lindsohalloran

[lindsohalloran]

the sounds of maisie humming and singing to herself from the next room over provide a soothing sonic backdrop that seems to keep his thoughts just this side of dismal, brief scraps of choruses pulled from disney songs and radio hits, some of which he recognizes even in her tiny, warbling tones and others that present to him a musical mystery ; she's taken to decorating her new room with an assortment of drawings and crafts, crayon portraits of new friends and colorful, construction-paper chain garland. and what a relief that is! that she'd been able to find some sense of normalcy in the chaos ― he has birdie to thank for that, he knows, how swiftly she'd shielded his kin from the horror of the situation as it unfolded ― is more of a blessing than lindsay would've ever felt he could ask for.

he's sat near the large bay window, his gaze fixated on an indistinct point somewhere out on the skyline ; the throbbing in his hand has been reduced to a dull ( but feckin' persistent ) ache that radiates up his arm and past his elbow, but the kind folks of the wexley have assured him ( and ensured via generous medical attention ) that infection is not a concern. what would've become of the two of them if something like that had happened back at the elementary school? or on the way to the wexley? his attention is derailed from a runaway train of hypotheticals by the sound of a knock on the door, the call of a familiar voice. mal.

lindsay does not pretend to possess more than minimal knowledge of the building's young caretaker. in spite of the kindness extended to him by the folks of this camp, he's hardly made himself social. in fact, if anything, he's made himself more scarce after his lapse in judgment managed little more than costing them supplies ― and costing him nearly half his hand. it was foolish, uncharacteristic. unlike him. he thinks back to the instruction they'd given him, how quickly he'd written it off in favor of a half-formed plan to protect his own. to protect maisie. in the moment, nothing made more sense, and he's still struggling to understand the why of it all. ( he's not used to having his hand forced by emotional reaction. )

he rises to his feet at the sound, admittedly a bit surprised by their presence. ❝ ach, haud on, i'm comin'! ❞ locks are unlatched with a little more struggle than usual but the door is pulled open after only a few seconds. his features are hardened in concern by the time they land on theirs. ❝ is somethin' wrong? ❞ why else would mal be at his door, after all?

⋙ WHEN? march 24th, around noon ⋙WHERE? #501 ⋙WHO? @lindsohalloran

The first place Mal heads to after their own lingering injury is checked out by the Wexley's newly acquired doctor is the O'Halloran studio. Her first actual conversation with Lindsay had been about his niece, Maisie, and the possibility of getting her enrolled in the PE classes Mal saw a need for -- currently just for the kids, but perhaps in the future for other survivors who needed a boost to their... potential. Aside from that, Mal hadn't really given him a second thought. Perhaps mean, but there were already so many people to consider, and he seemed like a big boy who could take care of himself.

The events of a few days ago put him in a new light in Mal's eyes. They worked well together, and in a situation where someone had to take charge, there was not a second of hesitation to fall into step from him, no arguing; if the roles had been reversed, Mal knows they would've done the same. If everyone's standing there with their dick in their hands, there's no point arguing with the person that starts giving direction.

Of course, all up until Beau Clary had come in with news of the 8th floor. Mal understood. She still understands perfectly, she doesn't know a lot about the man, but what she does know is that that little girl is his life. But regardless of the fact that she understands, it doesn't make what he did any less fucking stupid.

And so, Mal bangs the squish part of their fist on the door that reads '501'. "Mr. O'Halloran, open up."

[lindsohalloran]

The Tomorrow People ‘Gag Reel’

[lindsohalloran]

👄do they prefer oral or penetrative sex more?

both certainly have their merits, if you were to ask him. when it comes to oral sex, lindsay is more of a giver, though, and for that reason he would likely rank penetrative sex over oral. not because he doesn't enjoy being down on his knees with his head between another man's thighs giving ― because he does, actually ― but it requires a level of control and thought from him that he does not always have the capacity or desire to give in the bedroom. ( that said, this can easily be bypassed if you just grab him by the hair and make the decisions for him. ) with penetrative sex, though, he'd rather be on the receiving end, where he doesn't have to think or plan or have control. he just has to feel.

