can we talk about murphy’s eyes?
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@grxgorygxyle
can we talk about murphy’s eyes?
just wanted to pop on that i’ll be doing replies and reaching out on monday. reopening has made work very busy and my other coworker just quit today. so a lot. but i need me some goyle and he’ll be coming at you on my day off ♡
Interested in plotting with a Gregory Goyle post-Hogwarts muse? Give this post a like or reply. I will message you privately and we can feel things out! Just check out my guidelines first. New to 1x1 so please bear with me!
Interested in plotting with a Gregory Goyle post-Hogwarts muse? Give this post a like or reply. I will message you privately and we can feel things out! Just check out my guidelines first. New to 1x1 so please bear with me!
faithlessdragon:
Gregory looked like he wanted to leave – unwilling to look at Draco, unwilling to look at the empty stone plinth that was all that was left of Vincent Crabbe – like he was on the verge of backing straight out of the graveyard and out of Draco’s life forever. Draco couldn’t blame him, wouldn’t blame him for that – but his words didn’t sound like the words of someone who was leaving and Draco fixed on that fact, desperate for Gregory to mean it; to truly believe that it wasn’t too late…not for them, anyway. The two of them.
Everything would always be too late for Crabbe, and Draco knew that he would never forgive himself for that.
But Gregory finally met his eyes – looked like he was on the verge of reaching out, of closing that insurmountable Crabbe-sized, Azkaban-sized gap between them – and Draco allowed himself to believe that maybe, maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe Gregory was right. He reached forward in answer, the movement instinctive, grasping for his friend’s hand – but stopped and let it fall, two feet short, empty.
Greg spoke again before Draco could sort his way through the tangle in his own heart enough to reply and it took him aback, the command – the plea – to stop. He stared, feeling like the world was sinking below his feet. A bit of the old him? Did Gregory really think there was any of him left? The world had fallen apart and taken the confident, commanding boy called Draco Lucius Malfoy away with it; the man he was now was more shell than spine, and he didn’t have it in him to issue orders to anyone. What would those orders even be, if he tried? And who would want to listen?
“I…I don’t…I don’t know that I can,” Draco admitted helplessly. “I don’t know that I know how anymore. When I…before, it was…I knew the answers, I knew what to do. That’s why I…” He shook his head. “But now, I don’t…I mean, I didn’t get any of us very far, did I?” He couldn’t stop himself from glancing sideways at the bitter reproach of Crabbe’s tombstone, silent but somehow still screaming its accusations to the sky. “Following my orders…what good did that do any of us?” Draco’s voice was as bitter and pitiless as the stone. “You in Azkaban, Crabbe…” He had to swallow down the lump in his throat before he could force the word out: “Dead. And me…” Draco shook his head. “I should have been there with you. I don’t know why they didn’t – why I wasn’t…”
He slumped, the perfect posture his father had once drilled into his spine sagging, loose and limp. “You were my best friend,” Draco said. The tombstone loomed beside him. “Both of you,” he continued. “The only ones I…the ones who really mattered. And I failed you, and I left you.“ Both of you. “I don’t…I know it’s unforgivable, Greg, I know. But I’m still sorry.”
As he listened, Gregory found himself wondering when this had all happened. The transition away from the eyes-on-the-target, solid being that he’d seen him as... and this— riddled with uncertainty and guilt like shackles. It hurt even worse to imagine that it’d always been there and that perhaps he just hadn’t seen it. Perhaps he’d just been a few paces back, focused on a tall spine and missing a glint of warning in Draco’s eye. And maybe Greg truly was as daft as they’d all said.
It hurt. It hurt to listen, to watch, and now to know. Instinctively, his head shook from side to side in small, hardly there movements until gradually growing stronger. “You can’t...” Stronger now, sharper movements: as if that could shake this all away. “Don’t tell me you think this is...” His hand started at the center of his chest before gesturing off towards the third. Goyle. Headstone. Dead. His jaw tensed at the word even just in thought. “’Ya can’t think this is your fault.”
Just as he said it Goyle’s shoulders dropped. Of course Draco thought it— because he’d thought it himself too. There was a lot of room for thoughts in five years. Nearly three million minutes of stewing with the worst of them. Blame had been easiest in the winter months, when the cold crept down your back with no forgiveness. All the orders echoed then, down to the very last one. Fingers pointed at the ice blond.
One hundred and sixty seconds of festering could do a world of damage.
But there was also a difficulty is sitting still, even when it was just holding onto a single thought. Greg had never been skilled at chess. Ask him what direction a rook moved and he wouldn’t have the slightest idea. He had watched a fair bit of matches, remembered how the pieces moved. All to protect the king, right? Rook to G4. Pawn to E3. All just jumbled pieces, letters, and numbers to him but the idea still stood— so firmly in fact that Greg took a step closer, his head giving one last, hard shake. “What about the orders you had? Huh?” He asked, head dipped as he fought to catch Draco’s eye. Five years had done enough. Clearly Goyle hadn’t been the only one with a prison sentence. “We followed. All of us. You included. So don’t... I can’t have ‘ya...” The words were catching in his throat. “Don’t.”
