just so fucking easy.

Terma (4x09) | Senator Albert Sorenson

He was a staunch proponent of holding insubordinate witnesses in contempt when the court was not being respected, and no one, not even a government employee, was immune to that.

Paper Hearts (4x10) | Addie Sparks

The little girl he loves is gone, and she is never coming back.

Just like me.

El Mundo Gira (4x11) | Migrant Worker

At the simple mention of El Chupacabra, the shack erupted in a cacophony of worry, as if merely saying the name might summon the beast.

Leonard Betts (4x12) | Michele Wilkes

Even through the panic she felt screaming through her that nothing about this was okay, she felt a moment of relief wash over her. Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe her partner hadn’t died while she was at the wheel.

Never Again (4x13) | Ed Jerse

Deadbeat. Loser. Failure.

He’s heard it all, and he has had enough. No one humiliates Ed Jerse anymore. No, not now. Never again.

Memento Mori (4x14) | Kurt Crawford

What is destined for a creature borne of fluid and test tubes, guided by the hands of cruel men?

Kaddish (4x15) | Ariel Luria

Someone else’s hatred had taken her true love away. Just like that, in an instant, like it was nothing. But it was not hatred that led her to the gravesite that stormy night.

Unrequited (4x16) | Special Agent Kent Hill

Hill slides in his earpiece, watching as their eyes lock. His wife would call it eavesdropping, but as he steps closer, tilting his head just right to better hear their hushed voices, Hill simply calls it satisfying a long-standing curiosity.

Tempus Fugit (4x17) | Bartender

The man tried to fluff the pink ball back into shape after presumably squashing it in his pocket. “The woman I came in with— it’s her birthday, and she loves these things. I was wondering if there was any way you could ask someone in the back to put it on a plate and bring it out to her?”

Max (4x18) | Sharon Graffia

Sharon Graffia isn’t a liar. She’d only done what she needed to in order for people to believe her. All she’s ever wanted was someone to believe her.

Synchrony (4x19) | Jason Nichols

Naïveté and a complete lack of understanding of the consequences of their work had been their downfall. But how could they have known?

Small Potatoes (4x20) | Eddie Van Blundht

It didn’t take him long to realize he’d initially misread the situation when he saw them at the clinic. Based on the look Dana Scully shot him when he tried to hold her hand at the airport, he knew he was navigating territory Fox Mulder had yet to conquer.

Zero Sum (4x21) | Billy

He slowly twisted his neck to the right, and was horrified by the sight before him. In the next bed over was David from his class, his face covered in gross red bumps. He looked dead.

Billy didn’t know what else to do. He started crying.

Elegy (4x22) | Lauren Heller

She had an exam in the morning. Her mother’s birthday was the following weekend. She had plans.

Demons (4x23) | Amy Cassandra

As she speaks, the deep wound in her skull throbs, reminding her that that was true, until weeks ago when she’d traded the nightmare of one penetrating drill with the reality of another.

Gesthemane (4x24) | Father McCue

Her faith had come from God, yes… but it had also come from another, less expected source. Perhaps it still did.

Stay tuned for more perspectives coming in Season Five!

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

We spend so much time deliberating and chatting about who to use in a given episode or where certain characters would be best utilized in the series, and we'd love to hear any opinions or predictions you might have! Do you have a favorite minor character? What episodes do you think would be best for our favorite recurring characters? Your feedback is one of the most enjoyable parts of this project (and sometimes hearing other perspectives can help inform the decisions we have to make). - @admiralty-xfd, @fridaysat9, @monikafilefan, and @gaycrouton

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday to the bubbly bonnie Ashley Jensen born in Annan on August 11th 1969.

Raised single handedly by her mother Margaret, Ashley knew from an early age she wanted to be an actress. She grew up glued to British sitcoms, especially Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em with Michael Crawford as Frank Spencer. And after her mum saved up for her to attend the National Youth Theatre in London, the 16-year-old returned home determined to pursue a career on the stage.

Ashley went on to study drama at Queen Margaret University in Edinburgh before fulfilling her dream by landing roles treading the boards in London. From theatre she moved into TV, ealy roles included wee parts in City Lights and Rab C Nesbit , and a 1991 film called Tickets for the Zoo, which was set in my hometown Edinburgh, she the started racking up credits in popular dramas such as The Bill, Casualty, Clocking Off and EastEnders. Other Scottsih roles were in Taggart and Rebus.

It was her part as Ricky Gervais’ hapless sidekick in the popular Extras that was to be Ashley’s breakthrough role, though. As well as making her a household name in Britain it also gave her the opportunity to appear alongside Hollywood heavyweights such as Kate Winslet, Samuel L Jackson and Orlando Bloom, all of whom made guest appearances. The part also brought official recognition when she was named both best actress and best newcomer at the 2005 British Comedy awards - accolades which she celebrated in typical low-key fashion with a cod sandwich from a roadside chip van.

Ashley saw fame in the US follow playing the straight-talking Christina in the sitcom Ugly Betty, leading her to relocate to LA and renting a house in the Hollywood Hills. While the role was originally meant to be American, the casting agents fell in love with her Scottish accent and it stayed.

Ashley may be a star in the US now but her feet are firmly on the ground I found this quote from her “Even now I think I might never work again. I’m still a bit like that. I probably always will be, “This from one of her best friends who has a chippy in Annan speaks volumes "She has her head screwed on and won’t be changed by the star treatment.” Recalling a visit to her LA home soon after Ashley relocated, he says: “We were holding hands and jumping up and down. She was shouting, 'Can you believe it? What am I doing here?’.” Ashley’s acting career has seen in her in many shows, my faves include, Catastrophe with fellow Scot Mark Bonnar, Trust Me, with Jodie Whittaker, which was set in Edinburgh, and again with Ricky Gervais in Afterlife, as well as the comedy drama Agatha Raisin, where she plays the title role, a cotswolds-based PR guru turned amateur sleuth.

Tragedy struck for Ashley in 2017 when she discovered her husband, Terence Beesley body at the wheel of his car in the garage at their Somerset home. The couple, who met in 1999 while they were both involved in a London theatre production of King Lear, were married for ten years. A verdict of suicide was later ruled on at the coroners court.

As well as her work as an actress Ashley has narrated a couple of shows recently, Inside The Balmoral: Scotland's Finest Hotel, about the hotel that takes pride of place at number I Princes Street and The Airport: Back in the Skies about London Heathrow.

Ashley took over in the lesd role in Shetland, I think she did well, filling the huge boots of Dougie Hensall was a big ask, two seasons are planned the first coming soon. I like the lass and read in an interview she said that her greatest achievement was; 'That my son is kind and loves David Bowie.'

[slaterherms]

             ˗ˏˋ 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

                                              𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 ! ´ˎ˗

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑!

hello !! i really enjoyed making these and sharing a little slice of my muses with you all, and i’m happy people seemed to find them useful!! so while i’m at work doing nothing.... here is more AESTHETICS BASED OFF MY MUSES. 

cw: mentions of drugs and injuries 

LINCOLN ‘LINK’ CRAWFORD ashtray with finished cigarettes and empty bottles of alcohol on the windowsill, red LED lights, a collection of CDs, piles of books all over the place, printed out posters of horror movies, a laugh in the face of authority, dark greens and black filling your wardrobe, ripped jeans, thrifting for home decor and clothes, the smell of cigarettes stuck to clothes, an old camera slinging around your neck, lies that sound genuine, found family. 

FLORENCE JACOBS over-sized clothing, constantly saying sorry while repeating the same mistakes, chipped nail polish, showing up late to everything with a large coffee, empty bottles of alcohol all over the windowsill, ripped jeans, a collection of lighters, bags under your eyes, a worn out beanie, still using an ipod for music. 

ROMAN BIRCH dark academia, papers all over their space, a pencil behind their ear, bedhead, lingering smell of coffee, research books and journals, greek tragedies, a worn-down leather briefcase, rolled up sleeves, dark color schemes. 

ASHRAF AL HAFEZ the echo of an empty theatre, a sense of the dramatics in everything, an urge/starvation for the unconventional, thoughts scattered on pieces of paper, a half empty bottle of wine, a small yet cozy apartment, cat hairs all over your sweaters, roaming empty streets late at night, singing to yourself, musicals and theatre. 

JUDE JACOBS a bomb of colours in your wardrobe, worn down hands from drumsticks, loud noise, loud laughter, a smile so wide and contagious, unruly curls / hair, the lingering smell of marijuana, chipped nail polish, messy make-up, glitter on the eyes, the sound of a roaring crowd, 

RIO SMITH colourful bandanas, the lingering smell of fruity bodyspray, glazed lip gloss, eye gems / decor, bright colours, a compassionate love for animals, an urgency to help and assist others, mis-matched nails,  flowing skirts and dresses, festivals and bright lights, music playing 24/7, thrifted furniture, a mini garden, a softness in their eyes. 

