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inkrabbit · 3 years

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Hello! So I was wondering if you could write a Sean macguire x male reader where reader replaces Karen during Sean’s welcome back party. Except, reader is sober and when Sean first says ‘I love you’ and kisses reader, reader stops him. And then tells him to find him when he’s sober. And the next morning, when reader thinks Sean’s forgotten all about it, Sean approaches him. And when reader tries to start up a friendly conversation, Sean dramatically dips and kisses him in the middle of camp. Everyone who sees claps and whistles and all that stuff. You can decide what happens after.

Hopefully this is good. I went back and watched the scene a couple times and came up with this. I hope you like it <3

The party had been rather pleasant, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't happy Sean was home, safe and sound. His drunken speech had put a smile on your face, but you decided it was best to not linger around the Irishman. You knew how he could be when he drank too much; you had the “pleasure” of getting to know the man in his drunken state when you first joined the gang. He was handsy and hovered around you, shouting compliments from across camp whenever he saw you working. You weren't sure what you preferred more: the affectionate drunk or the story-telling idiot.

You knew he was a joker, always saying something to get a rise out of people. A true, some of the things he did say would make you smile, or even chuckle on the rare occasion. But the one thing that always perplexed you was how he would talk about you having feelings for him. Sure, he would joke about the women in camp having some sort of soft spot for him, and that they'd all probably fight for his hand in marriage, but you were the only man in camp he would make these jokes about. You never brought it up, positive that he would laugh at you for not being able to separate joke from reality. Still, the comments would replay over and over in your mind whenever you laid down to sleep at night.

He's stumbling as he walks over to you, bottle in hand and a toothy grin on his face. You had tried to ignore him, too lost in thought to even want to give him any sort of attention while you tried to sort things out on your own. Still, his hand planted itself on the tree you were leaning against, and he leans forward just that bit so he's just mere inches from your face. You half expect him to start chastising you for not drinking like the rest of the members to welcome him back, or even poking fun at you for having tried to isolate yourself from the rest of the party.

“Admit you love me...” he slurs out, and you're surprised to hear the desperation in his voice. “Admit it, and I'll stop annoyin' ya.”

“Sean, what're you talkin' about?” No, this wasn't the first time the Irishman had said something that had caught you off guard, but this surely wasn't the topic you expected him to try and cover.

“You love me,” He grin seems to grow as closes in on you, invading more of your personal space and forcing you to move back. He reeks of whiskey, making your nose crinkle up.

“I don't know what's gotten into you, but you need to move back.”

“Come here...” The world almost seems to fall away as he grabs your hand, a lot more gently than you would expect, pulling you against him. Before he can lean in and press his lips against yours, you move your head back, planting your hand at the base of his neck and prying him away.

“Stop playin' around, Sean,” You're quick to walk back, avoiding the questionable look you catch from Arthur.

“He's been pining for me, that boy!” Sean's voice grows distant, but you can hear the smugness in his voice as he talks to the older man. You can only shake your head as you move farther into camp. Maybe a bottle of whiskey of your own would help calm your nerves and running mind.

By the time you're halfway done with your drink, some of the camp members have already settled down to sleep. Only the more rowdy bunch were still awake, burning the midnight oil as they drank and shared stories or even sang songs. You had kept your distance from them, politely declining their invitations to join them. You'd rather wrestle with your thoughts; try to make sense of everything regarding Sean. You couldn't take him seriously – you wouldn't. You wouldn't let that man make a fool of you, and you wouldn't fall into some sick trap just so he could complete a silly joke.

Still, as the night went on and you came to no solid conclusions, you felt like you were finally starting to wind down and decided to walk your way across camp, back towards your old tent. That's when you hear it.

“Oh there he is!” Sean calls out. You can see him standing beside John's tent, swaying back and forth. No doubt he's drank more since the last time you saw him earlier this evening. “The finest man I know!”

“Now don't you start again, Sean,” You try to hold your ground, but he's walking forward, sounding the slightest bit assertive as he reaches out, this time grabbing your wrist. He doesn't hold you like he did last time, but he does stand close.

“What? You hate me so much you gotta keep harassing me?” You're not sure where the accusation comes from. Maybe it was the months of pent up confusion and irritation you suffered from his jokes, and you had finally snapped. Still, the look in his eyes are akin to a hurt puppy, and his hand grabs yours, holding it like you're the most precious thing in existence.

“I love you,” His voice is different now, genuine and firm. The way he looks at you, a desperate glint in his eyes as he searches yours. Your heart flutters and the beats falter for just a moment.

“Ya don't mean that, Sean. You're always off, talkin' 'bout the other girls. Seems like you're pokin' fun at me. Like you're calling mea girl.”

“Well that's how you take it lad. If you'd just listen to me-”

“I ain't gonna listen to some drunk. You come find me when you're sober.”

Your hand slips from his grasp and you waste no time turning your heels and continuing to your tent. You hear him call out to you, the same desperation in his voice, but you ignore him. Love. The word almost makes you scoff. He was drunk, he didn't know what he was saying.

And just like every other night, you fell asleep with Sean's voice replaying in your mind.

The morning seems to come soon, and you're almost surprised when you see most of the members are already awake and bustling about, eating breakfast and sipping on coffee. You stretch and snatch up your shirt, slipping your arms through the sleeves and doing the buttons. The sun's almost too bright, making you squint.

“Y/N!” And there it is, the old familiar Irish voice that. He seems to have a pep in his step, that same old toothy grin. He must've forgot about last night. He had to with how cheerful he looks, his happy-go-lucky attitude finally returning. With a smile, you give him a small wave.

“Morning, Sean. How'd you sleep?” You expect him to respond with anything. Still, he doesn't stop walking until he's right in front of you, and a small yelp escapes your lips when he grabs you. With one arm supporting your lower back, he tips you, similar to the dips you saw Dutch do to Molly when they'd dance. However, he doesn't pull you back up. Instead, he leans down and pulls you into a kiss. It's not as sloppy as you would've expected, and you reach up to hold onto his jacket for support. You can hear the other members in the background, some whistling while others commented about it being time Sean finally acted on his feelings.

When finally pulls back, he's smiling down at you, his lips still brushing against yours.

“Ya believe me now, love?” he breathes. You let out a soft scoff.

“That kiss wasn't so convincing.” you challenge. There's a laugh and he comments about being the luckiest man alive before he presses his lips against yours again.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #sean macguire #m!reader #sean x m!reader

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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY.

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices.

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime). After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket.

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline, you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?”

***

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you.

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.

Chloroform.

***

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?” the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees.

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.

He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts.

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man.

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?”

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?”

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor.

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you.

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?”

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?”

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.”

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.”

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?”

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.

“Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.”

***

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment.

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father.

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.”

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments.

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

***

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom.

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe.

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown.

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger.

You shake your head, unsure of what to say.

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up.

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm.

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level. “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise.

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over.

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen.

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.”

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat.

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea.

“Famished,” you confess.

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by.

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end.

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance.

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?”

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out.

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face.

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you.

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea.

A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke.

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

“No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.

Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark.

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth.

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.”

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated.

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?”

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves.

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how.

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same.

#tom holland #mob!tom #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine

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malereader-inserts · 4 years

Text

Not Impossible

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Marauders & Male!Reader Summary: It’s all theoretical, really Word Count: 1,822 A/n: Just like End-Game we can ignore the flaws of time travelling here

“Professor?”

You looked at your head of house, she sat in her office, looking up at you confused to why you would venture out for her at the hour, very early in the morning before breakfast as even started. You looked sheepish, your tie done loosely and your shirt untucked for its pants.

“What can I help you with?”

“I have a question, one that I usually asked Professor Dumbledore, but seeing he’s not here I would go to the next best professor,” McGonagall smiles at your compliment, “If you were to go into the future with a time turner, unlikely but not impossible when you return to your time - will you have the knowledge of the future sticking in your memory? I know that you cannot be seen by your future or past self, but other people?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity, ma’am,” You replied with a shrug, standing at her doorway, “After all, I did get hat stall with Ravenclaw, curiosity is just natural with me.”

“Well,” McGonagall hums, thinking before looking at you with sharp eyes, “I would assume so - explain further by what you mean.”

“Say I travel to the future, I have married with kids, and my kids see me - I know their names and who I marry, but not asking how it came about, technically I am not ruining the future because I’m not stopping what will come to be, right? Therefore, I should remember my time in the future and is the reason I named my kids because I met them.”

“Interesting,” McGonagall nods, “I would assume, by your logic, you would be correct - though I do wonder how you came to this conclusion.”

“I asked dad once why he called me (Y/n),” You say, there was a thoughtful look on your face, “He said I’ll understand in due time - it’s always has stuck with me so I was just thinking-”

“If your father travelled in the future and met you...”

“It’s unlikely, but not impossible.”

McGonagall had a twinkle in her eye, as if she knew something, a few years ago a group of boys come barreling into her office late in the night. You looked at her uneasy before she comes to approach you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You are correct, try not to think too much for it. You have exams to concern yourself with and a quidditch match tomorrow to think about.”

“First game against the slimy-”

“Umh!”

“Sorry,” You looked at her sheepishly, “With the Slytherin team.”

“Well, off you go, I don’t want us to miss breakfast and look smart - your father looked better in that uniform than you do!”

You smiled cheekily before dashing away from the office, McGonagall locking her office for a time being, there was a glint in her eyes as she noticed the date. Reminding herself to tell your teachers of the day that you’ll be missing on their lessons for special reasons. You walked down to the great hall, you had quidditch practise that night. Your robe draped over your shoulder bag as you tried to look presentable.

That was until you heard voices murmuring, as you went closer to an empty classroom you could hear harsh whispers. Out of curiosity, you opened the door to see four boys looking like they were just caught. Your eyes widen as they had Gryffindor ties - you know all the boys in your house, after all, prefect went to you rather to Ron - who was very relieved

“Who are you and why are you posing as Gryffindor boys?” You asked as they looked at you with wide eyes.

“We’re um-” The long hair boy spluttered, looking at glasses for support.

As you gave them a harder look, you realised something, you had recognised them, old pictures in your dad’s photo album.

“I know you!” You exclaimed.

“Oi Lupin!” Your head snapped outside to see Seamus waving you down, “You’re going to miss breakfast!”

“Fuck off Finnegan, no I won’t,” You say as the Irish boy chortles before dragging his friends away from you.

You sighed as you entered the room and closing the door behind you, looking at the boys in front of you.

“You’re James Potter,” he waves, as you turn to the long-haired teen, “And you, Sirius Black!”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You’re Remus,” You smile fondly, how can you possibly miss your dad’s awkward smile? Before turning to look bitter, “And Peter Pettigrew.”

“How do you know us?” James asked.

“What year is this?” Peter asked meekly.

“Hang on,” Remus exclaimed loudly, “We’re ignoring that they said you’re a Lupin, but I don’t-”

“The year is 1996, late April, and I know you because how can I not? You’re famous whether you like it or not,” You replied, shrugging your shoulders, “By any chance have you fiddled with a time turner?”

There was silence as you crossed your arm, sharply looking at them before James broke under your stare - it was all too familiar.

“No?”

“James,” You say lowly before he looks at Remus who reveals that he had the time turner around his neck, “You’re all idiots, the lot of you!”

“Well, we’re aware of that,” Sirius says boldly, as you glared at him.

“Well, I don’t know how long you’ll be staying here. But, you better fix it. Because what you’ve created is a paradox. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Ah, unlikely but not impossible,” Remus pointed out.

You opened your mouth before closing them, this is what your dad means when you’ll soon find out about your name. You finally picked up on McGonagall look towards you, you sighed, running your hand down your face.

“Well, breakfast will be ending in half an hour, you stay put and I mean it - I’ll help you sort this out and you go back to whatever year you are in. How old are you even?”

“Sixteen, the lot of us, Wormtail here just turned sixteen two weeks ago.”

“Oh cool,” You answered, nodding, “Guessing in nicknames that you’ve recently able to shift into your animagus forms?”

“Yeah, how do you know that?” Peter asked as you had to hold back a glare for the lad, he’s just an innocent sixteen year old who has the whole world coming for him.

“I know you guys better than the world does,” You shrugged your shoulders.

“You haven’t answered Lupin’s question,” Sirius says.

You smirked, “You’ll find out in due time. Now, will you guys promise to stay put if I get food for you?”

They all looked to each other and nodded, you sighed in relief as you placed your bag down, before leaving the room. The group of boys looking loss before obeying and getting themselves comfortable, you had returned with goodies.

“I’m starving!” Sirius says, ready to pounce before Remus grabbed the back of his collar, “Aw, Moony!”

“Sorry about them,” Remus says as he helps you out to distribute food, “Thank you.”

You waved them off as the five of you get to work in how to get them back to their year, not much with you telling about the future for them, but dropping sublet hints for them.

“I miss Evans,” James sighs wistfully, the three other boys ignoring him - used to his pining as you stare at him, “What?”

“Oh nothing,” You hummed before looking back at your books - which you had to make a trip to the library to bring the boys some books to look for information, “Have you ever tried referring her with her first name?”

“Trust us, Evans is scary when you call her by Lily,” Sirius responded, “I tell you, bloody scary gingers - the lot of them.”

“Tell me about it,” You say thinking about Ginny Weasley, what a fiery girl, “Well, don’t give up James, might work out.”

“You think?”

“I think.”

“James, you’re asking someone from the future - it would make sense, he would know,” Remus replied dryly.

“Do I have a kid?!” James asked excitedly.

“I’m not telling?” You give him a look, “I’m not an idiot in telling you that, Merlin’s beard, knowing you idiots you would ruin the bloody future. My future - if anything, the only one I trust is Remus!”

“Yeah, make sense,” Peter answered, even you chuckled in his response.

“Well, I’m not surprised - you do share a last name.”

You give them a glare before they all got to work. You sighed back, by midday you were hoping to find a resolution.

“God, I’m going to be tired for practice,” You yawned as you shut the sixth book of the day, standing up to stretch, “Angelina is going to be pissed.”

“You play quidditch?”