[lindsohalloran]

🕒what’s the longest time they went without engaging in sexual activity with a partner? [masturbation doesn’t count]

the way this man knows very little outside of repression and self-control, when i tell you he can go years. and he has gone years. and honestly, he's probably in the middle of yet another years-long stretch as we speak. because of the social environment where he was raised and his parents' devout ( and misguided ) faith, he spent the majority of the first half of his life suppressing any attractions or urges he felt ― that includes masturbation, because he often felt internalized guilt over the fantasies he'd have when he did touch himself. it took a very long time for him to become comfortable with his own sexuality, and by that point, he'd already become well-versed in what it meant to go without. that said, some nights, when he's alone in his bedroom, he can't help but think back to belize ; to humid nights and hot, flushed skin, the taste of belikin and rum and the feeling of strong hands on his hips ... christ, but does he miss it!

[lindsohalloran]

👥 + Lindsay

Send ‘👥‘ for 4 hcs about our muses relationship or about your muse @lindsohalloran

Lindsay humbled down this young recruit by giving him he worst military punishment Ash had ever gotten, seeing his arrogance as something to be tempered down with, the moment Ashton made one mistake during their training that was all the ammunition Lindsay needed to screw with him, while he had the thought of punishing the entire platoon, Ashton felt bad and told Lindsay he'd do it for the entire team. Thus he did. Covering laps, knocking it down, doing cleaning duties multiplied by the entire team for a week but Ashton still completed the punishments with a smirk on his face, as if a defiance in the fact that he fucking did that. What else do you have to throw at me? But deep down, it was enough to shut Ashton up, to keep his arrogance in check for the rest of their training, keeping Ash on his toes and mind sharp.

If there was any kind of sign of weakness, young recruit Ash actually had a teeny tiny fear of heights, Lindsay was the one to help him over come in making him climb up and down the wall thousands of times every day before the break of dawn, knowing that this fear was something Ashton had to overcome if he truly wanted to follow in his father's footsteps to learn to be a jet pilot. When they moved onto the parachute training, Lindsay had to shove him out of the helicopter and Lindsay absolutely found pure joy in that. But Ashton would've forever been thankful for him pushing him past that fear, now not even batting an eye at extreme heights, even remembering the day of helping Charlie face her own fears, bit by bit, sharing the same story now just a funny anecdote in life, though not using as extreme as Lindsay's methods for Charlie, as effective as they were on Ash.

There was always rumors of Lindsay's relationship in Belize, sightings by Ladyville, outside of their training base, recruits noticing a shift in Lindsay's mood everything he came back from time off, Ashton was one of those people, being who he is, that noticed and just let it fly over his head until someone spelt it out to him, and even then it was always kind of a ..so? Never understanding to correlation. But he was also the one brave enough to even ask Lindsay about it one day, never seeing it as much of a taboo or problem for the candor of it all. It surely threw Lindsay off by that question asked so innocently. And perhaps one of those off nights over a few drinks, the two of them once had a genuine conversation about it all, on relationships, sexuality, dreams deeper conversations that go further than just between mentor and recruit.

Lindsay once crossed path with Ashton's father, Ben, exchanging into training and knowledge between the two different areas of military, Ash's dad being a pilot, a force in the sky, while Lindsay, a force on the ground, specifically jungle grounds. They were of similar levels of seniority, Ben being the older more experienced one between the two but he knew what he didn't know, hoping to learn as much as he can offer to teach. It might've only been a few weeks, month tops of the two men interacting, but the moment Ashton heard about it he jumped at the opportunity, desperate to know more about his dad that he wished he had to chance to know better. Annoyingly hounding Lindsay for as much information as he could give about his time in the military, grateful for even a morsel, as those were things his mother didn't even have much answers to his questions. Lindsay often preface that he didn't know much, but to Ashton, that was enough.

[lindsohalloran]

❛ so, you're immune. ❜

the observation is carried on an upward lilt that suggests an inquiry, but it feels almost damning to lindsay. and why shouldn't it? the scotsman is no stranger to misplaced guilt ; while it may not be a comfort, it is a familiar weight. in his rational mind, he knows he should count it a blessing, if he can believe it at all ― it would be easier to protect maisie moving forward, after all, knowing that he's not at risk of going rabid and leaving her alone and defenseless in such a profoundly dangerous world. or worse, he shudders to even think, should he get infected and then try to harm her ...

these are the thoughts that have kept lindsay up through a long, dark winter. cold and quiet, but for the sound of her laughter echoing through the halls of an empty school. but it's not lindsay who deserves the immunity. not lindsay, who has spent the past twenty-five years training to defend himself in situations if not like these, then at least vaguely comparable in level of risk. vaguely. he knows how to fight. he can survive. it's maisie he's worried about. but she's still up on the fifth floor trying to sleep off a fever and he's here. he does well not to let his thoughts get carried away longer than a moment.

