To see all of the submissions on the blog click here.
Here is the list of submissions:
Summer's Coming Soon by @kwiwrites :
Regulus/James. Rated: G. "Sometimes, Regulus sits in his cottage and watches the windows and the summer storms whipping through the countryside, wet with electricity, taste like James." Song: My Dear by Katzenjammer.
it beats me black and blue (but it fucks me so good) by @effiepotterisamilf :
Draco/Harry. Rated: E. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are rivals in the ring despite their feelings for each other." Song: Love On The Brain by Rihanna.
Till Forever Falls Apart by @courfee :
Les Mis art. Song: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe and FINNEAS.
Pierre by @otrtbs :
James/Barty. Rated: T. "jarty croucher | t | 4.1k | slightly sexual themes and recreational drug use." Song: Pierre by Ryn Weaver.
you can have this heart to break by @anouri :
Remus/Sirius. Rated: M. “...due to the affliction that is him being a moth and Sirius being a flame, Remus slips up almost incessantly, looking at him without permitting himself to look.” Song: So It Goes by Billy Joel.
Till Forever Falls Apart pt. 2 by @courfee :
Sirius & James Art. Song: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe and FINNEAS.
thrown right at me by @ryder-the-writer :
Remus/Sirius. "wolfstar, serenading your lover by the light of the stars, seaside cottage, 1.3k." Song: Thrown Right At Me by the tallest man on earth.
like real people do by @rottencranberry :
Original work. "a slightly suggestive fragment of the maiden neera she/her and her resurrected, insatiable lover vritra they/them." Song: Like Real People Do by Hozier.
Sweet Dreams, TN by @pretentiouswreckingball :
Draco/Harry. Rating: E. "Draco has a septum piercing. Harry doesn’t know what to do about that (yes, he does)." Song: Sweet Dreams, TN by The Last Shadow Puppets.
love my way by @messrsage :
Regulus/James. Rated: E. "James Potter is an up and coming, charming politician trying to make the world a better place. Regulus Black is an ambitious, coldhearted staffer who will do anything (and anyone) to get ahead. This is their story." Song: Love My Way by The Psychedelic Furs.
All that's ahead of us by @frank-lilac :
Draco/Harry. Rating: T. "Draco has been unable to move on from Harry even though he was the one to end things ten years ago. Given the chance to see Harry again, will Draco take it?" Song: Surplus by Spectre Jones.
My Favourite Fish by @whorerific :
Percy/Oliver. Rating: G. "The story of how a heat wave, a broken refrigerator, and an endangered species of fish bring two neighbors together." Song: My Favorite Fish by Gus Dapperton.
Thank you so much to each and every person who contributed to this fest! I'm so grateful that you all chose to participate and I hope you all check out each other's works because they're all amazing! Thank you for making Valentine's Day a lovely day.
Just a friendly reminder that you will have until the end of the 29th (which will actually be the 1st for people who are gmt or gmt+ so if you're in those timezones you might have until early on the 1st) to submit your works if they're for some reason late and/or add your fics to the collection on ao3 if you'd like that! After that the collection on ao3 will be closed and I will be making a masterlist of all of the submissions so that you can more easily find them on this blog.
✹✯✹✯✹ my submission for the @sillylovesongsfest ✯✹✯✹✯
prompt: Sweet Dreams, TN by The Last Shadow Puppets
Drarry | 1.5k | kinda nsfw towards the end |
Summary:
Draco has a septum piercing.
Harry doesn’t know what to do about that (yes, he does).
✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯
And all my pals will tell me is that I'm crazy
You bet I'm loopy, alright
And I just don't recognise
This fool that you have made me
✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯
“Harry, you’re doing it again.” Hermione squeezes the back of Harry’s hand giving him a bemused smile.
Harry frowns. “Doing what again?”
Ron takes a swing of his beer, “Come on mate, we know you can get a little bit obsessed when it comes to him but—”
“I’m not obsessed—”
“Yeah you are,” Ginny snorts from beside Hermione ignoring Harry’s glare, “It’s bad enough that even I noticed and I’ve been here for what, twenty minutes?” Ginny leans close, amusement all over her face, regarding a very irritated Harry. “So, what is it this time? Did he change his cologne or did he start combing his hair differently or…”
“Is it because this has been the longest that you two have been apart since you got together and you just miss him?” Luna intervenes before Harry gets a chance to tell Ginny to fuck off.
The blond girl perched under her girlfriend’s arm looks at Harry directly in the eyes and Harry can’t help but shift uncomfortably, looking away.
“Come on sweetheart, it can’t be that.” Ginny shakes her head at her girlfriend. “Malfoy has only been away for— what, a month? Harry can’t possibly…oh you’re joking,” Ginny laughs in disbelief at Harry’s crimson cheeks.
“No, it's not— it's not just that,” Harry amends, still not looking at anyone in the face, “It’s just the other night when we were talking over floo, he looked… strange. I don’t know how to describe it better, okay? but I think he’s— I think he’s up to something,” Harry grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth and the cacophony of groans in different states of despair is hard to miss.
“You gotta be kidding me,”
“Harry come on,”
“It’s like sixth year all over again,” Ron points out beside Harry. “Always thinking Malfoy was up to something, obsessed over his every move, I thought that maybe now that you two are together, that would stop but I think it only got worse.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” Harry grumbles under his breath.