“Yeah? Chaser,” You say, before waving it off, “Not important really.”

“I think it is, Remus doesn’t like playing quidditch but knowing that you a Lupin does - it’s fascinating!” James teases as you rolled your eyes.

Your quidditch practise started at seven, luckily it was about five that you were able to finish up with the group of idiots. You had neatly stacked some books to bring back to the library. You had a nice day, you learnt more stuff about them, stuff that you wouldn’t have known, you got them to talk about their time at school.

“We’re making a map, of the whole school, but we’re not really sure what to name it. We don’t have a group name for us, by now we were hoping someone in school would name our group for us,” Sirius mention before James nudges him, telling him that he shouldn’t have told you.

You a bit preoccupied, answered without a thought, “Oh, marauders fits you idiots quite well.”

“Marauders?” Peter asked inquisitively.

“One who roams from one place to another, it fits well with a map if you ask me,” You hummed before looking at them, all of them huddled with a chain around their necks. Remus holding the time turner, he looks at you.

“Wait, we never got your name or who you are,” He says, you smile at him.

“Oh, I’m (Y/n) Lupin, I’m your son,” With that, you started the turns of their time tuner, as Remus looks at you wide-eye, “Told you, you’d understand in due time.”

With that, you step back watching the boys fade away. You sighed and continue with your dad as you left the classroom to make your way to the library then to the great hall, you just can’t help be send a strongly worded letter to your father - hoping he reads it to Sirius.

“Bunch of wankers,” You muttered to yourself.

“Are you okay, Mr Lupin?” McGonagall asked as you looked at her, “Muttering yourself again? How was your day?”

“It was eventful, more than I thought it would be.”

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you too long, hope you had a lovely day.”

You nodded, “Yeah, what an unlikely day I’ve had.”

#harry potter imagine #x male reader #platonic #Remus Lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x male reader

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early2000smovieimagines · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Seamus Finnigan

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Seamus first met when you were both wee little witches and wizards. You’d ended up friends with the same people so you were usually around each other a lot ... even though you didn’t get on too well.

- Sure, you could still consider Seamus a friend; and him you, but the two of you butted heads like no one else.

- It all started because you were good at academics and he ...wasn’t. There was a bit of resentment there, mainly because he was embarrassed by his proclivity towards pyrotechnics and the fact that few people trusted his magic; and envious that they trusted yours.

- Neither of you hated each other; even though his temper and snarky comments got on your nerves, but anything that involved magic got the two of you into a bit of a stand off. If you were anywhere besides the classroom then the two of you could actually be around each other without having a glaring match.

- As it so happens, the older you got, the fonder he grew of you and you of him, though neither of you wanted to admit it. Although, even if you liked him, you couldn’t imagine yourself willingly dating the boy; no matter how handsome or endearing he could be. And he thought you were prissy and snobbish but he still liked you; mainly because he knew deep down that you weren’t.

- Soon enough, your bickering starts to sound more like flirting and though you adamantly denied it any chance you got, it was still happening. He’d be the more flirtier out of the two of you ...then he’d sense rejection and would get a bit rude in an attempt to save his pride.

- When he first asked you out, you gently said no, explaining that it was merely the logical thing to do. The two of you could barely get on in itself, how would a relationship work out? But he persisted.

- After a few more attempts, he finally bets on a Quidditch game with you, promising that he’ll stop asking if you win but he’ll get a date if you don’t. Both to shut him up and because it seems fair; and seeing as though once you went on said date and argued for forty minutes he’d have some more clarity, you agreed.

- And of course, he wins the bet. Godric, he was like the cat that got the canary, grinning from ear to ear as he approached you. “I’ll be seeing you at Hogsmeade then, eh?” and you’d rolled your eyes halfheartedly, trying to hide your smile.

- So you and Seamus go to Hogsmeade together that weekend and you have a surprisingly good time; he probably makes complete sure of that in an attempt to prove to you that you’d be a good couple.

“See. I’m not all bad.” He joked as you walked around the village.

“I’m a bit surprised, really. I figured you were just a minger. Always picking fights.” You said earnestly and a bit teasingly.

“Suppose I was just a bit embarrassed that you didn’t make everything you waved your wand at explode.” He relented, muttering shyly, cementing in your head that you’d like to “see” him again.

- He asks you about that as you’re returning to the castle, giving you a “so will I be taking you out another time or am I still a minger?” with a smile. You can’t even begin to imagine how happy he was when you agreed, he almost kissed you right then and there.

- You share your first kiss a week or so later as you’re trying to teach him a spell. As per usual, he’d made a small explosion and was pretty bummed out. You’d leaned over and wiped at the soot that was on his face, reassuring him that it was okay.

- It didn’t help and he continued to pout which prompted you to lean down and peck his lips. That did the trick. He immediately looked at you with a somewhat surprised smile before leaning in to kiss you again.

- Congratulations! You’ve got yourself your very own kissable incendiary!

- Lots of pda. He doesn’t like to act all mushy with you but his hands do rarely remain off of you for very long. He wants everyone to know that the two of you are together; he’s very proud.

- He tends to wrap his arms around you; from behind, whenever you’re standing or sitting together. It makes him feel like he’s protecting you, and he likes the fact that he can pull you into him.

- Him leaning his head on your shoulder.

- He loves when you kiss him on the cheek. He always gets all smiley whenever you do.

- Once his lips are on yours and he’s really invested in kissing you, you should take it to your room because things will get heated very quickly. Most of your kisses are quite passionate and a bit on the rougher side of things.

- The two of you also have slow, softer kisses if he’s in more of a relaxed and loving mood.

- He’s a big fan of cuddling but you can’t let his mates know that. He loves being the big spoon and has a particular fondness for your bed, probably because of the fact that it’s all soft and smells like you; even though he’s literally holding you in his arms.

- There’s always a bit of a smoky smell lingering on him. It’s sort of cozy and certainly becomes a comforting scent after the two of you are together for a while.

- He uses quite a few pet names on you without any shame, partially because he uses Irish/Gaelic ones; meaning that most of his friends wont know what he’s saying. He’ll call you things like “a mhuirnín” and “a ghrá” or their English counterparts: darling and love.

- Compliments. He loves seeing you show people up and do impressive things. He’s always the first to tell you how great you were and inform everybody that that is his girlfriend!

- Wiping his face for him after his magic backfires.

- Ducking/jumping away when one of his explosions goes off. He usually turns and gives you a small sorry with a sheepish smile whenever they do.

- Tying his tie for him. He occasionally makes it look terrible on purpose so that you’ll do it/redo for him. He likes having you close to him; it gives him the chance to look down at and memorize your pretty face while you’re distracted.

- Getting escorted to class whenever he see’s you. He’ll always jog over to catch up with you when he see’s you from across the hall.

- Wearing his class ring as a promise ring. It always makes him smile whenever he sees you wearing it; especially if you’re angry with him since it lets him know that you still care about and want to be with him.

- Sleepovers; especially over the summer. You’ll have your own little dance parties, movie marathons, junk food binges, pillow tent building competitions, etc. He loves the nights he gets to spend with you.

- Going to Hogsmeade together; usually the Three Broomsticks or Zonko’s.

- You can’t let his friends know how soft he is. Dancing together in your room, him giving you a really long hug? You’re taking that to your grave, honey.

- Double dates with Dean and his girlfriends.

- You share your boyfriend with Dean. He’s constantly third wheeling when; and while if we’re being honest, he doesn’t have a girlfriend but he’s so lovable that you usually don’t even mind.

- Sitting together at Quidditch games. He tends to get really into them, holding your hand on his bouncing knee as you watch, jumping to his feet to cheer before sitting back down and kissing your cheek, pulling you into his side excitedly.

- Letting him gush to you about stuff. It never ceases to make you smile; he’s just so adorable.

- Stealing his hoodies.

- Talking about muggle stuff.

- Sneaking drinks of liquor.

- Sharing sweets.

- Playing chess together.

- He’s always trying to take care of you and get you to take better care of yourself as well. He’ll put food on your plate, try to insist that you to eat something when you say you’re not hungry, pile jackets and hats on you, over bandage cuts, etc. Fussing over you is one of the ways he shows he cares.

- He’s always jumping to help you with whatever you need; especially if it has to do with magic.

- He gets pretty offended when you don’t trust him and his magical abilities, although he can’t really stay mad at you and the truth for very long. He’ll usually just “forget” about the fact that you wouldn’t let him mend your tights with a spell an hour or so after it happens.

- Trying to help him learn how to perform magic without creating small explosions.

- Honey, he wants to impress you so badly. Sure, he likes being a helpful little lad but the main reason he’s the first to volunteer to fix something is so that he can show off to you and make you all proud of him.

- Teasing and playfully making fun of each other.

- Your smile? There is no better sight. Your laugh? Music to his ears. He’s always trying to make you laugh and definitely succeeds most of the time.

- You’re definitely introduced to his mother, she's very important to him. Before you arrive, he insists that she’ll love you, and she does; she thinks you’re the sweetest little thing alive.

- Letting him rant to you and; at least, pretending to take his side or be ambiguous as to whose side you’re really on, just to help calm him down quicker.

- Keeping him from starting fights with people; trying to at least.

- He’s not a very physically imposing person but he acts like he is, standing by your side with his arms crossed and his eyes glaring at someone for one reason or another.

- Seamus is a fiery jealous lad. He doesn’t like boys looking at you and is the type of boyfriend who doesn’t like when you wear revealing clothes out in public; he won’t force you to change if you really don’t want to but he’ll certainly glare down anyone who stares at you.

- Your boyfriend is fully prepared to kill for you. He definitely jumps to defend your honor and is a hair away from jumping any person who insults or hurts you.

- The two of you definitely have a few good arguments but he rarely yells at you, he mainly just argues passionately and might throw in a weak insult/insinuation from time to time. He’s got a bit of a temper so don’t take his behavior too personally.

- He watches you like a miserable little puppy whenever you’re mad at and ignoring him. He usually gives you and himself a day or so to calm down before calling out your name as you pass and giving you a shy apology.

- There’s quite a few I love you’s in your relationship, usually when you’re alone. Occasionally, you’ll say it in public and he’ll shyly say it back, punching his friends in the arm when they tease him for it.

- He’s a loyal boy and he’s preparing to spend the rest of his life with you. You’re the best at the extinguisher charm so it’s really just a matter of public safety, isn’t it?

#hp imagines #hp imagine #hp headcanons #hp headcanon #harry potter imagines #harry potter headcanons #seamus finnigan headcanons #seamus finnigan imagines #seamus finnigan headcanon #seamus finnigan imagine

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theworldofotps · 3 years

Text

Silent Feelings (Part 2 of S.S)

Pairing: Dexter Lumis x Reader Word Count: 1,404 Description: Dexter wants to do more than just be y/n’s friend. But how can he do that when neither are sure how the other feels?

Part 1

Part 3

Warning: Povs switch between first and third person throughout the fic. They are separated by ~~~ so hopefully you don’t get confused.

Also I wrote the little piece Dexter gives the reader a while ago so please be gentle.

Thank you @new-zealand-chic for beta reading for me! ________ Tag list: @hungmanhorsecarriage @writtingrose @sjwrites22 @sassymox @the-beastslayers-queen @thewrestlingwarehouse @new-zealand-chic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @xladyxfatex @biforrollynch @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @xbreezymeadowsx @rebellious-desires @youcantreignonmyparade @melblacc @letsgivethisonemoreshot @omg-im-such-a-masochist

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. _______ “So as your best friend besides old Finn here I need to ask you..has Dexter kissed you yet?”

Shotzi smiles as she leans across the table waiting patiently for me to give her what I’m assuming she’s hoping is juicy details.

“Listen Shots, we’ve only gone out a few times so no he hasn’t kissed me yet, he hasn’t even attempted to but I don’t mind. Sure I’d like to kiss him but I want him to be comfortable and I don’t know if he even wants to kiss me.”

I trail off looking between them when they stare at me sipping my water I offer an awkward smile.

“Will you two stop staring at me please because it’s really making me uncomfortable.”

“Oh come on lass of course the lad wants to kiss you but maybe he's worried you don't want that. Sometimes it's hard telling what a person wants."

"He's right, I mean he's always getting you your favorite coffee. Without you even asking and when you go to pay it back he won't let you. It's been what a few months give or take, since you two went on your first outing together. And you've had countless ones since then. Not to mention you're always talking and he hasn't even spoken to you, and."

"Okay, Shotzi I think she gets it lass, sit down and take a breather."

Finn pats her shoulder before looking back at me.

"I really think he'd like to kiss you, he watches your mouth a lot and Dexter just really looks at you like a man that wants to grab up his girl and lay one on her."

"I hear what you all are saying and it makes sense I'm just scared you guys could be reading it wrong. If it happens it does and if it doesn't it's fine, now if you two will excuse me. I'm gonna pack up for the day and head home. I wanna get a nice soak in the tub before it gets too late."

"Alright sorry it's just really exciting to see you so happy, Finn said for all the years he's known you. This is the happiest you've been in a while."

"Just giving out all of my secrets Devitt?"

"Hey it was just casual conversation, now go off and enjoy your night."

“Thanks see you two later.”

Hugging them both I sling my bag over my shoulder and leave the table making my way down the hall I pull my phone out. I wasn’t sure if this would do any good but I decided why not give it a shot.

Y/n💮: Do you wanna come over and hang out for a bit?

Pressing send I make it out to my car setting my duffel back on the seat next to me, rolling the windows down I turn the radio up pulling out of the lot. Singing along to the music I dance in my seat thinking about what Shotzi and Finn had said. Dexter had been doing little things here and there for me, I was getting a decent collection of his painting. Not to mention he had started leaving little poems in my locker room every Wednesday. Maybe they were right and tonight I was planning on finding out.

Pulling into my garage I go into the house I was renting from my cousin kicking my shoes off I check my phone.

D. Lumis👀: Yeah sure I’ll be there in half an hour need me to bring anything?

Y/n💮: Any snacks if you’d like we can order dinner here?

