#like the actual robert in my game is middle aged and drinking himself to death

[pixiecactus]

three stags and one bull

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter One

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3, Tumblr Master Post

Chapter One

“Lightwood’s Mortuary, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?”

“You know,” Izzy said, “that joke would land a lot better if you hadn’t turned green last week when I mentioned getting to do my first cadaver dissection.”

“First of all,” Jace said, abandoning his laptop in favor of flopping back onto his bed, “it’s creepy that you say ‘getting to’ instead of ‘having to.’ And second of all, no one wants to hear about how much fun you had slicing up dead bodies over Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Max wanted to hear about it.”

“Max also can’t wait to get to middle school because he heard you get to use actual fire in science class,” Jace pointed out.

“Max is just into science like his big sister,” Izzy countered breezily. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”

“Please,” Jace said with far more enthusiasm than the situation probably warranted. “I’m desperate enough for any distraction that will take me away from trying to memorize third declensions that I would love to discuss whatever family holiday drama is so colossal I’m hearing it from you instead of Alec. Is Robert planning to show up uninvited to Christmas dinner with his girlfriend again? Oh! Did Mom finally snap and kill him? Is that why Alec isn’t calling? Is he helping her hide the body?”

“Oh my god,” Izzy laughed. “Dad and Annamarie are spending the holidays in Provance with her family, and there are no bodies to be hidden. This is what you get for taking Latin instead of Spanish like a sane person.”

“This coming from a woman who’s studying both,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah, because a basic understanding of Latin and fluency in Spanish will both help me get into med school, and I need all the help I can get if I’m going to get into Grossman. Besides, I’d never imply anyone in this family is sane. If you studied more, you’d know that ‘Lightwood’ is just Latin for ‘totally fucking cracked.’”

“Please,” Jace snorted. “It’s not even a Latinate name. It’s Germanic. ‘Lightwood’ is Old English for ‘totally fucking cracked.’ Speaking of which, what’s the Christmas disaster?”

“It’s not a disaster exactly,” Izzy hedged, and Jace felt a sudden frisson of actual unease. Izzy normally had no problem speaking her mind. “It’s not a disaster at all, actually. It’s just. I invited someone.”

“Oh.” Jace relaxed. He didn’t know why Izzy was making such a big deal out of this. In the years since the divorce, Maryse had often encouraged her kids to invite any friends without a place to go to join them for holidays. Izzy’s own roommate had come for Thanksgiving last year. “That’s cool.”

“No,” Izzy said, like he was missing something obvious. “Jace, I invited someone. Someone I’m seeing. Seriously.”

“Oh,” Jace said again, this time with dawning comprehension. “That’s great, Iz. I’m happy for you. Wait, Mom’s not doing her overprotective, no-one-is-good-enough-for-my-children thing again, is she? Is that why you called, you need me to run interference?”

“No, no,” Izzy reassured him, although her voice still held an underlying tension. “Mom’s been great, actually. They knew each other already, so that probably helps.” Jace heard a shaky inhale before Izzy continued. “You, um. You know her, too, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Jace said with forced ease, wracking his brain for any clue as to what could have Izzy so freaked out. Whatever it was, Jace wasn’t going to add to her stress. As far as he knew, Isabelle had never even been serious enough about someone before to even use the term girlfriend or boyfriend, let alone bring them home for Christmas. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“It’s Clary,” Izzy said in a rush. “I’m dating Clary.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Jace was glad he was already lying down.

“Clary?” he repeated. “M—” He just barely stopped himself from saying “my Clary.” Because she wasn’t, not anymore. Not for a long time. “Morgenstern?” It was a clumsy recovery, but it was the best he could manage. “You’re dating Clary Morgenstern?”

Jace and Clary had met at the beginning of Jace’s junior year of high school. Clary, a year younger, had just lost her mom, and the two initially bonded over the shared experience of having lost parents. But Clary was fierce and bold and so full of passion even in the depths of her grief that Jace really couldn’t help falling in love with her. They’d dated for nearly two years—practically forever in high school terms—and even though they’d both known they were growing apart by the time Jace had to choose between his first-choice college in Boston and staying in New York to go to NYU, Clary would always hold a special place in Jace’s heart as his first love.

“Yeah,” Izzy said on a heavy exhale. “For a while now. That—that’s why I called. I didn’t want it to be weird, you know? For us all to just show up and for it to be a surprise. But I guess I probably shouldn’t have done it over the phone, either. I just didn’t think—”

“Izzy,” Jace said, much more calmly than he felt. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

“God, I should have told you sooner,” Izzy continued as though he hadn’t even spoken. “I just knew it probably would be weird for you, so I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure—”

“But you are now,” Jace interrupted again. It wasn't really a question. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” Izzy breathed. “I’m so sure.”

“Then it’s not weird,” Jace lied. “I mean, come on, my sister is dating someone who makes her happy and who I know will treat her right. What kind of idiot would I have to be to complain about that?”

“Really?” Izzy pressed. “Because I told Clary I wanted to talk to you before we finalized plans. So, if it is weird for you, or even if you just don’t want to be the only single person at the table on Christmas—”

“I won’t be,” Jace interrupted.

There was a pregnant pause, and then Izzy squealed so loud Jace had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Oh my god, Jace! That’s amazing! Why didn’t you just say you were bringing someone, too, you jackass? Do you know how worried I’ve been about telling you about me and Clary?”

Which wasn’t what he’d meant at all—he’d only meant that Maryse was single, too—but Jace couldn’t resist the excitement in Izzy’s voice, not after her earlier panic.

“If I’d known you were all freaked out, I would have said something sooner,” Jace improvised. “It’s kind of new, and I haven’t even had the chance to tell Mom yet.”

“Let me,” Izzy insisted. “I’ve been trying to get her to admit that she and Luke are an item for ages, and maybe knowing that we’re all happily attached will be the push she needs.”

“Hold up. Mom…and Clary’s stepdad?” Jace was starting to wonder if this was some bizarre stress nightmare brought on by impending finals.

“Yup,” Izzy confirmed, popping the “p.” “They’re not even subtle about how much time they’re spending together, but Mom keeps talking about how they’re ‘just old friends.’” Jace could practically hear the eye roll.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if I leave now, I can catch Mom closing up the bookshop and maybe finally get her to crack. Don’t worry about Christmas plans. I’ll take care of everything. Talk to you later!”