When he doesn’t get an immediate response, Harry looks up to four pairs of eyes giving him knowing looks and well, who could blame them? Harry is obsessed. Well on his way to insanity, but how’s that bad, being obsessed over one’s own boyfriend? Besides, it’s not like he’s wrong. He knows Draco is up to something, he can tell a disillusionment charm when he sees one. Even if he isn’t an Auror anymore, he’s not easily fooled.
“If you weren’t already together, It would’ve been kind of creepy mate,” Ron observes, concerned.
Hermione tuts, “Leave him, Ronald, we always knew they would end up together, didn’t we?”
“He might be insane but it’s not like he’s going to marry him anytime soon.”
Harry splutters half of the beer he’s drinking and Ginny only gives him an amused look.
“You did that on purpose,” Harry accuses.
Ginny concedes with a nod but shrugs regardless, “I’m not hearing you deny it,”
Suddenly, the condensation around his beer seems fascinating to Harry.
Two silent beats and then,
“Oh, Harry,” Luna coos.
“Oh no, you’re so gone,” Ginny teases, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Ron pats Harry on the back, heaving a sigh, “You’re completely mental, mate.”
“And you weren’t completely wrong,” Hermione says and it’s her tone that makes Harry look up from his beer and it’s then that Harry notices everyone is looking at something behind him in various degrees of surprise..
Confused by this, Harry turns around and his eyes immediately latch onto the blond boy at the other end of the pub. The vindication Harry ought to feel is quickly overshadowed by the almost physical reaction he gets when he takes a good look at Draco. Specifically, at Draco’s face. If his friends think he is already obsessed with his boyfriend, Harry is about to become completely mental.
No matter all that Harry praises himself for being observant, never in a million years would he have guessed what Draco was hiding from him.
A piercing.
A silver septum piercing.
Yeah, Harry is completely and utterly fucked.
You see, Harry has always known Draco is pretty.
Back at Hogwarts, it drove Harry spare becuase it was one of those undeniable truths that go left unsaid because it is so damn obvious nobody feels the need to point it out. To have such strong negative feelings for someone it wasn’t that surprising after all that they ended up where they did.
So, even after all this time, when Draco’s beauty was something Harry could no longer just admire from afar but touch, well, it could drive anyone crazy. Draco was already very fucking pretty but to add a silver piercing to the mix? the bastard was out to kill him, Harry was sure. The final revenge is to make Harry’s mind implode. There was nothing Draco could do now that would shake Harry’s foundation more than this.
And then, Draco looks back.
Harry is not aware of his surroundings, focused solely on Draco. All his mind can conjure as background noise is a low whistle and a “good luck, mate!” from the table he was in. Doesn’t matter anymore, he only cares about what’s in front of him.
Making his way to the entrance of the pub, bumping into people murmuring distracted apologies as he goes, after what seems like an eternity, he finally makes it to the other side.
Draco regards him with curiosity, a smirk tugging from his lips when Harry gets close.
“Harry? What are you—“
“Shut up,” Harry takes Draco’s face in his hands and kisses him hard. Draco lets out a soft whimper but quickly melts in Harry’s hands, kissing him back just as fiercely.
“Mmm, does that mean you like it?” Draco whispers when they resurface sometime later, still a bit breathless, leaning closer to each other.
“I. Love. It.” he punctuates every word with a hard kiss against Draco’s soft lips.
Draco hums, pleased. Harry doesn’t waste any time, tilting his boyfriend's head to the side to have better access to his neck. Draco complies willingly.
“Why Harry, ravishing your boyfriend in the middle of a public place, what would the Prophet say?”
“Fuck the Prophet,” Harry grumbles against his skin, biting that soft spot between Draco’s shoulder and his neck, where his pulse point is, making the blond bite back a groan. He tugs Harry's face up and kisses him even harder.
It’s not until Harry shifts a little, putting his leg between Draco’s to let him rub against it that the blond breaks the kiss to look at Harry.
“As much as I love this warm welcome Harry, I would prefer a more private setting if it’s the same for you,” Draco says breathing hard but he doesn’t stop Harry, he actually tugs him closer by the hair, so he can latch to his neck that is sporting some noticeable marks already.
Harry cannot actually think at this point but Draco is right, what Harry wants to do to him is not for everyone to see.
“My place is closer,”
“Lead the way,” still holding Draco by his hips, Harry apparates them away.
✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯
Baby, we ought to fuck
Seven years of bad luck out
The parlor room mirror
Could I have made it any clearer?
✹✯✹✯✹✯✹✯
They don’t even stop kissing when they enter the parlour, not even to take off their clothes. It’s rather difficult to do that while you’re sucking the life out of someone but they manage. When they are left only in their pants, Harry manhandles Draco a little further inside and with a hand on his way and the other on his chest, Harry finally turns him around.
What are you—” Draco asks but stops when he sees where Harry is taking him: in front of the full-size mirror that takes up the better part of the wall.
Draco looks completely debauched; lips shining with spit, hair all over the place, a glint coming from the piece of jewellery on his nose and Harry cannot believe how incredibly lucky he is, being able to see Draco Malfoy in this state and being the cause of it. He looks beautiful and Harry can’t wait to make a complete mess out of him.
Never breaking eye contact with Draco in front of him, Harry tugs him closer by the waist until there’s no surface they’re not touching. He can feel Draco’s arse touching the outline of Harry’s hard cock and Harry gives a teasing move when he hears Draco’s breath catching.
