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MY MAD FAT DIARY 1.04 | Don’t Ever Tell Anyone Anything

ludo-champman·:

“Best way to make sure I don’t ever stop, is to ask me to stop,” his mouth felt as if he had been drinking too many fire whiskeys. Weird and numb and sore all at once.

“Fighting? Me?” He supposed that often what people expected of someone who waved around a bat for a living. But no, Ludovic did not get into fights, not if he could avoid them and he could proudly claim that the bumps on his nose were all due to bludgers. “I was… The Kenmare Kestrels,” he had vague memories of where he had last been before ending up here. His coach would be pissed. ”What are you doing here?” He tried to sit up, but the nurse shot him a look that dissuaded him.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Graeme replies with another gentle laugh. “Though I think I might be lucky this time, and ye won’t remember we ever even had this conversation.” If the dazed expression on Ludo’s face is anything to go by, that is.

Graeme’s brow creases in sympathy as Ludo attempts to explain his reason for being here, making his own assumptions about the particulars. He remembers seeing the upcoming fixture for the Wasps vs Kestrels game in the Prophet a few days ago... is that how long its been since he was at home? “Poor you,” he says, clucking his tongue. “Was it the new beater? She’s got a hell of an arm on her.”

The enquiry about Graeme’s own presence at St Mungo’s is expected, but he still doesn’t have a good answer. “Wish I could tell ye,” he says, and this time there is no humour in his accompanying chuckle. “Think I got jumped or something, took a bad knock to the head.” Bad enough that I can’t remember anything.

#graeme: with ludo #emily back at it again w the essays

Visit Original Link

you’re my brother i know you from before before we both were born

@frasxr-bxll

#graeme: music #graeme: with fraser #me trying to get logan back for that moodboard ;;

wynstxn-zxk

Fraser Bell & Graeme Bell; Mood Board ↳ Brotherly Bonding

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, “You’re tearing up the grass.” “We’re not raising grass,” Dad would reply. “We’re raising boys.”” – Harmon Kellebrew

#graeme: with fraser #graeme: mood

bastilleavery·:

“Understandable, this place fuckin’ sucks.” Baz hesitated a moment, looking towards the door to make sure he hadn’t been overheard by one of those overly persistent mediwitches. “I’m here because of that, actually. Aurors ask questions you about what you know. I… Unspeakable, you know, can’t say, but I don’t ask anything.”

Graeme snorts a laugh. “At least you’re honest.” It’s more than he can say for the rest of his visitors, who are entirely too focused on trying to make him feel better. Sometimes it’s better to just call a spade a spade - this is shit.

He follows the other man’s gaze, his frown deepening as he starts to question the... validity of what’s happening here. It’s all a bit suspicious. “Ye’ve gotta give me more to go on than that, pal. I understand ye have to be, erm, coy because of yer job, but I’ve just suffered a head injury and my ability to read between the lines is, at present, limited at best. If you’re not gonnae ask any questions, what are ye going to do? ”

#graeme: with bastille

vcnities·:

she’d always have a soft spot for graeme , always look back on their time together with a smile , and always consider him a friend . injuries from quidditch was just a fact of life to her , but ones like this ? where someone got hurt for no rhyme or reason ? they just confused her . maybe this was the kind of thing that kept getting brought up when she was dragged back into the DMLE . ❝ i remember how much fun you had there though , shoving me in too . i reckon we’re due another trip . when you’re on the mend ❞ a pause for a beat as slow thoughts caught up with her ❝ you know i was joking , right ? about there being folk in putting a pool in for you ? i mean if you really want one i can get someone to sort it , i just thought you’d get a laugh from the idea ❞

“Mm, that’d be nice,” Graeme hums, closing his eyes for just a second as he considers it. He used to go out to the loch every year, but he’s not been back out that way since the summer he and Emma spent together while they were still at school. It seems a lifetime ago now.

“Yes, I do know, thank ye, Emma,” he laughs, cracking one eye open to look at her. “I hit my heid, I didna knock all my marbles loose. What’s going on? Surely the great Emma Vanity isn’t worried about me?”

