#fuck you (hits your angst with the furry beam)
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furry au thomas thorne accidentally shoots a human out of the sky in his duel pass it on
#fuck you (hits your angst with the furry beam)#new additions! eleanor: red panda. annie: crow. francis: heron. isabelle: green finch#i need to be autistic about heron!francis for a moment#so herons represent death that’s like an obvious connection#but also they’re surprisingly brutal !!#despite their gracefulness n shit#those fuckers Can and also Will eat rabbits whole#i just think that links nicely to francis outwardly being very charming but on the inside being horribly cunning and ruthless#if you’re wondering why isabelle is a green finch the short answer is listen to Green Finch and Linnet Bird#the long answer is in the tags of one of my thomas/isabelle drawings#annie is a crow bc they’re loud and mocking and also are found near witches <3#i go into more depth there#eleanor is a red panda to keep with the panda theme while still making her distinct#also. cute looks r deceiving#bbc ghosts#bbc ghosts eleanor#bbc ghosts kitty#bbc ghosts annie#bbc ghosts mary#pat butcher#thomas thorne#francis button#isabelle higham#sorry the tags r so long
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Rarepair week, george&paul? Angst/comfort maybe? Let it be era? Hurt my soul :)
a/n: you’ve got it babe! i actually did some research for the flashback scene so it’s pretty accurate to reality, according to Ringo’s and some crew member's accounts.
Don’t Let Me Down
For as cold as it had been for the last month, the sun was shining high in the sky. A peculiar sight that brought a hint of warmth to Paul’s face but did not extend further than that. He could be in a summer's day desert and still feel the cold churn in his stomach. Looming tall and strong over him was the Abbey Road studio. The uncharacteristic beams of sunlight lit the many windows with a yellow glint. A million-eyed monster ready to tear him to shreds if he dared step closer. And he did dare. He peeled himself off his car and stiffened instantly. He’d been leaning against the passengers' door so long that when the wind hit his back it sent a shiver right through him. Or maybe it was solely his nerves. Either way, he didn’t plan to dwell on it.
A few Scruffs were waiting outside with paper coffee cups in hand and drink carriers stacked against the wall. So George was in. He had really come back. The cold churn rose to his chest. At this rate, he’d be a human popsicle by lunch.
There was a disjointed chorus of “Hi Paul” and “Good Morning” which he replied to with a courteous wave. He’d been largely turned off by the Apple Scruffs for some time now but there wasn’t really any malice. Having your house broken into was more than a bit off-putting, though. So he felt justified. George was the most tolerant of them, buying them coffees and breakfast foods every so often. They must have missed him while he was gone. Yeah. Surely they did. Because I did. Paul pushed the sentiment to the wayside. They still had an album to make. They still had songs to record and a documentary to be part of. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him again. That had only led to an explosion.
Preparing himself with a stiffened posture and pushed back shoulders, he walked into the studio with a smile. It was almost painful to keep up but the cameraman was already in his face and he refused to let on to his nerves. He needed some inkling of control here and there was so little of that to grab hold of these days.
When he walked into the recording room, he found people scattered across the room but he didn’t find John or Ringo. It was still early in the morning so it made sense but he was undoubtedly rattled by the realization, becoming more rattled when he noticed George looking at him. Paul didn’t dare meet his eyes, drifting down to his feet. He looked soft, despite his sharp features. Cozy in his furry boots and warm jumper. He missed looking at that face and touching that body and kissing those lips. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been able to do any of that. Too long.
George gave a thin-lipped smile before turning to Billy Preston at the piano. Was that a good sign or was this small sign of grace feigned for the cameras?
Whatever it meant, it drove Paul mad. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness but he sure as hell would take it. There was no helping the intrusive memories of the aftermath of George walking out. He had done it so nonchalantly that no one was sure he had actually left until they got to the recording room and found him and his guitar missing.
Something had shifted in the room as soon as the three remaining Beatles looked at each other. John was breathing heavily with an icy glare. There was a glint in his eye that screamed danger. It was focused on Paul. Picking up the bass with a death grip on the neck, Paul just stared John down. There was a mutual understanding in the moment. The rage in both of them was bubbling over more and more by the second.