He then leans closer, his mouth next to Draco’s ear and in a low tone Harry says,
“As if you didn’t put this mirror here for this exact same reason,” says Harry as he leaves a trail of open-mouth kisses down to Draco’s throat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s trying to appear nonchalant, Harry can tell, but the way his body responds to Harry’s touches says otherwise.
He licks the side of Draco’s throat making him shiver. “Let me remind you, then.”
a slightly suggestive fragment of the maiden neera she/her and her resurrected, insatiable lover vritra they/them.
artwork—summer by pierre bonnard ca. 1898
Hidden within a fog that had thickened the forest, Neera waited with bated breath for her lover. As she tightened the comfort of her cloak, her bottom lip jutted and trembled at the sudden gasp of wind. It was unusual for Neera to be left alone for so long, and doubt began to coat the inside of her stomach. Like an affliction with no cure.
If it was but a fortnight before, she would not have been suffering so—from the fear of the unknown.
The moment now sullied with doubt, Neera turned to leave, but alas! Much like a snake darting to its next victim, a calloused hand latched onto her naive arm and blessed the skin with the lips of her lover. Nibbling with an animalistic desire, Neera felt Vritra graze her frigid spirit with pointed teeth.
“Honey,” Vritra’s voice purred with great fervour, reverberating against Neera’s outstretched hand. Another wet kiss planted itself deep into her palm.
“Vritra!” Neera tsked the warmth of delight that welcomed her beloved. Her legs quivered with relief as the craving for their familiar touch swelled. “Where have you been?”
Although Vritraʼs lips parted, the only answer that came was the flick of their tongue and a cunning grin. Vritra embraced her with their gaunt body, shivering with need as they wrapped their arms around the stifled woman. Neera gasped as the hood of her cloak was abruptly blown away, pulling down to reveal voluminous tufts of black waves that were still wet at the tips. Vritra’s eyelashes fluttered as they breathed in the sticky scent of myrrh—rich and spicy against their twitching nose. They inhaled the curve of her neck like it was a forbidden smoke before shamelessly licking the sap that was Neeraʼs pheromones.
“Vri-!” Neera’s next set of words ceased to exist as Vritra lightly bit down into the side of her neck.
“Neera, do you wish for me to be your fool? If you want—I will plead, no, beg for your attention.” Vritra pulled back before placing a provoked kiss against a strand of Neera’s hair, eyeing her pained expression. They whispered a desperate request, “Please, honey, I need your sweet lips on mine.”
Their lips connected to form a chaste peck—embarrassment suddenly flooding Neera’s veins as she thought back to the unspeakable things that she had to do just to feel the touch of Vritra’s love again. Through a hooded gaze, Neera watched as Vritra fumbled with her cloak, their hands tugging and tearing at the layers that separated the pair. A distinctive, metallic scent wafted towards Neera as she stared down at her own.
Vritra had never once questioned why Neera’s usually well-kept fingernails were now raw and cracked, but it was becoming harder to ignore the hint of dried blood that had stained her fingertips. Much to Neera’s disappointment, scrubbing seemed to be of little use, and she was growing increasingly nervous. How very charming of her lover to play along. Vritra pretended that it was thanks to their efforts alone that allowed them such an experience—another chance at life—that they had crawled restlessly from their grave without aid. Only those on the other side could attest to Neeraʼs mournful cries, and her sinful actions that followed.
“Dear?” Vritra called through a rough, rasping tone. While looking up at their beloved with glowing, crimson eyes that demanded attention, they pleaded, “Must we dwell on the past?”
Even in times such as these, Neera could not help but remember the horrors that continue to creep up from below—the image of beetles feasting and phorid flies scuttling with anticipation. Although they recognized her sullen gaze, Vritra could never bring themselves to ask, especially during their stolen moments alone. Neera did not feel that it was a fleeting sensation. Instead, it was dreadful, how such powerful paranoia sought after her.
“Will you-” Neera swallowed the lump in her throat, “-make me forget?”
Neera felt Vritraʼs chest heave with excitement, pressing themselves against their lover’s ribcage. While there was a flutter of electricity between them, Vritraʼs heart was still, pumping with infatuation rather than survival. Neera’s hands reached out to touch the face of their beloved, shuddering at how their cheeks were cold yet blushing with desire.
Vritra leaned in, kissing the runaway tears that trailed from their lover’s eyes. “Yes, honey, I will.”
The cloak that once hid Neera away was now unashamed as it spread out underneath the lovers. Neera found herself curling into Vritra’s lips, swallowing the taste of their panting and basking in the feel of their wandering hands. Beneath their entwined bodies, thrived families of bugs and forgotten memories, concealed by the yearning of two animals feeding off one another. The remnants of their forbidden love had dug their way up from the dirt—writhing with an ache so strong.
Despite it all, an innocence blossomed between them, masked by the scent of their vigour and condemned acts. Their lips moulded together before pulling apart, their tongues connected by a thin string of saliva. Although Neera knew it was wrong of her, she could not help but stare into the lascivious gaze of her revenant. Through the night, they kissed with much passion. Like real people do.
Hello everyone!! Hope you're doing well! As you guys know today is the last day to turn your submissions in but I did say that the last day to submit to the fest on ao3 would be the last day of February so if you're feeling stressed and like you're not going to be able to make the deadline tonight that's perfectly alright, you have until the end of the month!