“Iz, wait,” Jace started, but he was interrupted by the telltale beep of the call ending.

Jace stared at his phone, wondering how, exactly, he’d managed to make such a disaster of things. He couldn’t deal with this right now, he decided, tossing his phone aside. He just had to get through finals, and then he could come up with some excuse for why his nonexistent girlfriend couldn’t make it for Christmas. An excuse that wouldn’t make Izzy suspicious. Or Clary. Or Alec. Or— Fuck. Not thinking about it.

He turned his attention back to his laptop only to realize after several minutes of staring blankly that he wasn’t prepared to think about Latin anymore, either. Fuck it. He was going to spend the rest of the evening on the couch, drinking beer and watching stupid people doing stupid things on TV and thinking about absolutely nothing at all.

Because Jace just couldn’t catch a break, he found both the couch and TV already in use. He wanted to be annoyed, especially since he knew this was at least the dozenth time this semester his roommate had watched Return of the Jedi. Part of him was annoyed. But another part of him was…not annoyed. And that was yet another thing Jace wasn’t going to think about.

Jace’s first impression of Simon Lewis, when he’d walked into History and Literature of Music their freshman year, had been that he was kind of hot, in a nerdy way. His second impression, when he actually talked to Simon a few days later, was that the guy was annoying as hell. Over the course of the year, as they somehow ended up hanging out with the same group of friends, it became a tolerable sort of annoying. So tolerable, in fact, that when Jace found himself desperate for a roommate the next summer when Raj bailed on him last-minute, he’d agreed to let Simon have the second room in the surprisingly affordable apartment he’d found.

Jace’s third impression of Simon came four days after they’d moved in together, when he happened to be walking down the hallway at the exact moment Simon stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, a stray droplet of water trailing down his surprisingly well-defined abs. In that moment, Jace must have lost his mind, because he had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to follow the path of that droplet with his tongue and, oh. Oh no. Jace had been wrong this entire time. Simon wasn’t just annoying. He wasn’t just nerd-hot. He was annoyingly hot.

And Jace was maybe just a little bit in trouble.

Because he’d seen the kinds of people Simon dated. Thoughtful. Driven. Well-adjusted. Unlike Jace in pretty much every way that mattered. Not that Jace dated, but he wasn’t the kind of person Simon hooked up with, either, he was pretty sure.

(Jace confessed his fourth impression of Simon to Maia several months later, after many, many shots of tequila. Maia laughed at him for a solid five minutes, but she also poured them another round and never mentioned it again after they sobered up because she was actually a pretty good friend despite how much she always seemed to enjoy Jace’s suffering.)

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked around a mouthful of instant ramen. Jace refused to acknowledge that the way his cheeks puffed out when he ate was cute.

“Just.” Jace shook his head. “Holidays. Family stuff.”

“Your sister planning to make Christmas dinner again?” Simon asked.

“Worse,” Jace said, flopping onto the other end of their stained Goodwill couch. “She’s dating my ex.”

Simon winced. “Ouch, dude.” Simon poked at his noodles with a pair of well-used disposable chopsticks. “You still have feelings for your ex?”

“What? No, of course not. It was ages ago, and we were practically still kids. And the breakup was mutual.” He made a face. “But Izzy’s bringing her home for Christmas.”

“Okay, yeah, that could be a little awkward,” Simon conceded.

“It gets worse,” Jace admitted. “When she told me, I kind of panicked and said I was bringing someone home, too.”

Simon frowned. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” Jace told him. “Which is kind of the problem.”

“Wow. You really know how to make things difficult for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. “Very helpful.”

Simon shrugged, then said, as casual as if he were offering to toss Jace’s towels in with his to make a full load at the laundromat, “You could always take me home with you.”

Jace stared. “What?”

“I mean, I’m going to be in the city anyway,” Simon continued, “and it’s not like my family does Christmas. I think Mom and Becky can manage the traditional Chinese takeout and Fast and Furious marathon without me.”

“Your family watches The Fast and the Furious on Christmas?” It was the only part of that Jace was emotionally prepared to process.

“It used to be Die Hard, but Mom’s got a thing for Vin Diesel, so now we alternate years.”

Jace stared a moment longer, waiting for any of this to make sense. On the television, Boushh threatened Jabba with a thermal detonator.

“Right,” Jace said when it was clear the situation wasn’t going to make sense of itself. “Okay. Rewind to the part where I’m supposed to take you home with me for Christmas and, what, pretend you’re my boyfriend?”

He could picture it all too easily. Simon wielding his enthusiastic charm to keep Izzy out of the kitchen while Jace helped Maryse make dinner. Simon joining Alec in coaxing Jace toward the piano when it was time to sing carols. Simon flushed and smiling after a couple mugs of Magnus’s deceptively alcoholic eggnog. Simon’s hand in his because that’s just something boyfriends do.

It was a horrifyingly tempting prospect.

Jace pushed those thoughts away, crossing his arms over his chest and directing all the scorn he felt at himself into the stare he leveled at Simon. “What’s that supposed to accomplish other than giving me a headache?”

“Hey,” Simon said, setting the dregs of his ramen down on their secondhand Ikea coffee table, “I’ll have you know that I make an excellent boyfriend.”

That wasn’t exactly news. The fact that Simon was friends with basically all of his exes said as much. But Jace wasn’t about to let on that he paid that much attention to Simon’s dating habits. Or to pass up such a good opening. “That why you’re single?”

“Not the one currently desperate for a holiday date here, pal,” Simon pointed out.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty eager to be my holiday date just a second ago,” Jace said, adding a wink just to be obnoxious.

“It was an offer, jackass. One which I now deeply regret.”

“Which you should,” Jace told him, turning to the TV and pretending to watch. “Now we can both forget this conversation ever happened, and I can go back to figuring out what I’m going to tell my family about why my nonexistent significant other can’t make it for Christmas this year.”

“Right,” Simon muttered, picking up his bowl and turning his own attention back to the movie.

Jace told himself he didn’t feel just the tiniest bit disappointed.