NARI PAK black clothing, big combat boots, baggy pants, early 2000′s styled pixie cuts, the sound of a bass, blistered fingers from the bass, the lingering smell of cigarettes, a resting bitch face, sapphic goth, a face full of piercings, heavy eyeliner, posters hung haphazardly, big headphones on 24/7, silver jewelry. 

A FEW BONUS AESTHETICS I JUST LOVE light academia, ribboned hair, always smelling like lavender, a sarcastic tone, sleeves under big t-shirts, fishnets, brightly coloured hair, soft-spoken tones, worn-down sneakers, stacked jewelry, bright eye-shadow, stick-n-poke tattoos, bruises from stunts, leather jackets, driving too fast on an empty street, the peak of a high. 

[90363462]

Part I]

[Intro]

​eurt si em tuoba yas yeht gnihtyrevE

Euphoria

[Verse]

Them super powers gettin' neutralized, I can only watch in silence

The famous actor we once knew is lookin' paranoid and now spiralin'

You're movin' just like a degenerate, every antic is feelin' distasteful

I calculate you're not as calculated, I can even predict your angle

Fabricatin' stories on the family front 'cause you heard Mr. Morale

A pathetic master manipulator, I can smell the tales on you now

You'rе not a rap artist, you a scam artist with the hopes of being accеpted

Tommy Hilfiger stood out, but FUBU never had been your collection

I make music that electrify 'em, you make music that pacify 'em

I can double down on that line, but spare you this time, that's random acts of kindness

Know you a master manipulator and habitual liar too

But don't tell no lie about me and I won't tell truths 'bout you

[Part II]

[Intro]

Shoo, shoo, shoo

Shoo, shoo, shoo

Bee, bee, bee, bee, bee, bee

[Verse 1]

Yeah, I'm out the way, yeah, I'm low, okay

Yeah, the island right here's remote, okay

I ain't thinkin' about no reaper

Nigga, I'm reapin' what I sow, okay

Got a Benjamin and a Jackson all in my house like I'm Joe, okay

Hellcat, made his homeboys and them type sell they soul, okay

Everybody wanna be demon 'til they get chipped by your throwaway

And I might do a show a day, once a lame, always a lame

Oh, you thought the money, the power or fame would make you go away?

Have you ever played have-you-ever? Okay, nigga, let's play

Have you ever walked your enemy down like with a poker face?

Have you ever paid five-hundred thou' like to an open case?

Well, I have, and I failed at both, but I came out straight

I hate when I rap or talk about guns, then somebody die

They turn into nuns, then hop online, like "Pray for my city"

He fakin' for likes and digital hugs

His daddy a killer, he wanna be junior, they must've forgot the shit that they done

Dementia must run in his family, but let it get shaky

I'll park his son

The very first time I shot me a Drac', the homie had told me to aim it this way

I didn't point down enough, today, I'll show you I learned from those mistakes

Somebody had told me that you got a ring, on God, I'm ready to double the wage

I'd rather do that than let a Canadian nigga make Pac turn in his grave

Cutthroat business, you got shit twisted

What is it? The braids?

I hurt your feelings? You don't wanna work with me no more? Okay

It's three G.O.A.T.s left, and I seen two of them kissin' and huggin' on stage

I love 'em to death, and in eight bars, I'll explain that phrase, huh

It's nothin' nobody can tell me, huh

I don't wanna talk on no celly, huh

You know I got language barriers, huh

It's no accent you can sell me, huh

Yeah, Cole and Aubrey know I'm a selfish nigga

The crown is heavy, huh

I pray they my real friends, if not, I'm YNW Melly

I don't like you poppin' shit at Pharrell, for him, I inherit the beef

Yeah, fuck all that pushin' P, let me see you push a T

You better off spinnin' again on him, you think about pushin' me

He's Terrence Thornton, I'm Terence Crawford, yeah, I'm whoopin' feet

We ain't gotta get personal, this a friendly fade, you should keep it that way

I know some shit about niggas that make Gunna Wunna look like a saint

This ain't been about critics, not about gimmicks, not about who the greatest

It's always been about love and hate, now let me say I'm the biggest hater

I hate the way that you walk, the way that you talk, I hate the way that you dress

I hate the way that you sneak diss, if I catch flight, it's gon' be direct

We hate the bitches you fuck, 'cause they confuse themself with real women

And notice, I said "we," it's not just me, I'm what the culture feelin'

How many more fairytale stories 'bout your life 'til we had enough?

How many more Black features 'til you finally feel that you're Black enough?

I like Drake with the melodies, I don't like Drake when he act tough

You gon' make a nigga bring back Puff, let me see if Chubbs really crash somethin'

Yeah, my first one like my last one, it's a classic, you don't have one

Let your core audience stomach that, then tell 'em where you get your abs from

V12, it's a fast one, baow-baow-baow, last one

Headshot for the year, you better walk around like Daft Punk

[Verse 2]

Remember?

Ayy, Top Dawg, who the fuck they think they playin' with?

Extortion my middle name as soon as you jump off of that plane, bitch

I'm allergic to the lame shit, only you like bein' famous

Yachty can't give you no swag neither, I don't give a fuck 'bout who you hang with

I hate the way that you walk, the way that you talk, I hate the way that you dress

Surprised you wanted that feature request

You know that we got some shit to address

I even hate when you say the word "nigga," but that's just me, I guess

Some shit just cringeworthy, it ain't even gotta be deep, I guess

Still love when you see success, everything with me is blessed

Keep makin' me dance, wavin' my hand, and it won't be no threat

I'm knowin' they call you The Boy, but where is a man? 'Cause I ain't seen him yet

Matter fact, I ain't even bleed him yet, can I bleed him? Bet

When I see you stand by Sexyy Red, I believe you see two bad bitches

I believe you don't like women, it's real competition, you might pop ass with 'em

Let's speak on percentage, show me your splits, I'll make sure I double back with you

You were signed to a nigga that's signed to a nigga that said he was signed to that nigga

Try cease and desist on the "Like That" record?

Ho, what? You ain't like that record?

"Back To Back," I like that record

I'ma get back to that, for the record

Why would I call around tryna get dirt on niggas? Y'all think all my life is rap?

That's ho shit, I got a son to raise, but I can see you don't know nothin' 'bout that

Wakin' him up, know nothin' 'bout that

And tell him to pray, know nothin' 'bout that

And givin' him tools to walk through life like day-by-day, know nothin' 'bout that

Teachin' him morals, integrity, discipline, listen, man, you don't know nothin' 'bout that

Speakin' the truth and consider what God's considerin', you don't know nothin' 'bout that

Ain't twenty-v-one, it's one-v-twenty if I gotta smack niggas that write with you

Yeah, bring 'em out too, I'll clear 'em out too

Tell BEAM that he better stay right with you

Am I battlin' ghost or AI? Nigga feelin' like Joel Osteen

Funny, he was in a film called "AI"

And my sixth sense tellin' me to off him

I'ma blick niggas all in they coffin

Yeah, OV-ho niggas is dick riders

Tell 'em run to America, they imitate heritage, they can't imitate this violence

What I learned is niggas don't like the West Coast

And I'm fine with it, I'll push the line with it

Pick a nigga off one at a time with it

We can be on a three-hour time difference

Don't speak on the family, crodie

It can get deep in the family, crodie

Talk about me and my family, crodie?

Someone gon' bleed in your family, crodie

I be at New Ho King eatin' fried rice with a dip sauce and blammy, crodie

Tell me you're cheesin', fam

We can do this right now on the camera, crodie

Ayy, fuck y'all niggas, I don't trust y'all niggas

I wave one finger and thump y'all niggas like mmm

Field goal, punt y'all niggas, they punk y'all niggas, nobody never took my food

Whoever that's fuckin' with him, fuck you niggas, and fuck the industry too

If you take it there, I'm takin' it further

Psst, that's somethin' you don't wanna do

[Outro]

Ooh

We don't wanna hear you say "nigga" no more

We don't wanna hear you say "nigga" no more

Stop

[notasapleasure]

Wip ask meme - @stripedroseandsketchpads also asked about the 'Au of an au' file, where in the Lymond band AU instead of not seeing Francis for years and years after the battle of the bands (i.e. Solway), Jerott goes to stay at the Edinburgh townhouse for a few days on his way back to Glasgow.

I was determined that I would write some J/F without Jerott overthinking things and preventing it being finished, so it rushes through quite breathlessly, but my excuse is trying to capture the reckless enthusiasm of youth?

Re-reading what I have I think it stalled because I was so furiously dumbstruck that Let's Dance by Bowie wasn't released until 1983 so couldn't be the sountrack to the scene I was writing. I never recovered my momentum *shrug*

Jerott/Francis fluffy smut (broken off before it gets very smutty though):

It was the first time in many, many years that Francis Crawford could say he'd brought a friend home. Gavin was away with work, Richard had a seat free in the car, and at the last minute, Jerott Blyth had agreed that maybe his dad could manage another day or two on his own with the hospital-assigned carer.

