Dr. in the House

Deacon Rivers. Third Year. Gryffindor Chaser. - i can't predict the future but i aint going to use and the present is where we're bound -

[deacon-rivers-blog]

kiran-thakkar‌:

Kiran had gotten used to judgement, he was used to it from his parents as soon as they had found out what he was doing with his time in London. He dealt with it from his sisters in those years as well. And only those four got through to him with their resentment of his life-style choices. Other people simply weren’t important to him, and thus didn’t get to have an opinion. When he was sound of mind, he had enough trouble trying to not beat himself up over it. When he was under the influence, he didn’t get defensive over it, he just shrugged it off. 

Deacon was in his year, they had some classes together, though he couldn’t remember which, and they had played ball a couple of times. “But there’ye wrong mate,” he slurred back at the confident looking Griffin. “Bigger I am, more goal I can block.” The tone the other gave him was flat, but Kiran pretended not to hear. He simply took a huge bit from a piece of strawberry cheesecake, then liked his fingers off. “Gonna be chasing you twits from the field wih how badly we gon’ win.” 

The bloke can’t even... string a sentence together. 

There’s a fist around Deacon’s lungs. It feels distinctly skeletal, long-fingered and cold—he may have finally gathered to courage (and the lucky opportunity) to whisk away from his long-time friend, sight unseen, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still haunted by the ghost of him. Jesse follows him everywhere he goes, now. Ugly, frightening, heartbreaking memories he can’t leave behind, no matter how stubbornly he tries. 

He swallows them back now, like a stone caught in his potatoes. His sneer is Slytherin worthy, and he’s glad for the excuse of the Red vs Green rivalry to fall back on. 

“That logic is flawed, mate, hate to break it to you. But hell, go ahead and keep talking smack about how ‘badly you gon win’ [he echos the other’s words back at him, a lazy, irritable taunt.] It’s always fun to take an egotist by surprise. 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

cleoraja‌:

The hesitation Deacon had with talking about his family was obvious. Sometimes the pause was just because they were thinking on it, but what his was followed up by made it clear that it was a little more complicated. Cleo couldn’t tell if it was good or bad in his opinion, but she didn’t think anything particular of it. “That is definitely blended, but most of us do have a pretty good grip on muggle upbringings considering we might as well be them. If anyone thinks I’m going two decades without technological advancement and stupid memes, they’re dumb as shit. Don’t think your upbringing is anything to be ashamed of.” With some idle latency, Cleo could see how her last comment might have been controversial, but if he took it badly, she’d go with it. “I find overthinking is better than not thinking at all, something you Gryffindors tend to prove time and time again.” Cleo wasn’t a fan of generalizations, but she was only returning what he was giving. “And I’ll let you know from the get go, no chance you can flatter me.” Wasn’t really a challenge. She just knew Deacon’s demeanor and Cleo wasn’t particularly interested in playing any games with him.

He likes the way she speaks her mind—sharply, without hesitation and with as much colour as she bloody well pleases. He has a self-confidence about her that makes her sort of magnetic for a person like Deacon. He’s always been drawn to people who carve their own path, who don’t take anybody’s shit... Jesse is an excellent example of that—and also an excellent example of why being drawn to such things isn’t always a good thing. 

Then again, Cleo clearly has her head on much straighter than Jesse ever did. Maybe something of flamethrower, perhaps, but not a loose canon, the way he was. A distinct and vital difference. 

“I can’t flatter you?” he echoes, arching a brow, his grin just as bright and crooked. “Because you already know you’re great, or because you don’t know how to take a compliment?” 

He’s teasing of course—it’s not like he’s not used to some women being... particularly resistant to his charms and flirtatious personality. And actually, it’s usually harder with women, he’s noticed. Men sort of... love the stroke to their egos. But women.. women are difficult because by just being a woman in this world, resisting a man’s charms is kind of like a.. necessary defence mechanism. So yeah, maybe he can’t really relate, but he gets it, sort of. He doesn’t blame them, anyway, for making it hard on him, and anyone else. 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

kiran-thakkar‌:

Kiran was just putting piece of food after piece of food on a large pile of food on a huge plate, collecting some left-overs here and there, especially going for sweet stuff or especially salty stuff. Enough food to feed a small family, or one very hungry - and very stoned - middle-age dude. Last situation in this case. Probably wasn’t going to eat it all, but the smells were great, his stomach was rumbling, and he just thought of everything he wanted to eat and collected anything that was even remotely similar to what he wanted to eat. His eyes were blood-shot and he felt very light on his feet. Also very unaware of anyone watching this hoarding in process. Food so good.