D. Lumis👀: Sounds good see you then

Y/n💮: Be safe

Running upstairs I start a bath I could spend twenty minutes soaking and showering than the last ten dressing. Searching for a comfortable outfit I take it into the bathroom finishing up getting everything set and I strip stepping in. This water felt amazing on my soar muscles. ~~~~~ Dexter dresses in a pair of slacks and a black tank top, he was excited to spend some time with you. Even if he didn’t particularly look so. Grabbing his phone and keys Dexter leaves his room going downstairs. Grabbing the small box he had for you Dexter locks up his house going to his car. He’d stop at the store closest to your house and grab the snacks before continuing to your place. Going inside he grabs a few of your favorite snacks and drinks then going to the front he pays. Now it was time to head over and meet you. ~~~~~ Wrapping the towel around my body I leave the bathroom and make my way into the bedroom. Grabbing my undergarments I go to put them on and stop hearing a knock on my front door. Damn must have been in the bathroom a little longer than planned. Rushing from the room I make my way downstairs and look out the peep hole.

“Dexter!”

Smiling I open the door and greet him as I step back to let him in. Watching as his eyes flicked down my frame and then back up. I had completely forgotten that I was only in a towel. Embarrassment hits me full force as I rub the back of my neck.“

Sorry about that I was in the shower and ended up being in there longer then I meant to be.”

Offering a smile as he stepped inside Dexter holds up two bags in his hands.

“You got the stuff awesome, go ahead and sit in the living room. Please make yourself comfortable. I'm just uh gonna go get dressed.”

Quickly turning away I go back up to my room closing the door. Leaning against it I groan and sigh then continue with getting dressed. After I was finally ready I left my room going back downstairs.