John yanked his guitar from the rack and they both plugged into the amps. No one seemed to remember the camera crew was still around. They just turned to Ringo, who was already at his drums, drumsticks in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. He was pushing so hard it had to hurt. And that was it. John squared up to the mic and began to scream the lyrics to a song they'd already wrapped up but they all threw themselves into it without question. Screaming, banging, and heavy riffs filled the studio. Nothing made sense and every fiber of Paul’s being hurt so much that he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, at least. They all felt some level of hurt.
Ringo was even mad- at the situation or at George or at Paul, it didn’t matter. He banged and slammed away like never before. It sounded so wrong coming from him but at the moment it was the only right thing to do. They sounded perfectly horrible. There was a distinct addition to the vocals and Paul turned to find Yoko sitting on George’s little blue stool, wailing along with John’s screams. Yes. Perfectly horrible.
When the song was up the energy was still poisonous and thick in the air. They weren’t done, not by far. Paul stepped up to the mic and John did not move away. With little notion of what he was doing, he went at the lyrics of another song. The words spat from his tongue with vitriol and fire.
They all needed to scream. Ringo was at the mic at some point, coming up with random words on the spot. Really just to have something to yell about.
When they finished, panting out the last seething breaths, Paul felt empty.
“Way to fucking go,” John yelled, eyes fixed on Paul. “Way to go.” his voice was drastically quieter, more tired and sad and hoarse, eyes drifting to his feet.
Paul’s bass suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, pulling the strap down against his shoulder painfully. Maybe it was more the weight of his mistakes than the bass. Everything felt painstaking and dreadful for the rest of the day. The anger was gone and the screaming was done. There was nothing else to keep his mind from wandering into a wall of depression.
In the present, sans John and Ringo, he shyly grabbed an acoustic guitar and went to sit in a corner. He worked on one of his own songs, quietly strumming and murmuring. He didn’t like it yet, keeping it to himself. The awkward air in the studio only exemplified his need for privacy. So he stayed tucked away, only speaking when spoken to, like a good little schoolboy. George had even come over to ask about the song but Paul told him it wasn’t right just yet. There was no way he was about to embarrass himself on top of all this.
He went back and forth for most of the day. Playing several takes of various songs before turning back to his own song. There was a part on one of the songs that Paul found needed a quieter guitar part. The thought of addressing this issue to George was met with resistance. Was he really ready to address him? The guitar part could be addressed later, maybe. He could suggest another take tomorrow. But the song. It just wouldn’t be right. And maybe no one would be willing to do another take later. That struck a nerve in Paul that rang louder than the rest of his rationale.
“Maybe,” Paul started, resolving to look directly at George for the first time since he walked in. “The guitar could be a bit quieter next take, y’know? Just sounds a bit heavy.” He tacked on quickly, glancing at Ringo, “The drums too.”
Ringo gave him a pained expression. Paul looked George dead on with a weak smile, though he could see John’s cautioning glare in his peripheral vision. George’s eyes were dark and apathetic. His jaw was set tight.
George Martin came over just when he was about to respond. Oblivious to the tension between them, he clapped a hand on John’s shoulder with a grin. “That was a great take, lads. Why don’t you take a lunch break with the film crew.”
“Wasn’t good enough for Paul,” George huffed, leaving first. “But what is?”
George Martin didn’t hear the remark and walked off to talk with Mal.
“You’re really going to cock it up already?”
“What!” Paul went quickly to his own defense. “It was a suggestion, is all. I’m not treating him with kid gloves just because we had a row.”
“A row? He left the bloody band.”
“Not being a prick for one day isn’t kid gloves,” Ringo suddenly chimed in.
Paul gaped. “Caring about the songs is being a prick now, is it?”
John huffed an indigent laugh. “You’re painfully stupid.” He left with Ringo in tow before Paul could ask for any clarification. Not that he was sure he wanted any.