Deacon never really thought of himself as judgemental—with a background like his, how could he? But there were some things that had changed over the years, and his comfort with drugs was definitely one of them. Sure, he’d been an idiot teenager for a while—still is, arguably, despite being into his twenties—but Jesse had left his mark in more ways than one. And there were some things that hit too close to home, still. Some things that he was pretty sure would always leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

So he... tries not to judge, at the look of the blood shot eyes. How the dazed, swaying figure piling food on his plate is less charming than he is irritating. Isn’t this guy, like, thirty? Shouldn’t he be... less of a fucking mess by now? But no...literally every time Deacon sees him, he seems to be... well, a pathetic mess. And yeah, Deacon was probably... letting his own, traumatic experiences influence his reflexive responses now, but he can’t help it. And Kiran’s entire...  display, triggers something deep and dark and uncomfortable in Deacon. A constant wince-walking.

Plus, the bloke’s a Slytherin—so whether Deacon usually puts much weight on housing feuds or not, it makes for an easy fall-back excuse, now. 

“Careful, Thakker. Keep eating like that and I’ll literally be able to roll you off your broom on the pitch. Good luck blocking those goals. Wouldn’t want it to to make it too easy for us to kick your asses, hey? Takes the fun out of it.” It could have been teasing, but his tone is drawling, scathing instead. It probably sounds like something a Slytherin would say. But fuck, Deacon’s in good company then. 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

evra-morven‌:

So, the thing about Deacon Rivers is that he’s a flirt.

And the thing about Evra Morven, is that she’s not a flirt. She is a trash talker, though, and she has become vaguely aware of the fact that her sideways smirks and snide comments can easily be interpreted as flirting. Particularly by someone like Deacon, who makes everything a flirtation. And it wasn’t something Evra wanted to enter into, because flirting lead to things that she didn’t care to enter into.

Not that she was a prude. Just that she was spiteful, and didn’t want to give someone like Deacon the satisfaction of knowing that she did, in fact, think he was hot. Because, you know, she had eyes. The trouble was, so did Deacon, and he pointed them in the mirror an awful lot, a modern day Narcissus. The last thing he needed was flattery.

“A strangely cowardly one, if your reaction to my last bludger is anything to go by,” she replied, not missing a beat. She wanted it to sound cattier than it did; the words came out more cheeky than scathing. “And I’m not your love, darling, my name is Evra. Use it.”

Honestly, he’d always sort of felt like the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry was, at this point, mostly about respecting tradition, and the fact that as opposed to being polar opposites, like everyone seemed to think, they were actually just... way too similar. With only slight and very particular differences, that gave the illusion of opposites. Like... friendly verses mean. Valiant versus vigilant. Self-sacrificing verses self-serving. 

But the truth was, all that was more about perspective, and presentation... at least, that was Deacon’s humble opinion about it, but he didn’t exactly advertise it, because as a half-blood who was raised with more muggle influence than magical, he got the impression people would figure it wasn’t his place to say. He was talking about things he couldn’t possibly understand. 

Still, a part of him felt like he saw right through Evra—and just like so many of the other Slytherins, she had a certain reputation to uphold. So what she said to him wasn’t about Deacon at all—it was about her. Then again, who was he to accuse about upholding reputations? Talk about some serious pot-kettle-black action.