“The thing is,” Simon said several minutes later, as Boba Fett tumbled into the Sarlaac pit, “my cousin Rachel is getting married on Valentine’s Day. And my Bubbe Helen is still pretty cranky with me for breaking up with Maia.”

Jace frowned at him. “You and Maia dated for like a month and a half. Over a year ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Simon said, “Bubbe Helen really liked her, but I think maybe that’s because Maia’s the only person I’ve ever brought to a family function. So, I was thinking maybe if I brought someone else to Rachel’s wedding, she’d get the hint and drop the Maia thing. And then you suddenly needed someone to take home for Christmas, and I thought we could, you know, help each other out.”

It was a terrible idea, and Jace meant to say so. He really did. But what came out of his mouth instead was, “You want to introduce me to your grandmother?”

“I mean,” Simon said with a shrug, “she’d probably be happier if you were Jewish, but I honestly think she’d be happy to see me with anyone who’s not a total asshole. Ever since she found out Maia and I aren’t together anymore, she’s been acting like I’m going to end up a lonely old maid or something, which I totally don’t get, because A, I’m only twenty-one, and B, she doesn’t think it’s a problem that Becky’s single and Becky’s two years older than me.”

“Glad to know I meet the very minimal requirement of not being an asshole.”

“Not a total asshole,” Simon corrected with a teasing grin.

“You’re really making a compelling case for trying to convince our families that we’re a couple,” Jace said drily. But he was maybe just a little bit weak for Simon’s smile, so he added, “But you might as well tell me how exactly you think this would work. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Simon repeated. “Right. Well, we’d need to come up with a game plan, obviously. And rules. Rules that we actually follow, because that’s where things like this always fall apart, when someone ignores the rules.”

“Where things always fall apart,” Jace repeated. “Is this something you do often?”

“What? No! I just mean like in movies and stuff. Fake dating is practically its own genre, so we have a ton of examples for how not to do it, and…” Simon frowned as his voice trailed off. “And now that I’m saying this out loud, I’m realizing how dumb it sounds. You’re right. We should forget this conversation ever happened.”

“Or,” Jace said slowly, knowing he was going to regret it but unable to stop himself, “we could spend some time coming up with a plan and then decide if we think it will work.”

“Wait, really?” The slow grin spreading across Simon’s face did nothing to ease Jace’s sense of impending doom, but it did fill him with a soft warmth that made the doom easier to ignore.

“Why not?” Jace shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “I’m done with classes at noon tomorrow if you want to do it then.”

“I’ve got a break from then till three if you don’t mind meeting near campus,” Simon said. “Say, Java Jones at twelve-thirty?”