Stunned by the attacks, he stared blankly at George’s guitar. He had absolutely none of his friends at his side. He had managed to push them all away when all he wanted, so desperately, was to bring them together. They were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand and all he could seem to do was open his hands to quicken the fall. He’d lose them forever. It was all his fault. How long would it take? When would they figure out he wasn’t worth the trouble?
He just wanted them to be alright. He wanted to go back to how they were and just tour a bit. Play on stage like they all used to love. The band couldn’t rip apart. It just couldn’t because Paul would tear apart with it. And yet here they all were, at wit's end with one another. The connecting link to this free fall was Paul, of course. He had made Ritch leave and then George. It was all too obvious that John wanted out - surely Paul’s fault as well.
He couldn’t imagine a world without Ringo, John, and George playing at his side. He didn’t want to. It was something new and terrifying that had no qualms with keeping him up at night, even when three glasses of scotch in. He couldn’t recall the last time he slept without drinking. Even still, nightmares filled his dreams and made sleeping seem worthless and just as tiresome as not sleeping at all. What a poor excuse of a man he was becoming.
With a tight chest and burning eyes, he got up. Thankfully, the film crew had truly gone to lunch. He was mostly alone with a few straggling technicians in the booth.
There was no way in hell he could go to lunch now. Not while it felt like the world was out to get him. Not while he felt on the verge of crying. Instead, he decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold winter wind cooled his hot skin. He fell against the wall with a thud and bit his lip. His eyes were pricked with tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.
Dragging a hand down his face, he dove into his pocket and pulled out a spliff he’d rolled that morning for this very reason. His hand was caught on his chin as he eyed the thing. A beacon of hope.
He wasted no more time in lighting it. The earthy taste coated his tongue and warmed his throat. He relaxed on the exhale and repeated the process until his mind was a little numb. The carefree smoke floated high above before disappearing into the brisk wind. It would be so much easier to disappear with it.
“Stay gone too long and they’ll think you quit too.”
Tension pulled at his neck and traveled down his body. With an involuntary jerk of his fingers, the spliff fell to the concrete. He didn’t look at the newcomer and didn’t need to. The calming drawl could only be from one person.
“So?”
Paul reluctantly turned his head to find George’s steady gaze on him. Words abandoned his brain. “So,” he asked stupidly.
George’s features suddenly dropped and Paul noticed there had been a hint of lightness seconds before. Great. Already cocking it up.
“Oh, fuck you, then.”
“George! No, no!” He jumped forward and grabbed George’s wrist. “Please, love.”
There was hesitation in George’s step. He shook Paul’s hand off but did not leave. “Do you even care? Care that I left.”
His brow furrowed and his mind swirled back to life. “Of course. We were all-”
“I didn’t ask about the others. Did you care?”
It seemed like such an absurd question. There was nothing to suggest he didn’t. He was downright miserable. Was that not plain to see? Something inside him made him want to switch back on the defense. Deflect and reject. But he couldn’t let himself slip anymore. Everything was on the line now. His entire relationship was up to bat. He’d just be honest. And honesty wasn’t all that hard when your heart wrenched at the thought of this charade continuing for another second.
“Yes! I cared. I thought you’d never come back and I was terrified.” He was desperately searching George’s face for any recognition of belief. “You didn’t answer my calls for weeks and I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. If you don’t I can't even blame you at this point. Just tell me what I did wrong.”
There was no hint of emotion from George. He had a corked brow that could mean anything. The time passing with no answer couldn’t be good. Maybe he wouldn’t answer at all and just leave Paul standing here like an idiot.
“You want to know what you did wrong?” A look of contempt screwed up George’s features. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”
A weight crushed every bone in Paul’s body. He deserved this. He deserved the heartache and pain. The more it hurt the better George might feel. He just had to hold his asinine tongue.
“You treat me like I couldn’t find writing talent if it bit me in the arse.” Paul tried to interrupt, despite himself, with an explanation. “Shut up and listen!” George moved closer, sizing Paul up. “When’s the last time you took any suggestion I’ve made seriously? You’ve been screaming from the damn rooftop about staying together and getting back to basics yet you sit in your little fucking corner like a punished child, ignoring us to work alone. What’s the point, then? Just to show how much of a pain you can be? You act like you don’t want me- any of us- near your songs and then boss us around on our own.”