He snorts, folding his arms over his chest. “What are you, new?” he teases. “What kind of Brit hasn’t figured out that pet names are just a part of the package. Come on, lean into the stereotype.” He chuckles. “But trust me—I know your name, Evra.” Everyone does, he thinks. But he’s mentioned her famous mother a time or two before, and she’s had nothing but scathing and dismissive responses on the subject, so he’s learned to avoid it. “And as if you’re complaining about being a scary bird on a broom. You love it. I bet the fear in other’s eyes brings you joy. Now we’re talking in Slytherin stereotypes.” 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

erik-grimshaw‌:

@deacon-rivers

It wasn’t a formal practice. It was too early in the year for that, at least in Erik’s eyes. He liked to start the year off with a friendly, more relaxed atmosphere, get the team back into rhythm with each other before worrying about working on specific skills. Today, it was entirely stupid games that incorporated actual training drills. His favourite was to send the seeker off with a charmed, golden sparkling vest and set the rest of the team on them like they were the golden snitch themselves. It was a magical game of tag that always ended with the team turning on Erik and chasing him. Today they chased him literally into the ground. It was good fun, broke the ice and thankfully no bones or broomsticks. He did get a mouthful of dirt but everyone left in good spirits.

Almost everyone had cleared out the changing rooms, a lot of laughter and back slapping and jokes at Erik’s expense meant he hadn’t even gotten to changing out of his kit. It was a marked shift from the room at the beginning of the day, so it’s a victory no matter how he looks at it. The only downside being he couldn’t get to chat with everyone. He made the extra effort to chat with each teammate before, during or after practice. At least to catch up after the holidays, check in so they felt included. He knew how much a few words and genuine interest could go in keeping someone engaged. Some would say he was trying too hard but it’s the only way he knows how to do things: all or nothing. One teammate he hadn’t managed to catch was a funny one in both the good and bad way. Part of him hopes the summer helped mellow the third year out.

“You’re nearly taking longer than the old guy to get changed, Deacon,” he pipes up from his spot, enough privacy to change but if he pops his head up he can look over at Deacon. It’s a joke said for the sake of getting his attention, something he swiftly moves on from, “How was your summer?”

One of the best things about coming back for the school year is Quidditch—hands down. Deacon has always been a fan of physical sport. He’d kept fit and active his whole life, if not out in the sun kicking or tossing a ball around with mates, then going for early morning runs... or afternoon runs, or late night runs... 

Basically, he liked to keep moving. He liked to push his body and have his body push back. It was something that kept him feeling like he had a sense of direction, even when he couldn’t have had less, and it also served as a good outlet for his pent up frustration and neglected old woulds. Damage left unattended to. 

And he’s always been a fan of the Gryffindor Captain, too. Since first year, Erik seemed to take a special interest in Deacon, why exactly, he had never been able to figure out—and though it could be baffling at times, sometimes even a little frustrating, generally speaking, Deacon appreciated the man’s efforts. His kindness. The way that he cared—even if it was slightly inconvenient. Because end of the day, it felt good to have someone of authority he could actually count on. And sure, he wasn’t exactly a professor or anything... but he had several years on Deacon and was undeniably more mature so... it counted as authority enough, as far as Deacon was concerned. 

“Mate, we’ve talked about this—this is a fact about me that will not change. I take forever to get ready, I put too much gel in my hair, and I have an embarrassing amount of shoes. All been established already, so take me or leave me, Coach,” he teases as he fusses with his hair a few more moments before ducking his head under a bench to find his regular shoes, having already shoved his trainers back in his duffle. 

“And it was alright. Good, I guess. Though I’m thinking about getting myself a prerecorded message to play every time someone asks me that. Does anyone ever say anything different to that question?” He shrugs, lifting a foot to the bench to tie up his laces. “What about you?” 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

grace-raleigh‌:

She smiled and even laughed, quietly, as he reassured her. It was only when he continued on that her good mood faltered, slipping into confusion. Blinking owlishly at him, she tried to decipher the comment. Was he… mocking her? It seemed more than likely. Not many people lavished her with compliments about her perfect prefecting. In fact, she’d heard that exact pairing of words a lot last year—and never felt too much warmth when they were delivered. Perfect Prefect Raleigh, maybe don’t invite her out—that was the general sentiment. 