❝ aye, ❞ lindsay concedes, and in spite of the tumult that twists in his chest, he keeps his expression level. he schools his mouth into something akin to a smile, as if he's simply appreciative of the sentiment. ❝ if ye believe such things ― dinnae ken i'd like to test the theory. ❞ he is not a man of science, does not understand the intricacies of pathology and immunity. what cause they had for prodding and pricking at the pair of them ( and what they'd done with those samples ) is unknown to him. were he in less of a desperate situation at the time, he might've protested or at least inquired further. he glances down at his arm, a faint red rash in the distinctive shape of a plaster peeking out of the crease in his elbow, and then looks back toward the young woman from the diner. rosie, he reminds himself. ❝ was no' aware the results of our labs were, er ... public knowledge. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

❝ mmh, ❞ lindsay hums his agreement to a suggestion well-received with a short nod as he continues to hold the door to the apartment open long enough for the older man to exit, following close behind him and taking care to shut the door quietly behind him as he steps into the hall. the longer he can allow maisie uninterrupted rest, the better. once the door is closed, lindsay turns to better face the man, giving him a swift and subtle once-over before his gaze settles on a friendly ( lindsay assumes in an attempt to appear disarming ) visage. ❝ i thank yae for that ― she needs the sleep. ❞

a quiet sigh escapes him at the question and his shoulders lift in a half-shrug. ❝ i cannae say, ❞ lindsay admits. ❝ the antibiotics seem to be helping― ❞ another fact for which he finds himself inexplicably indebted, ❝ ―but i'll be honest wi' ye, sir, i'm ... this is uncharted territory for me. ❞ he's new to guardianship, to parenthood ; only just truly beginning to learn to accommodate her grief. when it comes to her physical health, beyond the realm of immediate injury and first aid, the ex-scotsguard feels out of his depth. ( he's not drowning. he's not drowning. ) he nods at the introduction, files the information away. ❝ yer generosity is more than we ever could've anticipated, tobias. ❞

the question is simple enough, and given all that the older man has provided them, lindsay feels inclined to offer an honest answer. ❝ we are, aye ― i've been here just over a year now, come stateside last february. ❞ he doesn't mention what prompted the transplant of his entire life overseas. honesty does not need equate to total transparency. ❝ but maisie, bless her wee heart, born and raised right here. i'd argue the wean knows the city better'n i do, she does. ❞

"Hi-di-ho neighborino." Grinning nearly ear to ear at his own little pop-culture reference, Tobias thanked the man as he stepped around him, offering a silent but bashful apology at the sight of the sleeping child. "Maybe we should speak out in the hallway." Voice just barely above a loud whisper, he motioned with his head for them to step outside.

"How is she doing? I'll send Val up later to look at her again now that you're quarantine is over." Thankfully they had a small amount of antibiotics left and he wouldn't hesitate to have them given to save a child. "Tobias Wexley Senior. Though most just call me Tobias, or Mr. W, which ever suits your fancy."

Chuckling a little, his chin nodded toward the apartment. "I hope it's suiting you well, I know it's quite a change from what you must have gone through out there. Are you from New York? I mean... obviously not originally," His accent made that obvious. "..At the time of the outbreak?"

[lindsohalloran]

long sleeves manage to obscure the bulk of the bandaging that securely covers the majority of his left forearm, the integrity of the limb sacrificed as a shield to protect his throat from the teeth and nails that gnashed at it just days earlier, but no amount of stylistic choice or additional effort on his part can disguise the gauze taped to his hand, the clearly disfigured shape beneath it. something missing. he sits at the far end of the diner's counter, perched on a stool ; nearby, maisie's crawled under the table of a nearby booth with her sights set on one of the wexley's many feline residents. he does not have it in him to deter her of the simple pleasure, so he simply keeps a watchful eye from across the space, his gaze fixed on her but his thoughts drifting kilometers away. he'd not been able to shake the incident from his mind since it happened ; he'd reacted so suddenly, so instinctively. so poorly. it was foolish, and though he was deeply grateful for birdie's ability to remain level-headed where he could not, he was also profoundly troubled by his own, irrational course of action that led him there.