“Okay I’m back ready to order some food and watch a movie?”

~~~~~ Dexter nods his head showing you he had the snacks and drinks all set up. He scoots over so you could sit next to him and he pulls out a smaller bag. Setting it in your hands, Dexter watches you nervously.

“What’s this?”

You asked him and he motions for you to open it. Lifting the paper he watches as you pull out the small framed poem he gave you a few weeks ago. Occasionally he’d write a poem and give it to you, this was one of your favorites.

“Wildflowers, by Dexter Lumis.”

You read out loud as you look at the frame.

‘If I had to use one single word to describe you it would be, wildflower. Your personality is brightly colored with love and patience. The strong will you hold is a trait I think I admire the most.

Despite all the things thrown at you darling you continue to grow. The space you take up in this world makes life beautiful. Be that you are soft at times when vulnerable, but always firm when need be. All your different traits add up to the beautiful free spirit you are.’

“Awee Dexter that's so sweet thank you.”

Giving you a small smile and nod Dexter offers you the remote to pick a movie for you to watch. Selecting one of your favorites you order dinner then settle back resting your head on his shoulder.

As the evening continued on Dexter could see you were getting tired, even though you kept denying it. Halfway through the fourth movie Dexter looked at the time seeing it was nearly midnight. You really should be getting to bed and he needed to get home.

Gently nudging you Dexter smiles as you cuddle closer to his side. Sighing he grabs the blanket off the back of your couch laying down so you were resting on his chest and covers you both. Rubbing your back lightly when you start to stir Dexter turns the tv off.

Once the room is plunged in darkness he closes his eyes, if he was honest he was loving every minute of holding you.

“Dexter.”

You mumbled causing him to open his eyes and rub your back a little softer.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for staying I really like having you over….I really like you.”

Yawning you rub your eyes drifting back off to sleep and just before you’re completely gone you hear what you think is a faint whisper.

“I really like you too y/n.”

#wwe #dexter lumis #dexter lumis fic #dexter lumis one shot #dexter lumis x reader

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spectacularlyignorantt · 3 years

Text

From the dining table

March 2017

Louis sat in the kitchen looking around, dust covering every possible surface. Princess Park, their first home, the place they bought together without telling anyone and then never sold after the breakup. Maybe because they couldn't see each other and not end up in bed, regretting it in the morning. Maybe because they both knew this time apart meant nothing. They were destined to be together, a love no one could understand, right?

The last time he saw Harry was after the presentation of his single Just Hold On on the X-Factor, but they had not been a proper couple for around a year. If you didn’t count the sex, of course. Louis didn’t. Sex didn’t mean much, not when he knew what it felt like to be in a relationship with Harry Styles for 5 years. They would have stopped seeing each other when the band started the hiatus if it wasn’t for his mom's health getting worse. Harry stood next to him all those months, giving him comfort, keeping her company when Louis was too tired to stay awake. Harry was part of his family, after all. And Louis knew Anne, Gems and Robin felt the same way about him.

The reason for their break up was a mystery for everyone, a question never answered. They belonged together, no one could say the opposite after expending time with the couple for 10 minutes. Either you were blind or disgusted by their love, in a cute way.

Louis knew, of course. It was a decision, more than anything. They felt like the only thing holding them together was the band and decided to take a break to figure out if there was more than that. So they never sold their first home because there was no chance they weren't going back together.

Lately, Louis wasn’t so sure about that. To be honest, he wasn't sure about anything. The sky was pouring like it should be, for mood purposes. The lump in his throat made breathing hard, the weight in his chest holding him down in the chair. He closed his eyes, he wasn’t going to cry. The promise he made to his mother was still clear in his mind and it was killing him. Because lately, it felt like Harry had forgotten about them. With his solo music, the movie, all that pr girlfriends Louis knew he hated. All that glamour, all those lights. Why would he be thinking about Louis? Maybe they were right, maybe it wasn’t destiny but circumstance.

Things got worse recently, after Niall went to his flat a couple of days before, wearing that big old tee and Louis told him he smelled like Harry. He wasn’t jealous, not really. It was Niall, for god’s sake. But Niall was around his baby a lot, they had a close friendship not many knew about. Something about the unusual sadness in Niall's eyes told him much more than the calls Haz never answered. Harry didn’t want him anymore. They were done.

The pressure in his head felt compressive like the one in his heart. All those shots, pints and pot weren’t a good combination. Neither was that boy with curls but the wrong shade of green when he woke up that morning in a hotel room, unable to remember much about the night before. But what else could he do? How could he go to Harry right now and tell him he was sorry for his insecurities? For ruining everything without a good reason? How could he tell him he was sorry? Liam and Oli said he needed to give it time, but everyday felt a little bit more far away from home. So he came back.

There was a notepad where they used to write the grocery list sitting on the counter, next to the fridge. He took it and the pen on the table, the dim light coming from the closed window. He didn't know what to do, how to get out of this pain, this love. How to be himself again.

So Louis did the only thing he felt like he could do right: he wrote a song. It was more of a letter, really. But it was shaped like a song, that was his strong suit after all. And Harry loved to see him write, once upon a time. Used to dance with him in that kitchen, used to make him pancakes in the morning. They used to talk and fuck and chat for hours between those walls.

To Harry:

Woke up alone in this hotel room

Played with myself, where were you?

Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon

I've never felt less cool

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated, Harry

Why won't you ever be the first one to break?

Even my phone misses your call, by the way

I saw Niall the other day

He said you feel just fine

I see you gave him my old t-shirt

More of what was once mine

I see it's written, it's all over his face

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call,

And by the way

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too

But you, you never do

Woke up this boy who looked just like you

I almost said your name

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call

By the way…

He stopped there, unable to continue. His hand was shaking, the tears were smushing the ink on the paper. What a fucking cliche, crying after promising himself he wasn’t going to do it. Nothing could hurt as much as losing his mum, nothing could compare. So why was he crying? Why couldn’t he just fucking stop?

Louis got up from the chair and walked away from the dining table, leaving the notepad there. He knew deep in his broken heart that the next time he came back it was going to be there. Left and forgotten, just like that house and those memories. Louis left it there next to his allowance to feel sorry for himself. He needed to grow up, get away from those parties and false people. He was going to get his shit together, write away his feelings and find his sound.

And if Harry didn’t want him in his life, then there was nothing left to do, right?

May 2017

The recording of Back to you was finally over and now they need it to work in the music video and he wanted to film it on Doncaster. It felt right to go back to his ‘home’, if he couldn't go back home, you know what I mean? It went well with the theme.

Louis was driving back from the studio to his flat when a notification popped out in this phone: Harry’s album was out and apparently, people thought a couple of songs were about him. Louis wasn't going to be surprised if they were, both wrote about each other a lot along the way. And the fans loved to link things, made up theories about the Larry situation. Something he wished he could out and say ‘yes it was true but it's over now, please stop tagging me, it hurts’. It didn’t. not as much anymore.

Or that’s what he thought until he heard track 4, Two Ghost. He knew those lyrics, Harry had written them years ago. That is what they used to call each other’s public images: ghosts. Images without a soul. What a young and dramatic pair they used to be, back in 2013.

He didn't cry with that one, maybe because of its familiarity. And he wasn’t even mad about the songs about girls, he knew Harry better than that, even after all this time.

Next was Sweet Creature, the one everyone was speculating about, and honestly Harry, ‘two hearts, one home’? The song felt different. Maybe because he thought that Harry didn’t really remember about their lost home, about being young and in love. Too young to know, most people used to say. What a fool he was for listening. Now he knew, and it was too late.

Kiwi was funny in the most depressing way for him, Woman felt like an anthem, it felt like Harry’s jealousy, his deep and most dark possessive behavior. But then, when a chord from a guitar came in he went to his phone to check the name. He wasn’t quick enough, tho. The first verse stopped him right there. It was a good thing he parked in his apartment building a couple of songs ago.

Because there, in the shape of the last song of H’s first album, it was Louis' letter. His feelings in a notepad, in the shape of an awkward song. Almost word by word, Harry’s voice filled the car with calmness and longing, a branch of olive. He was giving the first step. If those little easter eggs along the album weren’t enough, he took Louis letter from two fucking months ago and put it there. He probably had to push the label to do it, with such short notice. Harry went out of his way to let him know it wasn’t over.

Harry went back to Princess Park, just like him. He went back home.

----

His friend picked up the phone after two missed calls.

‘Oi Lou, how ya doin?’ the thick Irish accent wasn’t enough of a distraction.

‘Hey lad, I’m fine. Sorry to bother but I need to ask you something’ he could hear the urgency in his own voice.

‘Never a bother mate, whatever you need’ Niall, always the optimistic. Louis loved him.

‘Is Harry staying here? In London I mean’

‘What? What's going on?’ and then ‘Oh, the album is out, innit?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Okay, well, Harry was going to be with Nick today so yeah, he must be doing press shit’

‘Of course, makes sense, thank you mate. I will explain later ’

‘Sure, use protection’

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t deny the implications. The car came to life once again and he started driving to Harry’s house. The one they used to spend time in when they had some time between recording and touring. He didn’t even feel annoyed by the traffic, listening to the album all over again. Letting his body welcome Harry once again.

Of course, he still had his keys, drowned deep in the glovebox. He wasn’t going to enter the actual house, but it wouldn’t have been smart to stay outside on the street, someone could recognise him.

So once he parked in front of the building and noticed Harry wasn’t home, he closed his eyes and took a breath after what felt like hours. The next time he opened them there was a hand taping on his windows, he had fallen asleep.

It was a big hand adorned with rings and some nail polish. Louis knew what it felt to hold it more than he knew his own face. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Harry was waiting outside, a small smile making just one dimple appear. It was the first time they had seen each other in months but Louis felt like no time had passed. And if Louis was going to turn into an idiotic helpless cliche then it better be because of a boy as wonderful and beautiful as him. There was no one else. Harry was it.

‘I thought it was going to take you longer ’

‘To listen to the album or to get my shit together? ’

Harry seemed to consider his answer for a second, the dramatic little shit that he was. Then he smiled and Louis forgave him immediately.

‘Both’

Louis laughed and took a step closer to the love of his life.

‘I’m sorry, baby, I'm really sorry ’

‘Me too’

‘If you let me kiss you right now I’m never letting you go again. It's your choice’

‘Never wanted you to go in the first place’

‘Right answer’

And then they kissed because there wasn't much left to say. At least not right now. The conversation could wait for the next morning, once they had sex, pancakes and maybe a little dance in the kitchen. For old times sake.

----

Soooo, I wrote this because I couldn’t get the idea of Louis writing this song out of my head. And like, it sounds so much like Harry’s writing, this is not a theory at all. But I liked the idea so yeah. It’s probably gonna be my first and only fic about Larry, hope you like it.

All the mistakes are mine and its noy my first language, sorry if the grammar is trashy. Thanks.

#larry #larry stylinson #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry fanfic #fanfic #harry styles #louis tomlinson #canon compliant #but fiction #i don't think they broke up #and if they did is not my bussiness #just so you know

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quadraphonictypewriter · 2 years

Text

Rory Gallagher speaks to Molly McAnally — Interview for the Sunday Press (02.02.1988)

When a little boy feels bad, he might go in his room and pout, kick the dog, sass his mammy or steal a can of beer.

But Cork-bred, blues-rocker, Rory Gallagher just picked up his plastic guitar, tuned into the Armed Forces radio, plugged directly into the current of the fugitive's fearsome fight and the powerful, masculine autism that is the backbone of the blues.

The songs spoke of prison, injustice and the meaning of freedom, there was much in American roots music to appeal to any child incarcerated in school.

Rory was a well-bred boy, but his acute sensitivity rocketed his dreams light years from Celtic culture and a conventional path. The dirty blues is a primal moan, the sirens of speechless underclass known only by their escapes, the gypsies, the drifters and the troubadour of the dispossessed.

He wanted to be Elvis, of course, as did every little lad. Rory describes his childhood hero as a man of “organic genius” and one of the few to crawl out of the swamps and infect pop music, though the sellout ultimately destroyed him.

“I like the idea of the free spirit,” says Rory peering over a reasonable galls of red wine with the cock-headed nervousness of a chained eagle. “I was always fascinated by the man with the guitar and a tale to tell, from Muddy Waters to Woody Guthrie, he'd seem like a pirate, man with a mission, and a sense of destiny.”

If Rory has misbehaved in this life, there are at least no notable scars to tell about it. The characters and songs in his stories are often culled from crime fiction like Dashiell Hammet's, infused with a Celtic intricacy that he is only just beginning to realize is part and parcel of his originality... and subsequent commercial difficulties.

He's a proud and defensive loner, pushing 40, never acquired a wife or family, plus 15 albums and 25 U.S. tours down the road, it doesn't look as though domesticity is his lot. But he does admit he's lonely. “I've felt every emotion you can name", he says, “and sometimes I feel neglected, but if you had a settled life it would be harder to build up a climax in the music.”

And that nasty, bitter edge is an intrinsic part of the sound. “When you just live from hotel to suitcase to gig, the music is bound to become nastier,” he explains. “In a particular way, I don't feel bad in a lonesome room — that's where I do a lot of writing.”

The result is outlaw music/the spirit of risk or fortitude. “I've always believed that the best music should be dangerous,” he insists, “It's like taking it to the edge where a riot could break out. Even in gospel music, you get the mad ecstasy — I'm no fan of cocktail music, the best blues and rock is a collision.”

But Rory doesn't look dangerous. He reads a lot, tackles a few languages and pursues an avid interest in French cinema and film noir. They are full of artistic baddies, as well people condemned by circumstances to fall foul of love, the law and the mob as well. But for Gallagher, it's a romantic, intellectual exercise — until it hits the violence of his performance — a roar and visceral process which puts end to any suspicions of dilettantism.

He's never been willing to sell out and release a calculated ditty that would zip up the charts, be tomorrow's throwaway and limit the direction of his career forever more. Because he hasn't been willing, he hasn't gotten rich. Being a world class guitarist and songwriter means nothing to the star making machinery — integrity is a real liability.

But Rory is feeling happier this weather.

Though he left Cork in 1967, like many Irish men abroad, he has never admitted in having left. He describes himself as in exile.

And he says that staying out of Ireland has helped him maintain a sense of optimism about it. “Ireland's a young country which has been through the mire,” he explains, “but I've had to give up feelings too emotional about it, and as to its party politics, I just try to view them as sport.”

Rory Gallagher now embarks on his first Irish tour, this week, in 5 years. What he is bringing home is a pirate legacy, whatever has been borrowed, stolen or created, has been done with the ultimate knowledge of landing once more on this own turf. He'll still be a stubborn boy with a cheap guitar, dreaming of an Elvis sensuality and tunings into the crackling depths of America's dark side.

#rory gallagher #molly mcanally #the sunday press #sunday press #irish musicians #blues rock #irish blues #rock music

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shiftylinguini · 3 years

Note

Do you take prompts? If not, have a nice day, but if so, I love your Bound series, and I was wondering if you'd consider a prequel about Remus first realizing that he's both desperate for, and desperately possessive of, Sirius, when they were back in school.

YES, hello, I do, however it goes without saying that it takes me forever to actually post them LOL. Anyway, I wrote this yonks ago and tidied it up this afternoon because I was in a Mood, and here we go.

Warnings for jealousy, Hogwarts era, casual promiscuity and references to Sirius/OFC, werewolfy imagery, Irish Remus and general angst regarding boys being careless with each others’ feelings. enjoy! lol.

It’s Halloween, and Remus is miserable.

***

It’s Halloween, and Remus is miserable.

There's a party in the dungeons; the Slytherins are hosting. "They're twats," James declared before he left their dorms, deliberately dishevelled in his pirate costume, a cutlass dangling from one hand and cider in the other. "But they throw a good piss up."

Peter agreed, predictably affable and struggling into his Peter Pan outfit. Sirius ignored them both, concentrating on doing his eyeliner right. He's a self-declared glam rock icon tonight, black glitter and flares and Marc Bolan curls. His pirate costume (second mate to James's Hook, of course) lay discarded on his bed in favour of something louder, more offensive, more Muggle.