“Sure,” Jace agreed to the background of Jabba’s sail barge exploding. He hoped that was less metaphorical than it felt.

~~~

“I thought we were planning a couple of fake dates, not staging a major military operation,” Jace said as he surveyed the notebooks and stacks of paper strewn across the rickety cafe table in front of Simon.

“Oh, sorry,” Simon said, hastily shoving exactly one of the many notebooks into his backpack. “I was just reviewing notes for my econ final while I waited.”

“Is all of this really necessary?” Jace asked, attempting to clear enough room on the table for his coffee and the banana muffin that was attempting to pass for lunch.

“It’s so necessary,” Simon told him, reaching over to steal a piece of Jace’s muffin. “I don’t want to end up like Melissa Joan Hart in My Fake Fiancé.” He popped the piece of muffin into his mouth. “Or Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy. Oh! Or even worse, Melissa Joan Hart in Holiday in Handcuffs.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Simon sighed heavily. “I’m saying we need clear, well-defined rules if this is going to work.”

“Is rule number one ‘don’t be Melissa Joan Hart’?” Jace asked, snatching his muffin away when Simon reached for it again and taking a pointed bite.

“No,” Simon said, with far more seriousness than Jace thought the situation warranted. “That’s rule number two. Rule number one,” he continued, opening a blue notebook to a fresh page, “is ‘absolutely no sex.’”

Jace choked on his muffin.

“If there’s one thing everyone seems to agree with, it’s that things always break down when that rule gets broken,” Simon continued as though Jace weren’t struggling to breathe around a mouthful of muffin and why Simon thought they even needed a rule for that.

Jace washed the remaining crumbs of muffin down with a generous swig of coffee, then leaned back in his chair with a deliberately cocky grin. “I mean, I know I’m damn near irresistible, but do you really think you need a rule to keep from jumping me?”

“Rule three,’’ Simon said, scribbling furiously in the notebook, “treat each other with the same respect we’d treat people we’re actually dating.”

“Hey, I would have the same question for someone I was actually dating.”

Simon looked up from the notebook. “That explains so much about your dating history.”

Jace flipped him off, and Simon flashed him a shit-eating grin. “Nope, sorry, rule one. But,” he continued, serious once again, “we should have rules about what kind of physical affection we are comfortable with. Like, I know we don’t normally do hugs, but it would be weird if we never hugged in front of your family if we were dating, right? What about holding hands, is that too much? And what about kissing? I’m definitely cool with cheek kisses, but I don’t know—”

“Simon,” Jace interrupted before he could get too worked up. Or make Jace think about more things he really shouldn’t be thinking about. “You’re allowed to hug me. And hold my hand. Honestly, I’m sure I’d be fine with anything you’re comfortable doing in front of my family, so how about we just go with this: casual touches are fine and for anything else, I’ll follow your lead.”

The look Simon gave him was so searching that Jace almost worried for a second that Simon would be able to see right past his crossed arms and feigned nonchalance to the part of him that was less worried about showing physical affection than how much he wanted it, the part that avoided hugging Simon because he liked it.

“Okay,” Simon said finally. “But you have to promise you’ll tell me if anything I do bothers you even a little bit.”

“You mean like singing Shake It Off at the top of your lungs in the shower?” Jace asked.

“That was one time!” Simon protested. “I was up all night studying and under the influence of too many energy drinks. We agreed never to mention it again.”

“No, you told me never to mention it again and I laughed at you.”

“See, this is why we need rules. You’re already breaking number three.”

“Yeah, because we’re not pretend-dating yet,” Jace said. “That one might be a little rough, but I’m sure I can manage with some practice.”

There was that searching look again, but then Simon nodded like Jace had said something particularly insightful. “You’re right, we should practice.”

“We—what?”

“If we’re going to convince people who actually know us that we’re dating, then we should practice first,” Simon said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not just the rules we know are going to be hard, but all of it, so we can work out any kinks in the plan before showtime.”

And maybe it was reasonable, but it was one thing to put on a show for his family, for Simon’s family, for a few days at a time in places that might be familiar to each of them individually, but that weren’t theirs. It was entirely another thing to do it here, in the cafe they went to at least twice a week, or on campus where they’d first met and had to keep on attending classes for at least another year, or even worse in the apartment they shared, around their friends—

“I really should have thought of it earlier,” Simon continued, blissfully unaware of Jace’s inner turmoil. “My best friend back home, she’s an amazing liar. Like, seriously, she got away with everything when we were kids. But any time she needed me to back up her story, she’d make me practice with her like a hundred times until she knew I could convince her mom and stepdad, even after I got good enough that I didn’t have to practice to convince Mom. Man, those two could sniff out the tiniest discrepancy in any story. Like, if normal parent bullshit detection is a one, my mom’s is probably a solid three, but Fray’s parents? Eleven, easy.”

“I’m pretty sure no one I’m related to has supernatural bullshit detection,” Jace told him. “And it’s common knowledge I’m a better liar than you are, so if you can fool your mom without practice, so can I.”

“Maybe,” Simon conceded. “But a little bit of practice couldn’t hurt, right?”

Jace was pretty sure that it could hurt, actually, but he was also pretty sure he was the only one in danger of getting hurt, so it probably wasn’t worth consideration. Especially weighed against the hopeful enthusiasm in Simon’s expression.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could start by pretending we’re on a date right now,” Simon suggested. “We’re already sharing a muffin. So, just treat me like you’d treat anyone you were on a date with.”

“My dates don’t usually involve this many notebooks,” Jace told him. “And if my date stole my muffin, the date would be over.”

“Come on, you’re not even trying,” Simon said, gathering up the papers and notebooks. “You’d really ditch your date over a muffin?”

“Absolutely,” Jace insisted. “They’d have to be seriously good in bed to make up for it, and I’m pretty sure rule number one says you’ll never get muffin-stealing privileges.”

“If the biggest benefit to sleeping with you is getting to share your muffins, then I’m not the one missing out,” Simon told him.

“You selling your body for muffins now, Lightwood?” an amused voice interrupted. “I bet I know a few people who’d toss a bran muffin or two your way for a chance at that ass.”

“Which is why you’re not my pastry-pimp, Roberts,” Jace said, smirking at Maia as she helped herself to one of the table’s empty chairs. “I only trade this ass for top tier, gourmet muffins. If your muffins don’t have at least two Michelin stars, I’m not interested.”

“I give him a week until he’s working corners for Entenmann’s,” Simon told her. “He was just threatening to walk out on our date over a bite of mediocre banana nut.”

Maia’s eyes widened. “Your— Oh, shit, sorry,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and throwing them both an apologetic smile that Jace was pretty sure wouldn’t be directed at him if he were sitting with anyone other than Simon. “I swear I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought you were studying or something. You guys have fun, and I’ll just—”

