Feb 5, 2023
Has nobody else noticed the fact that Matthew Clegg is literally just Draco Malfoy on steroids?
seen from Italy
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seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from Costa Rica
seen from Russia
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from India
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seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
Has nobody else noticed the fact that Matthew Clegg is literally just Draco Malfoy on steroids?
Helpless
Clegg x reader, slaughterhouse rulez
warnings: cursing, making out
I was going to be late. And for my first assembly- this was just my luck. I had lost track of time, and then got slightly (okay maybe more than slightly) lost trying to find where the rest of the students were, but by some happy coincidence, I had managed to finally find the place where everyone was gathered. As I approached, I was intensely relieved to hear their loud chatter, which must mean that no one important had started to speak yet. I hurried in, looking around me to try and figure out where my house was for me to stand with. That was my first mistake- not looking where I was going. The second was bothering to apologise when I walked straight into the biggest arsehole I had ever met.
"Oh- I'm so sorry- I-"
"Don't let me catch you talking to upper sixth again." He sounded utterly disgusted that he was having to speak to me.
I looked up, and saw a face that was so perfectly chiselled it annoyed me. What did shitty people do to deserve such amazing bone structure?
"Did you really just refer to yourself in the third person like that?" I managed to match his disgust in my voice, and stared him straight in the eyes, which only seemed to provoke him further.
"You don't speak to me, or even look at me ever again. Understood?"
It was very easy to piss him off.
"Well it's not exactly a privilege looking at you so I'm sure that won't be a problem," I was lying "but I don't think the not talking is going to work for me. After all, you need someone to remind you how much of a dick you are."
I watched the shock grow on his face- clearly he was used to getting his way the first time he asked. But I refused to give him the satisfaction of backing down. For a second, I thought he was about to hit me, but he just managed to restrain himself.
" How dare you? I am upper sixth, and you should start showing me a lot more respect before you get into serious trouble. Understand? "
Before I could reply, a figure in a large block robe entered the room with an entourage of students.
The room fell immediately silent.
Instead of replying, I opted for a silent response, and rolled my eyes pointedly at him.
*
Clegg, as I had later learned his name to be, had not managed to resist making my school life as miserable as possible in the upcoming weeks. I had once thought that perhaps my being a new student would provide me with some reprieve from harsh punishment, but I had been sorely mistaken. Most mornings now, I would be forced to wake up at an ungodly hour to run laps of the grounds with other miscreants, all the while enduring Clegg yelling insults and tormenting us.
And I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my mouth shut.
"Get moving, you worthless pieces of shit. Come on! Get your fat arses moving, you aren't even trying!"
As a matter of fact, I was trying. Extremely hard. But the muddy terrain made my feet unsteady, and when they slid out from underneath me for what felt like the thousandth time, I finally found myself incapable of standing again.
“Shitting hell,” I cursed, my ankle collapsing as I tried to stand on it, the pain making me go lightheaded.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, stand up you useless idiot,” Clegg spat at me as the others ran ahead and I struggled to stand.
“Just fuck off, would you? I think it’s broken I can’t bloody move.” I glowered up at him. Probably a mistake if I wanted any sort of help.
His face contorted slightly- probably in disgust at the thought of coming near me- before he grabbed my arm to hoist me to my feet.
I was momentarily surprised at his help, having expected to have been left out on the lawns until one of my kinder classmates noticed me missing. But I was glad I had been too surprised to thank him.
Cursing at my stupidity the whole way back, he half lifted, half dragged me to the school. It was less than comfortable, and quite frankly I would have preferred to have been left on the ground.
“Are you always such a massive twat?” My ankle twinged in pain as I stumbled over the front steps, released from his iron grasp.
“Be glad I helped you.” He seemed almost smug, probably finding joy in the obvious pain I was in now I stood without his support, “Come to my dorm immediately after the matron has seen to you. I’ll be arranging a less physical punishment, since you are clearly too pathetic to even handle a jog.” He looked me up and down disdainfully. I rolled my eyes pointedly at him. He scoffed at me, and strode off, leaving me barely upright in the doorway to the building. Absolute wanker.
*
After matron bandaged my ankle- just a bad sprain, as it turned out, I had long missed breakfast. As it was a Saturday, I had no classes and therefore no excuse not to go straight to Clegg’s dorm. It was a meeting I was dreading.
It took me longer than I had expected to limp up a flight of stairs, and I knew as soon as I entered his room I would get an earful for it; at least he had his own dorm so I could at least avoid the embarrassment of being berated in front of an audience.
I knocked twice and he ordered me to come in.