They've all been too polite to ask why. (They all know it's because Regulus might be there).

The party probably is good. Remus isn't there.

He was there, for an hour or so. Just long enough for two chipped mugs of butterbeer heavily spiked with cheap whiskey and to see Sirius with his tongue down Margot Holdings' throat, his lipstick smearing crimson onto hers.

Remus begged off then, made his escape after throwing James some crap excuse about how the moon two nights ago was still making him feel woozy. James knew it was bullshit. He said nothing though, and let Remus scarper off like a kicked dog. James is the best of mates that way; he bulldozes through most conversations and into people's lives but he knows when to be quiet, how to keep a secret.

When to let Remus skulk off to their dorm to hide in his bunk and stew about Sirius.

Remus pulls the curtains tight. He kicks his shoes off, but leaves the rest of his costume as it is, pressing his face to the pillow and probably smearing lazy Dracula greasepaint all over it. It was a half-arsed effort, really. Three quarter-arsed, at best; Remus doesn't like dressing up as monsters. (He has enough of a time playing human).

He closes his eyes, then opens them again. He huffs grumpily against the pillow, wriggling to get comfortable and failing. He feels crap. He has no valid excuse for it―not one he's willing to admit to.

James knows about Remus and Sirius, and the bed hopping between them. He has ears, and eyes, and the dorm's not that big. It's not really a secret. The four of them just act like it's one, for everybody's sake.

Whatever it is, it's usually just a mess. And not a particularly monogamous one.

Remus has no reason to be upset about it. He and Sirius aren't an item. They're something, but Sirius isn't breaking any rules by snogging pretty girls under dimmed party lights. It might be nice if he didn't do it in front of Remus, but it also might be nice if he hadn't tried to make Remus a murderer two years ago. There's a lot of ways they could be nicer to each other. In perspective, the kissing doesn't seem that bad.

Remus could do the same, and might, if he trusted himself around anyone other than Sirius. (If there were girls as pretty as Sirius).

Remus doesn't trust himself with people other than Sirius, though. He's bookish and boring and plain and sometimes he daydreams about ripping his classmates apart. He's tall and pleasant and polite, and he's forever five years old, a rag doll in a wolf's jaws in a field in Ireland, changed and scarred. Sirius gets it, even if he can be a prick. He pushes buttons. He lights up the room. He gets under Remus's skin and makes him feel sane at the same time. He's one of the few people Remus trusts himself and the wolf around, even if he doesn't really trust Sirius anymore. Sirius fucked that right up for the both of them. It's confusing, but Remus is smart. He'll figure his way around it.

He devours books instead, pages and scrolls and tomes. He tries to be boring. He tries to be plain. He tries to be someone people like but mostly forget, the nice Irish lad tagging along with loud James and cocky Sirius and sweet Peter. He worries sometimes that he's doing it too well.

He tries not to think of Margot's hands on Sirius's waist, but he falls asleep to fevered images of them just the same.

***

Remus half-wakes to the <i>swish</i> of curtains flinging open. There's a low giggle and then the thump of platform boots hitting the floor.

"Moony." The bed dips. "Moooonyyy."

Remus is half asleep, surfacing from dreams he's already forgetting. He snuffles into his pillow, as if he can bury himself like a mole and back into sleep.

He's almost back asleep when he feels arms wrapping around his chest, Sirius spooning up behind him. He smells like alcohol, the remnants of cologne and clean sweat. He smells like someone else too; Remus shuts that thought down as quickly as he can, but it's too late. That little wolfy part of him that doesn't vanish with the full moon is always attuned to these things, pricking up its ears and growling low and threatening. Remus feels it in his belly. He's wide awake now.

"Sirius," he whispers, low and annoyed. He swallows. "You know this isn't your bed, yeah?" he grumbles.

Sirius laughs. He's drunk, loose and pliant. Remus doesn't know if that means he fucked her. He could tell, if he tried, if he let the wolf sniff her out. He's not going to do that though. He's got to have some self respect.

Sirius snake arms squeeze around him tighter. His knees are tucked up behind Remus's. "I couldn't find you," he slurs. "And then James said you were sad." Sirius exhales on a half yawn.

Remus waits, but Sirius doesn't say more, as if this is enough of an explanation as to why he's crawled into Remus's bed and wrapped around him like a vine.

Honestly, it is. Sirius can be complex, and sometimes he can be impressively simple.

And if Remus keeps his eyes shut, and doesn't look at the time on his watch, then he can pretend it's only been half an hour since he left the party―that Sirius noticed quickly and didn't stay on for hours, 'til dawn was approaching and the morning birds were chirping, didn't finger Margot behind a statue and kiss her neck until he left marks and then saunter back to his other mates, proud and loose-limbed and swigging whiskey before working up a sweat on the makeshift dance floor. That he didn't ask James as an afterthought once he'd had his fun, <i>hey, where did Mooney bugger off to?</i> That he didn't come and hop into Remus's bed as a way to end his night instead of the purpose of it.

It's a night thought. It's horse shit, and Remus knows it, but if he never sees the time then it will never be confirmed. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, if your best mate is a careless prick but you weren't there to see it, then did it really happen?

Behind him, Sirius's breath gusts over the back of his neck, and then again. The rhythm of sleep. His chest rises and falls easily, pressed all up against Remus's back, hips flush against Remus's pyjama-clad thighs. Remus keeps his own breathing shallow, tries not to breathe him in. It makes his head spin a little, not quite enough oxygen getting into his lungs. He's wide awake, and so is the wolf, the scar on his shoulder prickling like pins and needles and his senses tingling too.

His pillow is going to smell like Sirius for days now after this, longer if he hides the case from the elves and doesn't let them wash it. He'll want to roll in it, smell like Sirius, rub his face over the plain cotton and mouth at it until his breath dampens the pillow and Remus can taste it on his tongue. He might let himself do it. He'll hate himself afterwards, but he might let himself all the same.

He blinks, his vision swimming a little from his half-held breath before he gasps down a lungful, and there it is. Sirius all around him, thick in the air. He smells sweet, and sleepy, relaxed and content, and with a bitter pang Remus can smell her too. The wolf inside him can smell her. Remus braces for the comforting lurch of anger, of rage, for gnashing teeth and snarling lips, but it doesn't come.

There's a whine building in his chest instead, something sad and bereft, hurt. It feels like ears pulled back against his head, like a soft muzzle pressed against the cold ground. It sounds like a kicked dog, crawling on its belly back for more anyway.

Remus sniffs, blinking the sting away from his eyes and feeling his lashes come away wet. He curls a fist into his blanket, fingers tense and his breath shaky as he alternates between short sharp breaths and letting himself breath Sirius in, his chest tight from more than Sirius's boa constrictor arms. His eyes droop eventually, his face sore from frowning, but sleep hovers in his periphery like the moon slipping out of view over a highway.

Remus is too smart to fall for Sirius. The wolf isn't.

***

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #bound series #my fic #pre series sorta #all mistakes are mine #also yes #i started this on halloween 2020 lmfao #im such a dick

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

The FIC this HC is from

So first off some background on his mum in the story

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine, so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!!

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950 when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side, she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in 1955, subsequent to Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely.

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers. And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda.

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously, she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst.

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement.

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE! And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen scarf that smelt like her perfume.

It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while the war was only getting worse and worse— Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #HEADCANONS #HEADCANONS BY LEN #FIC: MAMA LUPIN IS A BABE

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that-scouse-wizard · 3 years

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Sightseeing Part Two

`A/N: Welcome to part two of Sightseeing, hope you guys enjoy my interpretation of Liverpool’s wizarding community. All I’ll say for the moment... Scouse Elves.

Also, just a couple of Face Claims for some OCs who are going to appear in this:

Thomas Tremblay Thornwood III A.K.A Old Tom: Mark Addy (also voice claim).

Marcus Jacques: Daniel John-Jules. Voice Claim: Levi Roots.

MC friends: Judith Harris @judediangelo75

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Judith let out a startled yelp that turned to shrieks as she and David dropped onto an almost-vertical slope, sliding down it and beginning to quickly pick up speed. It was made of a smooth, black marble laced with white lines, bright lights intermittently illuminating the passage.

Judith however couldn’t have given less of a damn about how it looked in that moment. There was nothing to hold onto except David’s hand, tightening her grip with what felt like near bone-crushing strength. Her friend was the only familiar thing on the slide and she wasn’t about to let him go.

Although in contrast to her, David was having the time of his life, laughing like a madman. All Judith could do was pause her screaming briefly as she gave him an incredulous look, at least he wasn’t worried. The slope was rapidly becoming less steep, eventually curving until it plateaued. The remaining momentum the two friends had still moved them forward to the end of a short tunnel heading towards a warm, orange glow.

Slowing, then eventually stopping, the two found themselves in a fairly busy pub. Red brick pillars held the building up. The flagstones of the floor were a deeper red, cut into hexagonal shapes and lined black. The tables were fairly small, pushed up against the walls of the pub to make a clear pathway through the building, each one accommodating two to four stools. Lanterns lit with candles, some on the table others levitated around in a fixed pattern illuminated the establishment, giving it a homely feel despite the simplicity.

A long, mahogany bar was being tended to by an unshaven, portly man. His receding black hair was flecked with grey, his stubble already having turned the same colour.

Behind the bar was lined with various drinks on shelves, most notably though was a pair of broomsticks crossed over one another. Two flags were hung either side of the X-shape. One, like the flagstones, was red with the side profile of a lion in mid-roar painted in black. The other was a smart, marine blue with a white eagle painted on it, also from a side profile with the eagle looking to be in mid-strike as if getting ready to attack its prey. The two symbols were positioned to be facing each other as if their respective mascots were about to do battle.

Quidditch teams clearly, though Judith didn’t recognise them at all.

David got up, Judith followed, her hand still firmly clasped in his as he guided off the black marble platform they found themselves on. Any interest other patrons had of the new arrivals quickly dwindled. Judith looked around taking in the sight, it was certainly very... red. Finally letting go of David’s hand, she balled it into a fist and promptly punched him in the arm.

“Ow! Judith what was that for?” David yelped, though both the grin and the laugh that accompanied his question made it clear he knew exactly why he’d received it.

“For taking me on that.” Judith hissed, gesturing to the exit of the slide.

David shrugged, “I said ‘brace yourself’.” He responded cheekily.

Judith looked thoroughly unimpressed, “What part of ‘brace yourself’ means ‘I’m going to put you on a bloody death trap?’”

A raucous laugh was what she got in response, though it didn’t come from David. The bartender seemed to be enjoying the show, “Friend of yours, David?” He asked with a chuckle, his accent making it known he was from Yorkshire.

“She is,” David confirmed, sounding quite proud of the fact, “This is Judith, a friend of mine from Hogwarts. Judith, this is Tom, he runs the pub.”

The old man beamed at the introduction, “Thomas Tremblay Thornwood III, most people just call me Old Tom. Welcome to The Purple Griffin. Is it your first time visiting Under Mersey, Judith?” He asked kindly.

“Yes.” Judith answered quietly, giving a nod. The bartender seemed nice, if a little loud.

“Thought so,” He smirked, “Now, important question, Red or Blue?” He asked, slightly louder, a few patrons and even David looked to Judith expectantly.

“Um...” Judith mumbled, a bit confused as to what the question meant. They were both colours she wore and liked though she supposed did prefer red..., “Red.” She answered, the reaction from everyone who was bothered to listen was immediate.

“We’ve got another Lion’s fan lads!” Tom declared, causing those who had taken an interest to either cheer, others let out groans of disapproval.

David was one of those who was pleased with her answer, giving her a slap on the back, “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

“Can you at least tell me what choice I made?” Judith asked, really needing some context.

“Liverpool Lions, Everton Eagles,” David said pointing at the red and blue flag respectively, “Both are Liverpool teams and frequently top contenders in the Amateur Division of the British and Irish Quidditch League. They’re fierce rivals with most other teams, but it’s at their worst with each other.” That explained it, Judith only knew of the twelve teams that were considered professional.

“And you support the Lions?” Judith asked,

“That’s right, had to go with the Reds all the way.” David grinned.

“Ah.” Judith nodded knowingly, her friend supported Liverpool Football Club, so she supposed it made sense he would be a fan of their Quidditch equivalent.

“In fact...” David began as he started rummaging through the pouch of coins his mother had given him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Taking out six sickles before putting the silver coins on the bar and sliding them over to Tom, “Give us the Lion’s Summertime Specials.” Tom took the silvers with a conspiring grin.

“Take away?” The bartender asked, receiving a nod from David. At that prompt, Tom produced two cold bottles of butterbeer, causing Judith to give both of them a questioning look.

“I thought butterbeer was worth two sickles each?” She asked.

“Not the way Tom does them, watch.” David stated, now Judith was curious. Tom took out two large cups, emptying the contents of the bottles into them before calling out.

“Crocky! I need two pomegranates, and a mortar and pestle.”

“On it Tom!” A high-pitched scouse accent called back. It wasn’t long before the odd assortment of items was floated into the bar from the back area of the pub, guided by a house elf dressed in a starch-white chef’s outfit. His big, grey eyes only glancing at David and Judith briefly.

Judith’s eyes widened at that, the only house elves she had met were treated poorly at best, like slaves at worst. They would never refer to their master so casually, it was unheard of. The fact that this house elf had a healthy, lean build compared to the thin, frail frames of most other elves was another indicator something odd was going on. That wasn’t even mentioning how well-dressed the elf was. Perhaps David would know.

“Thank you.” Tom said to Crocky as he began deseeding the pomegranates, emptying the seeds into the mortar and starting to grind them up. The house elf disappeared back into the kitchens.

Judith watched the sight, curious as to see just what Tom was doing. It took a moment but Tom’s strong arms eventually ground down the seeds into a fine pulp. Mixing the juice into the butterbeer with a wooden stirrer briefly dyed the drink an orange colour. It didn’t last long as the mixture fizzed from the stirring, a scarlet hue quickly overtaking the contents of the cup, causing the foam on top to turn a light pink.

“Go on then, drink up.” Tom said, looking ready to receive their verdict.

Judith took her cup, intrigued at the idea of a fruity-tasting butterbeer, Briefly knocking her cup against David’s one before taking a sip. It still had a sweet taste to it but lessened from the sour edge of the pomegranate juice. Yet the extra flavour wasn’t overwhelming, in fact it was quite refreshing, more so an ordinary butterbeer.

“It’s nice,” Judith responded positively.

“Good as always Tom.” David said, nodding in agreement.

“Glad I haven’t lost my touch.” The bartender grinned. The deep, rhythmic tolling of a bell from outside suddenly cut in, ringing twelve times before it was silenced, “Sounds like lunch time, you could always have some pub grub but I reckon that you’ll want to show your friend around Under Mersey won’t you, David?”

“That’s right.” David said.

“Well, off with you both then,” He said, making a shooing motion with his hand, “Just remember our motto.”

“Do us harm and we bring the weight of the Mersey down on your head.” David echoed with a grin.

“Exactly. Enjoy your time out there you two.” With that statement from the bartender, the two friends stepped out into the streets of Under Mersey.

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Judith was impressed, Under Mersey was definitely not like Diagon Alley. It wasn’t just a single alley. This place was an entire town, quite literally under the noses of muggles.

Yet despite it being underground in a cavern that must have taken years to carve out, yet strangely, it felt no different to how it had been on the surface. It was warm with just the faintest hint of a sea breeze. A huge enchanted lantern acted like a miniature sun, moving slowly in tandem with the time displayed on a prominent clock tower on the southern end of the town. An illusory sky was even being maintained to mirror the weather on the surface.

The streets were a mix of cobblestone and pavements. Most buildings had chimneys that stretched far upwards, acting as support to the ceiling above. Four pillars at the four corners of the town also seemed to assist in holding up the ceiling, yet unlike the chimneys, they didn’t appear to be directly attached to any other building. It was certainly a feat of architecture that wizards had even managed to do this.

It wasn’t simply dull and lifeless though, Judith saw more than a few colourful plants growing either in planters on the streets or accommodated on outside window sills of buildings.

Luckily, David was willing to explain everything to her.