Jerott had, in fact, found that when earnest, cornflower blue eyes entreated him and a soft but firm grip squeezed his arm, accompanied by a smile that just needed his agreement in order to bloom, he was incapable of denying the boy who had just beaten him in the battle of the bands. He'd not been to many sleepovers himself, after all - precious few of the families of his school friends would have accepted him inside their homes with his dark skin and accented voice.

Sybilla, however, took it all in stride and exchanged merry pleasantries with him in French that was as accomplished, as refined as her son's. She showed them to the shed at the bottom of the garden and brought air mattresses and sleeping bags down from the loft. "Richard used to have sleepovers here all the time while Francis was away at school," she told them. "It's chilly at this time of year and you can always come in and use Francis' room, but this is where the music collection is..."

Francis smiled patiently, blithely, as his mother performed the hostess' duties: she would offer to bring drinks and snacks once - and when he said they could manage she would not push the offer a second time. She would make it clear that they were welcome to come inside for supper - Richard was to be dispatched to collect fish and chips - but they were under no obligation to sit at a table and could bring it back to the shed if they preferred. When Jerott offered money for his portion, she touched her hand to her chest, squeezed his shoulder, and beamed at Francis. "Mon cher. Absolutely not! You are our guest. Francis will not let you want for anything."

Then she paused before leaving them, pinning Francis with one token look of maternal assertiveness: "Ellie has school tomorrow, so if you do come inside, no punk after nine, ok?"

Francis shrugged. "Ok. She can come and hang out when she gets back though, right?"

"If she wants," Sybilla surveyed them both. "No beer for your little sister on a school night either, though!" she wagged a finger.

Francis' expression merely turned angelic. "I wouldn't dream of it, ma."

They were both itching for her to leave, and once she was gone, Francis turned to the record player and lifted the lid. Jerott practically did a knee slide across the carpet to get close to the library of vinyl, and the process of comparing notes and tastes began again in earnest, now with all the accompanying evidence either of them could want, and hadn't had to hand during the weeks staying in the hostel in Carlisle.

By the time Eloise joined them after school, the shed was adorned with stacks of albums left like stepping stones across the floor, half-empty mugs of cold tea that had accumulated on Sybilla's writing desk, and strata of crumpled biscuit packets and crumbs in the one tiny bin. Francis was pacing and gesturing wildly with a wooden guiro and his new friend sat on a beanbag, gazing up at him like he was listening to a pre-eminent philosopher, a guitar in his lap, his fingers loosely, idly following along with the melody on the record. When they spoke it was almost invariably in French, expressed at a million miles an hour, and Ellie, curious as she was about this boy who seemed as enraptured by Francis as she often felt herself, couldn't find any purchase on the conversation and soon retreated to the house.

Later, Francis dashed in to collect two portions of fish and chips when Richard called him from the other end of the dark garden, but it was his mother who arrested him in the parlour before he could help himself to a pair of ales to go with it and retreat back to the shed.

"All right, ma? Did you want us to come in, instead?"

"No, son," Sybilla reassured him, but her smile had a didactic, caring quality that made Francis pause instead of just brushing past her. "Go back out to your friend. I just wanted to..." her mouth opened and shut once or twice, and a little frown scored her brows.

Francis had so rarely seen her speechless that he put the bottles down. "Mum?"

She let out a laugh he might almost have said was nervous, and then rubbed his arm with a hand. "I just wanted you to know that I've asked Ellie to give you boys space. No one will disturb you in the shed. But, Francis sweetheart, you do know how to be responsible, don't you?"

He blinked, bemused by her serious tone. "Ellie can come and hang out, it's fine, really."

Sybilla smiled at this. "Oh. I don't think she felt very welcome, dear. A bit of a third wheel."

"What?!" Francis knew he was blushing. And, oh god, because it was his mother looking at him like that, speaking with such gentle tact and understanding, it made him blush even harder.

"It's fine, love," Sybilla insisted. "It's nothing new, at least to me, and I am merely happy if you are happy. But do be careful, won't you? Your...your brother probably has some, ah..." that wordly, hippy, Gallic youth she'd had fumbled the words and faltered as it came into contact with the reality of speaking about such things to her teenage son.

Francis was now certain he had turned the colour of King Crimson's first album cover. "No, Mum, it's not. I'm. Jerott's not. We're just listening to music."

"Yes, love," Sybilla nodded, like he'd said the exact opposite. She squeezed his arm again. "But do be careful, anyway."

She handed him the beers back, and Francis left the room with a robotic, astonished walk. His mind was still ploughing ceaseless furrows in the fertile ground of musical conversation, and he made himself shake off his mother's strange, unexpected interruption to the pleasant day he'd been spending. There was no point thinking about Sybilla's wild imagination - sometimes, he mused, she forgot she was in an Edinburgh townhouse and not on some flashy yacht with pin-ups and icons of the screen. And besides - so what if Jerott's company was pleasant not just for his conversation and his musical skill, but because his mouth hung open in an amazed pout when he listened to Francis speak, his eyes wide and thirsty to hear all Francis had to say; because of the way he smiled when he played and when he sang in an unrefined but strong voice, his French and Scottish accents mingling in a way he didn't know how to hide, so they added a cadence and a rhythm to his words that made Francis' ambitions, his hunger feel insatiable. So what? It was all academic - Francis could admire him all he wanted, but he had no expectation of Jerott returning his interest. He just wanted to make the most of every moment spent together while he could.

He grabbed two wrapped portions of fish and chips from the sparsely set dining table, muttered a hasty 'thanks' in Richard's direction, and then slipped back outside again, his escape as sleek and smooth as that of an alley-cat making off with the butcher's scraps.

The shed was a glowing haven at the foot of the garden and Francis' strides lengthened to a loping run as they so often had done when he needed to flee the house and find his own peace. Frost crunched beneath his shoes and his breath misted, and the cold night had swept his blushes away by the time he shouldered his way back through the door - his cheeks were fresh with new colour, he grinned from the simple pleasure of the short run, and then he laughed in delight at the album Jerott had chosen in his absence.

They sat down on the two beanbags, knee to knee, and fell upon the fish and chips with impatience.

Jerott teased that his didn't have enough vinegar on and stabbed at the chips in Francis' wrapping with a mischievous laugh. They sampled each other's beers, the necks of the two bottles warm and salty from the food.

Francis knew he could have spent all night the way they'd spent the afternoon, and Jerott seemed eager to pick up the guitar again. They opened the little cooler of beer kept out there and, arrogant with the suspicion that they were the only two teenagers in Edinburgh who really appreciated Django Reinhardt, showed each other the ways they had found of imitating his unique style.

Francis had no idea what time it was when he was bending to turn the LP and Jerott was indulging in some wild finger-picking, but as Jerott gazed mildly at the records and newspaper cuttings adorning the walls, he asked Francis a question that made him drop the needle with a scratch on the edge of the record.

"Did you have a girlfriend in Paris?"

He preferred to avoid the topic. He'd been glad it had never come up in Carlisle. Jerott was confident speaking often and with pride of his various girlfriends, but Francis felt his own affairs would be cheapened by the discussion. He accorded them the respect of not inviting others into their details.

"Nothing serious," he said after a careful pause. The music started up again and Jerott frowned for a moment and adjusted his fingering to meet it. He was still looking at the walls in an aimless, guileless sort of way.

"Huh," he grunted in acknowledgement. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

If it seemed a strange response to Francis, who had said so little. Perhaps Jerott wasn't looking for information so much as an excuse to say something else that was already on his mind.

"I never really felt like they were friends, friends, y'know? Didn't have that much to talk about."

"Mmm," Francis responded noncommittally, his own experiences having differed somewhat.

Jerott tossed his head to throw his black hair away from his face, a gesture that never failed to make Francis feel like there was a boot pressing on his solar plexus. Then, to add insult to injury, he flashed a wicked grin and ran a few bars of wild, joyous experimentation out on the guitar.

"It's a pity," Jerott said afterwards, one brow raised.

How could you define the invitation expressed in someone's eyes, in their stance? How could you be certain of what it was that shifted in the atmosphere of a room when one person made a come-on to another? Or was it all in Francis' mind, in his own delusional longing? He sat there and stared at Jerott's laughing challenge, at his raised chin with its slight dimple, his frank, uncomplicated gaze.

There was, he supposed, only one way to find out. Francis stood and approached Jerott and the guitar. "Show me what you did there again?"

"Hmm?" Jerott feigned uncertainty, but trilled off another virtuoso piece of improvisation.

Francis watched his fingers thirstily. He looked up. Jerott was looking back at him, maybe like he wanted to laugh, or to flee, but he stood his ground and attempted another series of notes that faltered partway through, cut off by his nervous chuckle.