George was pulling in unsteady breaths. He leaned forward slightly, really looking into Paul’s soul.
“You weren’t even the one to ask me back. Had Ritch do it for you, you coward.” George pushed him into the wall and Paul took it. “And you have the gall to ignore me! Even when I came to you like a stupid loyal puppy! That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Your little puppy that you get tired of when it makes too much noise. Well, fuck you and your damn songs. Fuck whatever you think you’re doing. You’re not keeping us together and you never could.”
Just punch me. The thought was screaming at the forefront and wouldn’t settle. Too angry with himself to stop, he yelled back, “Don’t you think I know? I see everyone slipping away and turning from me and all I can do is push you further! No matter what I try or how good I think I’m doing, you’ll just leave me out cold.” Caught up in it all, he shoved George back. “And you’re not a puppy! You’re my mate. You’re- I love you, alright.”
His voice cracked and, god, he was crying. He was actually crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Really just didn’t think you’d come back if I asked. And if that makes me a coward then sure. That’s what I am. If being a coward is what I need to have you near, fine.”
A muscle in George’s jaw tightened. He was stiff and his eyes were damp. His voice was so soft when he said, “Why didn’t you look at me? When you walked in you wouldn’t even really look at me. And when I tried to talk you just buried your head in your notebook.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But as soon as you have an issue with a song you go in with those big eyes of yours and I don’t want to hate you. It’s not fair.”
“You’ve said it, y’know. I’m a right coward. Scared to lose you if I speak and losing you just as fast when I don’t. Shouldn’t have turned you away. I shouldn’t have ignored you. The song- the stupid song. Don’t know if I even cared about how loud your guitar was. I just wanted to look at you, I think.”
“Looking at me now, aren’t you?”
And he was. They had been staring relentlessly and it felt good, no matter how much yelling they’d done. He wiped harshly at his cheeks to clear them of tears. “I’m sorry for being a prick.”
“Aye. You should be.” The words might have hurt if the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch up. He rubbed Paul’s shoulders and arms. “Just talk to me, okay? I won’t disappear, I promise.”
His smile was sad but genuine. All Paul could ask for. He nodded but then realized he already missed the point. “Okay,” he voiced. “Talking. Always been my strong suit.”
George’s smile grew and he pulled Paul into a hug. He hugged back fiercely, balling his hands up in George’s jumper.
“I don’t deserve this.” The words weren’t meant to leave his mind but they seemed to come of their own accord.
George moved him back and Paul almost pulled them right back together. “What do you mean?”
Bringing a hand up to caress George’s cheek, he tilted his head. “I don’t deserve to have you. Don’t deserve to have this band. Wouldn’t you be better off without me? I’m just here to cock it all up.”
“You… really mean that, don’t you?” With a shaky breath, George brought him back into the hug and gently held Paul’s head to his shoulder, petting down his hair. “No matter what happens to the band, it’s not because you don't deserve to have it. It’d be because we all need space, alright?” He held Paul a little closer. “And you don’t get to decide if you deserve me. That’s my decision.”
Paul nestled into the crook of his neck, scared to ask but not willing to keep it back. “And you think I do?”
“No. No. I just fancy hugging people I hate.”
Paul smiled into his neck. “Arse.”
#beatlesrarepairweek#mcharrison#mcharrison fanfiction#the beatles#George Harrison#paul mccartney#John Lennon#Ringo Starr#the beatles fanfiction#the beatles one shot#the beatles rare pair week
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Liar (Chuck Clayton)
Title: Liar
Words:1.5k
Warnings: Cheating, Swearing, Angst & Slight Make-out
Tags: Vixen!Reader, Cheater!Chuck
Pairing: Chuck Clayton x Reader
Line: 58- "We're done here,"
Fandom: Riverdale
masterlist
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Slyly, Y/N slipped into the boy's closed locker room at school, as the moon was high. It peered through the glass and stained window, as it painted a cloudy grey against the still damp floorboards; something Y/N was always annoyed about.