“Basically, we’re right under the River Mersey that runs by Liverpool. Vents on the ceiling and the chimneys are enchanted at either end to filter the air through. It’s why we’re able to breathe, and why the entire place isn’t flooded. The Pillars are where the town gets its water supply from. Pipes run underneath the streets to get it to the buildings. Not bad that it’s still around, seeing as construction began in 1801 and finished in 1823.”

Judith gave an impressed whistle. Whoever had come up with this, and even spent more than two decades seeing it through to completion must have had both ambition and patience.

“So what’s the deal with Old Tom and... Crocky was it?” Judith asked after having a sip from her butterbeer. They had left the building behind as they walked, though it could be easily found again, no other building had the same lavender hue as the brickwork the pub was made out of. Still, she was curious of the relationship between Tom and his house elf.

“That’s right,” David confirmed, “Far as I know, Old Tom is a squib, born to a pure-blood family. Don’t know when he and Crocky met but apparently, Tom gave him that chef’s uniform, Crocky just stuck around as an employee.”

“Really?” Judith asked in surprise. If any owner actually gave their house elf a piece of clothing, chances are they would take it and run. It spoke volumes of Crocky’s loyalty if he truly cared for the person who was apparently his ex-master.

“Yeah, I’ve been around them outside of working hours, the two of them act like best mates. Some even say Under Mersey is actually run by house elves.” Judith looked confused at the last part of David’s statement, causing him to elaborate, “The lantern, the ‘sky’, even the charms on the vents and chimneys? All of it is managed and maintained by house elves. The wizards and witches bring in business and live here. Some are even in charge of overseeing maintenance but ultimately it’s the elves who stop the place from bein’ destroyed.”

“Wow.” Judith said, marvelling at the sights again. She had a respect for the house-elves, putting up with so much. Quite literally holding this place together was just another feat that only cemented that sentiment.

Judith would have loved to explore the town a bit more but for the moment she was starting to feel a bit peckish...

“How about we go get some food?” David said.

Judith grinned at her friend practically reading her mind, “Sounds good, let’s go!” With that prompt, David guided Judith closer to the centre of the town.

This part of Under Mersey was by far the most active and Judith could see why, it seemed to be where most of the town’s shops were located. A wandmaker, a book shop, and practically every other kind of shop a wizard or witch could need.

A stone fountain was the centrepiece for the town square. Two cormorants that towered over people, being at least eight feet tall. They faced away from each other, one looking west, the other looking east, the tips of their outstretched wings almost touching. A sprig of seaweed was clasped in their beaks.

However, both friends wanted to follow their stomachs at the moment and they certainly had options...

Looking one way, Judith could see that an odd assortment of restaurants had been packed into a single long street, thronging with people eager for lunch.. Chinese, Indian, Turkish. Spanish, Greek, French. Those were just some of the ones Judith noted.

Yet despite the range of mouth-watering scents. the tempting food on display and even the occasional encouragement from a place’s owner, there was just one that really caught Judith’s eye.

A lot smaller when compared to the other restaurants, hanging above its doors was a string of flags. One of which was had three stripes blue on both sides, gold in the middle, with the head of a black trident in its centre.

That was the flag of Barbados, accompanied by flags of the other Caribbean islands. Above them was the name of the restaurant, only confirming Judith’s suspicions, Jacques’ Caribbean Cuisine. Judith knew exactly where she wanted to go, making a b-line for the restaurant as David followed close behind.

“Welcome,” A friendly tone was the first thing the pair of friends heard. Greeting them was a somewhat tall, lean and dark-skinned man. He was balding with a greying goatee, the hair he had left turning the same colour. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood despite his restaurant being empty in such a rush, “What can I interest you kids in today?”

Judith perked up at the man’s accent, it was similar to her Barbadian one, he definitely wasn’t British, “Where are you from?” Judith asked the man excitedly.

A bit confused at his question not being answered, the man responded, “Jamaica, and yourself?”

“I’m from Barbados.” She answered proudly, the man’s eyes went wide at that.

“Really? Girl if I was born a few decades later, you and me would have practically been neighbours!” He said enthusiastically, Judith grinned at, “And you boy?”

“Local.” David answered proudly, gesturing above..

“Ah, good, I like Liverpool. Think it’s a good city.” He said in approval, “Marcus Jacques, I came over here on request of the Ministry about thirty years ago. I was about twenty then, I’m fifty now.”

“Wait, I think I’ve heard of you,” David said in realisation. Judith looked at her friend curiously, “You started all of well... that outside.”

Marcus took on a smug expression at that, “Right you are, I got shipped up here by the Ministry, I was asked to come over after that war the muggles had in the fourties and decided the food this side of the wizarding world could do with a bit more variety. Now don’t get me wrong, British food can be nice. Crocky at the Purple Griffin makes a great shepherd’s pie but I needed something to remind me of home. A couple more people got interested in the idea and we thought it would be nice to set up in the local community.” The man let out a chuckle, clearly reminiscing. David and Judith listening intently for him to continue, there was always a ‘but’ in these situations.

“See, a few in the local Ministry at the time were quite insular about new things coming in, they kicked up a fuss. We kicked up a bigger one and what you see outside is the result of the wizarding community here using the cultures right on their doorstep not too much differently to how the muggle side does. Anyway, enough of an old man’s ramblings, how about I give the two of you a taste of the Caribbean?”

“Yes please!” Judith said, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, “Do you serve brown stew chicken?”

“’Do I serve brown stew chicken?’“ Marcus echoed back in a playfully sarcastic manner, “Of course I do, I’ll get right on it.” Yet he didn’t ask David what he wanted, “For you boy, I’ve got something special. Call it a Caribbean twist on something considered British.”

Judith looked eager as she took a seat while David shrugged in acceptance. The owner leaving the two friends alone as he set to work in the kitchen.

“So, what do you think of your first time in Liverpool?” David asked eagerly as he sat across from his friend.

“It’s... nice, I’ve had fun so far,” Judith answered honestly, “Though, can I ask something?”

“Yeah go on Judith.”

“Can we plan these holidays in advance next time?” David looked perplexed at the question, “Please, David.” She quietly begged.

Though he was still a bit confused, David knew Judith wouldn’t just ask him a question like that out of the blue. He was sure she had a good reason, “Of course we can Judith, whatever you want.”

Judith looked immensely grateful for his positive response, “Thank you David. You know, one of these days, I’ll have to take you to Barbados. It’s a beautiful country, white sandy beaches, lush greenery, the sea shining like sapphire.” She stated, clearly proud of her homeland.

David gave her a smile, “I’d like that, and now that you’ve described it for me, I’ll have to go.”

“To our future holidays?” Judith asked, raising up the half-full cup of butterbeer.

David raised own, though his was almost empty, “To Liverpool, Lancaster and Barbados... one of those destinations is not like the other two.” He finished with a chuckle. Judith had to laugh as they knocked the cups together. From there on, the two settled into a content silence, it wasn’t long before Marcus came by with their food.

“Hope you kids enjoy.” He said, placing their meals and cutlery in front of them.

Judith’s was several pieces of chicken covered in a rich, brown gravy that contained pieces of carrot and onion. Served with fluffy, white rice that soaked up any of the gravy was in contact with.

David’s was comparatively simpler. It looked like fish and chips, strangely, the fish was in pieces. The batter looked crispy and light but was flecked with spots of red. The accompaniments... looked like very thick-cut chips but they just... weren’t.

“Saltfish fritters, and boiled and fried breadfruit.” Marcus confirmed.

Judith had already begun tucking in to her food, clearly enjoying it, “Mmm.” She managed to hum to satisfaction through a mouthful of food, giving a thumbs up.

David cut a small piece off the fish with a particularly prominent red fleck. It was nice, the batter was crispy, the fish soft with a distinct taste of salt. Then... hot... it was spicy. David began panting like a dog as he felt his nose starting to run.

“Oh no... I think he bit into a piece of scotch bonnet.” Marcus realised, “Hang on, I’ll get you some yoghurt.” It would be the only thing that could relieve the spiciness.

While Marcus sped into the kitchen again, Judith couldn’t help but laugh a bit at her friends misfortune, “David you’re a beater, and you can’t handle a bit of spice?” She chuckled, David couldn’t even muster a retort, just glare, causing Judith to let out another laugh, “Hey this is what you get for surprising me with how you got us here.”

#harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm #jacob's sibling #david willows #judith harris #other people's mcs #hphm mc #hufflepuff!mc #hufflepuff!mcs #tigress and hound

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mateoweston · 3 years

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LIKE A CANDLE IN A WINDOW → HEADCANON

who: mateo weston, rory flanagan (@switch-it-up-rory)

when: march 6th, 2021

where: mateo’s room

warnings: feelings!!

Mateo Weston

"I'll have to swing by your work sometime this week," Mat mused, absently tapping through his Netflix library in a half-hearted attempt at finding a movie to put on. Mostly, he was trying to distract himself for at least a moment because he kept catching himself staring at Rory for just a second too long. Maybe some ridiculous comedy show would do the trick and keep him on track until Wednesday. This weekend was supposed to help him calm down so he could be calm, cool and collected when he smoothly told Rory about his feelings over perfectly made stir fry on Wednesday, god damn it. "I've never actually had a smoothie from there and I feel like I gotta change that."

Rory Flanagan

Rory was aware of how comfortable he had made himself on Mateo's bed, settled in as if he himself was part of the furniture, watching the Dominant's hands intently as he scrolled through Netflix, though Rory struggled to concentrate on his good days, never mind when he was this close to the one person he felt like he couldn't have. "They're not that great," He replied, though he felt like his mouth had disconnected from his brain, "Like I'm sure they just shot whatever's closest to them in. I'd just get like a coffee."

Mateo Weston

Laughing to himself, Mat shifted to shoot a look back at Rory who looked way too comfortable and natural cozied up in his bed. It was his fault, really. With his stupid face and stupid smile and the stupid way his dumb hair flopped in his face every now and then. "You're a great spokesperson," he managed after a moment, raising an eyebrow at the other. "They have you outside the store, advertising like that?"

Rory Flanagan

Rory noticed Mat glancing at him, and shot a wink in his direction. "I mean if I were going to be the face of any company, I don't think it'd be The Wave. My allegience is to to Golden Arches, obviously," He mentioned, daring himself to shift closer to Mat, to just be in touching distance. "But I do think me standing otuside with one of those signs would pull in customers. Raw sex appeal and all tha'."

Mateo Weston

His head shook fondly at the mention of McDonalds -- that whole concept still seemed like a fever dream to him that he tried to only acknowledge half of the time. Feeling Rory shift a bit closer, his eyes remained stubbornly on his Laptop even though he'd stopped actually reading any of the names or descriptions a while ago and instead focused entirely of the warmth of Rory radiating against his bare arm. God, this was ridiculous. "Think I'd get a discount for being the first customer?"

Rory Flanagan

Rory frowned slightly when he noticed Mat hover over some terrible chick flick, wondering briefly if the other man had officially lost his marbles. He also thought about taking overthe Netflix selection, but he didn't want to be too obvious in his excuses to simply touch the Dominant. "I mean I'd give you a discount any day, you just have to come in when I'm on shift." Rory told him, honestly.

Mateo Weston

"Oooh, that sounds special treatment to me," Mat hummed, maybe a little high on the proximity as he looked back again, a little distracted by how much closer Rory seemed now than the last time he'd looked at him. His gaze lingered this time, because apparently Rory was now also capable of hypnotising him or something. "Whatever did I do to deserve that?"5. März 2021

Rory Flanagan

Rory scoffed at Mat's light teasing, the words that he wanted to say to the Dom dying on his lips as quickly as they formed, so he shrugged and laughed again. "You feed me and entertain me. I imagine if the gremlins had part time jobs, they'd give those who got them wet and fed them after midnight a bit of special treatment too." He settled for, glancing up at him, feeling weirdly exposed that Mat was right there. Staring. He couldn' think for a moment, just looking up at his stupid face that made Rory catch stupid feelings for this stupid man. "But, uh, who knows. You might get a free smoothie I spat in or something." He tried, though it seemed to fall flat to his ears.

Mateo Weston

A slow, absent grin had spread across Mat's face as he listened. A small part of his brain was aware of how fucking done for he was, considering he was sitting here entirely charmed by talk of spit smoothies, but the bigger part was extremely distracted by that very thing. Rory's stupid pretty face and the stupid charming things he says and how he seems to be able to get under his skin without even trying. How him sitting so close made his skin prickle with heat and his mouth go a little dry. So it took a moment for his brain to recognise his own voice when he spoke. "You're so fucking cute."

Rory Flanagan

It was like everything stopped when the words had left Mateo's mouth. It wasnt like he hadn't complimented Rory before, but never cute, never in that tone of voice. He rasied an eyebrow at the Dominant, trying to work out the game, or the joke, but couldn't sense anything in the other man's facial expressions or the way he spoke. A little voice in Rory's brain, a semblane of hope he thought died long ago from the drugs and the drink, told the Switch this was the proof he needed that Mateo actually liked him, in the way he wanted him to, and he wondered if he dared put the feelers out, to see where this could head. "Aye, so I've been told," He said, after what felt like hundreds of years, "But I guess it, uh, takes a cutie to know one." The delivery couldn't have been lamer, but he felt suddenly sweaty and self-conscious. "I am like, being serious, you're cute too." He mumbled.

Mateo Weston

Where Mat's heart had been pounding a tad faster before, it seemed to straight up drop into his stomach once his brain caught up with his mouth. His eyes widened in realisation and he was about to back-track, cover up what he'd just said -- but he decided against it. It was out now and evidence suggested he was terrible at keeping this a secret anyway so maybe it was worth just seeing what would happen. The long stretch of silence that followed didn't help his nerves though and he almost considered changing the topic anyway. And then Rory spoke and at first, Mat thought he was just going to joke, that he'd have to try and pass it off as a fun little jest as well. But then he kept going and suddenly there was a nervous lump in Mat's throat. Swallowing thickly, he shifted more towards him, voice a little smaller and hopeful than the usual bravado he went into everything with. "Yeah?" he questioned. "...Been thinking that for a hot sec."

Rory Flanagan

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room when Mat shifted closer to Rory, and though there had been times before this, where they had been intimate within a scene setting, this was so much different. He found himself glancing at the Dominant's mouth, before his eyes locked with his. "Yeah," He agreed, "I mean, I'd argue you're more than cute but if I go on about how attractive I find you, it'll only go to that head of yours," He teaseed, "You have?"

Mateo Weston

At the joke, a bit of held breath spilled out of Mat's lungs, a small chuckle going along with it. It was just what he'd needed to release some tension and with that out of the way, he felt a little brave. Like maybe this wouldn't ruin things. Maybe the opposite. Reaching for one of Rory's hands, he held it between both of his, thumbs rubbing against his skin. "Yeah. That okay?"

Rory Flanagan

Rory felt like a weight had been lifted off him, and he couldn't help the stupid grin on his face when Mat gently reached for his hand, like he was some sort of love interest in a rom-com. "That's more than okay." Rory promised him, "You can think about me being cute or amazing or drop dead sexy and gorgeous anytime." He teased. Another thought popped into his head that made the weight feel like it was slowly descending on him again and he cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "So I take it....by thinking that I'm cute....it means you feel a way about me?" He asked, the actual words he wanted to ask not forming, but he had a feeling Mateo would understand him regardless.

Mateo Weston

"You're gonna make me wanna take it back," he threatened, though there was no real weight to his words, grin still on his face. It was strange, how worried and nervous he'd been about this for a whole week only for things to go so much better than he could have hoped. Rory hadn't fled yet nor had the world collapsed because Mat was interested in a guy. He nodded at his words first, then cleared his throat -- then suddenly let out a small laugh. "God, and I had this whole fucking plan to wine and dine you on Wednesday and have a mature conversation about this. It's your stupid face that did this to me."

Rory Flanagan

Rory hummed in response but he rolled his eyes playfully at the threat, blowing a kiss in response. He knew there was a lot that they needed to unpack, to talk about, but in this moment, the Irish lad just wanted to be happy. Just wanted to enjoy the fact that the guy he had been yearning for returned his affections. His heart panged at the reveal of Mat's plans, and he reached out to stroke his arm in an assuring way, no longer worried about him freaking out at such a gesture. "I mean, you still can. I'm very good at acting surprised. And the whole mature convo, that can come too." He grinned a mischevious grin at the accusation, "Aye don't blame the stupid face you're insanely attracted to, it did nothing but develop out of a good pool of genetics."

Mateo Weston