Normally she tried to ignore things like that, but she’d actually been attempting to be friendly towards Rivers, maybe break loose a little from her usual stiffness, so it stung more than normal. Of course he thought that—she’d always taken great pride in the position—she still did. It was nothing to be ashamed of, even if it was what people mostly thought about her now. There was nothing wrong with being known as a responsible, upstanding student. She didn’t know why she felt so disappointed, it made no sense. “Uh, th–thank you.” She should still be polite about it, dignified even, if she could manage it. “Yeah. It’s good to be back at it…” 

“Did you get in some good time with your band over the summer?” she asked, the change of subject spilling out before she realized that she actually did know a few things about Rivers. More than he probably knew she did. Because she was observant, that was all. And now… she sounded like a fan girl. “I mean… I saw you guys play last year, so I thought you… you might be… doing that.” Oh, fidgetspinners.

It isn’t totally lost on him when she grows awkward. He’s not sure which part of what he’s said has done it, though obviously, something has. But it’s hard enough to interpret girls, and how they think—so to try to figure out someone like Grace feels like a bloody impossible task. She’s consistently hard to read, and Deacon mostly chalks that up to her being a Prefect and... a bit of a square, even if it is in an adorable way. 

She changes the subject, and he goes with it, because that’s easier than trying to pinpoint what it was that didn’t sit right with her about his teasing. Knowing him, he’d only make it worse. Charming though he may be, he sort of has... one gear, it when it comes to his flirting, and it doesn’t work so well with the naturally guarded. He tries anyway, of course, but the results are never quite as predictable. 

His brows raise a little as she asks about the band (because Grace? Asking about Dr. in the House? He’s not sure if he’s flattered or skeptical)—but he recovers quickly, and with a flash of a smile. “I did actually, yeah. We’ve started, uh, expanding our horizons, I guess you could say.” Another grin, his gaze on her warm and steady, even as hers seems to shift around. “Got some shows going in Muggle London this summer, so... kept us busy in both worlds, which was kinda nice... nothing huge yet, obviously, but it’s something.” he shrugs. 

“When did you see us last year? One of the Hogsmede shows or...?” They’d made an appearance at a couple school-organized events, too, but honestly, he’s not even sure if Grace had ben aware of their not-exactly-sanctioned RoR bashes or not. They’d never explicitly hidden it from her, per se, but the student body didn’t really advertise their ragers to faculty, and Grace was sort of somewhere in between. That, and considering he didn’t take her for much of a party-girl, it’s possible she’d never been looped in. Honestly, he has no idea. So better to let her fill in the blanks, in this case, if she’d been there. “I’m tempted to ask what you thought of us, but you probably have more sophisticated tastes and my ego is deceivingly fragile,” he teases. 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

zaimelmakki‌:

Zaim listened, nodded, a little impressed with the upward mobility that Deacon was experiencing. They had half a mind to look into the Gryffindor’s music, but tended to forget once their conversation ended. Maybe this was the year they got into Dr. In The House, but maybe they’d forget while moving on to gobbledegook first thing tomorrow morning. “I had a pretty good holiday. Visited my family in Boston, some of my old friends,” their head tilted slightly as they continued, thinking about how strange it was to have two lives, so to speak. “Everyone wants to know what I get up to after dropping out of med school. I always tell them I’m finding myself. Nobody wants to hear details about spiritual journeys.” They laughed a little. “Just gotta chug through four more years. Once I’m done here I’ll be a double threat. Magic and muggle medical professions will tremble before me.” Which sounded great, even in a hopeful few years time.

Deacon never went to any other post secondary, obviously (considering he was basically playing the roll of dead-beat musician even though his mother would’ve chanted something about squandering his ‘potential’ and blah blah blah), and he kind of thinks he never would have, had it not been for Hogwarts. Or.. maybe he would have eventually... a few years down the road if he’d managed to get his shit together... but as it stood, his Hogwarts letter saved him not only from Jesse, but from himself—he’d needed a shove in the right direction to getting his life back on track. 

Not that his music wasn’t an admirable goal... but even that he’d not been doing properly. Jesse and his... issues, had been pretty debilitating, and had a way of leeching onto Deacon in a sort of all-consuming manner. By the time Deacon had finally got up the gall to leave, it’d been a ride or die sort of situation. Too much longer by his old friend’s side and he would’ve been dragged down with him. That he’d had to ‘abandon him’ still haunts him at night, and wrecks him with guilt when he’s not distinctly keeping himself otherwise distracted. But it’d been one bloody lip and bruised throat too many, the end of his rope finally reached. He’d needed out. Thankfully, an owl with a letter grasped in her claws had brought him the rights to one. 