In the meantime we've had a bunch of lovely submissions that you can check out either through the #submissions tag or by scrolling down the blog! When all of the submissions have been turned in I will make a masterpost with everyone's work so that it'll be easier to find everything in one place:)
So now that it's finally Valentine's Day you can curl up with a good fic or some lovely art and maybe something nice to drink! Happy V Day!
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ my submission for the silly love songs fest ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
@sillylovesongsfest
my song: thrown right at me by the tallest man on earth
wolfstar, serenading your lover by the light of the stars, seaside cottage, 1.3k
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
The wind tousled the trees gently, causing the small silver chimes to make a charming sound. It felt like beautiful music when it blended with the songbirds that frequented their garden.
The koi pond, surrounded by flowers that Remus had carefully planted the spring before, had a tiny waterfall that led down from the creek. Remus swears he’d seen deer drinking from it before.
Remus sat down gently on the blanket that he had brought out. The grass was slightly dewy from last night’s rain but the blanket absorbed most of what would have gotten onto his trousers.
He took a deep breath, appreciating the clean air of the countryside that he inhaled, not at all missing the smog-filled lungs that came with living for years in central London. He was glad to come back to his roots.
Their cottage was positioned on the edge of the forest and a six-minute walk from the cliffside overlooking the cold, salty Irish Sea.
If one wanted to walk alongside the waves, dashing back when the foamy water swelled up to meet the shore, they could scramble down the steep path that was notorious for having a multitude of pebbles to slip on. Remus and Sirius went down to the shore for the first few years they had the cottage. Nowadays only Teddy wanted to brave the slippery slope of the path to the sea.
They did have picnics on the cliffside nearly every weekend though, watching as Teddy wove around the water below, trying to dart back before the waves could splash him.
James, Regulus, Peter, and Pandora sometimes joined them for brunch on the cliff. That always ended with James and Sirius wrestling in the grassy clearing. Peter, Regulus and Remus would all be entranced by the quiet movement of the sea, like sailors drawn to a siren’s song. Pandora would be off talking to the birds or feeding deer from her hand or threatening to cut everyone’s hair in their sleep if they didn’t try Peter’s scones (they looked horrid but were surprisingly delicious).
But mostly, it was just the two of them. Remus and Sirius.
Teddy was off at Oxford, studying creative writing. He wanted to be a screenwriter in Hollywood eventually. Sirius had made him promise to use a Bowie song in at least one of his films, just for him.
Remus had long retired from teaching, wanting to spend more time writing the novel he’d been neglecting for too long. And more time with Sirius hasn’t hurt one bit. Sirius still worked, not because he had to though. The two of them had a hefty savings account thanks to Sirius’s music career. But if Sirius didn’t have at least three different projects to ping pong between working on, he’d get bored and grumpy.
Sirius sang all the time. He sang and played the guitar to Remus at night by the fire, he sang under his breath while doing chores, and he sang while driving. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t busted his vocal cords yet.
Sirius used to lead a pop punk band that he, James, and Peter had formed when they were still in university. Sirius had tried to get Remus involved and he did play bass for them a few times in the beginning if James couldn’t make it. But once they took off and were playing to millions in sold-out shows across the world, Remus was more than happy cheering them on from backstage.
The band had disbanded nearly a decade ago, simply because that chapter of everyone’s life was over. Sirius and Remus were settling down in their seaside cottage, James and Regulus wanted to travel the world and see things, not just the inside of stadiums. Peter joined up with a new band for a while, where he met his girlfriend, Pandora.
Sirius was still releasing music, his own acoustic, “old man” songs, as James liked to call them. And they sort of were. But there was a deep love that resonated when Sirius sang them. His new songs sounded like a slow wave of steady emotion that seemed to simultaneously overwhelm and calm Remus.
Sirius played for Remus nearly every night by the fire on his acoustic guitar. Remus would join in sometimes, the deepness of his bass blending with Sirius’s higher notes of the melody. But mostly he just let himself be serenaded. It was a lovely feeling, having someone sing for you when you know that they meant every beautiful word they said.
The simplicity of their life now was a calming change. Going from the fast-paced life of tour and the constant deadlines that came with teaching, they could find so much more time for one another. That would have been impossible in the old days. They gave one another space, of course. They would go crazy if they saw one another 24/7, but it was a much better balance than it was before. Sometimes Remus wouldn’t see Sirius for months while he was on tour and that time was hard on the two of them, but they made it through.
They made it through together and built the sugar-sweet life they had now. They were living every Pinterest girl’s cottagecore dreams.
But they had earned it.
And it’s not to say that their simple life didn’t bring issues along with it. Living in a small space, no matter how much you love someone, gets tedious sometimes.
Remus still gets pissed every time Sirius dumps the laundry on their bed and neglects to fold it, making the clothes get all wrinkled. Sirius gets annoyed with Remus whenever he puts a pot in the sink to be washed when it only had boiling water in it.
But they were all small issues. The big ones were worked out long ago, the screaming and shoving and ghosting and hate sex, thankfully long behind them.
It hadn’t been an easy time for them, years ago. But now, they could just relax, knowing that the single most important thing, the fact that they loved one another, was forever understood between the two of them.
Remus settled back on his blanket and watched as the sky gently turned violet, twinkling stars starting to show their lights.
Remus heard the glass door slide open and he twisted around to see Sirius, sleek black acoustic guitar in hand, hair twisted up in a bun held by a single chopstick. Remus smiled and patted the spot on the blanket next to him and Sirius obliged, settling the guitar on his knee.