While many thoughts processed through Y/N racing mind, but there was one that kept poking at her side; why the hell was she in the position?
It was simple to the naked eye or eyes. Y/N had snagged her high school royalty as her companion, she had the coach's son fo fucks sake to keep her warm nd she couldn't be more content with the boy. Y/N fell for Chuck Clayton and he fell for her. Y/N was sincerely surprised when Chuck had confidently asked her out to Pop's that night; though the rest of the school didn't really find the news that thriving.
Y/N was a River Vixen, one of Cheryl most beautiful and skilled, everyone knew our name from the impressive stunts, she did on regular, and was a goddess to the more normal student. They gawked at her like she was a deity.
Chuck and Y/N Relationship was well known throughout the school, news of the romance spread like wildfire and by Monday, everyone knew. Chuck & Y/N had the perfect relationship; until now.
Although, Chuck was all Y/N had hoped for in a boyfriend, lately, he had been distant and cold. The Once shared Milkshake dates at Pop's were now a lonely Saturday Evening. The cuddles that kept Y/N during the drive through turned into a single sad serving of popcorn.
Y/N was intent on giving up on him. She tried her hardest to try and fix the tearing bond between them but every time she had kindly asked him, he had rudely declined her offer not bothering to even look at her face when responding but finally after millions of times trying, she had broken through Chuck's newly grown tough skin.
They had planned a simple and romantic movie night at Y/N's house as her parents were at for the weekend at her grandmother's. Easy to say; Friday couldn;t have gone slower to Y/N. She was completely over the moon for their date.
After a century to Y/N, Chuck finally arrived at Y/N Large estate as he rushed in not bothering to show a display of affection as he stomped through the frame. At last, the pair was enjoying themselves in the complete silence; maybe too much.
Ten minutes into the movies, Chuck had already pinned her small frame under his larger one. Y/N heart raced and her stomach did flips as Chuck warm palms searched her sides, his finger drawing over the curves of her hips, gripping tightly at the end, leaving Y/N to roll her eyes in pleasure.
His lips ghosted of her's before roughly pounding against the soft skin; bruising them in the process, after that his lips trailed down to her supple collar bone, he gently licked the untouched surface before sucking down harshly, leaving bright red marks that adorned Y/N (s/c) skin.
All that filled the thick and tense air were the breathy and grungy moans that left YN flustered lips. Her whole body boiled with excitement, her mind racing to the net point of ecstasy for the both of them.
Chuck's bulky digits toyed at her dark blue lace panties, slapping the material against the sensitive skin, every few second, sending powerful jolts through her veins; each time leaving Y/N speechless.
It was when Chuck had abruptly pulled to a complete stop, that a long whine left Y/N coarse throat as she propped herself up on her elbows.
Chuck sat up quickly and bounced off the mattress and into the seat, as he roughly pulled apart the room in search of an item, that was causing him stress.
"What's wrong?" Y/N asked with an annoyed tone.
"I left my letterman's at school" Chuck replied, not bothering to look at his girlfriend but just keep looking around swiftly.
"Well you can get it on Monday," Y/N sighed as she pulled Chuck in by the neck, leaning in for another kiss, but he quickly snapped his attention away from the pleading girl in front of him.
"No, It has my I.D in it and Money; anyone could get that," Chuck panicked as he placed his large hand over his sweating forehead. Softly Y/N got up from the mattress and flung her arms around Chuck's thick neck.
"I'll get it," Y/N purred int his collar, placing a small peck on the skin before prancing to the wooden door frame.
"You're the best, Y/N" Chuck Beamed as Y/N snatched her jacket and took her leave to the school
--
So that's how she ended up at the school late at night, 11 pm to be presise.
Y/N danced around the empty room as she searched for Chuck personal locker. Luckily Y/N's eyes spotted her boyfriend's name engraved on the familiar deep blue locker. Feeling confident, Y/N softly danced over to the storage and easily undid the locker.