“It’s a practice date,” Jace interrupted, “not an actual date. And Simon’s a dirty muffin thief who won’t even put out, so I’m not sure it really even qualifies as any kind of date.”

Maia looked between the two of them, then slowly lowered herself back into the chair. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly is a ‘practice date,’ and why are the two of you on one?”

“Jace needs a fake boyfriend to take home for Christmas, and I need a fake date for Rachel’s wedding,” Simon explained, snatching the last bit of Jace’s muffin without remorse. “And we thought we should practice dating before trying to convince our families that were actually, you know, together.”

“That’s a terrible idea, and I regret any part I played in the two of you becoming friends,” Maia said flatly.

“Yeah, that would probably worry me more if you didn’t say that like twice a week,” Simon told her.

“Oh god, Simon, what did you let Jace talk you into now?” another voice asked, and suddenly there were three more people crowding around their tiny table, because apparently all of their friends were at Java Jones today. Which, in retrospect, Jace should have expected, given how often they all hung out there.

“It was actually my idea,” Simon told Maureen, sliding his chair closer to Jace’s to make room for her, Bat, and Lily. “Jace is taking me home to meet his family over the holidays, and I’m taking him as my date to my cousin’s wedding.”

This proclamation was met with a stunned silence that was broken when Lily turned to Jace and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“That’s for abandoning me, jerk,” Lily told him. “Not that I can really blame you—either of you,” she added, giving both Jace and Simon an appreciative once over, “‘cause damn—but I thought we had an understanding.” She sighed heavily. “Now that you’ve gone over the dating Dark Side, who’s going to be my wingman? You’re probably going to start doing all kinds of relationship-y things and talking about feelings—” she said it like it was a dirty word “—and crap like that.”

“I am not going to talk about my feelings,” Jace said, at the same time that Simon said, “We’re not actually together. We’re just pretending.”

“They’re planning to try to convince their families they’re dating even though they’re not,” Maia explained. “Because they apparently think that’s not just a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh,” Lily said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Fifty bucks,” Bat announced, “says that when this blows up in their faces, Jace is the first one to break down and call Maia in a panic.”

“Hey,” Jace protested.

“Oh, you’re on,” Maureen said, ignoring Jace entirely. “Sorry, Simon, but no one panics quite like you.”

“I’m in,” Lily said, “and I agree with Maureen that Simon will break first, but his call to Maia will be interrupted by Jace calling five minutes later.”

“Why am I the one getting all of the panicked calls?” Maia wanted to know.

“Because you’re the only person at this table who isn’t an asshole,” Simon told her, “but nothing’s going to go wrong, let alone panic-inducing levels of wrong, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Dude,” Jace said, “she’s an asshole to me.”

“You like it,” Maia and Simon said in unison, causing the rest of the table to collapse into laughter.

“Okay, fine,” Maia said around her giggles several minutes later, “if you’re all betting, then count me in, too. I bet that these fools,” she looked pointedly at Jace, then at Simon, “don’t call me when this whole thing goes to hell, but I somehow end up having to haul their asses out of trouble, anyway.”

“I rescind my assessment of you as not an asshole,” Simon told her.

“I’d think twice about calling the woman who’s going to haul your ass out of trouble an asshole if I were you,” Bat said.

“Back to this pretending to be together thing,” Lily said. “What exactly does that entail?”

“That’s actually what we were trying to figure out when you guys showed up,” Simon told her. “We started a list of rules, but we only made it to four so far.”

“Your list should definitely include making out,” Lily said decisively. “Having made out with both of you, I can say with confidence that you’re definitely missing out if you don’t. In fact, you should try it now so we can let you know if it looks authentic.”

“You just want to watch them make out,” Maureen said.

“Yes,” Lily told her. She didn’t add ‘duh,’ but it was implied. “I always want to make hot people make out. But in this case, I’m also being helpful.”

The ensuing argument over the line between helpful and self-serving was thankfully cut short by the opening guitar line of Blonde Redhead’s Barragan.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” Simon said, holding up his phone. “I’ve been playing voicemail tag with Becky all week.” He looked at Jace. “Talk more about this later?”

“Sure,” Jace told him.

“Tell your sister I said hi,” Maia called after Simon as he headed away from the cafe’s crowd.

“You know,” Jace told her in a low voice, “you could always tell her hi yourself instead of always asking Simon to pass messages.”

Maia gave him an unimpressed look. “After everything I just heard, I’m pretty sure you’re the last person in this room I should be taking relationship advice from.”

“Bite me,” Jace told her, but he didn’t disagree.

[containsxmultitudes]

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME.  Nick Monroe NICKNAME. Nicky, blondie, idiot, asshole, “ugHH I WANNA STAB MY EYE OUT WITH A SPOON THAT JOKE WAS SO HORRIBLE.” GENDER.   Genderqueer trans guy HEIGHT.   6′1 AGE.  41 ZODIAC.  Scorpio-Sagittarius cusp. SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, ASL and PSE, and with the right triggers, or alters near the front, he has a muted form of the gift of tongues so various languages sometimes.

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR.  Blond EYE COLOR.   Blue SKIN TONE.   Fair BODY TYPE.  He’s tall, a little broad, squishy and thick in some nice places. He’s just healthy for now. VOICE.  Think Mark P’s voice. That’s about right. DOMINANT HAND.  He’s naturally ambidextrous, so he doesn’t have an actual dominant hand, but he does use his right hand for things because it’s more convenient most of the time. But like if he hurt the wrist of his right hand he could quite easily use his left. Might be a bit rusty but it would take very little time to pick it up because of being naturally able to do so anyway. POSTURE.  So standing he usually has a posture that is, for lack of better terms, a little confident and flirtatious because that’s what vibe he wants to put out there. So usually his hip is cocked a little, or he’s leaning against something. But if he sits he tends to slide into a bad posture if he sits for too long. Mostly because he has some back pain from leaning over an art desk a lot so it’s hard to keep a good posture constantly. If he’s in front of people he does try his best to take his bad posture and make it useful toward looking more interested. If only because leaning toward people a little bit does indicate interest and he knows that. SCARS. Most notable are the Lucifer corruption burn scars on his face, he has more of those burn scars in various patches over his body. There are also: two parallel lines between his shoulder blades where wings could be. Very faded top surgery scars on his chest. Faded self-harm scars on his thighs. Some are covered by tattoos, little scars on his knuckles from punching things til they bled, a jagged stab and drag scar on his lower right side, small bullet scar under his hair where Dean shot Lucifer with the colt, and faded stretch marks on his hips and such from having a baby once. TATTOOS.  Tattoo of a snake wrapping up his left arm (looks a little like this if I had to pick a size and style comparison, Nick’s is a tiny bit smaller and has some blue color in it, but it’s close X), Alligator thing on his left shoulder (can be compared to this in aesthetic X), a tiny cross tattoo on his right index finger ( X ), this on his left palm ( X ), floral half sleeve on his right arm from his shoulder to his elbow (kinda like this X), 2 carnations on his right shoulder with Sarah and Toby’s name and birth and death years as a tribute to them, anti-possession on his left ankle in blacklight ink. A bouquet of sunflowers up his right calve, actually an undecided leg sleeve on his right leg in general too, undecided sternum tattoo, others in various places I haven’t decided yet. But he’s a tattoo artist, so he’s pretty covered.