“You took your time. Sit.” He commanded, gesturing to his bed. I perched on the end, not at all surprised to see it perfectly made, and all of his possessions perfectly organised.
“What do you want, Clegg.” I put as much animosity into my voice as was possible.
“First of all, show me some respect. Second- “
I cut him off, “I’ll show you respect when you earn it. You’re pathetic.” I stood up, putting all my weight on my good foot and focusing on not showing the pain I was in even from just resting on my bad ankle.
“I’m pathetic, am I? Well let me tell you something-“ He strode towards me, intimidating me slightly with his height, “You’re nobody. Worth nothing. And you had better start listening to me or I can make things much, much harder for you- it’s not like anyone would even notice.”
I stepped forwards, up in his face. He was trying to scare me and it wouldn’t work. “Are you really threatening me? You’re just a schoolboy. What are you going to do?”
For a second, he froze, staring me in the eyes, waiting for me to back down.
Then he closed the gap between us, kissing me, hard.
For a second, I was in shock. Then I remembered how to respond, kissing him back with as much anger and force as I could muster. He lifted me slightly to shove me against his wall, surprising me by taking care not to let my weight fall on my ankle. His teeth pulled on my lower lip, much harder than necessary but it was clear he knew exactly what he was doing.
I reached up to pull him closer, but one of his hands was quicker, pinning my wrists to the wall above my head.
My head was swimming with confusion that had quickly become overpowered with an aching desire I had never felt this strongly before.
I was helpless against him and he knew it.
“Clegg. You in there?” Meredith Houseman’s voice made me jump, but Clegg remained collected, pulling away only enough to reply “I’ll be with you in a moment.” but still not releasing me from his grasp.
His face was still centimetres from mine. There was nothing I wanted more than to close the gap between us, but with Houseman outside it would have been an exceptionally stupid move.
“Be back here this evening. Don’t be late- and don’t bother wearing underwear.”
For once, I felt no temptation to challenge his authority. I nodded.
He released my hands and ushered me to the door. I turned around and leaned up to press a searing kiss to his lips before leaving, unable to keep a satisfied grin off my face knowing he would be left to explain my presence in his dorm to a rather bewildered looking Meredith Houseman.
Slaughterhouse Rulez edits that are *chef’s kiss*
Wallacake:
https://youtu.be/jAMEsB8bq2I
https://www.instagram.com/p/B0UAOxsnM1S/?igshid=elioha6koqcb
https://www.instagram.com/p/B2Hzd1_nYmi/?igshid=1jasjpnttgbro
https://www.instagram.com/p/B19r3kfHw_6/?igshid=1h7oq13dxpqmd
Multiship:
https://www.instagram.com/p/B2jxO_5nb7C/?igshid=1j0ey8mjouepx
Willoughby:
https://www.instagram.com/p/BpC-U8jnInM/?igshid=syd4157lflrw
https://www.instagram.com/p/BvCb_q_hvZ0/?igshid=1xfav88jyy0gy
The Bat:
https://www.instagram.com/p/B0kqwpVnRFj/?igshid=5zjkujhu5yre
Kay:
https://www.instagram.com/p/BwWn-BjAydb/?igshid=1r0n1eitay1c4
being in a small fandom is great until you’re craving a fic and they just,, don’t exist
https://discord.gg/naPWW9g
Check out the legit the only members of the SHR’s fandom community on Discord - hang out with 13 other members and enjoy free voice and text
one of us, one of us, one of us
‘You’re a bloody drama queen’
This was the most heart wrenching yet also softest scene of the movie,, uGh
//not my screen caps I’m too lazy for that
At last, Slaughterhouse Rulez will be coming to US theatres this May and on DVD! 💜🙌 In cinemas May 17th and on DVD June 18th!
Willoughby should have known.
This is just a messy attempt at writing about what happened when Clegg caught Will and Seymour together. I wrote this at like 2am,, please forgive me. Also, TW for the f-word slur & suicide <3
A single kiss caused this. A single, hidden, loving kiss between two upper class boys with the whole world on their shoulders. A single kiss out of all of their secret previous ones shared in their dorm or in the quiet darkness beneath the stairs.
Willoughby should have known Clegg would find them eventually. The unsettling upper six was always tailing behind the two when they returned to their room, as if to sniff out the homosexual relationship taken place like some sort of police dog. Will should have known that they weren’t alone, that Clegg would easily hear them with those bat like ears of his.
They had thought that they were safe, him and Seymour.