Y/N swiftly snatched the blue & yellow jumper and started to run out, only to be stopped by a large furry book slamming hard against the concrete floor with a loud smack. Y/N stood frozen waiting for any alarm to go off or a random person to burst through and catch her sneaking into the school on a Friday evening. After a good minute of standing completely still, Y/N unstuck from her position and peered at the chestnut colour book.
Out of pure curiosity, Y.N slowly picked up the heavy object & hesitantly opened it and flew past the hundreds of pages, filled with unknown content.
Rolling her (e/c) orbs, She picked out the names of certain teammates of Chuck's with random girl's names next to them with a small number ranging from 2-9 sitting across from the names. The realisation hit her; this was a stupid game the boys played to gain dominance. Y/N heard of it before, never thought it was true; but with the assholes gracing the team, she wasn't really surprised.
What did Surprise her, was her boyfriend's name to appear throughout the other unimportant names. His name popped up next to a range of girls, coming from women she didn't know and didn't care about and others were familiar names; girl on the cheer squad. At the moment, Y/N world shattered around her.
A storm of emotions started to brew inside of her. Fist all she could feel was utter despair, hot tears started to flow down her cheeks, ruining her foundation. Her mind felt flat as her small palm covered her lips to muffle to soft sounds of her sobs.
Then her brain managed for her feeling to conjure up guilt and stupidity. Her whole body felt incompetent and primitive. Y/n felt like she was in preschool again. She got herself to feel wrecked.
The last was her climax, the peak of her intense heartbreak. Rage. All she could see was red. Everything boiled quickly before she could think of a rational action, she stormed out of the school; her knuckles turning white as her tip grip on the sinful book. Her feet creating earthquakes with fire running behind her as she stomped through the dark school, getting ready to give Chuck a piece of her mind.
-
Y/N burst through the frame and thrashed her way up to Chuck and struck him harshly over the cheek.
"What the fuck, Y/N?!" Chuck yelled angrily at her.
"Explain, Now!" Y/N stated coldly as she slammed the massive book against a milky white desk, her eyes never leaving his.
"It's a stupid game the boys pla-"
"Your name was in it Chuck" Y/N interrupted softly; her words telling the story of her heartbreak.
"Bab-"
"YOUR FUCKING NAME!" Y/N screamed, all of her patience with him running a thin line as a water broke free once again. "Chuck, have you been cheating on me through our entire relationship?" she asked quietly still looking Chuck deep in the face. "Was our relationship a game?" Y/N barely let out, "Say something, tell me it's not true," She pleaded gently. Chuck stayed completely silent, averting his gaze from Y/N emotional state, this painted a seemingly clear picture for Y/N the realisation hit her once again; Chuck had been cheating on her, He has played her like a toy.
"We're done here," Y/N said blankly as she opened the door for Chuck departure.
"Let me explain," Chuck raced to her side as he gently took her palms in his.
"Get out," Y/N spoke harshly, her tolerance fell short at his attempt to stop her bold actions.
"Please,"
"Get Out!"
"Baby,"
"Get out of my house!" Y/N Yelled furiously, tears flowed freely as her eyes came to his in a mixture of anger and sorrow.
"Fine," Chuck shouted at her angrily as he swiftly grabbed his jacket at walked to the door. "but you'll be begging on your knees for me," Chuck seethed at he stomped out of the freshly tense house leaving Y/N to slam the door quickly before she dropped to the floor, feeling heartbroken and looking like a total mess; she let out al of her emotions as the only thing that could be heard was her soft hics and incoherent mumbling.
#chuck clayton#chuck clayton x reader#reader x chuck clayton#chuck clayton imagines#riverdale#thecw#bettycooper#veronicalodge#archie andrews#jughead jones#riverdale imagines#imagines#x reader#riverdale x reader#angst#cheating#make-out#swearing
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Hi, not sure if you're still taking prompts but in case you are I thought I'd send a cute one over (because there's so much angst on ao3 at the moment). James/Thomas/Silver modern au where Silver keeps booping Thomas on the nose, Thomas lost a bet and is now wearing cat ears and James has been bundled up in a blanket. I hope this is ok.