The grin on his face widened, losing all of its unsure edge. He'd been so concerned that things would change, that they wouldn't be able to be them anymore once this was out in the open and he was so relieved to find that being untrue. "Alright, I'm gonna kiss you now," he announced before leaning in to do just that. It was soft at first, gentle lips against Rory's as his hands came up to cup his face. While Mat may not always choose the gentle approach, he wanted it for this -- he wanted to savour the moment and be able to remember it later.6. März 2021

Rory Flanagan

The Switch was about to make a smart comment about the time between Mat announcing his feelings for him and the lack of kissing, when it seemed like the Dominant had read his mind, and suddenly his lips wre on Rory's. It was much more gentle than Rory had expected, but it was welcome all the same, and he kissed back eagerly, whilst trying to keep things at this same, soft level. The Switch's arms found themselves draped over Mat's shoulders, and it could have been seconds, minutes or even hours by the time they broke apart. "That was nice," He said with a chuckle, feeling like his brain had fell out of his head.

Mateo Weston

Letting out a breathy laugh once the kiss broke, Mat nodded in agreement. "It was." There was a brief pause before he went back, more passionately this time. As ridiculous as he'd felt the past couple of nights, rolling around sleeplessly and thinking about kissing Rory like some sort of innocent schoolboy, he had to admit -- the real thing beat the fantasy. A hand slipped from Rory's jaw into the hair at the back of his head, tilting the other's head in a way that allowed him to deepen the kiss. He could spend forever doing this.

~~FADE TO BLACK~~

#para #para: rory #rory #forgotten what i started fighting for // & rory

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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 165

Chapter Summary -Tom and Danielle go to Suffolk for their second anniversary as a couple. While there, Tom realises that Danielle has already gotten started on some of the wedding plans which results in them setting a date.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle bit her lips together as she felt herself reach her peak, forcing herself to not grip Tom’s hair too tightly as he made her feel so good. She gasped as the final waves of her orgasm were joined by a kiss that was given to her core before Tom crawled over her body, smiling cheekily as he came face to face with her. “I love you,” She smiled, feeling worn from their activities. “As I love you, my beautiful Elle.” He leant down and kissed her, not overly surprised when she leant up and deepened the kiss. “You are well and truly back to form,” He smirked as he forced their lips apart for a moment.

“Three times since we got here, that’s not bad by any accounts,” Danielle agreed.

They had decided to spend their second anniversary in Suffolk, away from the crowds of London and spending time with Diana. Tom brought Danielle for a lovely meal in Manzoni’s, the restaurant that led to the awkward first kiss of theirs and afterwards, insisted on kissing her on the doorstep, though this time, the kiss did not end there and he ensured she had an incredibly pleasurable evening after. Of late, after recovering from her Ironman, Danielle’s libido seemed to go back to her pre-training and pre-maternal urge norm, much to hers and indeed Tom’s delight.

The next morning led to slight bouts of sloth on their behalf before amourous attentions once more, leading them to almost lunchtime before they forcibly extracted themselves from the bed.

They were drinking tea as their porridge cooked when Diana knocked on the back door and entered. “Finally up, I see.” “We are embracing the holiday feeling,” Tom smirked back, going to the pot of tea they had decided would be a better idea to make and poured her a cup.

“How was Manzoni’s?” “That new chef you mentioned was working, you’re right, it’s even better now, somehow,” Danielle commented from the cooker.

“He is good, isn’t he?” Diana smiled. “So, have you two started talking properly yet?” Tom chuckled at his mother. “Are you just here to badger us about it?” “The sooner you plan it, the sooner it is planned.”

“You sound like Danielle when she is talking about her safety stuff.” Tom eyed his fiance warily as he said that. She gave him a warning glance with a slight smirk with it.

“And?” “We have decided on Ireland, in Elle’s parish church from her childhood. She explained it holds a really important place in her family and it is small and quaint and away from prying eyes. It will be lovely, so it makes a lot of sense.”

“How small?” “The maximum capacity is about a hundred plus people, nothing extravagant,” Danielle explained. “Doing approximate numbers for the church part of things, we are looking at around thirty under capacity but that’s good because we know we’re forgetting a few people.”

“Right, names are important, have you a list started?” “No,” Tom looked awkwardly.

Danielle left the room for a moment before returning with the backpack she had received for her Ironman, taking out a notepad she had in it. “I have all of my side and friends done. I have started your side too, but I know there is an aunt or uncle somewhere missing because the numbers aren’t right and I would wager you have a friend from school you will think to invite.”

Tom looked at her shocked at the organisation she had clearly put into the page of names, making notes who they were and of any conflicts, some may have, mostly referencing her aunt Bernie. “I...I was going to say I’m surprised, but no, how could I be, this is you through and through.

Danielle laughed at him. “I also took note that we will have to arrange buses from the airports and spoke to the local B&B, they will book out the dates of our choosing for us, if we give them a date soon, so I also called the parish office and got the dates the church is free on the timeline we are looking at, so we have to arrange that. I think we will have to go over a week or two in advance to ready the last of everything and for the marriage course, of course. Though, I booked that and flights for January, that gives time for your other commitments, Ace Con and whatnot.” She explained.

Tom simply stared at her in shock. He had asked had she looked into one or two things, thinking that perhaps she would begin preparation, he had not thought for one second she would be so thorough so quickly. “I...I feel somewhat unprepared in all of this.” “Course, what course?” Diana asked curiously.

“In Ireland, I am not sure if it is the same here, if you want to marry in a Catholic Church, you have to do a marriage course with Accord, it’s like this religious church-related family service, so I booked that. It’s nothing really, just preparing you for down the road, times of trouble, if you want kids, the usual marriage stuff. It’s more a box-ticking exercise really, though if you haven’t talked about this stuff before now or you haven’t had bad patches, are you really ready for marriage?” Danielle questioned.

“I think they are becoming something here, not obligatory, mind.”

“Well, they are at home and with our schedules, I thought it a good idea to plan it for then.” “What is on the cards to say you are both busy for that?” Diana asked curiously, always eager to know what her children were doing workwise. “I have a few things I will be involved in, going a few places, nothing too long, quick stops around Europe,” Danielle informed her. “Usually three to five day things and paperwork in between. And a trip to the US for a meeting or two, obviously.”

Diana nodded, knowing that there would be some form of plan such as this already before looking to her son. “I am doing a stint in one of Harold Pinter’s plays in London, Betrayal, as the name suggests, it is not the most cheerful of work but an interesting piece,” He explained.

“And are you the betrayer or the betrayed?” She asked curiously.

“I play the poor betrayed husband,” Tom pouted as he spoke.

“So plenty of confused and angry fans after this,” Danielle joked.

“I am glad you enjoy my torture.” Danielle stuck her tongue out at him playfully, causing him to chuckle. “I guess we better book a date so while we have a chance.”

“I guess we should.” A thought occurred to Tom. “What about that B&B?” “What do you mean?” “Well, they will have the dates.”

“Tom, I warned you before, Irish people are not the least bit bothered by this sort of thing and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that a local run B&B from my hometown, with kids that went to school with me, who have used my dad’s vet practice since before I was born are going to give my wedding dates to some foreign shites trying to make money off us.”

“You are putting a lot of faith in people that you have not known really for at least a decade,” Tom warned, having had more than one person he thought he could trust show that his trust had been poorly placed in the past.

“It’s a way of life in Connemara and indeed most of the non-city areas of Ireland. You say nothing and deny all knowledge of other people’s business to non-locals, as I said it's a local family business and if they can't look after the locals, well, Ireland is the place that coined the phrase ‘boycott’. It's one thing to talk among ourselves but to outsiders, that's just not done.”

“So, you would threaten them?”

“Ironically, it would not be me or putting them as I don't live there anymore, it will be those local people that they call their friends, the local GAA people, the lads that went to the pub with my dad, the women that went to the dances with Mam. It’s just an unwritten rule you don't embarrass yourself or your family and you definitely do not bring a bad name to the parish. Whatever about the generation I'm from but my dad's generation, Mr O'Leary and his wife, they never would risk her name or insult their family in such a manner,” Danielle explained. “Sometimes the anonymity of the city has its advantages though, growing up we always knew what our neighbours were doing but at the same time we were always there for one another when it was needed.”

“Will they have a problem with those coming from England for it?” Tom asked.

“Why would they? We're bringing them paying customers, we’re not there to bother anyone. We don't automatically just decide to hate all British people, that's not an economically sound practice. We are just mildly suspicious as a default setting which is healthy really, all things considered.”

Tom knew before he even saw her face that Danielle was sticking out her tongue at her own playful comment. “Behave,” He warned her, his own playful smile evident. “What dates are available? The sooner I tell Luke the better.” Danielle went to the page where she had put all of the information the parish secretary has provided her with. Tom studied the dates as well as taking out his phone and checking the calendar and within 40 seconds, he placed an ‘X’ beside three of the dates.

“Are they the ones that are acceptable or are they ‘the never gonna happen’ dates?” Danielle asked curiously as she looked at the dates he had put the “x's” next to, all three were not dates that she could think of for particular reasons as being an issue.

“The latter.”

“Okay, so we work off the rest.”

“What about you, are you available every one of these dates?” Tom asked, doubtful that Danielle could be free for the entirety of the summer.

“The ones I was not available for, which were two dates, I didn't even write down. One is the all branch AGM, and the other is my mother’s anniversary. I know she would want me to get married but I could probably pretty much guarantee that she would not appreciate me doing so on her anniversary.” “No, that goes without saying,” Tom agreed. He looked over the dates a little bit more, Danielle noticed that he checked his phone for a moment before putting an ‘X’ beside another date. As soon as she looked at it she realised which date it was, she laughed. Tom looked at her worried as to a reaction. Seeing her laugh, he decided to check verbally. “You don't mind?”

“Not at all. I don't think it bodes well to take one of your favourite days of sport in the year from you,” She laughed. “And it's the height of the GAA season, so I can guarantee there won't be a single pub, hotel bar or restaurant that will be showing that over whatever GAA fixture is on for the day.” She tussles hair as she spoke.

Tom took her hand and put it to his lips, kissing it gently at her respect for his favourite sports day. “If it was the only viable day?”

“You said it does not suit you and there are six other days that are free and available, it's a non-issue.” She looked at the dates again. “If we choose the date before that takes place, I would assume, unless we go on a honeymoon of six days, that does not suit either. So how about, this one?” She pointed to the weekend after the final. “That way you can watch it or go and we can be to Ireland after?” “But you said you want to come over a fortnight in advance?” “I’m sure you can slip away for a weekend.”

“No, it's too close and I'm not leaving everything to you.” Tom looked at the dates that came after if he was honest, he thought them too far away. So instead, he looked at the only other available date before. “How about the June date?” Danielle looked at the piece of paper for a moment. “That’s only eight months away. Jesus, that's a terrifying thought. Has it really been 3 months since you asked me?”

“Time flies when you're having fun.” Tom beamed. “If it's too close then that's fine.” “No, let's go with that one.” Tom looked up at her. “Elle, if you want to take time to think about it.” Danielle’s response was not to argue but to instead to take out her phone, scroll through the contacts and bring up the number she needed. “I think June to be the best.” She showed him the number she was about to ring and when he gave a small nod she pressed the call button.

It only took three minutes between the secretary answering the phone and Danielle pressing the end call button. “It’s official, we are booked for June.” Danielle looked at Tom, who seemed somewhat shocked. “Second thoughts already?” “No, I just...In eight months, we’ll be…” Tom could barely compute what was happening. After all his planning, with all his thoughts on it, there was a date set to legally marry Danielle. It was almost unfathomable. “I can’t believe we have a date set.” He rose to his feet and leant in and kissed her. “Eight months will be an incredibly long and yet short time.” “With work, with plays and meetings, sets and meet and greets, we won’t see it pass by. It is strange to think, but by the time we book a reception, hotels and whatnot, by the time Emma and Jack organise a passport for Lucy and everything, eight months is nothing.” Tom frowned. “I thought you don’t need a passport to go to Ireland. I used my driving licence one weekend to get into Dublin for High Rise.” “You don’t under the Common Travel Area and all that but come Brexit, who knows, they already applied, just in case.” “I guess we will all need to be sure.” Diana took note to check her own when she went back to her own house. She beamed proudly at having urged her son and her future daughter-in-law into actually setting a date. “I will leave you to eat and do a few things. Don’t forget to book a venue next.” She instructed as she left.

With quick goodbyes, Danielle started thinking. “I genuinely cannot think of too many. I suppose if you want to be fancy, there is always Kylemore Abbey?”

Tom Googled the place and his brows rose. “It’s beautiful.” “Of course it is, it’s in Connemara, we don’t do things by halves.” She smiled, looking at the picture in front of them of the building. “It is only from the 1860s but it is beautiful, nonetheless.” “And they take weddings?” “For the right price, they will be more than happy to facilitate whatever we ask. The question becomes, are we willing to pay such prices?” Tom suspected that there would be a chance that Danielle would have an issue with such things. He had considered how to approach it but now was the best time. “Elle, Darling, I m not sure how often you are planning on doing this but I am very much only considering the once so we will do this right.”

“I just don’t want to waste money.” “Is it wasting it for us to have a lovely wedding day?” “It’s one day, I don’t…” Danielle inhaled deeply. Her fiance was a renowned actor and she knew that came with more money than sense. “Just nothing too insane.” “Elle, don’t force yourself into budgets. We are not going to do anything mad, even the ring is a family heirloom, we are not extravagant spenders, so if the hotel costs a bit, then fine. I doubt you plan on some mad dress.”

Danielle scoffed, “Valentino, Darling,” She impersonated the accentuated Cruella De Vil accent as she spoke. “Just a hundred thousand.”

Tom chuckled and shook his head. “If you wanted.” Danielle stared at him in horror. “Are you insane?”

“I just want you to be happy.” “Tom, here and now, I m saying this. This whole thing is not going to come within an ass’s roar of that sort of money. No, not happening. I will call it off it does.” “Looks like I found the ‘Get out of Jail Free’ Card.” Tom jested, rushing out of her reach before she could nudge him in retaliation. When she went over to him, he pulled her in against him. “How did I manage to find you, a sensible, beautiful, intelligent woman like you?”

“A sacrifice to an old God or two, I think.”

“Very possible.” He leant down and kissed her, wanting her to feel how intensely he loved her from it.

Pictures of Kylemore Abbey for reference

#I Hate You I Love You #Chapter 165 #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston #wolfpawn

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postcards-from-absurdland · 3 years

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No offence but I totally do not get the frequently described experience of 20-somethings having problems making friends compared to their childhood/school years??? I would really like to know your perspectives on this!

And I want to emphasize that I do not use the term “friend” lightly here, but rather with it’s Polish conotations. And in Polish, it doesn’t only mean “people you’re friendly with”, but rather “these close people who would let you in if you showed at them unannounced in the middle of the night”?

My viewpoint and personal, individual experience with what it’s like making friends in your 20s - below. I guess it only has as much value as individual stories do, but maybe it’ll ring with someone??? Probably not, eh.

Also, lots of spelling/grammar errors, I guess.

Idk, maybe y'all were just super chill and well-developed emotionally as children, but up until turning like 21 I was a Total Trainwreck of a Person when it came to socializing with Anyone. The only social groups I got to experience on the regular were either mandatory like school, or parent-approved (because I was just a goody-two-shoes, and emotionally abused), where I was constantly bullied and depressed, feeling inadequate in literally everything I did. I got to know some lovely people on conventions or summer camps but I was just too insecure, anxious, neurotic and self-absorbed to truly keep in touch. Every time I wanted to initiate conversations or activities I spend hours agonizing over minor details and possible pitfalls, and then I like, went to sleep because it was already 2 a.m. and I had to start organ practice at 6:30 the next day??? I have like, 4 friends from that period still in my life, and bless them cause honestly, I wouldn't befriend myself at 15.

And now??? Well, now I am still a depressed, anxious mess (though diagnosed and treated!) who runs in stress-circles for weeks or hours, as much time as I get, before any pre-planned outing or social interaction. And I’m still a weirdo who generally prefers not talking to people.