#graeme: with emma

lczziez·:

❝ give it a day or two , we just need to give it a day or two ❞ we . like something they were all going through together . not something graeme had to live through — yet again . and all they could do , all liz could do , was stand by and watch . stand and wonder what she could’ve done to stop it . because there had to have been something , one little thing that caused it all that , that could’ve stopped it . the thought of it ate her up , it kept her going : that what she did mattered . and what she didn’t ? that mattered too . ❝ i could stay over for a week or so ? that should get them to let you out of here sooner ? ❞ but she can’t help but crack a tiny hint of a smile at his last , of course the tea was important . ❝ it’s the water , gray . i keep telling you there’s all sorts in what you get down here . you’ve just been spoilt all your life ❞

she stops in her tracks at his words , eyes swapping from him to the chair and back as she takes the few steps towards it excruciatingly slow . ❝ i just feel a little useless sitting there is all ❞ standing behind the chair instead of sitting down in it .

We. It prickles along the length of Graeme’s spine, buzzing in the back of his head, a tiny burr of irritation that he does his best to repress. It’s not Lizzie’s fault, it’s just her way - she cares so much about everyone, she always takes it hard when things happen that are beyond her control. He knows that. But if he knows it, why does it bother him so much? “I suppose I do, aye,” he corrects, his tone a little terse than he means it to be.

“You English,” Graeme sighs, starting to shake his head and promptly stopping because it feels like his brain is rattling around inside it. Fuck... “You’re keeping me company, that isn’t useless,” he comments, trying to be nice even as his annoyance spikes again. Why won’t she just sit down?

#graeme: with lizzie #:')

ludo-champman·:

“Can I go home yet?”

Ludo stared down at the other with a lost look in his eyes. He didn’t really know exactly why he was in here, although judging by the sore feeling in his jaw, he could have just guessed that a bludger or the Hogwarts express had just hit him in the face. “You are very pretty.” He blurted out, a bright, delighted smile growing on his face. Then came the wincing and the feeling that his head was spinning badly. Catching a hold of the end of the bed, he felt a hand catching his arm, holding him up. That would be when a nurse hurried in to get him back to his bed.

For a moment Graeme thinks he’s dreaming, looking faintly puzzled to find the one and only Ludo Bagman standing at his bedside. It’s a bizarre turn of events, but a welcome one all the same. “Ye shouldn’t say that stuff to me, Ludo. One of these days I might start thinking ye actually mean it,” he laughs softly, his cheeks flushing pink in spite of himself.

He watches in concern as Ludo staggers and the nurse arrives to help him back into bed - the one next to Graeme’s own - noticing the dark bruise that marks the other man's jaw. “What happened to you, eh? Not been fighting, I hope?”

#graeme: with ludo #ludo: you're pretty #me: uses a pretty graeme gif just coz

bcrthaj·:

bertha had come in to st mungo’s for a checkup after being found outside a random pub in the morning. she didn’t even remember being there that’s how drunk she’d ended up. there weren’t gaps in her memory, just alcohol making everything fuzzy. she was on her way out and back home to the farm when she spotted a familiar face in one of the rooms. the strawberry blonde snuck off to get a get well card and planned on just… leaving it but apparently she’s louder than she expected. “i donno. i don’t even know why you’re here.” she set the card down on the table and backs up to the door. “i left you a card.”

“Bear!” Graeme sits up at once, forgetting about his cracked ribs and regretting it instantly. He inhales sharply, wrapping his arm around his middle as if to hold himself together. Fucking ow.

It takes him a moment to recover, slowly settling himself more comfortably against his pillows. “Well, that makes two of us,” he jokes weakly, the barest flicker of a smile crossing his features. Graeme’s eyes flit between the card on the table and Bertha herself, edging towards the door. “You’re not going already, are ye?”

#graeme: with bertha

cloudbeam

Sometimes, my body feels like a burial ground for all the people I should have become.

“Requiem” by Molly Gardner (via puradiosa)

#graeme: mood #angst? what angst?

lczziez·:

she couldn’t sit in the chair , she’d been here near an hour and she couldn’t bring herself to sit down . it just made it all too familiar . put her , put graeme , put everyone back five years . as if nothing had happened . they’d all just blinked and they were back here . all crowded around graeme’s bed , all deathly worried . but the last five years had happened , and they weren’t all here . it was just liz and gray and the quiet as she watched him sleep . she’d felt guilt before , guilt that no matter how many times she told herself was unfounded still ate away at her , but this time was worse . before she’d been the one to bring destruction into his life and then just stand by useless . and now ? now she should be able to do something and yet here she was , useless yet again . and when he stirs she finds the words ❛ oh graeme , i’m so sorry ❜ sticking in her throat , he didn’t need to hear it again . not from anyone . not from her . ❝ i — i don’t think you’ll be quite that lucky just yet . i know some of the mediwix on this ward though , i could have a word with them ? might get a more lenient sentence from it ? ‘cause they know i’ll be looking in on you ❞

“No, no, it’s okay,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes and trying to put his sleep-addled thoughts in order. It’s a little more difficult than it should be. “They know what’s best, I know that. I just...” Hate being here. Hate looking at these walls. Hate the smell. Hate knowing people are suffering in every single room. Hate knowing that five years ago, it was me. “I miss my own bed. And the tea here is shocking.”