Slowly, Francis stepped around the neck of the guitar, standing just behind Jerott's shoulder. He lifted his left hand to the frets, nudging Jerott's aside, and murmured instructions on how he would manage the shift in position if he were playing.

Jerott let him do all this, and Francis felt him hold his breath. Gently, catching up to Francis' timing, he let his fingers run over the strings to play the notes Francis held against the neck of the instrument.

Jerott glanced at him and then let out a breath all of a sudden.

"Just girlfriends?"

Standing behind him, Francis closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the excitement in Jerott's voice. He moved a little nearer, so his chest was close to touching Jerott's shoulder. "Not...exactly. Though...I can't claim much beyond...curiosity," he admitted quietly. He turned his face slightly away from Jerott's, like he was focussing on his left hand on the neck of the guitar, like he didn't want the other man to worry he was forcing anything.

But god, he felt Jerott's eyes on him, and the feeling warmed him to his core.

Jerott said nothing, but his left hand, redundant, replaced on the neck of the guitar by Francis' hand, lifted instead to Francis' face and turned it, hesitantly, with such gentleness that Francis closed his eyes again, back towards his own.

Warm fingers trailed along his cheek, his jaw, waiting for permission of a sort. Francis' eyes fluttered open. He took in Jerott's open mouth, his heavy eyelids, the way his gaze rested on Francis' own mouth. These were universal signals, weren't they?

It wasn't clear who moved first - they had both committed. Jerott's lips were warm, softer than Francis had expected, and the first touch of them sent a trill of excitement through his body.

His hand remained gentle as their mouths met, questing, steady and still uncertain, but each of Jerott's breaths that Francis felt against his skin, each movement of Jerott's lips against his, seemed like a fist reaching into his guts and clenching tightly. He gasped and couldn't be embarrassed by the longing in it - instead he deliberately let himself make another sound, deep in his throat, not quite explicit enough to be a moan, but something encouraging.

It worked - Jerott's hand cupped his cheek more securely, and he echoed Francis' sound. The feeling of said echo in his mouth made Francis want to collapse at the knees, so he let his lost, flailing right hand reach for Jerott's back and smooth its way over the warm body beneath the thin t-shirt.

Jerott drew his face closer and deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing into Francis' mouth, confident and experienced where the rest of him stood frozen, like he was still guessing what to do. He tasted of the lager they'd been drinking and the cigarettes he usually smoked, a new combination of flavours Francis has never encountered.

As he tried to twist into the kiss, despite the guitar, Jerott's enthusiasm showed more: Francis felt it in his tongue, in his lips, in the hold on his cheek. Jerott liked to kiss and he was good at it - and he liked to show he was good at it.

Rather than let out the whimper he wanted to, Francis tightened his hold on Jerott's body, leaning his own face into the kiss, pushing back with his tongue, meeting Jerott's enthusiasm and skill with his own, just like when they played together.

With an abrupt need, Jerott released him so that he could pull the guitar strap up over his head and lay the instrument aside. He was breathing hard, his mouth red and wet from the touch of Francis' lips. There was no self-doubt in his eyes when he stepped back towards Francis, only an ambition that corresponded to the one Francis had been nurturing for weeks in Carlisle.

He couldn't wait to be back in Francis' arms, and Francis welcomed his body, his hands finding their way around Jerott's flanks to the small of his back, to the groove of his spine.

Jerott clasped his jaw, his fingers reaching round to rub the short hairs at the nape of Francis' neck.

They were around the same height and both tried to be the one to lean down into the kiss, which turned it into something of a call and response: Jerott folded Francis against him for a handful of breaths and then Francis pushed back and responded with his own pressure, coming onto the balls of his feet, letting his chest lean into Jerott's chest. Francis's skin felt raw from Jerott's stubble - it grew thicker and rougher than his yet did - but he pursued the feeling again and again.

To the soundtrack of decades old jazz their hands, wondering, sought to explore as their mouths did. Francis' fingers crept up Jerott's back, comparing the feel of him with all the glances he had stolen at the curve just above Jerott's waistband, where his form was accentuated when he played guitar, leaning his hips into the instrument the way he was leaning them against Francis now.

For his part, Jerott cradled Francis' jaw in his palms, angled him how he wanted him for his kisses, then tilted Francis' head back and laid a trail of exquisite touches with his mouth and - Francis gasped again - gentle tugs at Francis' skin with his teeth, down the line of his neck and then back up again. He nuzzled his face into the hair behind Francis' ear and kissed him there, he dragged his teeth down the outer edge of the ear and caught the lobe with his tongue before sucking it.

The sound Francis let out was not one he immediately recognised as coming from his own body. He tightened his hold on Jerott lest his composure fail him, and pressed back against Jerott's hips with his own. Whatever usually kept him firm against gravity seemed to have deserted him - his knees trembled and his legs prickled like he'd walked into the middle of a nettle patch.

At a time like this, what else could he resort to but poetry?

"…un serment fair d'un peu plus pres, une promesse plus précise, un aveu qui veut se confirmer, un point rose…"*

"Vraiment?" Jerott's breathy laugh against Francis' neck sent another thrill through him. "Poésie?"

"Naturellement," Francis groaned.

It made Jerott pause and move away to look at him. One hand held Francis' cheek, kept him turned to Jerott's expression, which was steadier than Francis felt, thoughtful and almost a little sad. "Is it though? Natural?"

Francis was silent, struggling to get a grasp on his meaning, but then he raised one hand from Jerott's back to his face and swept smooth black strands of hair away from his brow. "Doesn't it feel that way?"

Jerott wore a small frown, but he didn't try to pull away. In fact, as Francis' hand settled at his neck, he let his own touch move lower, down Francis' chest, sweeping round his ribcage, pulling him near, though Francis didn't think they could get much closer. Touch felt muffled through the layers of their jeans, but even so he knew he wasn't the only one who was getting hard after all this contact.

"Not to me, not at first," Jerott said, and though Francis' heart thumped and struggled, panicked by this admission, Jerott didn't release him. "I was never...curious before. But it's like you've...you've put a spell on me," he laughed at himself. "That sounds dumb, right? But I want it. I want this. I want to be - bewitched."

He kissed Francis again, and Francis' mind seemed to swill and swirl at all these revelations. He'd been right and he'd been wrong, and not only about Jerott's interests.

Between kisses, Francis managed a dazed grin. "And you said you didn't understand poetry and lyrics...but I've 'bewitched' you? What am I, La Belle Dame Sans Merci?"

"I don't know what you are," Jerott ignored the reference and made a sound of pleasure as he kissed Francis. Simultaneous to the touch of his mouth, he squeezed their bodies together and flexed his hips up against Francis' hips. "But you do something to me..."

Francis moaned at the way Jerott's body had pulsed against him, and he felt the tightening of his jeans, their constraint on him, more acutely. Given half the chance, there was a lot that Francis wanted to do to him, not least after a statement like that. He pressed back against Jerott's body and kissed him deep and slow, holding the back of Jerott's head with one hand.

Theorising that what people offered was often a sign of what they'd like doing to themselves, he kissed his way across Jerott's cheek to his ear and sucked toothily on the lobe. From the sound Jerott made, he'd guessed correctly.

Jerott then laughed at himself - the room was silent, the B-side had finished - and leaned his cheek against Francis'. "Fucking hell..." he gasped. He sounded astonished, but cheerful.

Nevertheless, to Francis' momentary regret, his next move was to step away, looking bashfully down at the carpet. His cheeks were flushed - so was the skin at his throat, where it disappeared below the collar of his t-shirt. He licked his lips and chuckled again, then bent to pick up an album from the floor.

He flashed a grin at Francis and dove to replace Django Reinhardt with a Bowie album. He looked up from where he knelt, his smile wild and inviting, and he mimed the guitar part as Francis stalked towards him, echoing his gestures, putting on an exaggerated show of copying Bowie's singing style.