“What’s the mood tonight?” Sirius asked as he had a million times before, and Remus answered, just as he had a million times before.
“Something pretty.” Remus smiled softly at their routine and Sirius smiled right back.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do, Mr Lupin.” Sirius plucked at the strings for a moment, making sure it was in tune. He set his capo on the 5th fret and placed his fingers along the fretboard.
Then he began to play, plucking out the melody with light, deft fingers.
Jump 'long the creekside
The rock's crooked line
Fun girls, you'll hear it
The days open wide
And horses trot faster 'til sparrows fall down
But you just fall, laughin', to the snow on the ground
You grew up by playin' the valley so wild
And that's why
You're so beautiful now
And, dancin' your bike to the lonesome, young mare
You call up her owner; say your heart will be there
You'll build a collection of scars on your knees
To learn how to count the impossible trees
You grew up by climbin' the birches so high
And that's why
You're so beautiful now
And we live so close that we probably seen
The same bird, the same time
They solumnly scream
One day, I'll find just that friend who can see
All this weird beauty
Thrown right at me
Growin' by playin' the valley so wild
And that's why
You're so beautiful now
“...due to the affliction that is him being a moth and Sirius being a flame, Remus slips up almost incessantly, looking at him without permitting himself to look.”
you can have this heart to break, a submission for @sillylovesongsfest, has been posted!
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ an otrtbs submission for the @sillylovesongsfest ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
prompt: pierre by ryn weaver
jarty croucher | t | 4.1k | slightly sexual themes and recreational drug use
Barty rolls over and groans at the sun-soaked tent he finds himself in. It’s sweltering hot and the thin cotton top sheet of the makeshift bed clings to his sticky skin. The tent is too bright and it smells sour with stale tobacco and weed.
It would be enough to make Barty vomit if there was anything left in his stomach.
There’s sand everywhere.
“It’s so fucking humid in here,” he groans, as his brain pounds against his skull. “I can’t breathe.”
A voice in the bed next to him makes him jump.
“It rained last night, remember?”
Barty turns to see a head of nearly white curly hair fanning out over the blue tarp next to him. A girl, no, the girl from last night laying on her stomach, still half-asleep.
“Fucking torrential.”
Barty didn’t remember. Not really.
The night before was coming back to him in bits and pieces. Alcohol-soaked frames of cognizance.
He remembers fighting with James again. Screaming so loud that his voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy. This time was the last time. Never come back here again. He remembers hearing about some giant rager in the desert. Something about celebrating the blood moon. There were caravans of people and bonfires and music by the time Barty showed up.
He remembers not knowing anyone there. Heard from a friend of a friend. He was a drifter. A party crasher. None of that mattered once he was there though. A group of people pulled him in like they’ve known him his entire life, and soon enough he had a cup of something that burned his throat in his hand and a girl dragging him closer to the fire.
He remembers the brutal sun casting heat waves so violent that everything seemed to shimmer and dance slightly around him. Pockets of sun-induced water appeared just beyond the sand dunes and disappeared by the time Barty walked over to them.
He drank until the sun went down, he took everything offered to him. He sweats out all of the vodka in his system just to down more in a steady stream. He barely recalls the red moon rising high above him, ruddy and ominous.
When the desert got cold, that’s when the real party started.
Some man’s hand around his throat, some girl’s tongue in his mouth. Everything pulsating and dully muted around him. Bodies pressing up against his, hands through his hair, a settling chill to cool the sticky heat.
The girl pulls away. Stark white hair like an angel in the desert. Billowy white clothes like a ghost.
And Barty wants to be haunted.
Sand slipping through his hands. She weaves in and out of the crowd once she decides she’s done with him, but he follows as closely as he can.
Eventually, she stops and turns around again, the shadows from the fire flicker on her face.
“I have something to help with dullness,” she shouts over the noise, the people, the music, the blood rushing in his head.
“What?” He hadn’t realized he’d said that part out loud.
She sticks out her tongue so Barty can see a little white tab with a smiley face on it. It has three eyes, and one of them winks at him.
He puts his mouth on hers in grateful acceptance and the tab finds its way under his tongue.
“Who are you?” Barty asks, voice reverent as he eyes the tattoo on her shoulder. Little horns inked into her skin. “An angel?”
She laughs as she pulls him closer. Her nails are sharp like claws and for a second Barty thinks she might rip him apart. Feels like he’s been caught. Her teeth sharp and glinting at the sight of his throat.
“Maybe I’m the devil.”
That’s where his memory ends. For the most part.
He holds a hand up to his sore lip and winces. Runs his tongue over it and tastes the dried blood.
“Fuck,” he groans.
The girl sits up and as soon as Barty sees her pale green eyes blinking back at him he smiles.
“Pandora.”
“Hm. So you do remember.”
“Vaguely,” Barty croaks through chapped lips. “I can’t believe I slept in a tent in the desert on the floor.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you do this all the time. No offense.”
“None taken,” Barty sighs, as he examines his stinging palm to see a raw and, now dried, bloody cut spanning the lifeline on his skin. “What the fuck?”
“It was the sacrifice to the moon,” Pandora supplies breezily as Barty moves to stand up.
“Right, whatever that fucking means,” Barty brushes her off.
Maybe he should be more concerned about the whole ordeal, but he wasn’t. It was actually…fun. A good release of energy.