“So you dropped out of Med school to come here, I guess? Do you plan on ever going back to finish or... ? I guess you don’t really have to, if you’re going to become a Healer?”

[samflewaway-deactivated20211001]

[orapronobispeccatoribus4-18-201]

Everyone around me: Stop doing stupid shit Me: no im sad

[mrsgrumpygills]

[deacon-rivers-blog]

[deacon-rivers-blog]

fernleypark‌:

Fernley was seated at one of the tables in the Great Hall for breakfast when she sensed an inquiring eye peering over her shoulder. Abruptly, she whipped her head round to level her gaze at them. “What? You’ve never seen a bacon before?” she said, as she put the bacon deep inside the pockets of her parka. Then, with as much discretion as the smell of her heist on her hands, Fernley began to relocate a blueberry scone into her other pocket. “Move to the left a bit, hey? I think someone saw me.”

“No, I’ve never seen someone pocket bacon before.” He’s mildly appalled, minorly impressed, and mostly confused. “Seriously... what are you doing? You know there’s more where all this came from, right? Since when does Hogwarts starve people enough to warrant, uh... parka smoked meat?”

[deacon-rivers-blog]

cleoraja‌:

Cleo wrinkled her nose. “I’m not dumb, Deacon. I came first year with a second suitcase for music alone. If I didn’t have A$AP Rocky and Ariana to listen to for real, I’d probably fuckin’ give up magic.” She wasn’t too sure if she was serious, but she certainly wasn’t going to be as pleasant as she was currently. “It’s just a fuckin’ pain to really like one or two songs from an artist, but be whatever about the rest. I’ll still buy it though, but eh. Also, kind of? I’m Pure-blood, but my parents were pretty interested in all things, so I have more than a good grip on Muggle shit. You?” “I did soccer when I was younger.” Cleo was curt. She wasn’t really a fan of talking about herself, especially in the capacity of things she used to do — Things she used to be. “Why’d you ask about Quidditch though? Planning on trying to get me on broom to try and teach me with your hands all up on me?”

Her indignation earns another laugh from him. “Right, right—I can relate. I mean, maybe not on the front of Ariana, exactly, but in general, I get it. And Half-Blood. My parents, uh—” He falters a bit. He’s not great at talking about his family—only because he has both the instinct to speak about them and the fosters with pride, as to... avoid talking about his family in general, because it always stings—a bit too hotly than he’s comfortable with. He clears his throat, trundles on with a shrug. “They, um, fostered a lot of muggle kids. So our household was pretty... blended. I had a lot of muggle influence. Arguably more than magical, actually.” 

But he actually jumps on her leading question as an opportunity, eager to move away from the topic of his home life.  With a bit of a snort, he raises a brow. “Well, well—look who got flattering herself out of the way before I even had the chance to?” he teases, grinning. He shakes his head. “But uh, no, that wasn’t in the game plan. Just a simple question. You Ravenclaws really do over think, don’t you?” 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

evra-morven‌:

People are always in such a rush in this castle. Which is fair, Evra supposes, because she still gets lost sometimes. The staircases never quite do what she expects them to. So this wouldn’t be the first time - in general, or even just this week - that someone skids to a stop just inches away from knocking into her.

Evra takes a rapid step back, more out of surprise than offence, giving Deacon the once over. Chaser, she thinks. She’s definitely lugged a bludger his way more than once, but beyond the occasional smack talk she’s not devoted a lot of time to him. He’s the one that’s always flirting to the point that it seems like he’s challenged himself to wink more than he blinks, and it’s not a quality that particularly endears him to Evra. But, at least he stops to apologise for almost bumping into her; most people just jog on.

“Bit early in the year to be trying to take out the competition, isn’t it? Haven’t even been to one practice yet and you’re already trying to take out the Slytherin team. I’ll have to warn the others, Deacon’s on the warpath.”