---

*[An oath that is closer, a promise more precise, a confession that wants to be confirmed, a pink dot… - Rostand, un baiser, from Cyrano]

And the soundtrack that should have been:

If you say run, I'll run with you And if you say hide, we'll hide Because my love for you would break my heart in two If you should fall, into my arms and tremble like a flower

[steveconte]

“WE LIKE IT”  - Music

“WE LIKE IT”  - Music & Lyrics by Steve Conte & Andy Partridge

Steve Conte - Vocals, Guitars, Percussion, Handclaps

John Conte - Bass

Prairie Prince - Drums

Rob Schwimmer - Keyboards 

Backing vocals - Ian Hunter, Rick Tedesco, Kevin Tyler Preston, Glen Matlock, Prairie Prince, Thommy Price, Marshall Crenshaw, Tommy Henrickson, Kyf Brewer, Marc Broussard, Steve Lillywhite, Kasim Sultan, Jessie Wagner, Palmyra Delran, Genya Ravan, Simon Kirke, Danko Jones, Nasty Suicide, Dennis Dunaway, Kevin Salem, Danny B. Harvey, Jonathan Clarke, Robert Eriksson, Dregen & Majsan, Kevin March, Chips Kiesbye, Rich Ragany, Keith Roth, Damon Johnson, Rich Jones, Billy Hopeless, Alycia Jones, Jay Millete, John & Jennifer Kerns, Danni Action Michael Imperioli, Frank Lammers, Christian Keiber, Kerry McGann, The Brazen Giant Ensemble, Ryan Hamilton, Ben Rubin, Jan Verdoorn, Mickey Leigh, Westley Crawford, Janie Barnett, Nicki Richards, Lajuan Carter-Dent, Baz Conte

We Like It  (Conte/Partridge)

Yeah, yeah we like it

Yeah, yeah we like it

I’ve got something gonna make you scream

Yeah, yeah we like it

I’m the candidate pushing your American dream

Yeah, yeah we like it

All politicians got their pants on fire

Everybody knows the situation is dire

I’m no messiah and I ain’t no liar

But I know what ya want and I know you’re gonna like it

Yeah, yeah we like it

A tap in the kitchen, that turns on the beer

Yeah, yeah we like it

There’ll be no hangovers, they’re illegal here

Yeah, yeah we like it

Now everyone is beautiful from north to south

The only ugly things are what come out our mouths

Peace, love and fun is what it’s all about 

‘Cause I know what ya want and I know you’re gonna like it

Improve your life, husband or wife

Until you're bored or dead and done

Promise you cash, your own fat stash

You know we print it by the ton

You won't go belly up

i'll overflow your cup

'Cause I know what you want and I know your gonna like it

Yeah, yeah we like it

Yeah, yeah we like it…

*Produced by Steve Conte (Additional remote production by Andrew Hollander & Andy Partridge)

*Arrangers - Andy Partridge & Steve Conte

*Published by Thunderdog Music / Teosto (Worldwide), ASCAP (North America) and Warner Chappell / PRS

*Recorded at Renegade Studios, NYC 

*Mixed by Geoff Sanoff

[sleepy-stories]

updated list (up to 5 pages now!)

1913 - Krazy Kat

1914 - Gertie Dino

1918 - Koko the clown

1919 - Felix the cat

1919 - Olive Oyl

1922 - Julius the cat

1925 - Pete

1926 - Winnie the Pooh

1927 - Oswald the lucky rabbit

1927 - Ortensia cat

1928 - Clarabelle cow

1928 - mickey mouse

1928 - minnie mouse

1929 - horace horsecollar

1929 - Bosko talks Ink kid

1929 - popeye the sailor man

1930 - pluto

1930- bimbo

1930 - betty boop

1932 - goofy goof

1932 - Bluto

1933- Buddy (looney tunes)

1934 - donald duck

1935 - porky pig

1935 - little kitty

1935 - oliver owl

1935 - ham & ex

1935 - beans the cat

1936 - owl Jolson

1937 - Petunia pig 

1937 - gabby goat

1937 - Daffy duck

1937 - egghead

1937 - elmer fudd

1937 - della duck

1937 - HDL

1939 - Casper

1939 - Sniffles

1939 - Barney Bear

1940 - Tom & Jerry

1940 - daisy duck

1940 - bugs bunny

1940 - woody woodpecker

1941 - Butch (alley cat)

1941 - Toodles (tom’s love interest)

1941 - Fauntleroy fox

1941 - Crawford crow

1942 - Spike the dog 

1942 - Tuffy/Nibbles 

1942 - Beaky buzzard

1942 Mama buzzard

1942 - Henery hawk

1942 - wolf (blitz wolf)

1942 - jose carioca

1942 - tweety bird

1943 - meathead (tom n jerry)

1943 - droopy

1943 - Chip and Dale

1943 - red (red hot riding hood)

1943 - topsy (tom n jerry)

1944 - screwy squirrel (mgm)

1944 - Panchito pistoles

1945 - Sylvester cat

1945 - Pepe le Pew

1945 - yosemite sam

1946 - gossamer

1946 - foghorn leghorn

1946 - george (henpecked hoboes)

1946 - junior (henpecked hoboes)

1947 - goofy gophers (Mac and Tash)

1947 - scrooge mcduck

1948 - gladstone gander

1948 - hippety hopper

1948 - Marvin the Martian

1948 - Lightning (tom and jerry)

1949 - butch (tex avery)

1949 - wile e Coyote

1949 - road runner

1949 - tyke the pup

1949 - playboy penguin

1949 - penelope pussycat

1950 - little quaker (tom n jerry)

1950 - granny

1950 - Sylvester Jr

1950 - snoopy

1951 - clyde bunny

1952 - gyro gearloose

1953 - sam sheepdog

1953 - ralph wolf

1953 - southern wolf (tex avery)

1954 - Goldie o-gilt

1954 - Taz

1954 - witch hazel

1954 - speedy Gonzales 

1955 - Michigan J. Frog

1956 - flintheart glomgold

1957 - grinch

1958 - huckleberry hound

1958 - yogi bear

1958 - boo boo

1959 - quickdraw McGraw (Latino)

1959 - snugglepuss (gay)

1961 - Ludwig von drake

1961 - magica de spell

1964 - fethry duck

1967 - woodstock (peanuts)

1978 - Garfield

1981 - Mario

1981 - donkey kong

1981 - Pauline

1983 - Luigi

1985 - princess peach

1985 - bowser

1987 - webby

1987 - Beakley

1987 - launchpad

1987 - Duckworth

1988 - Roger Rabbit

1988 - Jesscia Rabbit

1988 - Benny the cab

1989 - Fenton 

1990 - babs

1990 - buster

1990 - plucky

1990 - hamton

1991 - sonic the Hedgehog

1991 - doctor Eggman

1991 - drake mallard/darkwing wingduck

1992 - tails

1993 - Amy rose

1993 - yakko warner

1993 - wakko warner

1993 - dot warner

1994 - knuckles

1996 - lola bunny

1999 - spongebob

2001 - shadow

2001- Shrek

2001 - donkey

2001-  princess fiona

2001 - gingerbread man

2001 - Pinocchio 

2004 - puss in boots

2007 - Shaun the sheep

2007 - Bitzer

2011 - kitty softpaws

2011 - Humpty Dumpty

2011 - tina russo

2011 - (dhmis) Red guy, yellow guy and duck

2017 - Lena de spell

2017 - mark beaks

2022 - perrito

2022 - death

[breadbrobin]

the bet

cedric diggory x oc — harry potter

[fem!oc]

summary: morgan ridge could turn down many things. food, romantic advances, friendships. but she could never turn down a good bet.

warnings: quite a lot of swearing (morgan is a bad influence methinks), kissing, betting/gambling, NOT x reader, fem!oc, GOD they’re in love with each other, minor character death (sort of), i think i’m a comedian with this story apparently (spoiler, i’m not), third person pov.

word count: 5.7k

(LOOK i knowwww that x oc fics don’t do as well on tumblr so if this doesn’t do well i’ll rewrite it and post as an x reader too but i don’t really want to rn so i’m just posting it as is bc idgaf really. anyway i’ve had this in my drive for like three years and it’s finally time to share morgan with the world yayyy (i love her she’s so silly))

———————————

The Inciting Incident

It all started when Lizzie Crawford entered the bathroom.

“God, Liz, do you ever knock?” Morgan asked, mostly unfazed. She was used to her friend bursting in unannounced almost every time she was showering.

“No,” Lizzie said, perching on the edge of the closed toilet and picking at her chipped nail polish. “Now, I have a proposition for you.”

Morgan poked her head around the opaque shower curtain. “Oh?”

She hummed absently, running her hand through her hair. “So you know how Diggory’s spending some of the summer with you, and then you don’t live that far away so you’ll probably be in each other’s pockets all break?”

“Uh… yes? Obviously, I know that? Why does that matter?”

“Well, I’ll bet you twenty galleons that you’ll get some action with him over the holidays.”

Morgan turned the shower off and peeked around the shower curtain at her friend. “Come again?”

“I bet you twenty galleons that you’ll get some with Diggory over the holidays.”

“He’s my friend.”

“And? Do we have a deal?”

Morgan paused, considering her options. On one hand, she knew she didn’t have feelings for Cedric. On the other, it felt wrong to take a bet like that. Finally, her lack of moral compass won. “Fine. We have a deal.”

“Great! I can’t wait to be twenty galleons richer.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, turning the shower on again and running conditioner through the ends of her hair. “Keep dreaming, Liz.”

“What are the conditions?” Camilla Maquez asked, leaning across the table at dinner.

“Conditions?” Morgan asked, buttering a bread roll and handing it to her.

“Yeah, like, what constitutes as ‘getting some’,” she used quotation marks. “Because you two are so affectionate anyway, so Liz, you need to specify.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and pulled a face at her friend.