**note that most of these tattoos aren’t exactly what his look like, they are just the comparisons as close as I can imagine them as someone who can’t draw.

BIRTHMARKS.  No birth marks. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). He’s tall, he has those very noticeable burn scars on his face, a smirk on his face.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH.  Baltimore, Maryland HOMETOWN. Somewhere in Baltimore County, Maryland. SIBLINGS. Eden Monroe (eldest sister), Lacey Monroe (older sister), Elijah Harrison (half-brother of the same age) PARENTS.  Robert Monroe (father), Aria Monroe (mother), Scott Harrison (biological father; deceased)

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION.  Tattoo artist CURRENT RESIDENCE. New Haven, CT CLOSE FRIENDS. Maya Becker, Chev, Kennie Rhodes, and his work friends Lisa, Layla, and Atticus. It’s otherwise interaction dependent. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Widower, Default single. Interaction and verse dependent. FINANCIAL STATUS. He’s like a good middle class right now, I think. DRIVER’S LICENSE. Yes. VICES. Drinking, hypersexuality and sometimes the lack of self control that comes with it, various other things depending on the time frame we’re talking.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  Pansexual/queer/bisexual he uses these, for himself, interchangeably. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.   Switch LIBIDO.  Very high sometimes. TURN ON’S. Kissing with tongue, bit of an oral fixation so things that occupy his mouth, but also laughter during things, neck kissing, hands. use your hands, on a similar note he likes it when people give attention to his hand in the affectionate way, sweet talk or dirty talk depending on the general vibe, confidence, a sense of humor, no fear using toys lmao, he also likes a good tease, on the low-key he likes it when people say please when he’s topping. TURN OFF’S.  Disrespect, not taking no for an answer, fear tactics, anything that is rude as fuck, he doesn’t like any form of humiliation. LOVE LANGUAGE.  He likes love being shown through physical affection, and he likes to give physical affection. But he tries his best to learn other people’s languages so he can show them proper affection at some point. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. So in general his relationships have heavily leaned into just friendships, or casual things. But when he gets into romantic relationships, they’ve usually become very long term and he likes that. His end goal with romantic things is long term. Not necessarily marriage, he’s cool if someone doesn’t want that, he understands why someone wouldn’t. But like long term partner is a romantic end goal for him because he likes the security of it. But if it’s not romantic, long term friendship also works for him. He just wants ongoing friendships somewhere.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. either I’m So Sorry by Imagine Dragons, SAIL by Awolnation, or Soul Wars also by Awolnation. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Art, tattoos, hanging with friends, making puns, making people laugh, playing video games on occasion, depending on mental state maybe drinking, he also likes learning card tricks. MENTAL ILLNESSES.  Dissociative Identity Disorder, PTSD, Depression, ADHD, Nightmare disorder, insomnia. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. Various chronic pains, but also Meniere’s Disease (inner ear disease that leads toward eventual permanently being hard or hearing or Deaf to simplify it.) PHOBIAS. Lucifer, God, being a failure or a disappointment, hurting those he loves, not being good enough. That nothing he ever does now will change what he’s done in the past, the idea of immortality, but also a lighthearted one: Butterflies and moths, boy has Lepidopterophobia SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. It varies depending on the day, and how he’s feeling. But he puts out a confidence that would make it appear like his level of self confidence is very high.

tagged by : @waywardbled​ tagging: Steal it, you heathens.

[tomfev]

Fallout OC Companion Meme

i wasnt tagged im just feral

this is my oc thom$on (pronounced thom dolla son) feat. my bad art. as you can tell, he likes money. prewar, he was a rich man who threw himself into becoming successful in order to mentally and physically escape from the trauma in his childhood. he closed himself off emotionally and never let anyone close to him until years later. he has ties to many shady government operations, perhaps most prominently west-tek’s FEV experimentation.

hes a ghoul in every game except 76, and always wears his money leather jacket. he keeps his mustache and a bit of his hair even though he’s been ghoulified. he has a deep voice with a southern accent (like a mixture of augustus autumn from fo3 and augustus sinclair from bioshock 2). hes pretty overweight even as a ghoul bc i say so. skinny thom$on is cursed

he’s actually a companion in pretty much every main series game, so this meme seemed like something i had to do. anyway, his personality develops a lot over the course of the fallout games, so a lot of this changes in between games. as such, im gonna separate certain things by game

NAME:

Thomson Jr. “Thom$on” Theodore Williams (dont call him thomson, thomson jr or anything like that he will go sicko mode)

AGE:

116 (fo1), 196 (fo2), 232 (fo3), 236 (fnv), 242 (fo4)

COMPANION PERK:

(fo1-2) One-Hit Solidarity- Increases critical hit chance when fighting human enemies.

(fo3-4) Breadwinner- Increases damage dealt to enemies when health is below 25%.

WEAPON OF CHOICE:

Ranged-Caravan Shotgun; Melee- Sledgehammer

I THINK WE SHOULD TRAVEL TOGETHER:

(fo1-2) “Better be some pay in it for me… One-Hit Williams doesn’t work for free.” [He does anyway.]

(fo3) [Anxious, but trying to hide it] “Oh, sounds like fun, kiddo. Let’s get these caps.”

(fnv) “Don’t be keepin’ me out all day, I got a family to tend to… lord knows Rob has no earthly idea how to deal with children…”

(fo4) [Sighs heavily.] “Ugh, I’m too old for this... I’m a great-grandpa, y’know that?”

USE MELEE:

(fo1-2) “...Melee? Melee. Y’know that I’m famous for shooting people, yeah? That’s, like, my thing.”

(fo3-4) [Visibly winces.] “Uh… I’m over 200 years old and have rheumatoid arthritis, but aight…”

USE RANGED:

(fo1-2) “Hell yeah, it’s One-Hit time!”

(fo3-4) “Oh, good… that was hell on my knees. And hands. Uh, hand, actually. 4 fingers. Don’t try to befriend unfamiliar dogs, kid.” [Shudders.]

OPEN INVENTORY:

(fo1-2) “I only take large bills.”

(fo3) “Here, take whatever you want. Just not the jacket, aight?” (fnv-4) [Excited to talk about his husband’s creation.] “The robot hand’s detachable, my darling husband Robert made it for me. See, it’s got my Pip-Boy in it.”

STAY CLOSE:

(fo1-2) “No promises, but aight. Don’t get too close, though. I, uh, gotta be able to aim.”

(fo3-4) [Sounds like a dad.] “I’ll protect ya, kid, don’t worry.”

KEEP DISTANCE:

(fo1-2) [Sighs in relief.] “Good, I was gettin’ tired of all this closeness... “

(fo3-4) [Concerned.] “You sure? I really don’t mind coverin’ ya, kid…”

STEALTH:

(fo1-2) “Sure, ask the fat old guy to sneak around. Nice plan, chief.”

(fo3-4)  [Groans.] “Oh god, my knees… kids these days... “

BACK UP:

(fo1-2) “Williams doesn’t back up for no one, kiddo. Unless there’s a Deathclaw in front of him. Then he backs up.” (fo3-4) “Aight… sorry if I’m bein’ too protective, just a habit.”

BE PASSIVE:

(fo1-2) “I’m a hitman, can’t promise nothin’. But guess I’ll try… ‘s nice to relax a bit sometimes.”

(fo3-4) [Sighs and stretches.] “‘Kay, kid… I’m a bit jumpy, so I might shoot at whatever moves anyway.”

BE AGGRESSIVE:

(fo1-2) “Shooting on sight, chief. Better hope you don’t make any sudden moves...” (fo3-4) “You ever think ‘bout how these guys we kill might have families?” [Pauses.] “Uh, don’t mind that, let’s get movin’.”

USE STIMPACK:

(fo1-2) “Uh, thanks. I guess. Coulda gotten one myself…” (fo3-4) “Sure ya don’t need this for yourself? I’m fine, I been hurt before…”

WAIT HERE:

(fo1-2) “I’m not one for standin’ still, chief… fine, but don’t take too long or I’ll leave ya.” (fo3-4) “Oh, thank god… my old bones’re screamin’... ow…” [Sits down on the ground.]

FOLLOW ME:

(fo1-2) “I oughta charge you for keepin’ me out here that long…”

(fo3-4) [Groans as he stands up.] “This is the cruelest form of torture…”

DISMISSED:

(fo1-2) “Aight, guess I’ll get myself a drink, tackle a few jobs… see ya, chief.” (fo3-4) [Concerned.] “You sure you’re gonna be okay on your own? It’s real dangerous out here in the wasteland alone…”

SEND TO FOLLOWER BASE:

(fo1-2) “Ugh, fine… Williams out.” (fo3-4) [Dramatic.] “God, you’re gonna have to carry me, kid…”

ENEMIES (LONG RANGE):

(fo1-2) “Hey, shithead! Get a load of this!” “I’m gonna put so much lead in your face that metal detectors’ll detect ya all the way from China!”

(fo3-4) “Oh, for the love of… kid, get behind me…” “Get away from ‘em, ya bastard!”

ENEMIES (CLOSE RANGE):

(fo1-2) “My mustache’s the last thing you’ll ever see!” “I’m Tom Williams, bitch!”

(fo3-4) “I ain’t lettin’ this bastard hurt ya, kiddo!” “Oh, fuck off…”

INJURED:

(fo1-2) “Agh! I’m fine, chief, I got 3 more fingers!” “Fuck- I meant to do that!” (fo3-4) “Ow… shit… old joints ain’t made for this…” “I’m fine, keep goin’! Just a paper cut.. or somethin’ like that…”

DEATH:

(fo1-2) “Fuck… not yet… still gotta...” [Weakly throws up his middle finger.] “Williams… out…”

(fo3-4) “No… no, please… Robert…” “Kid... leave me ‘n run…”

AGGRESSION: aggressive/not aggressive

CONFIDENCE: cowardly/cautious/average/brave/foolhardy

ASSISTANCE: helps nobody/helps allies/helps friends and allies

KARMA:

(fo1-2) hes got evil karma, hes out to kill people just to get money and for fame. just about nothing bothers him, but he will get annoyed if you’re overly generous or kind to people. its hard for him to comprehend why youd ever want to give up your money and/or time for others, especially strangers.

(fo3-4) neutral karma. he isnt a saint, but if you murder or hurt innocents or steal from the weak he’ll get pissed at you. blowing up megaton, for example, is one way to get him to immediately leave you, no questions asked.

[penumbra-rp]

Congratulations Dean, you have been accepted for the role of Rabastan Lestrange!

“Does reputation matter to you?”

“My reputation? Who do you think I am, Taylor Swift?” he questions tauntingly.

Admin Ash: Dean, from the moment we heard of your interest in Rabastan, we had a feeling he had just the vibe that would be perfect for you, and this application only proved how right we were. Rabastan is hilarious, he’s animated, he’s completely and utterly obnoxious -- just as you stated in his traits -- and I found myself cackling out loud to his antics and the numerous ridiculous things he said. Much like the gem above. He’s a proper nuisance -- wearing his place at the bottom of his graduating class like a medal and taking utter pride in spicing up any dinner party -- and I found that I adored him all the more for it. I know he’s going to give many of our Death Eaters a headache that’ll be too hard to shake. I’m so excited that you’ll be bringing our rambunctious rockstar to us! 

Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.

01. Out of Character

NAME: Dean

AGE: 21

YOUR BIRTHDAY: July 4th 1997

PRONOUNS: She/Her

TIMEZONE:  GMT

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Rabastan Lestrange

CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: He/Him

FACECLAIM: Robert Sheehan

CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: July 29th

PERSONALITY:

+ Persuasive

+ Comical

+ Boisterous

- Argumentative

- Obnoxious

- Impressionable

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

‘What a beautiful little girl you have,’ strangers would coo, easily mistaking the boy’s long dark eyelashes as a feminine feature. The compliment felt like a stab in the heart for a woman who had mothered two sons when she had spent the majority of her second pregnancy dreaming longingly for a daughter.

The minute he had said his first words, the Lestranges knew he would be nothing like their first child. Rabastan was demanding, his mother’s disinterest and father’s sternness only making him thirst more for their approval. He’d approach the world as if it were a stage and his friends and family was his audience. Every move calculated strategically as a plead for more attention, plots intertwined intricately to remove wishfully himself from his older brother’s seemingly overbearing shadow and earn his own moment in the spotlight. When that didn’t work, Rabastan turned towards misbehaving. Playing cruel tricks on Rodolphus which were reciprocated with pure disdain from the young teenager, saying inappropriate things when there were guests around and neglecting to follow any rules. There were no limits, so long as he knew it would obtain him the measliest bit of recognition.

As his troublesome ways manifested and endangered on becoming a larger problem, Rabastan was swiftly packed up and sent to a private school. One where the tuitions were sky high since there was the promise to straighten out unruly children and turn them into well-behaved future politicians and lawyers. The first couple of years, Rabastan was no stranger to disciplinary procedures. Hours upon hours spent in detention, letters sent home on numerous occasions and not to mention the extra load of homework he’d receive on the basis that he never seemed to be listening in class. Yes, within the three years of his enrolment, the youngest Lestrange was fast becoming one of the rare cases that the school couldn’t fix. Foreseeably a failure in the eyes of his teachers and his parents.

That was, of course, until they decided to place the boy in front of a piano. Fingers gliding effortlessly across ivory keys and filling the room with delicate twinkling accents. What was meant to be another amercement spun into Rabastan’s saving grace, the first time he’d receive acknowledgement for the right reasons and actually feel some contentment in what he was doing. When he’d returned home that year for the summer, his piano lessons continued. Quickly followed by learning the guitar, the violin and even the saxophone. Essentially, it was considered to be a miracle, at long last, they’d found the one thing that installed some calm into Rabastan’s relentless frenzy of a personality.

Throughout the years, Rabastan’s creativity and musical talent only appeared to flourish. Carefully written lyrics sang in perfect pitch over another one of his original guitar riffs, an angelic voice filtering through the house and reverberating a gentle symphony in the bleak hallways. But when the time came, the answer was a clean cut ‘no’ to his proposal of studying anywhere else other than the Slytherin school of Social Business. Despite his talents, his father would have sooner fallen into an early grave than see one of his son’s graduating with anything that wasn’t a business degree.  