So... if it existed, he’d definitely go to Gryffindor Jail of Shame for Evra Freaking Morven. Sure, he’s just about as competitive as the next guy, when it comes to beating Slythetin into the ground during matches... but he’s nearly been knocked off his broom a couple of times by her efforts, and not that she’s not talented—but not all the credit can properly go to her skill. 

Easily one of the sexiest girls he’s ever seen, he finds her.... distracting. And just.... yeah. Distracting will do. 

She seems more or less unfazed when he nearly runs into her, and he appreciates her quick skip down the avenue of friendly trash talk, because it gives him a good excuse to be just as cheeky.

He grins at her, trying not to let himself falter before he lobs something back at her—but he’s not sure he has a one hundred percent success rate this go around. Maybe ninety. Ninety-five, most. 

“Love, I’m always trying to take out the Slytherin team. What kind of Gryffindor do you take me for, after all?” 

He doesn’t know why, but he likes the way his name sounds on her lips. 

Actually, scratch that—he does know why. He just also knows better than to let that thought get away with him. 

[rivers-run-wild]

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[deacon-rivers-blog]

And I'm talking to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette And the message coming from my eyes Says leave it alone

covers by deacon rivers [x]

[deacon-rivers-blog]

zaimelmakki‌:

“Is that not what just normally happens when I talk?” Zaim joked, lowering the crystal ball as Deacon turned away from it. “Either way, I’m not one to judge, since tarot readings are a little less weird than, say, turning into an animal. There’s lots of leeway in that respect. I don’t understand any of it, though. All my tea leaves look like clumps of nothing to me.” They straightened their bag on their shoulder and gave Deacon slightly more of their attention than just looking straight ahead. “Did you have a good holiday?” Zaim wasn’t really in the practice of asking people what they got up to, but the decrease in people surrounding them left Zaim with a little more obligation to carry on polite conversation.

He laughs. “Hey, hey, give me a little credit! I listen to you! And your schmancy medical jargon, too. I’m just... well over my head with the Seeing stuff. Never set foot in that class and not sure I want to. My tea leaves are just drowned dead plants, mate, end of story.” 

“Yeah, I mean...yeah!” It could have been more convincing. Considering all his bullshit antics growing up, you’d think he’d be a better liar. But he’s not—just a stubborn one. 

The truth is, he has plenty of regrets about the summer. Missing family birthdays he shouldn’t have, not calling his Mum when he promised he would, barely returning her calls and returning them late. Running into Jesse and managing to ditch him by pretending to go the pisser...  yeah, a lot of regrets. 

“Spent a lot of time with the band, actually.” That part was true. And was something positive he took away from the summer. “We’ve started to do gigs around Muggle London now, so that’s sort of exciting. What about you, mate? Get up to anything interesting?” 

[deacon-rivers-blog]

cleoraja‌:

“Ehhh,” Cleo tilted her head back and forth a bit, thinking about it. “We can agree to disagree, but the castle comes with room and board, so I won’t complain much.” That was a lie, but she didn’t feel particularly like getting into it now. Deacon was coming at her with more enthusiasm than she was really expecting, and honestly, even a conversation was not really something she’d planned on, but here they were, talking. She didn’t even feel the need to make an excuse or just leave yet. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere anyways. Just the library to find a book to waste time, but Deacon was doing an okay job of that for her now, so she leaned against the stone wall, settling for the conversation. “I can do without my phone, but I’m pissed about Spotify from now ‘til May.” His question got him off her bitter train of thought and instead had her raising a brow. “Do I really look like someone who plays Quidditch?” It actually wasn’t far off, but present Cleo was closer to anemic than she was to being a star player of any sort. “I don’t do sports anymore. I’ll just boo you when you’re playing my house.”

He laughs, folding his arms over themselves with a shake of his head. “Haven’t you learned to go old-school? Stock up on vinyl. I swear half my suit case is records I can’t live without for nine bloody months.” He chuckles. “But yeah, I hear ya, I miss Spotify too. So I take it you’ve got a somewhat muggle household too?” 

He laughs again at her skepticism, raising his hands in self-defence. “Hey, who am I to say what a Quidditch player ‘looks like’,” he objects. “But in my defence, I didn’t really think so, anyway.” He smirks. “Anymore, though? Did you used to?”