“No, she’s right,” Lizzie cut in. “Kissing? That counts.”

“Only lips though right?” she clarified.

“Yes, Morgan. Holding hands romantically counts. Gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.” she hummed in thought. “Hugs with romantic context.”

Camilla snorted into her bread. When the other two shot her a confused look, she raised her hands. “It’s funny because they do all of this anyway.”

“Not romantically,” Morgan pointed out.

“Mhm,” she smirked.

“Piss off.”

“Anyway,” Lizzie continued. “Legs. Anything to do with legs. Touching your leg with his hand or leg or anything romantically.”

“Mm, that’s sexy stuff,” Camilla mocked.

“Like I said, piss off.”

“Obviously sex.”

“Liz!”

“Which you probably won’t do, but I need to keep my options open here.” she rectified.

���I have a bet myself,” Camilla spoke up again.

Morgan sighed. “Yes?”

“Not with you.” she waved her off. “Five galleons says Diggory makes the first move.”

“That is not fair. We all know Morgan’s a pussy.”

“Hey!”

Lizzie laughed. “Just speaking the truth, hun. Oh! Pet names, but like, meaningfully, counts.”

“Are you taking my action, Liz?” Camilla implored, sticking her hand out.

She shook her head. “I guess so. You better prove me doubly right, Morgan!”

“Not planning on it,” she sang quietly, returning to her dinner.

The Cow Situation

Before Morgan knew it, the school year was over.

She woke up around midday, that first day back, and stared at the ceiling, relishing in the silence that surrounded her. The birds chirped outside her window and a thin ray of sunlight peeked through the tan curtains, leaving a golden line across her body and room.

With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess around the back of her head, but she simply pulled it into a loose bun and headed downstairs.

A note sat on the kitchen counter.

Taken the dog for a walk, be back around 1:30. Hopefully you’ll be up by then…

Love, Mum

Morgan smiled softly and put two pieces of bread in the toaster.

She leaned against the counter and stared out into the yard. A few chickens pecked and scratched the dusty ground and a pair of cows grazed in the field behind them. A small girl sat on the trampoline, not bouncing.

She frowned as she opened the door and walked over, scaring a chicken out of her way.

“Hey, Little C,” she called. “What’s up?”

Cordelia Ridge, her nine year old sister looked over her shoulder and looked back. “Hi.”

Morgan’s smile fell from her face and she climbed up onto the trampoline beside her. “Uh oh. What’s going on, Cords?”

“Mummy says Diedre is sick,” she pointed at the black and white cow.

“Sweetie, Diedre’s always getting sick.” she sighed. “Shoddiest immune system I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen you.” she poked her side, enticing a giggle out of the girl.

“So she’s gonna be okay?”

“Of course! It’s Diedre. She’s always pulled through before. Why not now?”

They were holding a funeral for Diedre the cow.

Cordelia was absolutely beside herself. Morgan stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder, the other hand holding a bouquet of long grasses, hand picked and arranged that morning.

It was a dry day, and the sun was shining, and Cordelia was glaring up at it like it was personally offending her.

“Don’t look at the sun, Little C. You’ll go blind,” Morgan chided, pulling her sunglasses off and slipping them on her sister’s face.

“Maybe I want to,” she sniffed. “Maybe I deserve it.”

Her face contorted in confusion. “What?”

“I should have realised sooner,” she wept. “I should have given her the love she deserved.”

Morgan stared down at her younger sister, whose bottom lip was wobbling precariously. She crouched down and tucked her wispy hair behind her ear. “Listen to me, Cordelia. There was nothing you could’ve done. The animal doctor said that it was just time for her to go. Like Grandma.”

That apparently did not help.

The floodgates opened and the sunglasses fell off. Cordelia planted her face in Morgan’s shoulder and wailed.

As the young girl cried, Morgan’s eyes caught onto two tall figures walking towards the family.

Her mum smiled softly at her before walking over to the people.

The larger of the two hugged her and she led them over to her daughters.

Morgan saw it was Cedric and she waved slightly.

He raised his brows at the crying girl she held before crouching down beside her and tapping Cordelia’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dells.” he said quietly, making her sobs quieten and her head turn towards him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She sniffled once, then twice, and detached herself from her sister. Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, believing the worst to be over, when the nine-year-old launched herself onto Cedric, crying into his black shirt.

He shot her a small smile, reaching out and patting her knee gently as he comforted her sobbing sister.

Her stomach lurched.

That should have been her first sign.

The Flowers

Cedric was splayed out on her bed. One of his feet hung off near Morgan’s head and she was infinitely glad for his quality hygiene.

She was reading the Wizard of Oz again, and he was dutifully drawing something that he refused to show her.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I’m done.”

She finished her page and slipped the bookmark in, turning to him. “Can I see?”

“No, I drew this for you but you’re never allowed to look at it.” he teased, straight faced.

“Never?”

“Never.” He broke into a smile and shoved the sketch pad in her face.

It was a… Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was. There was some interesting shading, a tuft of what could either be grass or hair and a strange egg shaped blob in the middle.

She hoped her face didn’t show her emotions as she quickly schooled her features into a smile. “It’s great, Ced.”

He had a wide grin plastered on his face as he nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I know. Now turn the page.”

She did as he said and blinked in shock, her jaw dropping. “There is no way you drew this.”

“I’ve been practising.”

“Have you been taking classes from freaking Van Gogh in between Quidditch practise?” she gaped, looking from the sketch of sunflowers and daisies and his beaming face.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “An artist never reveals his secrets.”

“I think that’s meant to be magician.”

“Same thing.” he waved her off. “Anyway, I know sunflowers are your favourite, and daisies are my favourite. So I combined them.”

“This is honestly incredible.” she gushed.

“Oh, stop it.”

“No, seriously.” She stood up. “Can I put it on my wall?”

“Go for it,” he beamed, somehow even brighter than before.

She gently pulled the page from the pad and ripped a tab of blu-tack off, sticking it to the wall above her desk. Once it was hung, she stepped back to admire it. “Oh!” she gasped. “You need to sign it!”

Cedric stood up and brushed past her, scribbling his signature on the bottom right corner with a small heart. “Happy?”

“Mhm.”

That should have been her second sign.

They stood side by side and admired it for a moment.

Then Morgan broke the silence.

“I can’t draw for shit,” she laughed. “And look at you. Mister Artist himself.”

“Oh, piss off,” he groaned, hugging her shoulders from behind and resting his chin on her head. “You can sing though. I can’t.”

“Liar.” she scoffed, patting his arm. “I’ve heard you sing. Besides, you’re practically perfect at everything you do.”

Just as he was about to respond, Cordelia burst through the lightly shut door, eyes still red and puffy. The two separated quickly. “Lunch is ready.”

“Thanks, Dells,” he nodded. “We’ll be right there.”

As she left, he wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders and led her out. “God, I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving.”

“Very funny.”

The Second Week

As with most summers, Morgan and Cedric spent almost every waking moment in each other’s company.

Unlike most summers, however, Morgan couldn’t chase the thoughts of a certain bet from her mind.

She knew, she knew, that there was nothing to it. That it was just her friends being annoying and messing with her and everything she’d started reading into was just in her head… But, God, was it hard to remember sometimes.

She was just worried that he’d find out. Maybe one of her friends would send her a letter mentioning it? (Not that he’d ever read her letters.) What if Liz came for a random visit? Or worse: what if she told her friends, the Weasley twins, and they came for a visit?

She chased her swirling thoughts from her mind as Cedric walked through the front door, performing the mental equivalent of shoving all of the mess in your room into the wardrobe and hoping it closed right.

“Hey,” she smiled, standing up with her bowl of milk that used to hold cereal. “You’re early.”

“It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Yeah, early,” she shrugged, setting the now empty bowl in the sink. “What’s up?”

“Wanna go into town?” he asked, leaning on the counter and gesturing to the fruit bowl.

She tossed him an apple. “Sure. When?”

“Now?”

She sighed heavily, half-joking. “A bit more warning would be nice. Lemme go get changed.”

“Yes!” he cheered through a mouthful of apple. “You’re the best, Mo!”

Mo? She wondered as she jogged up the stairs. Since when am I Mo?

If she’d been listening carefully, she would have heard Cedric bang his head against the kitchen counter.

The town was quiet as always.

A farmer’s market was dying down, most vendors packing their remaining wares and smiling sheepishly at Morgan and Cedric as they wove their way through the stunted stalls. They purchased a fresh bread roll and split it between them as they walked, both surprised that it was still warm.

“You know,” Cedric said after a few minutes of silence as they left the market and strolled along the main street. “We should do this more often.”

Morgan squinted as she looked up at him, the sun assaulting her eyes. “Really?” she asked dryly. “What, burn ourselves to a crisp and get blinded while we’re at it?”

“No, dummy. Do stuff.”

“What? You don’t like doing nothing with me?” she teased.