“Willy, seriously, you have to relax. No ones come in here for years!” Seymour had exclaimed, stretching out one of his arms to gesture to the rotting boathouse they stood inside, his other hand loosely intertwined with Will’s. Seymour was right. The Slaughterhouse boathouse was no longer in use, the wallpaper curling away from the ancient planks and crunching beneath their pristine school shoes. The glass of the windows was shattered, leaving deadly shards in a pile along with a concoction of brown leaves and an abundance of litter. The place was nothing but a dump anymore. Mostly every wall showed signs of graffiti - tags, slogans, slurs, rumours. But they were all from years ago. The boathouse was totally abandoned by the school, hidden behind trees and unkept bushes.
Seymour was right. He needed to calm down. “Right, right. I know there’s no reason anyone would come here but...we have? So, there’s always a possibility. And I don’t know if the principle will be too accepting of us sneaking out again.” He huffed, bringing Seymour’s hands back into his between their chests.
Tension was thick between them, as clear as a winter fog in sunlight. They may have shared a dorm room, but their time alone was limited, and the boys truly had wanted nothing more than to embrace. It didn’t take long for the two to crumble, Seymour’s pale hands hooking around his waist, pulling Will in who gazed with a tender fondness into his boyfriend’s eyes. Boyfriends. It sounded so nice even just in his head. Seymour had often tried to encourage Will that they should come out to the school so that they could use that word freely, but Will trembled at the thought. He wouldn’t be able to stand the judging eyes on him, the burn of Matthew Clegg’s glare or the disgust in the voices of the teachers. Let alone Seymour’s parents. They were genuine royalty, a fact Will often forgot due to how different Seymour was to them.
Seymour was not explainable in a mere word. The boy was a troublemaker, that was for sure. He had a hatred for wearing his tie and sweater, often keeping it wrapped around his wrist with this shirt unbuttoned and untucked. His brown hair was often unkept other than the days Will forced his comb through it and maybe even styled it neatly to the side. It was clear to Will that Seymour wished to get in to trouble. To frustrate his parents and tell them ‘hey, mum and dad, I’m not a goddamn robot and I have fucking feelings. You’re not getting away from me’. Seymour had also hated his parents for abandoning him, tossing him into Slaughterhouse the second he could count to ten. Willoughby couldn’t particularly blame him. After all, he thoroughly disliked his own family.
Truthfully, it had always played on Will’s mind just how much Seymour rebelled. He always questioned the likelihood that this whole relationship was just to go against his parents. The world, even. But then Seymour would come bursting into one of Will’s lessons some days with his asthma pump because he’d forgotten to take it with him and he could no longer question the genuine feelings they shared.
They were in love. Nothing more and nothing less.
“For fuck sake, Willoughby. Forget the school for just a second, please?” He reached for his face, lifting it so that Will’s strikingly blue eyes settled on Seymour’s green ones. Will melted there, the coldness of his anxieties thawing at the look in his eyes, and they came crashing together.
It would never fail to amaze Will just how well they fit together, his hands falling into his hair and against the chilled skin of his neck, Seymour’s on his cheek and his waist, fingers curling into the green fabric of his sweater once his blazer had fallen to the dusty, creaky wooden floor. Their lips moved together to create a perfect symphony. Not too gentle, nor too harsh. Will never considered himself to be a fussy person, but everything about it had been just right.
As if speaking through just their kiss, their feet shuffled closer, bringing their bodies together gently so that they could feel the rapid beating of their hearts, and Will felt his breath stutter. Not from his asthma, though. “Seymour, I-“
“Seymour? Oh, I should have known.” The voice had been like a crush of thunder in a quiet forest, striking down the two of them who swiftly fell apart from one another -Will behind Seymour - who had turned his back protectively to Will to glare at their intruder. Matthew Clegg.
“Truly, I should have. After all, who would be so low as to scurry like rats into such a rotten building just to make out? Disgusting, really. Well, your fun is over, faggots.”
Willoughby was frozen in place, unsure of how to react, if at all, other than to clench his fist by his side and— Seymour squeezed his other hand, before dropping it and stepping forward, using that same gentle hand to swing a sudden hook to Clegg’s right cheek. It struck with a crunch, and Clegg stumbled backwards before straightening up and jabbing Seymour between the ribs with the blunt end of his cane. Another crunch. Seymour pulled Clegg towards him with the cane, before thrusting his knee upwards between his legs. Clegg thrusted his hands into the collar of Seymour’s shirt and tugged him close.
Willoughby felt his breathing quicken, conflicted on how to respond. Fight? Scream? Plead? Cry?
“Get your filthy hands off of me. I don’t care if you’re a Viscount. I don’t care who you are at all. I swear that I’m going to make your time at Slaughterhouse a living hell, you pervert.” He spat, shoving his partner back towards him before turning gracefully on his heel and striding back towards the distant building with his head held high.