So this turned into a bit of a Harry Potter AU, I hope that’s okay! Also it’s kind of ridiculous...like...really ridiculous, but this prompt was also so many beautiful shades of ridiculous so there you go! Also it’s not so much ot3 as James/Thomas and then John there...maybe pre-ot3? Sorry about that I was just enjoying writing Thomas and John banter too much. Hope you enjoy!
Here on ao3
“Sorry, Thomas, said John, grinning, not looking sorry atall. “You lost the bet. Slytherin smashed Gryffindor last Quidditch match. Noteven 50 points to our 300! Shame,” he said, shaking his head smugly. “Hand itover,” he said, and held out a hand.
“Damn you, John Silver.” Thomas reached into his bag, aboutto draw out the promised bet. “Ten Galleons, was it?”
“That’s the one,” said John, grinning all over his face.
Thomas sighed and reached into the velvet drawstring bagwhich held his money. He drew out two golden Galleons, and then found he had nomore – just a small pile of silver Sickles and a lot of bronze Knuts.
Thomas licked his lips apprehensively. “I’m short,” he said.
“Well now, that’s just not true, is it? You’re one of thetallest people I know.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, I’m short of the money.”
“Oh,” said John, looking surprised. Then his face brightened.“That’s okay, you can just pay me back next time you get money out ofGringotts.”
“No,” said Thomas, feeling horribly awkward. “You don’tunderstand. My father’s cut me off.”
John gaped at him. “He’s cut you off?” Thomas nodded,miserably. “Why? Because of James? I thought he knew you were gay?”
“He did, sort of. He was okay with it as long as he couldpretend it wasn’t real, and as long as I didn’t actually, you know, act on it.That’s why I dated Miranda in first year,” he explained, referring to theSlytherin girl in the year above, who was still one of Thomas’s closestfriends. “But it’s not just the gay thing. He asked what house James was in,and when I told him he was a Hufflepuff – and a muggleborn Hufflepuff at that –he hit the roof.” Thomas puffed out a laugh. “He said it was bad enough mebeing in Gryffindor, when, you know, our whole family going back centuries has been in Slytherin, but atleast Gryffindor was a respectable house.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “But medating a Hufflepuff, and a boy at that, well, that was the last straw. So Itold him that James was a better wizard and a better man than any Slytherin hasever been – no offence,” he said, casting an apologetic glance at John, “andthat I didn’t need his fucking approval anyway.”
“And then what happened?” asked John.
Thomas snorted. “He asked if I needed the money and positionthat comes with that approval, and Isaid ‘What, the money and position our family got from marrying our cousins andslaughtering innocent muggleborns?’” Thomas breathed heavily, looking angry.John was looking at him with worry. “So he told me to get out.”
“When was this?” John asked.
“Christmas. I’ve been staying at muggle friends’ housessince then, my father performed a bit of magic that meant I couldn’t apparatewithout his say-so, and he confiscated my wand – sent it back to me only afterI went to the Headmaster about it, on the first day of term.” John lookedappalled. “I haven’t told James yet, by the way.”
“You haven’t told him?” exclaimed John, shocked.
Thomas shrugged uncomfortably. “I know he would just feelguilty, blame himself. But it’s not hisfault,” he said fiercely. “Anyway, I don’t regret it.”
John booped him on the nose, which was his way of showingaffection. “He’s a dickhead, your dad. You’re well shot of him.”
“I know,” said Thomas, darkly. “But that’s why I can’t payyour bet, at least not right now. I’m sorry John. I let you down.”
John shook his head, gave him another friendly tap on thenose, which made Thomas smile reflexively. “Don’t be silly,” he said, grinningwickedly, “I’ll just have to think of a cunning forfeit for you to do instead.”
“Oh God,” said Thomas, screwing his eyes up and looking horrified,although truthfully he was glad he had another way to pay John back – the otherboy wasn’t exactly rich and he could probably have done with the extra cash. “What’sthe forfeit?”
“Hmm…” John looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, I’ll have tothink about it.” Then the teasing smile left his face and he cleared histhroat, looking serious. “You need to tell James, though.”