With a deep sigh, Goyle craned his head back to look up at the sky. Grey clouds moved glacially along, nearly hiding all of the blue. “I wondered why you weren’t there,” he admitted, gently nodding. “Seems like you want to hear it so here it is. I thought it. For months. Wondered why the fuck isn’t he here? You know, why’s it just me?” With his gaze still upward, Gregory’s jaw tightened. His hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, old and over-sized, kept on with the help of his father’s belt. He pressed his lips tight together as the memories piled up. He could feel the chill on his spine. Like he was there again. “It got so fucking dark there. There was a horrible quiet too. Not quiet enough to be silent— no.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “You could always hear the shufflin’ and this woman screaming. And your mind it just never could stop because there was always all these thoughts and whatever.” With his eyes now closed, Goyle stood quiet in that moment. But much like Azkaban his mind kept going. Right then it was transporting him back. There was no graveyard beneath his feet; just stone and layers and layers of occupied cells. “It never stopped.” He worried it never would.
Swallowing hard, he brought his head back down, his eyes slowly lifting back to meet his gaze, glossier now than before. “Tell me why the fuck I’d’ve wanted that for you?”
First evidence that you’re a bad person: state that you are not a bad person
Life is pain.
malfoymarked:
Draco blinked, as shocked – as hurt – as if Granger had lunged out of the tombstones to slap him again. “Of course I kept track,” he retorted instantly. “Of course I cared, you’re my–” My best friend, he didn’t say. That was Gregory’s decision to make, not Draco’s, wasn’t it? For perhaps the first time since they’d met as children, Draco understood that he wasn’t the one in charge. Not now, not of this. Not of them.
Silence fell, stretching out as cold and empty as the hollow place beside them where Crabbe should have been standing, and Draco didn’t know how to break it. He looked away, letting Gregory’s words wash over him like the Cruciatus Curse. Never sure you heard us…Never knew if we were your friends for real…
Draco had to swallow, twice, against the lump in his throat before he could make himself speak: “I’m sorry.” The unfamiliar word was hard to force out through his lips, but harder was confronting the knowledge that it was coming so many years too late. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize that you…” The tombstone drew his eyes like a Compulsion Curse. “That you both were…were not aware that I…how much I…” A third, harder swallow. “How much I…I always needed you. Depended on you.” Why was it so hard to say these things aloud? But he had to; he owed Gregory that much, and more. “How much I…cared. Always cared.” Been bloody awful at showing it though, hadn’t he? Arrogant, self-satisfied prick that he was…
“I’m sorry I…didn’t make that more clear. Before.” Back when there were two of you to tell.
The silence was horrid. Gregory itched to fill it, his hand at his side flexing as a means to fill the void. Fingers splayed, muscles taught. A small something to hold onto as he dealt with the biting of his tongue. Though Azkaban, and even his past, had left him with expertise in remaining mute, he struggled with it now. Each beat, each empty void— it was if it longed for him to fill it. Stall and pay the consequences of memories he need not want to revisit.
Greg was sure to keep his eyes off the grave. One glance had been enough for the day. Another was sure to break his heart completely. Even the thought. Crabbe. Fuck. He turned his head back further, his jaw clenching both with the thought and with Draco’s words. How long had he imagined this? Those words? They all felt like fantasy before but... now? A breath escaped his lungs. “We’d’ve done anything for you,” he admitted, his shoulders falling low as he stared off towards the trees, watching as the wind blew them to and fro. At it’s mercy. “It means a lot, ‘ya know. The sorry. So I don’t want ‘ya thinkin’ it’s too late.” He shook his head slow. The grave between them remained still. But Greg swore if it could move it’d do the same: nod. Funny how it’d been years but he could still feel him: Crabbe. Could understand what he wanted or needed with just a look.
Overwhelmed, he took a step back, drawing a breath as he focused on the soil. This was why he hadn’t come closer. Why he’d stopped at the gates. At the sight of his stone. His hand flexed again at his side, for much different reasons this time than silence. “Don’t punish ‘yaself,” he practically gasped, words tumbling out in a single breath.
“I get it,” Gregory admitted, looking up at Draco’s face. It still amazed him to see it. For years it’d just been imaginary, but now? Real. Tangible. He could reach out and touch it and it wouldn’t disintegrate. His hand even shifted forward, tempted. The blond had been a frequent occupant of his thoughts across the years. Greg had replayed their school years time and time again. Highlights of his life on repeat. Highlights. The word itself nearly caused him to scoff. Low. It all felt low now.
Continuing his thought from before, lines drew across his forehead. “Trust me. I had time to look it back.” How much time had passed again? Five years and.... they’d just said it. Time. It hadn’t been his friend, not for years. “The sorry, yea, means a lot but stop. Please. I can’t see ‘ya like that. I just—” His head shifted over, practically daring to catch sight of the grave. Crabbe. His heart thumped louder. “I need a bit of the old you. More than a bit.” He laughed, hating himself as he did it, like this was the perfect moment for a joke standing at the grave of their friend. Brother. His heart ached again.
“You used ‘ta order us around all the time,” he mused. And now, when Greg opened his mouth it wasn’t like before. Not a request or a suggestion, more an order. Harder. “Tell me it’s different now. Tell me.”
Zeus smirks, high and mighty and cutting, and asks, what would you give? And Atlas – arms trembling and shoulders shaking – thinks: what haven’t I given already?
rhymesofblue, “In the end sacrifice means nothing” (via mythaelogy)
Who’s the real you? The person who did something awful, or the one who’s horrified by the awful thing you did? Is one part of you allowed to forgive the other?
Rebecca Stead, Goodbye Stranger (via wordsnquotes)
“Well, it’s different now. They owe me.”