The two had stayed at the boathouse for two more hours, sat on the floor in one another’s arms with not the slightest bit of concern for their uniforms, lightly bickering over a solution and whispering comfort.
Willoughby should have known to have done something about it. He should have known that Clegg never broke his promises.Throughout the next week, he heard every comment. Every whisper. “Did you hear that the viscount is a fag?” “I wonder what poor boy he seduced.” “What a fucking creep.” “How shameful.”
Seymour heard them too. Rumours grew and grew, and with them Seymour grew more distant, ashamed to stand by Will’s side and receive the looks of disgust from passing students. He didn’t want to be seen with Will. Didn’t want them to think he would stoop as low as to share his bed with the quiet freak from the back of their class. Nothing had stung Will more. He spent days alone, attempting to spark conversation when Seymour returned to their dorm only to be brushed aside.
One night, he had snapped. “Seymour will you please talk to me! I genuinely cannot believe you are treating me like this. Like absolute garbage! I’m sorry I got us caught, okay? But that gives you absolutely no bloody right to-“
“They’ve told my parents, Willoughby.” Came the quiet, monotone response from his boyfriend (could he still call him that?) who was laid with his back to him, facing the photo covered wall. “Pardon?”
“They’ve told my parents. They’re threatening to cut me off, Will.” Will’s breathing seemed to have short circuited, but he felt suddenly embarrassed to reach for his pump. He didn’t want to seem so weak. “The second I go back there I’m going to hear nothing but homophobic slurs and remarks from my own family. Will, I can’t take that...” His voice cracked, and Will started towards his bed. “No, don’t.” Seymour rolled over to face him, and silence fell over the room as they stared at one another’s attempting to read their faces. And then, in a soft tone, Seymour spoke again. “I love you, Willy. Seriously, I do. I know I’m just some dumb kid with a bit of money and major daddy issues, but I love you.”
Now, however, Will seriously needed that pump. He snatched it from his bedside table and inhaled deeply, eyes falling shut momentarily, before he dropped it to his lap. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. Seymour was suddenly by his side, hand on his forearm. “I want you to have these. I’m bequeathing them to you, if you will accept them.” He couldn’t help but laugh.
“Bequeath? Wha-“ He was interrupted once again by Seymour gently laying something small but heavy in his palm, neatly wrapped in his silk red handkerchief. Carefully and wordless, he untucked the fabric to reveal Seymour’s prized possession. A silver lighter with his initial delicately carved into the front, the edges slightly worn by use. “It was my father’s before me, given to my mum, who gave it to me. And I give it to you, Willoughby Blake.”
Will bit back tears, and found words would not come out. He simply settled it on his lap and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a kiss that seemed to go on forever but was no short of perfect. It spoke all of the unsaid words in his mind.
And then they’d both curled up in Will’s bed, the lighter and handkerchief carefully tucked into his bedside drawer, and gone to sleep for one last time in one another’s company.
The morning that arrived next was cold, and Will was instantly aware that Seymour was not present anymore. Or that his uniform, other than his tie, was still sat in a messy pile on the floor by the end of his bed. Panic struck him immediately. He knew Seymour’s routine, and he knew that Seymour never woke up before him. He didn’t bother with dressing himself, and simply ran towards Sparta’s head, Meredith’s, dorm only to find himself crashing into Clegg himself.
“Going somewhere, Blake?” His lip curled, and Will could only compare him to a venomous snake at that moment. “You’re not dressed. Was that intentional or are you really that stupid, boy?”
He didn’t have time for this, pulling at the bottom of his pyjama shirt before glaring up at him. “Seymour has gone. Have you seen him?” He bit out accusingly, receiving a tut. “No, I haven’t. Anyway, your roommate, your problem, Blake. Find him yourself. I do not intend to help.”
No one did. Will rushed around Sparta that moment with a humiliating amount of desperation as he interrogated his classmates on the disappearance of Seymour, but received but nothing but coldness in response.
Then Wootton had screamed from within the boy’s toilets downstairs and the impending doom had fallen like a guillotine down on Will’s neck. Students gathered immediately despite Meredith’s attempts to dismiss them while talking with paramedics, and Will stood frozen just in front of him, staring over his shoulder, at the lifeless body of his very own lover dangling from the noose, made of a school tie, tied to the bathroom beams.
Every drip of joy left Willoughby when Seymour did. He was all he had. And he was gone. He remembered the way Clegg’s stare accompanied by his smirk had burned into the back of his head as he forced himself not to cry. No one could know, because Seymour had wanted no one to know. Seymour was gone, and it was his fault.
Willoughby should have known.