He would’ve hated it.
He would’ve insisted that Barty stay the night at his place instead. Entertain him with something less risky. Something more self-serving.
Barty shakes his head to clear his thoughts. At least last night he hadn’t thought of him at all. Now, the harsh light of the morning was screwing things up again.
Pandora helps him search the sand and surrounding tents for his keys and his wallet, and some various other items before she points him in the right direction and Barty makes the trek back up the road to his car.
She tells him there’s another party next month. He tells her he’ll think about it.
The drive back is quiet. Barty doesn’t turn on the radio, it’ll only aggravate his already pounding head.
Instead, he thinks.
What would he think if Barty told him what he did?
Told him he held out his bleeding palm to the fire and listened as the blood sizzled on the rocks and wood beneath it. Told him he danced in the desert in the pouring rain and slept in a sandy tent as the alcohol coursed through his system. Told him he stayed out all night, not bothering to call home. Not bothering to tell a single other person where he was.
He’d be appalled. He’d probably sigh in disappointment, or better yet, he’d yell when Barty finally bothered to answer his call the next week.
It’s not Barty’s fault that James liked him because he was rough around the edges. Too sharp to hold onto without bleeding. Too impulsive to see a long-term future with. Too mean to have breakfast with the next morning.
It’s why it was fun. Something with an expiration date. Manufactured good times in a bottle– consequence-free-fucking.
But then it got confusing.
Barty wishes he would call. But he’s thankful he doesn’t.
A few weeks later, Barty finds himself at the front row of some dive bar-turned-concert-venue sipping a warm and flat beer. The place is crowded and loud, and the air is warm with the stench of alcohol and weed. He’s pretty sure someone in the back is giving out makeshift tattoos for five dollars. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna take the guy up on the offer after the show.
Some girl, in a poor attempt to dance, knocks into him and sends his beer sloshing over the side of his cup and onto the floor.
He doesn’t really mind though. Because it’s that occurrence that causes the bass player to look at him. Really look at him as he sways along to the music, and nods his head to the beat.
Barty gives a small smirk and raises his plastic cup in response and the bass player smirks back at him. A challenge. A dare. One that Barty knows well.
Barty watches him all night. Dark, muscled arms strumming along, plucking the strings. He’s so close Barty can see his short paint chipped fingernails and calloused hands. His hair bleached almost white, falls in twists that he shakes every once in a while as they fall in front of his eyes. His lips mouth the words to the song the frontman is singing. His body moves to the beat of the drummer, and his eyes shine like he’s doing it all for Barty. And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s because Barty has always been Barty, but as the night progresses he starts to actually believe it is all for him.
When the set is over, Barty follows the bassist out back into the cooling night.
“You played really well up there,” he called after the man, causing him to turn around.
“Oh yeah?” The man smirked.
“Yeah. I’m Barty.”
“Evan.”
“Watched you all night.”
And that’s all it took really before Evan had him pressed up against some cold stone brick wall in a back alleyway.
Barty spends the better part of two months with Evan. They travel to different venues in the surrounding towns. They sleep all day and stay out all night as Evan plays his shows. Evan teaches him how to steal from unsuspecting store clerks. Barty shows him how to pick any lock. He lets Evan trace the scar on his palm over and over again. They’re high for most of it. Barty pierces Evan’s septum. Evan pierces his eyebrow. He travels with the band and plays the part of groupie dutifully.
It was much longer than his one-night desert excursion with Pandora, but soon enough the inevitable happened. He gets bored. Evan’s time was up and those soft, disappointed brown eyes flooded his mind once more.
Evan’s hands were calloused but not as rough. He was telling a joke but didn’t laugh the same. He didn’t bite to draw blood. He didn’t press to bruise.
Fuck.
Barty left with little trace. Just a text message telling Evan to text him the next time he was in town playing a show. Evan liked it but otherwise didn’t say a word.
And that was that.
Maybe this was just his way. Maybe he would be perpetually stuck chasing some unknown James shaped hole for the rest of his life. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He could fill it up with other things. He could live with that.
He tries to tell himself he can live with that when it happens. His phone buzzes. Again and again and again and again and Barty stares at the caller ID displaying a number he’s more than familiar with. He answers it with a shameful eagerness but doesn’t speak.
“Hello?”
“Did you mean to call me?” Barty croaks out in the deadened air.
A stuttering pause. “Yeah. Yeah, hi. How are you?”
Barty lets out a sharp laugh. Too sharp. “How am I? I’m fine, James. How are you?”
“Good,” James tried to say brightly, but Barty could hear the flatness in his voice. “How, um. How have you been?”
“Okay, what the fuck, Bambi. You’re freaking me out. It’s almost four in the morning.”
James laughs at the nickname that was always made to be an insult. Until it wasn’t.
“No, I know. I just…” James trails off and Barty finds himself wishing he would just finish his fucking sentence.
Come on, James. It’s me. You don’t have to be nice to me, remember? That’s the deal. That’s the rule. You can be mean to me. I can take it.
Something in his chest pulls, but Barty opts to ignore it as he takes on his talking-to-James tone: Sarcastic and needle-sharp.
“Miss me that much, Potter?” Barty hears James let in a sharp breath on the other end of the line and pushes on. “What? Are you going to tell me that it’s three in the morning and this is the time I normally come slinking around your place? Miss having someone like me to knock you about a bit? Get a little too rough with you? Fuck you, smoke with you after, and leave before the lights come on?”