“No, no, I love doing nothing with you,” he stole a chunk of bread that she’d been eyeing up. “But I also like spending money.”

“I bought the bread. I was the one who spent the money.”

He gasped, as if he didn’t already know. “What? Really?”

“Shut up, Ced,” she smiled, pushing him and stealing the last chunk of bread from the packet.

Morgan was awake uncharacteristically early, so when she knocked on the Diggory’s front door, Cedric looked supremely confused.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “Did someone die?”

“No, why would you— You’re an arsehole, you know that?” she pouted.

“Yeah, I know. Come on.”

He led her down the short hallway and into the living area. Morgan sighed contentedly. The Diggory’s house always smelled amazing; a combination of vanilla, coffee and cleaning supplies that somehow worked. Cedric often smelled similar, she realised. The vanilla that clouded the house seemed to hang around him as well. She shook herself out of it as he began speaking.

“My dad’s gotten obsessed with the TV,” he admitted, nodding towards the man who was watching with a rapt expression. “He doesn’t really understand it, but he’s addicted. He really likes cricket. Probably because he can’t figure out how to change the channel.”

“Oh, I used to play cricket! I love it so much!” she gushed, joining Amos on the couch. “Who’s playing?”

“England and India,” he said distractedly.

“ODI, T20 or test?”

“Test. We’re on Day Two.”

“So England’s batted?”

“Three-thirty-seven.”

“Not bad,” she squinted at the numbers on the screen, showing one-twenty-eight for six.

“I have no idea what you guys are saying,” Cedric cut in, looking blankly between them.

“We’re talking sport,” Amos said, almost giddily.

Morgan didn’t spare either of them a glance as the English captain went upstairs for a review. “Yeah, get back in the kitchen.” She teased. “Go make us a sandwich.”

“I thought you were coming to hang out with me,” he almost pouted.

She finally dragged her eyes from the screen. “But… Cricket…”

He shook his head with a smile. “Right, of course. Two sandwiches coming right up.”

The Moment She Knew

Their days seemed doomed to repeat. Groundhog day, Morgan’s mum had called it. So, when she found a way to rid herself of the monotony of daily life, she took it without a second thought.

“Mum, please!”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll even get petrol! I’ll… I’ll… I’ll pay for it myself too!”

“Morgan…”

“Mum,” she pleaded. “It’s just me and Ced. It’s a twenty minute drive and I’ll get petrol on the way back. We’ll be back by four and I’ll wear suitable shoes while driving.”

Whitney Ridge pursed her lips in thought. Then she sighed. “Fine. Don’t bother getting petrol, I’ll fill up on the way home from work on Monday.”

Morgan squeaked in excitement, hugging her mum tightly. “Thank you! You’re the best! I love you!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Love you too, Moggy,” she smiled.

True to her word, Morgan did wear suitable shoes. The drive ended up taking around twenty-five minutes, but she supposed her mother couldn’t fault her for driving just under the speed limit all the way there.

There was a secluded lake she’d found out about from an old magazine in her mum’s collection, when she’d been looking for something, anything, to make her days less boring.

“This is awesome,” Cedric breathed as they broke through the treeline and onto the rocky shore of the small lake.

“Yeah,” she sighed contentedly, breathing in the fresh air.

They set up their towels and supplies in the shade of a tree and pulled off their sturdy shoes.

Cedric pulled his shirt over his head. Morgan would be lying if she said her eyes didn’t catch on his muscles.

“Race you in,” he said as she had her own shirt halfway over her head.

“What?” she asked, hearing him run away. “Oh, you prick!”

She tossed her shirt on the ground, followed by her shorts, leaving her in her bikini, pouting as Cedric splashed around in the cool, blue water.

She stomped over to the water’s edge, frowning down at him. The rock she was standing on was about a metre above the surface, casting a navy shadow over the rippling water. He waded a few metres out from her.

“You coming?” he asked.

“No,” she pouted, folding her arms. “I don’t swim with cheaters.”

He barked a laugh, swimming over to the edge and pulling himself out. Droplets of water hit her skin.

She backed away. “Cedric…”

He took a step closer.

“Don’t you dare, Diggory…”

He tilted his head, grinning widely as he continued to step closer to her. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Sure, you don’t,” she pointed at him. “Stay back!”

He laughed and pushed off his heels, springing towards her. Before he could reach her, however, she turned tail and ran, feet skimming over the rocks as she raced for the safety of the towels.

She only managed to get a few steps away before he caught her, his cold arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her off the ground. He spun around, carrying her back to the edge of the water and tossing her into the lake.

She yelped as the cold water hit her, but remembered to hold her breath, her dark hair swirling around her face in the water. She heard the telltale sound of him jumping in too and forced herself up to the surface.

“I hate you!” she gasped, pushing her hair off her forehead. “I hate you so fucking much!”

“Liar!” he retorted, shaking his head and sending water droplets flying everywhere. “You love me.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, treading water and staring at him. “You wish,” she finally uttered.

He just smiled.

The days ticked by much faster than expected. Soon, Cedric was waving his parents off on their week-long trip and then hauling his bags over to Morgan’s house, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What did you do?” she immediately asked when they were alone.

He closed the door gently before skipping over to the bed in the guest bedroom he was staying in. He sat on it cross-legged, still smiling, and patted the mattress ahead of him.

When she finally sat down, he leaned forward.

“Guess what I bought,” he said.

She waited.

“You’re meant to ask,” he sighed.

“Oh, my bad,” she cleared her throat. “What did you bring, Cedric?”

He didn’t answer, simply reaching down to his backpack and pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey.

“That’s it? Oh, you sweet, sweet child,” she teased. “I have three of those in my room.”

“Sorry, Mo, not all of us are casual rulebreakers,” he sniffed.

She pushed his shoulder. “I’m kidding, Ced. I mean, technically, I’m not, but I do appreciate the sentiment.”

He poked his tongue out at her.

The Night Things Happened

The day started like any other.

Morgan and Cedric usually woke up at vastly different times, so when he woke up, he went for a run, had a shower and ate a light breakfast before going to wake her.

A lot of groaning and a few thrown pillows later, they were standing in the kitchen making pancakes.

As Morgan flipped another one, leading to Cedric cheering as if she’d never done it before, Whitney entered the kitchen.

“Morning, you two,” she greeted, kissing her daughter’s temple and patting Cedric’s shoulder. “Cords and I are going to that Girl Scouts sleepover tonight, remember? So you’ll have to make dinner yourselves.”

“Yup, we know, Mum,” Morgan said, taking the pancake out of the pan and slapping it onto a plate. “We’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you burning the house down. Remember last time?”

“Mum.” She turned to her grimly. “We don’t talk about last time.”

Whitney raised her hands in surrender. “Right, right. But, on a more serious note. I shouldn’t have to tell you not to invite anyone else over and to be in bed by one, should I? And I won’t come home to drunk teenagers all over my house?”

“Nope, we’ll be all good, Ms Ridge,” Cedric shot her a winning smile.

She pursed her lips jokingly. “Mhm… Alright, I trust you two. I’m going to the shops, need anything?”

“We need more eggs.”

“Eggs, got it.”

The night was when things changed.

After Whitney and Cordelia were gone, at least long enough that it was unlikely they’d turn around and come back, they took their first swig of firewhiskey.

It burned its way down Morgan’s throat, like it always did. Cedric coughed and sputtered, nearly spitting it mouthful out.

She held back a laugh. “You alright, Golden Boy?”

“Shut up,” he seethed, voice hoarse.

She raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I was just asking.”

They sat and ate the pizza they’d ordered already, taking sips of firewhiskey whenever they felt like it.

Morgan closed her pizza box one slice after Cedric did, placing it on top of his on the coffee table. “You good?”

“Great,” he smiled dopily. It seemed the whiskey was hitting him harder than he was letting on.

She smiled back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She took a larger swig of whiskey, shaking her head at the strength. “I just wanna point out that if you get sick, I’m not cleaning you up. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it.” He nodded, looking a little bit more put together. “I’d clean you up though. If you got sick.”

She smiled again. “Thanks, Ced.”

The night was going surprisingly well. They’d turned on the TV, both staring, fixated at Friends reruns, leaning heavily on each other. The bottle was half gone and, as the advertisements came on, they each took another swig.

Cedric was looking at her weird.

She straightened up, frowning in confusion. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he slurred slightly. “You’re just… Fuck, you’re pretty.”

Her heart fluttered. “Oh. So are you.”

He blushed, looking down. “Yeah, I know.”

Morgan couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Yeah, I bet you do, Goldie.”

“Goldie?”

“Golden Boy. It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

“You’re cute.”

“No, you’re cute.”

“You’re cuter.”

“No, you are.”

“You are.”