Graeme watches Lizzie’s passage around the room for a moment longer before he feels compelled to interrupt. “Won’t ye come and sit down, Bess? All that pacing’s making me dizzy,” he says softly.

#graeme: with lizzie

vcnities·:

❝ not just yet gray , they’re not quite done with the renovations i paid for . figured since you were laid up in here … ❞ it was all said with a laugh as she flopped herself down in the seat by his bedside , just enough tact not to cut out with fancy seeing you here again . ❝ i thought you might fancy getting a pool put in , you know ? a place to float away all your worries ❞

He’s a little surprised to see her, but Emma’s presence always draws a smile from Graeme, and now is no different. It’s a welcome relief from the fretting of his family. “Aw, Ems, aren’t ye considerate?” He teases, huffing a little laugh that still manages to hurt his ribs. “Now we won’t have to go all the way to Birnie Loch next time I want to throw ye in the water.”

#graeme: with emma

bastilleavery·:

“Merlin if I know, I’m not a doctor.” Baz stood next to the bed, looking at the patient in it with suspicion. If he thought Baz was a doctor, was there some kind of head injury going on? “Bastille Avery, Unspeakable, Department of Mysteries. I’m supposed to interview you, kind of. Unless you say no.”

“Right, sorry. Can ye tell I’m desperate to get out of here?” He replies with a quiet chuckle.

The unfamiliar wix introduces himself, but Graeme hardly knows what to make of him. Why would the Ministry send an Unspeakable to talk to him instead of an auror? “Oh?” He asks, frowning a little. “I dinnae mind being interviewed, of course, but... I’m not sure there’s any point? I don’t know what they told ye, but I cannae remember anything about what happened.” Nothing nothing nothing...

#graeme: with bastille

frasxr-bxll·:

-

Having Graeme in a hospital bed again, that same pale fatigue worming beneath his complexion, along with his still stubborn-self swearing he was anything but hurt always left Fraser’s stomach in knots. Grit over wit had always felt like a running thing between them—as Graeme had always leaned into his intuitions, his effortless nature of just living whilst Fraser always needed answers before action. It’s probably why they had been sorted in different houses, had different interest, why they’d always argued…etc. “I’m not upset.” he replied in fact sounding upset, “Ah can’t help sounding emotional while ye lie in a hospital bed.”

Quick to slip in with his thoughts as always, “How does one drink and end up wi’ cracked ribs?” a genuine question, even if it was peppered with Fraser’s own brand of criticalness. Part of him wanted to evaluate his brother himself, wondering if all memory loss was by a spell (mostly his job left him paranoid with the thought). Although deep down he knew his brother would object, so he took a seat across from him in an attempt to calm down. “I know you can, but you are the only family ah hae aroond here…so you aren’t getting rid o’ me yit.”

With Fraser here, it’s hard for Graeme not to relive his first time at St Mungo’s. The two weeks he spent here after the accident he’d been little more than an empty shell, unable to do anything except stare at the walls and think about what he’d lost. It felt like the world was ending, but this isn’t like that. It’s a different kind of hollow. “Well ye seem upset,” Graeme says, in the way only an older brother can. “I don’t want a fuss.”

“Oh, I dunno, perhaps I fell?” He retorts, his tone laced with a little of the bitterness that makes its home deep inside him - the kind he’s usually so careful to hide. It wouldn’t be the first time his leg had given out on him, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. It might even explain why his walking stick got broken... maybe he landed on top of it. “I’m not trying to get rid of ye,” Graeme sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I dinna want to argue, Fraser. I haven’t the energy.”

#graeme: with fraser #depression tw

frvnklongbttoms·:

frank had gotten into an accident during a mission, it wasn’t unusual, but it had him out for a day and then another to make sure that he would be okay to go home, he had been sleeping it off mostly, a hit to the head, a small concussion that was getting better by the hour and he was ready to go home. he had grabbed his stuff before he had passed by someone that had looked familiar. it had stopped him in his tracks doing a double take before realizing who it was. he had quickly gone over towards him, rudely shoving people aside and then standing over his bed thinking about the last time that he had saw him. he didn’t know what to say other than that he looked bad and scared. “wh-” he starts off before closing his mouth. “what happened?” he had grabbed a chair to pull up to the bed wanting to reach out but not knowing if he should.