“Barty.” He tries not to flinch at the fact that James is using his first name. “That’s not why…I’m calling because–”
But Barty cuts him off before James can say something ridiculous. Something like ‘I’m calling because I care about you,' or 'I’m seeing someone else,' or 'I’m worried for you. This guy’s really great, not at all like you,' or 'I miss you.’
“Well, I can’t come around anymore. I just finished touring around with some bass player and his band all across the state. They just signed to a label they’re about to be huge. And Evan, the bass player, he’s like the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, so.” Barty was aware that he was trying too hard. He could hear it in his own voice, but he was praying it was convincing enough for James. He pulled his lip ring in between his teeth and waited for James to say something.
“Oh, there’s an Evan.”
There was an Evan, kind of.
“Yeah, and he’s great, and I’m great. Never better, actually. So I think you were right to end it when you did. Whatever it was. It’s better this way.” Barty lies.
Barty lies and James goes quiet. It’s unbearable.
“James?”
Do you want to come over?
Why did it take you months to call?
Did you mean what you said when you told me you could never bring me around your friends?
Do you ever miss fighting with me like I miss fighting with you?
Remember when you almost let me pierce your eyebrow? Evan pierced mine a while ago and I thought about you the entire time he was doing it.
His hands aren’t yours wrapped around my throat. He never squeezes hard enough.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to hang up now.”
Speak now or forever hold your peace, James Potter.
“Okay, yeah. Sorry, yeah.”
“Okay. Later, bambi.”
Barty clicks the phone before James can respond.
What the fuck was James thinking?
What was he thinking?
Barty would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small pulse of adrenaline at the sound of James’ voice. A small sense of satisfaction that James had broken the silence between them and called first.
He was going to ignore the fact that James had used the gentle voice with him. The voice reserved for a crying child, a terminal patient, or a scared wild animal in the woods. He was going to ignore the fact that James had obviously called him for a reason and Barty had dominated the conversation to keep him from it. And he was definitely going to ignore the curiosity chewing away at his mind about what James would’ve said if only Barty would’ve let him.
No. Instead, he was going to keep on telling James, and himself lies.
He was fine.
He was happy.
He was better than he’s ever been.
Barty walks himself out to his balcony and lights a cigarette as the cool air kisses his face. He recounts his lies over and over again and counts down to the day they might come true.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
“What did you say your name was again?” Barty looks at the sandy blonde boy questioningly. He’s got a smattering of freckles and soft eyes that are shining due to the alcohol.
The bar is too loud for a Thursday and Barty wants to leave, but the man just bought him another round and it would be rude to turn it away.
“Peter.”
Barty nods, tilting his new beer towards him. “Well, cheers Peter.”
Peter offers him a smile as he tilts his glass in Barty’s direction and takes a drink, smiling coyly.
They talk for a minute. This is how Barty finds out that Peter is English and has no job and no house. He came into some money and is using it to travel to as many places as he can before the money dries up. He finds places to stay by matching with people on Tinder or Grindr and he’s out by morning exploring the city.
So in other words, he’s trouble. Which is exactly what Barty’s looking for.
Peter has honey-colored eyes and a honey-colored voice to match. Sweet on the surface with something dangerous and reckless buzzing just below the surface.
They stay until the bar closes and they stay until the parking lot clears out, and then when it’s good and dark and empty Barty slaps his motorcycle helmet on over Peter’s head and tosses him the keys.
He stands on the pavement with his arms crossed and watches as Peter starts the engine.
“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Barty asks skeptically as Peter hesitates.
“Y-yeah.” He calls over the hum of the engine. “ I had a motorbike– have a motorbike back home but it’s in the shop getting repaired.”
Barty nods. “Well, just take her around the parking lot a few times then. Let’s see it.”
In his defense, Peter was the one who had asked to ride it. When Barty brought up his motorcycle, he watched as Peter’s honey-colored eyes went wide as saucers as he asked to see it. To give it a ride. Maybe Barty should’ve been worried that this stranger would just drive off with his bike in the dead of night with no witnesses and leave him stranded, but he was too drunk to care. It would all be just another story to laugh about in the daylight. Moonlight desert rituals and bass players and motorcycle thieves. All because of James fucking Potter.
Barty watches and snickers as Peter clearly has no idea what to do.
James knew how to ride motorcycles. He would take Barty’s sometimes to the only 24-hour corner store to pick up a watered-down black coffee and a new pack of Parliament’s when they ran out. Sometimes an orange or two if they were hungry.
Peter manages to make it around the parking lot twice before a loud pop rings through the air and causes Barty to jump. By the time he can register what’s happening, Peter is already beside him, pale-faced, and apologizing profusely.
He popped a fucking tire.
The blowout was not a gunshot. Thank god.
He lives another day.
Barty gives Peter a once over and determines that he went smashing into the concrete based on the scrapes to his face and his hands, and the tear in his pants at the knees.
For a moment, Peter looks at Barty like he might kick the shit out of him, and maybe Barty should, but the whole thing seems so comical at the moment that he can’t help but burst into delirious laughter.
Of course, someone named Peter that he met in a bar at midnight would ride his motorcycle once and make the tire pop. That was just his luck.
Without thinking about it, he sends a text to James.
‘Motorcycle tire just popped. Fucking shit.’
His phone buzzes almost instantly in his hand.