“Tell me what?” said James, coming through the portrait holeto the Hufflepuff common room where they had congregated at exactly the wrongmoment.
Thomas and John exchanged guilty glances and then John said,“Just that he lost a bet we had on.”
James snorted. “I knew that already,” he said, lookingsuspiciously between the two of them.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, and then realised Jameswas shivering. “James,” he exclaimed, taking him in properly, “you’re soaking!”He hurried forward, worriedly.
“There’s no need to fuss,” said James, a claim that wouldhave held much more legitimacy had his teeth not been chattering. Thomas put anarm around him, firmly.
“What happened?” asked John. “You look like you fell in thelake!”
James gave him a look. “I did,” he said shortly.
“Let’s get you upstairs, get you out of these wet clothes,”said Thomas quickly, steering James towards the stairs, ignoring John chortlingbehind them.
James gave him a suggestive look.
Thomas laughed. “Not like that. You’re not getting so muchas a kiss from me until I’m sure you’re not going to get hypothermia.”
James pouted. “Fine,” he said sulkily, and let himself belet up the stairs to his dorm.
When they came back down, Jams was wearing his favouriteoversized jumper and dry jeans, and was wrapped in a thick tartan blanket.Thomas made a beeline straight to the fire, where there were already peoplesitting in the comfy armchairs. James groaned behind him.
“Move please,” said Thomas, politely but firmly. “Myboyfriend’s just fallen in the lake and he needs to warm up.”
There was a lot of muttering and grumbling from theassembled Hufflepuffs, as well as a few dirty looks at Thomas, who wasn’t evenin their house, asking them to vacate their chairs. Thomas was a prefect,however, and a fair one at that, so they left the area to find new seatswithout much further ado.
“Thomas,” complained James, as the taller boy pushed him intothe chair closest to the fire. “If I get any warmer I’ll be a Blast-EndedSkrewt.” But Thomas simply gazed at him reprovingly until he relented and sankback into the armchair.
Not before grabbing Thomas around the middle and pulling himdown with him, however.
“James,” said Thomas, scandalised, although he smiled andturned to kiss James on the cheek.
“If you want me to get warm,” James growled in his ear, “thenit’s in both of our interests for you to stay in my arms.”
“Okay,” said Thomas a bit breathlessly, nodding inagreement. “But you know,” he said silkily, “it’s always in my best interests to be in your arms.”
James kissed him properly then, right on the mouth, andcuddle him closer.
Behind them, John cleared his throat. They both looked up athim, smiling, and he moved around to sit in the armchair opposite them.
“I thought of what you have to do to pay your bet,” saidJohn, eyes twinkling.
“Oh god, what?” asked Thomas.
“Cat ears,” he said, smugly.
“What?” said James, before Thomas could get there.
“Cat ears! I’ll transfigure cat ears onto your head, andwhen anybody asks why you did it, you can tell them you’re a cat furry!”
Thomas burst out laughing, while James looked completelynonplussed. John beamed at them as if this was the most hilarious and brilliantidea in the world.
“Okay,” Thomas agreed, “you can give me cat ears. “As longas you remove them after a few days.”
“Two weeks,” said John.
“A week,” said Thomas, firmly.
“How about ten days; one for each Galleon you owe me.”
Thomas giggled. “Fine,” he said. “But why?”
John shrugged. “Just thought it would be funny.”
“Plus, babe,” said James, who seemed to have recovered fromhis confusion and accepted John’s idea as one of his usual madcaps schemes, “youdo tend to purr a bit when we’re in bed together.”
Thomas looked embarrassed. “Do I? Shit, I didn’t evenrealise…”
James kissed Thomas soothingly on the head, then pressed theirforeheads together, looking teasingly into Thomas’s eyes. “Don’t worry,” hesaid, “I like it.”
“James is a cat furry!” exclaimed John delightedly as theysank into a long, warm kiss like it was a hot bath.
#black sails#thomas hamilton#john silver#james flint#black sails fic#penflicks#asks#my writing#fanfic#umm#furry mention#homophobia mention#just alfred hamilton being a dick again as in literally every au under the sun#as well as canon
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