It’s good to see him, even under these circumstances. A small smile pulls at the corner of Graeme’s mouth as Frank elbows his way into the room, and it fades only slightly as he takes stock of the other man’s injuries - he’d said when they went to the pictures that he practically has a bed reserved in this place, and it seems he wasn’t lying. “Well, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind for us seeing each other again,” he teases as Frank settles into the chair beside him.

“I wish I could tell ye,” he answers with a sigh. “Sloane Wilkes found me laid out down Knockturn Alley a couple of nights ago. Still don’t really ken how I came to be there...” Aside from anything else, it’s in Graeme’s best interests to be vague. The more he tries to think about that night, the deeper the roiling pit in his stomach becomes. I can’t remember. “What about you, eh? Ye’ve a couple more scratches than the last time I saw ye,” he continues softly, reaching out a hand like he might try to touch them.

#graeme: with frank #injury tw

frasxr-bxll·:

-

Five years sounds longer than you’d imagine; that’s 1825 days that had passed for Fraser and yet the moment he got the news he reverted back into a frightened second year. Whereas before he was forced into a lobby, his parents at the helm, he now stood arms crossed in front of his chest just staring down with teary eyes. “Thay said you’ll need tae rest more” he crooned, though the softness of his tone was a mask for the fear that loomed behind it, “Whit happened? Tell me everything, first Silas ‘n’ noo this…i’m nervous for you Graeme ”

Realising his visitor is Fraser, Graeme attempts to sit himself up, but his cracked ribs protest and he's unable to keep himself from wincing. “I can rest at home,” he grumbles, giving up and slumping back into the pillows. Noting the expression on his brother’s face, Graeme finds something like a smile for him, trying to reassure him. “Don’t get upset, Fray. I’m alright.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he answers tightly, immediately defensive. He doesn’t know what it is about talking to his younger brother that gets his back up, but it always feels like Fraser is criticising him. “I don’t remember what happened. Maybe I had too much to drink. “ But it doesn’t seem likely. Yes, he likes a firewhiskey, but he’s never blacked out before. The void in his memory scares Graeme more than any of his physical injuries. “Don’t be. I can look after myself, okay?”

#graeme: with fraser #injury tw #memory loss tw

wilkcs-deactivated20220607

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥.

knockturn alley | @graemebell

she’d been busy running errands, sending messages, being the owl for messages no one wanted out or stolen. her mind all fuzzed as her feet were vibrating. sloane saved most of her trips down knockturn alley for later in the evenings, wanting to stay as hidden and have less eyes on her as she snuck down the dreaded way. and she was usually pretty careful about it, hiding around corners just to ensure no one was loitering — at least no one she wanted to entangle with.

and on this night, she was so grateful that she did just that. the crash she heard just moments before turning the corner forced her to clamp her mouth shut, her eyes following suit. she had flashbacks to her sudden drop to the floor and the way arden stood over her, her heart rate beginning to increase as her face grew hot. she tried not to think about it in order for her to not cry as she waited, but eventually foot steps faded and she was free to roam.

she should’ve ran the opposite direction the moment she heard the crash. she should’ve ran and never looked back, to find a new home and a fresh start. she should’ve planned to write owls to send to teddy and lily explaining that she needed to run, she had no choice. — but, something in her remembered the way she was left and how frightening that feeling was. sloane just hoped she wasn’t too late to save whoever had just faced the latest knockturn alley horror.

her feet ran towards the figure on the ground as she fell to her knees, hands instantly finding the side of the others face and neck, checking for any sign of pulse or life — and it was there. ❝ hey, hey, ❞ she whispered as she tapped the sides of his cheeks to try and gain his attention on her. ❝ who did this to you ? we need to get you out of here. ❞

graemebell-archive

The first sound out of Graeme’s mouth as he comes to consciousness is little more than a pitiful whimper. Every inch of his body is screaming with pain, and he can’t understand why. When he turns his head to look at the witch crouched beside him, he feels something wet - sticky - coating the side of his face. Is it raining?

His eyes are unfocused, flickering frantically as he tries to take in their surroundings, but the unfamiliar place only serves to exacerbate his panic. The young witch is asking him questions, but he can hardly hear them. Why can’t I remember? “I- w-where am I? Where are we?” It’s almost a sob. He clutches desperately at the witch’s wrist with one filthy hand, because at present she seems like the only solid thing in the world.

#graeme: with sloane #blood tw #injury tw #concussion tw

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