The confinements the course held over his time to express artistic freedom entirely reignited Rabastan’s dormant compulsion to rebel. Skipping one too many classes and spending more time drinking than he ever did in the library. When it came to graduating, the life of the party and class clown unsurprisingly had barely scraped the mark. Proudly taking the place at the bottom of his class and leaving the school entirely unqualified to fulfil a role in the family business.

Rabastan had won. One last swipe of his father’s credit card was enough to book a couple of days in a recording studio and the rest, as they say, was history. Songs that he’d masterfully been pouring all of his efforts into during his studies turned to meticulously crafted pieces of art. With a pretty face and sleek style, it wasn’t long before a record label picked him up and churned him into a full-fledged rockstar. Fame and notoriety came second nature. Orchestrating publicity stunts with his PR team and spreading his own rumours were all part of the game in establishing his very own empire. It was as if Rabastan was created for this fast set lifestyle, stepping on other people’s toes so he could climb the social ladder right to the very top.

Rabastan Lestrange had become a household name. Securing a number one in the UK charts for three consecutive months and selling out venues shortly after the release of his debut album. His quick-witted opinions and outrageous interviews going viral across social media, gaining him the admiration of many and resentment of others. It wasn’t long after that, that his family name would call on his like a curse to act dutifully to another cause.

Owning one of the major organisations that formed the frameworks of the Sacred 28 meant that the Lestrange family were no strangers to the acts of Death Eaters. Regularly, it had been part of the dining room chatter that Rabastan was effectively escorted away from, untrusted with the secrets that Rodolphus’ silver tongue was so often wrapped around. That was until they’d seen an opportunity in the younger Lestrange’s childish arrogance and increasing influence he held over the public. Rabastan’s lust for trouble and manipulative discourse fit suitably within the skill sets of a Death Eater. They would use him as a middle man, putting his sweet talk and skilled bribery to good use and when that failed, he’d follow precise orders and discard of the target.

If it weren’t for Rodolphus’s involvement, Rabastan would have never of handed his loyalty to the organisation as easily as he had. Though the Dark Lord may be the ringleader, for Rabastan this went further than ranks. It was about blood. He’d never been that ideal, pristine version of the man his parents anticipated that he’d be. Dismissing controversies to the press with blatant arrogance and refusing to comment on anything associated with Lestrange Industries and the warfare it supported. This was a chance to prove himself, to his bloodline, he was one of them.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

“Adoring fans that scream your name, music royalties, fancy events, groupies,” Rabastan lists off one by on his fingers before scoffing, “no, you’re right, I should really go beg my darling big brother for a space in the family business, I’d be a really sexy secretary for a businessman- I mean, picture me in a pencil skirt.” Rabastan puckers his lips at the thought, using his hand to fan himself down, “my apologies, I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.”

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

Running a hand below his chin, he’s selecting his next words carefully. “Hmm, now who do I hand out this chunk of free promotion to if not myself… No, really, I say I like something and the sales skyrocket the next day, I guess it’s my charm.” Reclined in his chair Rabastan springs back up once the perfect song comes to mind, “Have you ever heard of The Cheeky Girls?” his own laughter surrounds him in a pitch almost as harmonic as his singing, “In all seriousness, Club Tropicana by Wham! really just radiates my personality.”

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

“My reputation? Who do you think I am, Taylor Swift?” he questions tauntingly. “It’s been said that I’m like marmite, you love me or you hate me. Either way makes no difference to me. This is where my manager comes swanning in to warn me to play nicely with my dearest interviewer, but you know why my fans love me? It’s because I’m genuine, I’m not going to feed them all this bullshit as other singers do- that reminds me! Buy my new EP, available now on iTunes.” he punctuates with a charming wink, though his tone was sarcastic his intent is entirely serious.

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

“Mummy and Daddy wanted a little girl so badly, then when I turned out to be a right old diva they still weren’t impressed” He can’t fight the look of pure delight that rules his expression, even as a boy his parents distaste in his demeanour had been hugely entertaining. “Truth is I like being the black sheep of the family, it’s satisfying work for me. That and I make our dinner parties a lot more enjoyable, I inject a healthy bit of personality into the dining room conversations and stop people from falling asleep in their soup bowls, you know?… for example, bear versus shark, who would win? Obviously, it’s the bear.”

v. What languages can you speak?

“Most days I can hardly even speak English,” he declares humorously, “I speak enough French to get by thanks to private schooling. You know the basics… Voulez-vous coucher avec moi,” he’d definitely learned that from Lady Marmalade, not his expensive education.

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

“The drugs- Kidding!” he’s aware that he’s yet to answer one question sincerely. “For all my beautiful fans out there, please know that I would NEVER participate in the massive consumption of cocaine, but I didn’t say anything about ecstasy.” Rabastan pauses long enough to make them feel uncomfortable, visibly revelling in the awkward silence. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m joking, again. I don’t know what I’d save, I could easily replace anything. So maybe my wallet.”

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

His lips are pressed together in contemplation, finally a question that couldn’t be glossed over with humour or shocking statements. “The Slytherin School of Social Science,” as he answers, he gags to dramatise his disdain. “I wanted so badly to study Literature under the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, but daddy dearest was refusing to financially support me if I didn’t follow in the family’s footsteps. ‘No son of mine is walking around reading Bridget Jones’ Diary’” Whilst imitating his father’s hoarse voice, his expression changes to an unnatural dark grimace and wags his finger in the air. “-Great book, by the way. So that’s the story of how I became a Business graduate and the bottom of the class.” A nostalgic sigh pronounces itself from his lungs as he stares dreamily into the distance, “oh the glory days.”

vix. What is your social media username?

“@RabastanLestrangeMusic, that’s the one I’m meant to plug anyway, or my publicist will have me by the throat- little does she know, I’d enjoy that,” he glances over his shoulder to see if his manager is watching before looking back to them with a delighted grin, “I do have this lesser known Instagram account, @Rab_a_stan, it’s got a couple of thousand followers, I started it last week and I put really weird unfiltered shit on there- wait can I swear during this interview? I never asked, fuck.”