However, provided that I have any energy left in my health bar (rare occurance), a bit of spare time and some dispensable income (and honestly not that much of either of these), I can create so many friend-making opportunities for myself???

I try to befriend my coworkers (though it never worked so far) or people I do evening studies with (they all intimidate me so I really cannot, but it is an opportunity, right?). I could meet people via doing charity work, on joining free classes at community centres, or when possible by attending lectures or meetings at the library or museums? Or I could get back to going to conventions when they reappear?

I have friends among people at my church choir and bible study. I am friends with 2 of my many former roommates. I have a few friends from university, folk dances, Irish dance classes, Lindy-hop classes, board-games testing, traditional singing workshops. I am working on befriending some of my husbands friends (who are all frankly intimidating and so adult that it’s scary). I join communities online, I have friends met via fandom forums, I am active in online groups surrouding my favourite creators, I join local less-waste fb groups, groups or servers about stitching, or baking, or clothes reselling or whatever, and I have started there some friendships that changed into something really close down the line.

Cause now, as opposed to years ago, I can actually get to know someone online and then meet them in person! With the added benefits of having much more experience in sensing rancid vibes, and not ever being ambarassed about taking safety mesures for such meetings if I decide to go, because it is NORMAL! And I do not need anyone's permission to do any of it!

I have my own (rented) space that I can arrange and use as I see fit (that I share with my husband hence also sharing in it’s use and maintnance), and this includes (when deemed safe) hosting people if I so wish (best to ask husband for input before), or choosing to go into recluse and not open my mouth to anyone for days (sometimes includes husband). I don’t need to instantly write back to someone, and I don’t need to theorize internally on their feelings towards me, I don’t need to feel shame for having life outside of my friendships, and it doesn’t invalidate them. If you showed up at my doorstep at 3 a.m.? No worries, what do you need? If you send me memes at 3 a.m., however? I cannot text back for I am fast asleep, and I am not ashamed of that, as noone should be.

I am not ashamed at all while forming relations, in fact, especially compared with my school-years self. Not about who and how I am, having needs, setting boundaries, having baggage and vices that I'm working on. Not ashamed to decline, to forget, to lose touch. Not afraid of falling off someone’s radar. Not tormented by occasional mistakes. Not scared to apologize. Not mad or self-loathing when it doesn't click or falls through. (I still find enough things to self-lothe over, don’t you worry!)

I also do not need constant contact, constant reassurance, constant validation. I don't need any one of my friends to provide for all my emotional needs. I am not mad or sad or feeling broken for not being a centre of someone's life all the time.

Or at least, I'm working on all this, and more. As I tried to write in asides, I am still not the best-adjusted person you’ll find on this earth, by a long strech - and not the most friendly or people-loving, either.

And yet, I do have friends, and I make and mend friendships all the time. Most of my closest adult friendships sort of developed in the background, when I was just busy living my life. Maybe I just matured emotionally, maybe it’s finally getting my meds sorted out, or maybe it’s Maybelline, but I am now surrounded by a world in which there are many souls that I care for, and even more that I simply do not know of yet.

It by no accounts means that “if I can do it, anyone can”. That’s obvious bullshit. But if you want to make friends, there are many ways. Maybe none are objectively accesible to you right now, and if so, my heart goes out to you. But if you see any possible routes, take them.

On these routes, first off - be yourself, be asserive, take care of your needs, and be safe. You are looking for friends and not emotional first-aid, or real first aid, Lord forbid! You may want friends, you may even NEED friends, but you are still a whole person yourself.

Secondly, be curious - people really are interesting by nature, even those that don’t seem so. And even those who you find boring! (I find a lot of people boring, but hey, I am tiresomely boring myself for many lads, so, there’s that!)

Be persistent in your efforts to befriend the world, but let others set their boundaries too, even if those boundaries sadly exclude you. That’s a fact of life, you can’t form meaningful relationships with everyone.

Go for kindness where you see no potential for closer friendship, take happiness and pride and sense of safety from this kindness, and go on with your life.

Good luck!

#friendship #just something that I have been thinking about a lot lately #cath ted talk #long post very long #even longer post seriously I am a chatterbox

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softsweetsuffering · 3 years

Text

OC LIST (New)

Trey:

Has an ability to mimic or amplify abilities/powers of others, as well as telekinesis

Was previously part of a group of people who also had abilities, however after mistreatment and other issues within the group, he left.

He's got a good wealth behind him.

Extremely gentle

Handsome ;)

Loves photography

Has lavender hair

Respects all

'Secretly' Plays violin

Lowkey a sugardaddy

Hamrish Benat:

Has four eyes!

Pink and blonde hair

He loves parkour (as in climbing buildings and leaping around in gyms)

Has PTSD (There are two AUS of which I default as to how he obtained it)

Ready to deck a bitch

Trained nurse

Loves teddy bears and fuzzy pink socks.

Also goes by Hami/Hayden

Andy peters:

Strong, kind.

The quiet Big Type, doesn't always talk, but his heart is in good places.

Wishes he could do more

Buff + Tall

Wears a pair of dogtags.

Has red streaks in his hair for the fun of it

Is extremely brotherly to Adrian

is friends with Hami

Adrian Géarán:

Nervous Malnutritioned anxiety filled tired mess

Has emotionally linked fire abilities (does not like having them)

likes to make little robots!

Easily bullied

Missing an arm

Struggles with normal life

Blames himself for Andys death

Looks unintentionally vaguely like Fry from Futurama

Chris:

Leader of a summer camp for kiddos

Huge fan of the outdoors

Loves to garden

Red head with freckles

Healthy!

Good build, a little on the below-average male height

Likes to hike

Loves kids

Strong but pacifistic

Great smile

Surprisingly a little shy around other adults

Bisexual

Himbo energy

Douglas Connelly:

Just a regular chubby guy

His chub is only important because this man gives some of the best hugs, he's like a marshmallow

He is outwardly confident about his size, even if it sometimes worries him internally

He loves music, loves to groove in the kitchen while making snacks

Always open for roommates and new friends (one of his roommates is a hot bartender called Donovan)

A bit awkward but he tries his best.

Tucker:

Badass

Bunny hybrid (ears :3)

White hair

Likes to wear denim jackets

Fast runner

Has had experience working in the force

Izekiel Iris:

Bruised and abused in a facility

Was turned from human into A being of made of Paint (Useful? no. Fun? yes. Rainbow blood anyone?)

Loves painting

Wallflower

Easily anxious

Loves to draw on his own arms

Matthew Libelle:

Aka Matty Very delayed development wise as well as Autistic

Very much a texture lad, soft blankets are his thing.

Doesn't like loud sounds ( who does honestly).

Tries his hardest to function normally but it's hard.

Watermelon colours are his fav. Green hoodie is his fav.

Has watermelon pink hair.

Gale:

Eldritch bab

Was cursed by a group of guys who were messing with magics they didn't understand

Did in fact murder said group of guys and is traumatised by the idea he has become a monster

hears voices

Has Tendrils that have burst out of his back

Has the ability to move from this realm to the Eldritch planes and back. (is terrified of said planes)

Doesn't have a home

Black curly hair- frizzy- shimmers like Slick oil

Shy type kinda, tall Pale. cold.

Kinda wishes he could just go back to normal.

Would really like to eat some fresh warm bread.

Rowan maverick

Was abandoned as a teen

Also known as Rogue/Red.

Lost some of their tongues making them mute

Trained Assassin.

Previously part of a cult

Addict to painkillers (Caused by the mental issues from the cult and the loss of tongue.)

Bad with Physical affection

Could use a friend

Jace

Cop/Ex Cop.

Laid off after an incident

Has a pubby called Otis

Likes the occasional beer

Dad energy

Issac Merewen

Was previously a Teacher - grade 11/12s

Kidnapped and kept Drugged the hell up.

Was given the new name: Jess/Jack. AKA The Jester

Now has Amnesia problems .(Anomic aphasia)

Was stored Cramped in box.

Needs glasses. (Long sighted. Cant see Infront of him for shit without glasses. He specifically likes round ones :3)

Natrually Blonde

He was very inspired by the Chitty Chitty bang bang scene, “Doll on a music box”.

- He naturally has two different coloured eyes :D

-He likes podcast n occasionally audiobooks. Its good for learning/remembering words, and way easier than straining his eyes. Although it is upsetting occasionally when he can remember more of a book/podcast he’s into more than real words or real-life things.

Tyrone Li

Incubus.

Wise, Patient, caring.

Brown tattoos wind up his hips and torso, curling around his chest around his heart, and around his back, flaring at his neck.

Glasses.

Loves plants and flora

Sex lost meaning when he was younger. He wants true intimacy again but he wants to find the right person..

Glamors hide the following features:

Tail, brown that gradients into Green, Leaf like tip.

Horns, curled. (green tipped :0)

Glamors break usually after a certain period of time regardless of feeding, however, during bad situations/fight the body may unglamour to reserve the last of its energy.

Caspian:

Basically immortal but can die (Reincarnations)

Not a pacifist, but not instantly into violence

He was blessed by the Heart of the Ocean (Shes wonderful <3)

Can control water, can do minor healing with water

Can make water bubble/ boil when angry

Glowy veins when powers are active

He has had many many lives

Soft..caring..Doesnt remember alot of his past..

Doesn't know how many times hes died

Doesn't have alot of family or friends

Goes on many adventures

Elio Solren.

Nickname: Sunshine

Good lad.

Is a shapeshifter Dealt with being told he was happy and always upbeat. People leaving or ignoring him whenever he wasn't started building this sense of need to be happy all the time for others.

Lots of struggles with self image. Being perfect. Appeasing everyone. Poor self body love/self body image.

Is scared about The hate from humans about shifters. The jealousy and fear about them being able to hide behind other faces.

Smiles to hide the pain

Punk/hipster vibes

Intricate golden tattoos

Doesn't open up easily

Doesn't like to admit to being in pain

Kotori

AKA Corey

Owl lad!

Bright yellow piercing eyes. But is totally blind. (Face scars)

Loves music.

Plays the uke.. hums..sings sometimes.

Big wings- like barn owl.

Likes to perch in trees

Jeremey Caulfield

Winter baby

Was left bleeding in the snow at some point

Father Lovely old man (John)

Mother died (Ellie)

Birthday December 23h

Blue eyes

Black hair

Russel

Box boy

Glasses

Red hair

Real sweetheart

Really needs more dev ; ;

Jules

Loves tofu n chicken

Touchstarved

Stubborn af

Kicks ass!

Has Sass

Wears binders/sports bras for Lotsa running n such

Black hair big messy pigtails

Dark brown eyes.

Has a navy bear sleeps with it ‘doesn't care’ about it but does

Gymnast/kickboxing. Bandages around hands

Loved swinging bars since being a kiddo

Trampolines!!

Participates in Underground fight ring to make easy money

Sleeps on just a mattress

Has a laptop for study work but she's slowly giving up on bothering.

(She's not one originally but Werewolf Jules is one of my fav things)

Miles

Part mole, part orphan

Lives underground

Very light-sensitive

Is colourblind

Absolute nerd

loves tinkering with things

is scared of humans

very foggy memories of his parents.

Leilah/ Lei

Can make/control shadows.

Owns a Magic skull(Speaks to it)

Lives in the woods

Wears a skull to spook off people from her woods

Has Tattoos that are shadow/absorb shadows

Kinda bad at maintaining friendships

Emotionally Distant

Wears a cloak.

Bao Ketsuyki

Blood magic bab

Short

East Asian.

Pink/red medium length hair

Big pretty red flower scar from blood magic use on her shoulder/ back.

Little bit foolish, little bit reckless.

Has almost died a few times from her magic use.

Oran Audun

Pale

Punk

Irish

Plays Guitar

Writes in journal, occasionally song lyrics, occasionally little messy ink drawings.

Easy to aggravate (On edge) however is trying to learn how to meditate and be calmer

Covered head to toe in scars but still tries to find confidence in himself. He doesn't find it unattractive, but he feels like others have no need to witness his scars.

loves wearing leather/fabric wrist bracelets

Unwelcome hands have used his body as a research object

Very very against physical contact, needs to break into it.

Ray

Social worker works mainly with kids.

Has a Shy guy tattoo.

His family consists of a Good ma, younger sister, and super baby brother

Dad died but dad was good.

Dirty blonde hair, kinda messy

Short, 5’

Socks the pupper is his helpful lil buddy (hes so round and white and fluffy)

Super dad vibes.

Owen

a hockey player n gymnast.

His mother died when he was about 9.

has an older brother who is a bit of a big jock type

quite protective and caring of his two much younger siblings.

ended up in a nasty scuffle though at some point during his more competitive years in Hockey

This leads to following his passion for Gym

Pole vault, the rings, trampoline.

Still plays hockey among mates or strangers on the weekends in the cold months tho

Ends up taking a position as a gym teacher for kids after taking a childhood course since he was so good at it.

actually a really sweet guy

Soft but likes his sport and jokes.

He can hold his own somewhat more than he appears.

has blue tips/stripes in his blonde hair.

He often wears varsity jackets or baseball tees. As well as a couple other sport wear shirts. (A. Good few are from his bro ofc. Free merch)

He's short but he's got a fairly decent build on him.

He's got a surprisingly good tackle if you aren't careful. And a good grip strength.

Nohea

but everyone calls him Noah.

Works at a Boba tea cafe..

likes to surf.

has an Epic board.

Back and shoulders all littered with lines and tic tac toe-like scars.

he's the type to brush off any questions and change topic while smiling. But not super bubbly. Just. Go lucky.

has a few friends who like to hang out at the cafe

Was in a surfing accident that involved a lot of rocks.

Ila

4’8 Soft. Short.

Ready to protect.

Loves to bake!!!

Smells like a vanilla cupcake most of the time

Isn't afraid to fight although isn't trained

likes Yoga ( and yoga pants)

Needs glasses but doesn't wear them (tsk tsk, unless tryign to read recipes)

Dyes hair silver/white

Jake

Homeless

Snake hybrid can transform his lower half from human legs to tail

Also has fangs, and therefore venom

He's got a lot of sass

Can be a bit of an asshole but soft around the right people

Isn't used to kindness

doesn't cry easily

Steals food

Mac Hiato

Also known as Caf

5’6

Very Grumpy.

Very often has bags under his eyes.

Hoodie is life

Insomnia has serious trouble sleeping.

Has nightmares of strangulation

Occasionally sufferers sleep paralysis

Scared of dark- night lights

Owns a mouse called Bean

Does freelancing webdesgisn/coding as job.

Sits like a gay.

Lives on coffee

Minorly Lactose intolerant

Has One bad eye

Neema

Egyptian

Mechanic

Her dad's a mechanic and used to bring her to work all the time

dead mum: which affected her ability to emote.

Works part time at the garage

Dad likes to bring gifts on their small catch-ups that happen every once in a while.

Sheeee. Suffers a bit of resting bitch face.

she's kinda stunted emotionally because she was raised by her dad, who, isn't great with emotions himself being a man's man and all.

She's very much a tomboy gal. Doesn't exactly get dressed up. because she finds it tiresome and not "her".

Also if she did/does have friends the nickname Nemo 100% crops up because it's sadly alll too fitting but also kinda sweet.

She's actually really into cars and mechanics. Which is one of the few good reasons her dad and her are close.

She's hard to get to know, very quiet. And if you're someone who dominates the conversation she won't speak up much, but you'll be surprised to how much she's listened.

Just because she looks tired and done doesn't actually mean she feels that way.

Samson (Lemonade boi)

His name is Samson, but he prefers Sun/Sunny. (Other more affectionate nicknames include Lemondrop and Sunflower.)

He really likes going out to markets and stuff like that, little stalls or knick knack shops to find the odd kinda items.

He also really likes wandering big forests. (Hes got some o that fae energy) He collects various cool stones/rocks/plants from some of them. He also has some small vials from waterfalls and ponds he’s encountered)

He wants to practice magic to become a witch! He loves the candles and rocks and other cool things that come with the craft. (He inherited things from his father)

He really likes loose fitting shirts too, like flowy things, ones with sleeves that drape past your fingers, or has extra fabric on the bottom that dangle down past hips. (Sometimes they come from the ladies section just because they’re softer and have more variety. Others from op shops and other niche little stores.)

He bought a cologne from a witch that looks cursed but the only curse is that it makes the one who puts it on smell like citrus..so not much of curse. (The bottle looks fuckin neato tho)

He looves fizzy drinks. Doesn’t mind his alcohol either, however it takes a surprising amount to get him on his ass despite looking like a serious lightweight.

He’s pretty average in build, bit of muscle in his arms, some fat on his thighs. Slight pouch of a tum (cause no ones flat and thats unrealistic :<)

He’s about 5′4. So not tall, but not the shortest of the short.

He kinda likes to backpack about. Not staying in places long if they get boring. Which means he is kinda jack of all trades when it comes to work, offering to fix things for pay, lots of casual work doing various things.(One of his favorites was helping a little old lady run a paint shop.)

He occasionally snorts when he laughs and tries not to.

He has his ears pierced, and he has a little yellow gemed stud in his nose.

The ring around his neck he found in the middle of a patch of mushrooms.

He has a couple other tattoos. One of them is of bubbles up his wrist :3 He also has some stars on his ankle, and a sunflower on one of his fingers on his left hand.

He’s not super in to gardening but he does have his lemon tree. He also wants to grow some mandarins

His eyes look silver in a lot of lights, but occasionally there’s some strange hints of yellow, and other times blue.

He has freckles!!!! that look alot like bubbles ;)

He has a twin brother called Fraser.

Scrunches his nose

Hides his laughter behind his hand

#OC List #ocs #god this took forever #B's Ocs #my list #oc list new #fuck me ; ;#im not gonna tag all of them.. its not worth it..#thanks for the reminder anon

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