so entirely caught up in his own thoughts, lindsay startles slightly at the sound of a plate hitting the counter and glances toward the source. charlie. the ex-scotsguard shakes his head dismissively, waving off her words with the hand that doesn't throb in time with his pulse each time it's moved. ❝ dinnae apologize, charlie. it's no' yer fault, ye did nae wrong. it's me t'were bein' foolish. ❞ he offers her a slight twitch of a smile, enough to be disarming in spite of the way it wanes before it reaches his eyes. ❝ and ye did do plenty anyhow. ❞ once the adrenaline of the situation wore off, he'd been in a bit of shock, his body finally reacting to the injuries ― and the eviscerated cadaver still leaking fluids into his clothes as it pinned him to the floor. she'd helped him stop the bleeding, more than he thinks he could've managed on his own in that moment. ❝ would no' have thought t' use the table runner. quick thinking, that was. ❞

⋙ WHEN? march 24th, morning ⋙WHERE? Rosie's Diner ⋙WHO? @lindsohalloran

Setting down his plate in front of him along with a cup of coffee, Charlie hesitated before turning back to him instead of heading back to continue helping Emily serve breakfast.

"Hey... Sorry about, you know... your hand and everything. I know I wasn't exactly super helpful."

[lindsohalloran]

💬 + ashton

❝ a good man, he is, ryder. christ, but when he was a cadet, ye never would've guessed ye were meetin' the same man ; when he was young, he was too full a' piss and vinegar ― and himself, if ye want the whole truth, the cheeky git ― but would ye ken, he was one o' the best i had the pleasure trainin' down when i was in ladyville? reminded me of, erm ... well, have ye ever seen star trek? he gave the impression of a young kirk, fresh out o' the academy ― too big fer his britches, ye ken? but he could always back it up. it's a rare thing to find such a kind heart wrapped up in the package of a cocky little shite. but ryder had it. time seems to have whittled away his hubris, leaving behind a rather impressive man in its wake. feck if i've ever said it, but i'm proud of him. and ben ― his da, may he rest in peace ― he would be, too. i've no doubt. ❞ @ashton-ryder

[lindsohalloran]

beau / lindsay

Send Me 💬 + a Name and My Muse will Talk About That Person

This could be someone else’s muse, or the mun’s interpretation of an NPC or background character in my muses like. Heck, even a complete stranger my muse has to look up!

[lindsohalloran]

[lindsohalloran]

Chances of you sticking around at the Wexley are...?

❝ ... directly correlated to maisie's condition, ❞ lindsay answers simply ― as if it's as easy as that. it isn't. his plan to stay long enough to get her properly medicated and then make another attempt to flee the city isn't looking quite as clear as it has when he'd laid it days before their arrival. ❝ d'yae ken she asked me but two days ago, could we stay? misses people, i think. socializing. christ but i would, too, if i were stuck with only my company an option fer five months, poor girl. ❞ he heaves a sigh. ❝ i only want what's best fer her ― it isnae safe in the city now, no' anymore. but i dinnae ken what is. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

okay okay okay okay, say hypothetically the opportunity arose, would you do Mr. Wexley?

❝ kindly begging yer feckin' pardon, because, erm... come again? ❞

[lindsohalloran]

first impression of The Wexley and it's inhabitants?

❝ generous. at this juncture, the residents of the wexley have been nothing but gracious and hospitable toward maisie and myself. that we've been fed and sheltered and allowed usage of yer limited supply of medication ― without hesitation, no less, i'll thank miss emerson and mr. wexley for that ― is a kindness i cannae easily forget. i am far from a stranger to the camaraderie born of a shared instinct to survive, and i've seen it here in spades. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

Jesus Christ I would lick anything off of every inch of you 🥵

❝ ye should no' go puttin' yer mouth on things ye dinnae ken where they've been. ❞

[lindsohalloran]

talk to me harder daddy 🥵💦

❝ no. ❞

there's a long pause, and then, ❝ also, dinnae ever call me that again.❞

[lindsohalloran]

RICHARD MADDEN as Ikaris ETERNALS (2021) dir. Chloé Zhao