“You…” he was very close to her now, his grey eyes darting between her brown eyes and her lips. “You’re very pretty, Mo. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“No, I don’t think you know how pretty you are. Like… When you laugh your eyes light up, and… And when you do that thing when you’re thinking… Where your eyebrow twitches… Oh, and that thing you do… The thing when your favourite songs come on and you tap your legs really fast…”

Morgan swallowed tightly as his hand brushed her cheek. His breath smelled of firewhiskey, but she was sure hers did too.

He wasn’t looking at her eyes anymore. “You’re incredible, Morgan. And you deserve to know that.”

“Cedric…” she started.

“Sh,” he cut her off. He was hardly an inch away now. “Don’t talk. Just…”

Friends came back on the TV.

“Just watch Friends with me.” He leaned back, looping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her flush against his side.

She tried with all her might to ignore her pounding heart.

She wasn’t sure if she was going to win this bet after all. In fact, she thought she might have just lost it already.

The Rainy Days

Neither Morgan or Cedric had brought up what he’d said that night, but it hung in the air between them, stagnant and stiff, leaving awkwardness to rest in the growing distance.

It was odd, Morgan realised. One moment, they were closer than ever before, hugging for a second too long, soft touches as hands brushed, then the next, they were sitting at opposite ends of a metaphorical couch, shooting furtive glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

It was confusing, and Morgan was conflicted.

She almost wanted to bring it up. She knew he remembered, that much was clear. It was obvious in the subtlest of looks, the gentlest of touches, the softest of smiles. But sometimes, it would leap to the forefront of his mind and, cheeks red, eyes downcast, he would retreat into himself.

And so, neither Morgan or Cedric brought it up.

No matter how much they may have wanted to.

The days passed in almost comfortable normalcy.

There were no trips to the lake or the town, just sitting and enjoying each other’s company.

She and Cordelia taught him how to play Last Card on a thundery Tuesday, all pouting out the window at the storm.

“I hate thunder,” Cedric shuddered. “It’s the worst to play Quidditch in too.”

“I don’t think it’s safe to play in thunder,” Morgan huffed, collecting the cards after he won again. “I mean, lightning strikes the highest object, right? And look what happened to Harry last season.”

“Yeah, that was horrible,” he cringed, taking the cards from her and shuffling them. “Although that was the Dementors too.”

She pulled a face. “Still not an excuse. It really isn’t safe.”

Cordelia looked between them in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You remember Quidditch, right?” Cedric asked. “On the broomsticks.”

She nodded slowly. “Did you know that witches riding broomsticks used to be a euphemism for riding the devil’s—”

“—Oh-kay, that’s enough cards for today!” Morgan cut in. “Cords, why don’t you go grab a board game, yeah?”

“Okay!” she chirped, dancing off upstairs.

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief and slumped in her chair.

Cedric shot her an amused look.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

When Morgan saw a person running towards her house without an umbrella in the pouring rain, she decided they were an idiot.

Then the figure got closer and she realised that it was her idiot.

“God, Cedric, you dipshit,” she whispered, dropping the knife she was using to butter her toast on the bench and running to the door, grabbing a towel from a clean pile on the way.

She opened the door just as he reached the front steps, having to grip onto the handle tight so that the wind didn’t rip it from its hinges.

“What are you doing?” she asked over the downpour, letting him inside and handing him the towel.

“I swear it didn���t start raining until I was halfway here.” His teeth were chattering. “Gotta love English weather.”

She shook her head in defeat. “Shut up and go take a hot shower. I’ll bring you something to wear.”

He didn’t even move to object, shuffling towards the bathroom instantly.

Morgan left a bundle of warm clothes outside the door and sat on the couch to wait.

Thankfully, she wasn’t alone with her thoughts for very long.

Cedric padded into the room with his hair wet and messy and in a hoodie that he’d left at her house a few weeks before. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Are you okay?” she handed him a blanket as he sat down next to her.

He nodded. He looked significantly less cold than before. “Merlin, the last time I was this cold was when you pushed me into the Black Lake.”

“I didn’t push you, you slipped.”

“Yeah, right,” he huddled closer to her, making her tense up briefly. The last time they were this close on the couch…

“Hey, Morgan…” he said quietly after a few beats.

“Hm?”

“About that night—”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to—”

“No, I think we should—”

“Cedric,” she said firmly. “Don’t worry about it. You were drunk. It’s okay.”

He paused, studying her like he was committing all of her features to memory. She knew she was doing that for him. “Okay.”

They sat in silence, watching the rain stream down the window.

The Confession

Morgan had a confession to make.

First, to herself: she liked Cedric—No. She was in love with Cedric.

It was the way he said her name like it was made of porcelain, fragile, delicate. It was the way their bodies fit perfectly together when they hugged, their bodies and hands made for holding each other. It was the way he looked at her, that night and every day since—every day ever, actually; like she’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky. It was the way he made her feel safe.

Was that so difficult?

Yes, a nagging voice in the back of her mind muttered. You’re going to be twenty galleons more broke because of your stupid feelings.

Maybe, she countered. But I don’t even care anymore.

Her next confession would be to Cedric. That was slightly more difficult.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have the opportunity; they were almost always at each other’s houses. It was more to do with the issue of her being too scared. She shied away from admitting it every time she thought she was ready, pushing her feelings down and down until they were compressed under a pile of anxiety.

So, the confession was going well. Really well.

She stole another glance at him across the room, peering over her book to find him already staring at her. She withheld a squeak and looked back down, sinking lower into her end of the couch.

“Alright, what is it?” he asked, slipping a bookmark between the pages and setting his book on the end table.

“What is what?” She didn’t take her eyes off her book, pretending to read with her eyes locked on one phrase: ‘I love you.’

Is it that easy? She asked herself. I just say it?

Cedric leaned forward and pushed her book down. “Well, either that page is very interesting or you suddenly can’t read, because you haven’t turned the page in about twenty minutes.”

“I’m absorbing it properly,” she lifted it back up but he pushed it down again.

“Absorbing it, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Well, my other thought was that you were so distracted staring at me every five seconds that you forgot to actually read.”

She dropped her book, struggling to catch it and sending it careening onto the floor. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. “No.”

He was smiling, that soft, almost smug smile that she’d fallen in love with. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Uh-huh, because from here, it looked like you were staring at me.”

She sat up straight. “Really? How odd.”

“Hmm…” he smiled a bit brighter. God, she wanted to kiss him. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it.”

She breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as he leaned back.

“Shame, because I was actually quite flattered.”

“Oh, I bet you were,” she scoffed.

He leaned back into the couch, opening his book agonisingly slow.

Morgan stared at him, legs crossed and brows furrowed. Her head was swirling with thoughts, all repeating, Cedric, Cedric, Cedric. She’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad, to just hold someone. She’d never, ever in her life, wanted to lose a bet.

His grey eyes flickered up to her once, then twice, then again. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, what the fuck,” she muttered, pushing herself forward and pressing her lips to his.

He dropped his book, the hardback thudding dully on the floor right next to hers, but neither cared. His hands found their place on her waist as she leaned over him, one arm supporting her on the wall behind him, the other entangled in his brown hair.

Butterflies danced in Morgan’s stomach, her heart racing wildly as their lips melded together. It was like they were made to kiss each other; the way they fit so perfectly, the curve of her cheek and the straight line of his nose. All of her swirling thoughts subsided, leaving only one: Cedric.

God, she never wanted to stop kissing him. He was like sugar; tantalising, sweet, addictive.

He pulled away first, thumb digging subtly into her hip, lips parted and gasping for air. “Morgan…”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, unable to find her voice. “But I couldn’t wait another—”

He kissed her again, more passionate; noses knocking, hearts pounding, hair standing on end. She wondered how she got so lucky. God, she was lucky.

This kiss was more intense, all those weeks of pent up emotion, released in that moment.

She never wanted it to end.

But, as her lungs gasped for air and her head began to swim, she pulled away. He chased her lips, pressing a final, sweet kiss to them, before resting his head back again.

“Never apologise for that,” he breathed. “Never.”

“Got it,” she whispered, eyes tracing a pattern in his faint freckles. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“Amazing at kissing?” he tilted his head.

“Just amazing in general.” She kissed him again.

The Pay-Up

Morgan had twenty galleons ready the second she set foot on the Hogwarts Train only a few weeks later. Cedric was holding her free hand as they wove past loitering students and nervous first years until they found Lizzie and Camila.

“Hey, Morgan, Cedric,” Lizzie raised her eyebrow at them.

Camila saw their connected hands and started prodding her arm.

“Hey, guys,” she smiled brightly. “Just paying up.”

She tossed Lizzie the bag of galleons and turned to Camila. “Sorry, I made the first move.”

“Liar,” she pointed at her. “Cedric, please tell me she’s lying.”

“Nope,” he let her hand go and wrapped it around her waist instead. “She kissed me first.”

Camila groaned, digging through her bag. “Fuck.”

As Lizzie danced in victory and Camila complained about Morgan finding her balls, Morgan had to admit, she had never been happier to lose a bet.