Happy
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Angry
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Sad
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Concerned
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Scared
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Crying
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Giddy
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First Crush
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Yule Ball
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Innocent
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Betrayed
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Baby
Characters: Brady Higgs, Harriet Higgs | Rating: PG
Her tears were of joy.
Brady could recall every painful, heartbroken minute of holding his young wife close as she wept out of fear and the unrelenting burden of her plight. She would shake with sadness and go limp against his chest; hiding her eyes and muffling her sobs. Slender fingers would grasp blindly for a hold of his shirt to cling to his resolve--she no longer possessed any. She was frail, so frail like the sickly child she'd always been, always would be.
Those tears were not happy ones.
But these were and yet, there was an ache in his chest all the same. As were the foreboding thoughts in his mind--albeit now for a different reason, but nevertheless deeply concerned.
"I don't understand," he began quietly, careful to reel back the worry in his tone, "the doctors, the healers... Not one said there was even a remote chance."
Harriet hiccupped a laugh against her husband's strong neck. Her fingers flexed into the flesh of his chest. She pulled back her face. Steely-blue eyes shined back at him. Her appled cheeks had a flush he hadn't seen in years. "Don't tell me you don't believe in magic," her sarcasm was lost in the strain of emotion in her voice.
"We're pregnant, Brady. We're pregnant," the last word was nearly lost in another gasp for the breath she'd lost minutes before.
Not even Brady could remain stoic after that one. He winced harshly as his felt his heart bash itself wildly against his ribs making his chest explode with pain. His next breath was gasping and shaky as his fingers lost themselves in her mousy dark blonde hair. He held her tight, terrified that this--their child--not the cancer in her bones could be the death of her.
Because she was pregnant. Harriet Higgs was pregnant. Brady Jefferson Higgs was going to be a father. Orson and Petra Higgs were going to be grandparents--which was a miraculous feat when their only child was their gay son. They were bringing a new life into the world and it was because of him. And because of her. And because of Gods knew what.
No. It was because of magic. Not wizard magic, but it was magic.
A tear escaped down either of Brady cheeks as he opened his eyes, but his lids quickly went heavy as he huffed a laugh. Seeing her dimpled smile had him pining for more naive days. "I love you, Harry doll," he said with an adoring toothy grin.
A warm palm cupped his jaw and the tiny blond wiggled close enough to bump her brow against his "I love you, hunky B," Harriet replied in a lusty tone and claimed her husband's mouth with her own. |
Best Friend
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Working
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Traumatized
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Wary
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Drunk
Characters: Brady Higgs, Daniel Twilfit | Rating: R
"Oh, fuck off," Brady groaned and flicked what remained of his fag at Malcolm's legs. The drunken wizard lurched forward as he shoved himself upward from the stone floor; walking his hands and shoulders up the wall behind him. He swatted away his friend's attempts to help him to his feet.
Malcolm's face was stern and impatient. "You're not doing this again," he said firmly--though he had to shout to be heard over the music. He put his hands to Brady's chest in an attempt to pin the grouchy, taller man and prevent his escape. "This is not 'happy'!"
Brady scowled and gripped the front of Malcolm's shirt with both fists. "Depends on your fucking definition," he sneered and roughly shoved the other man away.
Brady gave himself a push off the wall and staggered a few steps before regaining his balance. A swagger was then back in Brady's step but his step was still in a daze. The tonic he'd taken had dilated his pupils and put a thin sweat on his skin--which was only added to by the humidity generated in the dance club packed full of bodies.
Before Malcolm could catch him, Brady had plunged into a crowd of dancing and gyrating pieces of meat. He let his hands wander as much as feet did with a grip here, a pinch there, and generally fondling any who would let him. On the anniversary of the death of your wife--who never knew your marriage was a complete sham meant to make your queer self feel better about her dying before she was even in her mid-twenties--you discriminated very little. And when you looked like Brady Higgs, there were few who would complain about the aggressive attention anyhow.
After a good five or ten minutes--perhaps shorter, perhaps longer; his brain wasn't in its highest functioning state--he became bored with the lackluster selection. Brady gave a roll of his eyes and began weaving toward the door. He had to get out of this stink hole and onto the next before Malcolm caught up.
Stupid fucking ponce, that Queen was. Tried to convince Brady (again) that promiscuity wasn't happiness. As if he knew anything of happiness--moping around after a worthless tripe of a pouf who wouldn't give a bleeding second look. Happiness. Fuck that. Honestly.
Brady was a half-step out of the door when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him back across the threshold into pouf-land. Fucking Malcolm... He shot back a glare and ripped his arm out of the grasp. "Shove off!" he slurred and hit the door once more.
Cold air was a welcome change on Brady's face. The club had been stifling. But once again, hands seized at him. This time Brady jerked away so abruptly that he nearly knocked himself off his feet. He stumbled into the wall of the building to brace for balance.
"I told you to fuck off!" he barked angrily and gripped at the brick to keep from falling flat on his arse. "I don't need your bleeding sympathy, Malcolm. I'm fucking sunshine and daisies over here, alright?"
It was then that a concerned face that wasn't Malcolm's swam through Brady's vision and hands went to his arms to hold on loosely. He heard a familiar voice say his name but he was too high to place how or why he knew the man.
"Who the fuck are you?" he muttered, eyes closing momentarily to combat the spinning of the world.
Hands touched his face. One swept over his brow while the other tucked limp locks of his hair behind his ears. Fingers were on his neck and then his chin--tilting his head gently as he was examined. Brady's heavy eyelids blinked slowly as he stared up from his slouching against the wall into worried dark eyes. A jacket was being draped over his shoulders when a hazy memory of the face came back to him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Brady asked as Dan's hands fretted over him. "If Malcolm--"
A finger pressed to Brady's lips and he blinked wildly in surprise that someone would actually cut him off. "Malcolm had nothing to do with it," the scruffier wizard quickly corrected. "You practically molested every bloke in there. It was difficult to miss."
An indignant scowl crossed Brady's face and he pushed at the other wizard in attempt to make Dan leave. "Another bleeding good Samaritan--just what we fucking need. You going to marry a stupid dying bint, too? Is there a club now? Selfish Queer Fuckwits for the Terminal Muggle?"
Dan sighed and pressed back against the surly wizard. "You really can be an idiot if you set your mind on being one," he huffed on Brady's shoulder.
"Fuck--" was the only angry word Brady got out before the other wizard kissed him.
Fingertips pressed into the nape of Brady's neck and silenced him. Dan's brow brushed up against his. The tension left his shoulders and he rested his now droopy head back against the other man's. Brady's hands cupped Dan's scruffy warm jaw and the other man shivered under the touch.
"Your hands are cold," Dan muttered against the edge of Brady's mouth. He swallowed hesitantly and Brady's eyelids rose to half-mast to meet Dan's gaze. "If you say they're cold to match how you feel inside," the shorter and significantly more sober wizard began. He pressed another kiss on Brady's mouth before adding, "I'm revoking your speaking priveleges." |
Flustered
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Bitchy
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Maternal/Paternal Love
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First Year
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Graduating
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Sorting
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Hogwarts
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Pick Your Own
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