‘I told you last time the tire needed air. It was only a matter of time. You should’ve let me fill it up.’
Barty watches James type a message for what seems like an eternity. Then a new message.
‘Are you okay?’
Then it’s Barty’s turn to type forever.
‘Never better, bambi.’
He makes Peter call them a cab and tow company to get the bike. It’s the least he could do. Since he thinks it’s his fault the tire blew out, and Barty convinces him that it is.
Barty says they’ll figure it out in the morning and lets Peter stay at his place until the end of the week. Just long enough for him to see that the motorcycle was getting fixed. Long enough to take him around the city and show him all the best places.
They keep in touch for a month at tops and then Peter fades into another memory. Another story to tell. Another person he was with because he wouldn’t be with James.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
On the fourth of July, he meets Regulus at some party in someone’s backyard.
They’re about to start shooting off the fireworks when Barty sees him. Short crop of curly black hair and a downturned frown.
“Not having fun?” Barty smirked in an attempt to make conversation.
“What?”
“Not having fun?”
“Not really.” The boy’s frown deepened. “Not at all.”
“Oh, what the fuck. You’re French?”
“Very astute observation.” The stranger says as he attempts to walk away.
“Sorry. It’s just, why the fuck would you be here if you could be in France? I’m Barty by the way.”
“Regulus,” the stranger sniffs. “And why the fuck would your parents name you Barty if they could pick from any other name in the world?”
Barty grins at Regulus’ accent and his snark. “Got it. No more questions then.”
“No more stupid questions,” Regulus amends.
They stick together the whole evening as Barty attempts to make the Fourth of July fun for the both of them.
He spends a few weeks with Regulus after that. Regulus speaks broken English, something stilted, but sure, and it rings nice in Barty’s ears long after he’s stopped talking. There’s nothing serious between them. They just spend the summer days sun drunk and carefree. Regulus attempts to teach him French. Barty attempts to make this time different. Neither of them are successful.
“I lied,” Regulus says in a passing moment as Barty gets ready to say his final goodbye. “I’m not twenty-three, I’m twenty. Also, my English is perfect. I was just fucking with you.”
Barty just blinks a few times. “Why do you think I would care about that? Regulus, what the fuck.”
Regulus shrugs. “Just thought you should know. You’re not the only one pretending to be something you’re not just for the fun of it.”
And Barty knows it’s fucked up, but he could kiss Regulus all over again.
He adds a pathological liar to his running list of adventures.
When he returns to his apartment, it’s quiet and empty. He tries to tell himself that he’s okay with that, that he likes it best this way, that he’s never been better.
James calls once again.
It’s become a routine of theirs.
James calls and Barty answers. He fills James’ head with all of his exploits, all of his stories, all of the Pandora’s and Evan’s and Peter’s and Regulus’ he’s been with since James. All of the fun he’s had since the last time they spoke.
But he couldn’t ever let any of them in, because James was already there, taking up too much space. Always there, lying in wait.
Barty keeps on telling his lies and James lets him, but they’re still not coming true. Barty’s counting down the days and still feeling more down than ever. He wishes that James would just call his bluff, hear the falseness in his voice, and yell at him for being irresponsible. But he never does.
It’s not until after Emmeline, Fabian, and Narcissa that James gives him another call.
Barty’s in the middle of recounting his latest adventure when James does it. Interrupts him with a knowing scoff.
“Listen, Crouch,” he says just like he used to. He’s fed up. Barty finally managed to press his buttons once more. “Can we stop doing this song and dance now? Drop the act?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Barty sniffs, still trying to get one up on him.
“Oh sure,” James continues, voice flat. “When you’re ready to stop lying to yourself and to me…I was calling to tell you to come around.”
The words land like cement in his stomach.
“To come around?”
Barty’s heart picks up its pace.
It was a bad idea.
It was a horrible idea.
It would put them right back to where they were before.
Fighting and yelling and waiting for the moon to come out to talk to each other. To see each other.
It would end horribly.
They would burn each other up. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. But God, Barty missed how it felt to be on fire.
“Yeah,” James breathes into the phone receiver. “You know the code to get in.”
Barty takes a deep breath.
What did it say about him that it had been all this time, and he still thought about James and his apartment and his soft sheets that were always laundered every day? James’ hands gripping his jaw. James’ laugh when Barty couldn’t find his jeans that had all been but ripped off of him. James’ sharp sneer and clenched jaw when Barty managed to get under his skin.
It doesn’t take too much convincing. Just lighting bolts of flashing memories. Tooth rot that ached too good to let go.
“Alright. Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck it, Bambi.”
There would be plenty of time for lying to himself later.
So this is it, that's how it ends
I guess there's nothing more romantic than dying with your friends
ah yes, the happy soft vibes for the @sillylovesongsfest, you get it...
based on the assigned prompted song Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe and FINNEAS, as well as this
for an even sadder and bloody version look under the cut <33
it beats my black and blue (but it fucks me so good)
drarry | e | 4.8k | submission for @sillylovesongsfest (i signed up with my main: @transsexualpriest )
Harry throws a punch, swift with it as his wrapped knuckles collide with Draco’s ribs. He’s bouncing in his feet, ducking as Draco aims for the head but he doesn’t dodge the kick to the stomach fast enough. He folds over, spluttering as he stumbles back but before Draco can get the drop on him again he finds his footing and shoots a punch at the other’s face.
Or
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are rivals in the ring despite their feelings for each other.
